Drawing apart the drapes at my home office I looked out of the window — a mellow sunny morning greeted me. It was a perfect day to be outdoors. The sun was finally out after days of incessant rain and grey sky. Tempted, I abandoned the coffee maker, picked up my laptop, keys, and wallet, and headed for the elevator. After three days of being confined to my apartment, I was in danger of going stir-crazy. There was a lovely cafe run by the hearing impaired just a stone’s throw away. Since I hold a remote job, I often go there for a break and some human company. The staff was warm and exuberant and their happy
faces always bring joy. And yet it was a quiet and serene place to do my work without any
disturbance.
But not today, I groaned espying the “Reserved” board on the table just near my usual corner. Usually, the chairs were placed in twos or fours around the tables but today the staff had joined two large tables with eight chairs. Obviously, a large group was expected and I hoped they wouldn’t be raucous. But at that very moment half a dozen women trooped in, squawking and making enough racket to rouse the dead. I considered making a quick exit but the thought of going back to the four walls was enough to change my mind.
A light brunch and some good coffee might assuage my cabin fever. As the group noisily pulled chairs and settled down, “kitty party” I thought and sneered mentally. After ordering my morning cappuccino I surreptitiously studied them and immediately realised my mistake. It was obvious this was no typical kitty party of upper-middle-class jaded homemakers. Nobody wears a pantsuit to a kitty party. It was a truly motley group. I peeked over the top of my laptop. True, there were two saree-wearing middle-aged women but included young women in her twenties in jeans and T-shirts and a lady in a pantsuit on the wrong side of thirties whose get-up screamed “corporate” and two adorable grannies, one in a bohemian skirt and top and the other in activewear. Despite the apparent disparity the group was having fun, nonstop conversations peppered with bouts of hilarity. Perplexed, I shamelessly eavesdropped.
“So where is Devyani? I thought she will be joining us?” the Granny in activewear asked. She had a ledger in hand and was making notes. “Devyani decided to have the surgery,” one of the saree-clad ladies replied. She looked prim and proper in a neatly pleated saree, like a school teacher. “Oh! I thought she had decided against it.” The Granny in Bohemian skirt chipped in.
“Yes. But you know her husband is a bariatric surgeon. He convinced her that in the future she
was going to feel inadequate and imperfect.” “More likely he will feel inadequate if he can’t get it up,” the Bohemian skirt replied vehemently.
Oops! The sweet-faced granny could be vicious, it seems. But the younger lot seemed to be amused and laughed hysterically including the corporate lady. The laughter subsided a little bit as the server noted down their orders and then the Bohemian Granny said: “I am learning belly dancing these days.” And the table again erupted, with the young twenty-something girl hooting with laughter.
“I got the costume and everything and I look awesome in it. Come home! And I promise a live demonstration,” and then she winked at me. I retreated behind the laptop screen. I could have died of mortification. Obviously, she had caught me eavesdropping. Not that I really had to try hard, I was sure with the high decibel level nobody could miss their conversation.
“The only problem is that when I dance the fake one does not jiggle,” Granny continued without missing a beat. And again, the others gave in to hilarity, laughed uproariously, just falling short of rolling on the round.
“That’s why I preferred being flat-chested. If there is no bamboo there won’t be any flute playing as well,” the other Granny said with a wry smile. I felt heat creeping up my neck as I realised they were discussing boobs in public. But I could not help smiling at the rough translation of the well-known Hindi idiom for the benefit of one of the saree-clad women in the group. She was obviously South Indian with the customary flowers in her thick braid.
Though timid she seemed to be enjoying the ribald talk between the two Grannies. The diversity in appearance and age belied the strong bond between the group as the six of them caught up with the happenings in their life. They laughed together and empathised over pain. “Last year, I participated in a fashion show in October. After that experience, I refused to be part of any such program this year. As I was twirling on stage the anchor said, ‘Oh! She looks absolutely normal. You can never guess by looking at her.’ I felt like a freak,” the corporate lady confided.
“Insensitive woman,” grumbled the young girl in T-shirt. “Take it as a compliment, dearie!” said the Granny in activewear. “She was being bitchy because you looked sexy,” opined the Bohemian Granny.
Turning towards the young girl she waggled her eyebrows, “So did you get a new boyfriend? The girl, obviously used to the query said ‘no’ with a shake of her head. “Should we ask that chikna in the corner?” she asked with a tilt of her head, indicating me. By this time I had shed all pretext of not listening to their conversation and smiled at her shamelessly. The girl was mortified and smiled shyly. The other Granny came to her rescue. “Okay girls! Our hour is up! Let’s meet next month unless Sheela decides to invite us for her belly dancing performance!” Hooting with laughter the group paid their bills and exited noisily. I
too grabbed my laptop and other possessions and headed towards the cash counter. I had wasted an entire hour but I refused to feel guilty and instead my heart felt happy and light.
At the adjacent table the waiter was removing the plates and coffee cups and rearranging the chairs. On my way out the chalkboard caught my attention. It read: “ECHOES welcomes THE MASTECTOMY CLUB.”
By Anindita Chowdhury
Anindita Chowdhury is a special correspondent of the English daily, The Statesman. She is based in Hyderabad. Apart from reporting, she writes short stories and essays with special focus on history, particularly the social and cultural aspects of the bygone era. She can be contacted at aninditasmail@gmail.com.
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