Of Guccis, Husbands, And Cats

Doyel got up from her bed, rubbed her groggy eyes, and yawned loudly. The grey tabby purred and rubbed his face against her ankles. Smiling, Doyel picked him up when she realised that 1) she did not own a cat and 2) her husband, Chinmoy, was nowhere to be seen.

BLAME IT ON THE HUSBAND

Exactly twelve hours before Doyel woke up, she was downing an Old Fashioned at Tantra.

“Haaayyyynnnnn!” she flung the multi-purpose Bengali word (that could entail anything from a ‘yes’ to a ‘what’ to a ‘could you repeat the phrase again’) at Chinmoy.

Her husband burped after placing the Budweiser bottle on the table.

Amid the din, Chinmoy explained to Doyel that

1. He had decided to quit his job as a Chartered Accountant because he had had enough of filing IT returns for clueless individuals who did not even know the difference between Form 16 and Form 26 (AS).
2. After watching IIM Baba donning the robes of a Vaishnavite at Mayapur and becoming more viral than Corona or Nipah, he had found his true calling.
3. He would retire to the Himalayas in search of true Nirvana.
4. Of course, he would first acclimatise himself to the life of a monk at Ramkrishna Math before heading to the hills.
5. He would sell off the Rajerhat flat only to a Bengali buyer because he couldn’t bear to see his house become a haven for vegetarians.
6. Doyel would become the owner of their Gariahat house because South Kolkata was not only safer than other areas, but also Sabitri mashima would take care of the freshly deserted Doyel like her own daughter.

Arijit Singh’s Channe Mereya echoed (only) in Doyel’s ears as Chinmoy decided to order one last Jack Daniels before he turned over a new life and became an ascetic, subsisting on a satvik diet.

“Why this attachment towards your Rajerhat house then?” Doyel murmured to herself, rolling her eyes.

BEFORE YOU SAY JACK DANIELS

Exactly ten hours before Doyel woke up, she was trying to book an Uber from the premises of The Park. As soon as Chinmoy was done outlining his detailed plan, she had ordered a Long Island and spent the next hour convincing him that there are other ways to jinx one’s life without dragging innocents into it.

But Chinmoy was adamant on becoming Guru Chinmoyoswami at the upcoming Kumbh Mela.

Exasperated, Doyel beckoned the server and asked for the bill.

“D… do you know how m.. much petrol an SUV g… guzzles?” Chinmoy slurred as they stood outside The Park.

The Old Fashioned, the Long Island, and the googlies from her husband began to take their toll on Doyel, as a terrible migraine gnawed at her. Mercifully, she succeeded in bagging a ride with her prepaid Uber money. However, her relief proved to be short-lived when Chinmoy decided to embark on what he thought was a trek to Gariahat.

“Hey! Stop! What do you think you’re doing?” Doyel screamed, pointing a finger at Chinmoy.

Many things happened at that exact moment.

1. Doyel’s grey Gucci bag fell down.
2. A white i20 glided to a halt.
3. Chinmoy leaned against a lamppost and vomited on a banner proclaiming a 50% discount on sarees at Kimbadanti.
4. “Doyel Mitter?” The driver called out to her.
5. O Tumpa Sona Duto Hampi Dena … the ringtone of a mobile demolished the silence.
6. Distracted for a nanosecond, Doyel glared at the driver. Didn’t he have any other decent music?
7. Mumbling, Doyel picked up the fluffy Gucci from the footpath and got into the Uber.
8. Chinmoy wiped his mouth and decided to check if chelo kabab was still available at Peter Cat

The i20 sprang to life. The driver, eager to go home, ignored the cat scratching the upholstery. Doyel, still smarting under the thought of Sabitri mashima cooing over her like a protective mother hen, closed her eyes.

MISSING: HUSBAND, BAG, AND SANITY

Exactly thirty minutes after Doyel woke up, the grey tabby meowed at her, as if berating her.

Doyel dropped the cat softly on the floor. Confusion still reigned in her mind. How did this tabby get here? A voice whispered in her head, “You forgot your husband, lady?”

She plonked down on the bed again, trying to recollect the chain of events that caused her to ditch Chinmoy and adopt Mr. Grey. The Uber driver had caused her BP to rise by playing that horrible song. Did she by any chance pick up the cat instead of her Gucci? Was she really so drunk that she couldn’t distinguish between fur and leather? And then … panic! Doyel looked around, dashed to the living room, and searched everywhere. Her bag was nowhere to be seen.

Damn!

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

Exactly two hours after Doyel woke up, the doorbell rang. As soon as she spotted a sheepish Chinmoy, she placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. Inwardly, she was relieved, but she did not show it.

“Erm! You left me at Park Street alone!” Chinmoy’s tone was not accusing, though. He handed over her Gucci bag. “I turned back to see your bag on the floor. But you were not there. My mobile battery was down to 1%. Thank God, I met a classmate emerging from Tantra. He took me home.”

Suddenly remembering that he was still standing at the threshold, Doyel moved aside to let Chinmoy in.

“Who is this?” He asked Doyel.

“I can’t even explain now.” Doyel sighed. “By the way, what about your lofty plans?”

“I think I will stick to being a Chartered Accountant,” Chinmoy admitted. “My friend told me that a Bengali’s life without maach was bland – like Ranveer Singh in a three-piece suit.”

“As if I spoke to you in Greek!” Doyel hissed.

The tabby purred. Chinmoy looked at him lovingly. “Let’s adopt him.”

Doyel shrugged her shoulders. “Hmm. He did select us.”

“What shall we name him? Swami? Christian Grey?”

Doyel allowed a grin to part her lips. “Gucci!”

By Narayani V Manapadam

“Narayani is an IT Professional lost in the dreary world of Excel. When time permits, she loves to get lost in the maze of Word(s). But nothing makes her happier than being a cat momma to her beloved Uttam.”

She can be contacted at fraunara@gmail.com.