8
I took two buses to get to Aurangzeb Road. I couldn’t find any
regular houses there, only massive mansions. Each building looked
like an institution, not someone’s private home.
'100, Aurangzeb Road.’ I saw the sign etched in gold on a black
granite plaque. Concealed yellow lights lit up a nameplate, which
merely stated ‘Somani’. I had borrowed Shailesh’s blazer and shirt. I
adjusted my clothes.
Evenings in October had started to turn chilly. I approached the
guard.
‘What’s your name?’ the guard said in a Bihari accent. He held an
intercom phone in his right hand.
‘Madhav, Madhav Jha. I am Riya’s friend.’
The guard eyed me up and down. He spoke into the intercom.
‘Riya madam’s friend. Shall I send him in?’
The guard paused. He looked at me.
‘What?’ I said.
‘Wait. They will respond and approve.’
‘Isn’t there a party?’
‘Yes, in the back garden.The maid has gone to check.’
In college I underwent no layers of security to meet Riya. I felt
awkward standing and waiting so I made conversation with the guard.
‘Are you from Bihar?’ I said.
‘Yes, from Munger.You?’
‘Dumraon.’
‘And you are Riya madam’s friend?’ he said. I heard the
condescension in his voice. A low-class can smell another low-class.
‘Same college,’ I said. The guard gave me an approving nod. He
could now understand how Riya could be friends with me.
The intercom rang.
‘Go,’ the guard said to me, as if he had received clearance from air
traffic control.