One Foot In The Grave

Chapter 6: The Gossip Floor

Vasu, Day 8

"Ready?"

"One."

"Two."

The carpet descended, spiralling in the air, and landed on the earth with a violent thud. Vasu wondered if the earth had broken. Along with Kalyani, he glanced from the second-floor window, laughing at the way the carpet fell. From up there, the carpet looked like a tiny red snake.

"There's an odd satisfaction in throwing objects out the window," Kalyani said, dusting her hands. Then she walked to the dais at the end of the floor.

Although Vasu was happy he tricked the village head, Indira, into sending Kalyani to Dwaraka, he didn't rush into a conversation yet. She was the last person on his list, and he needed her to talk. So he let her enjoy cleaning with him.

The second floor of the house was basically a mini-theatre since the house had been built. A big, wide space filled with carpets for the people to sit and enjoy the dramatics. Vishwa's grandfather used to bring artists—actors, dancers, singers and musicians—from the other villages to perform on this very floor. Vishwa's father continued the legacy but updated himself by putting up a white cloth on the dais and playing movies with the projector. Vasu knew it was after Vishwa's father's death that this room had come to waste. Yamuna, depressed by her husband's death, refused to enter this room ever again. Vishwa never cared anyway. The room had lost its essence; it became mute and deaf.

Vasu walked past a long, stretched-out white blanket. When the renovation had stopped, the workers left everything behind and unattended, the tools had been rusted and cobwebbed. He pushed the sharper objects such as see-saw blades, pliers and drillers to the background, placed the incised wooden and metal pieces upon them and slid the leftover paint cans near each other and covered all of them under a giant white sheet.

"My mother still remembers this place. She boasts she has seen movies like Mayabazar and Missamma here," Kalyani said, sitting on the dais with legs stretched to the front and hands leaned backwards. She was wearing a facade, burying the fact that she ended up as a maid. He didn't point it out.

"I love those movies," Vasu said.

She made a click with her tongue and said, "Is there any chance Mr Vishwa makes this a theatre or something? I mean a huge screen and some speakers."

"I don't think he's interested in such things," Vasu said.

"It's a shame."

He nodded. "It really is."

"Vasu," Kalyani called. "Do you like working here? At Dwaraka?"

He scrutinized her. Short hair. Ponytail. A faded, long-sleeved orange top and a white legging. A barbell nose-ring. This girl was a subdued version of Bhanu minus the attitude and the gum, which she had been chewing forever.

"I don't hate it," he said. "They take care of me."

"Lucky you." Kalyani scoffed.

"We still have to remove the other carpet."

Both of them jadedly watched the pale, dusty carpet that covered half the floor with the colour of a cream biscuit throwing up.

"I need a break. We are working for an hour now," she said.

Even though he did most of the work, he let her relax. He strolled near the window, taking in the floor's view. Windows rowed on both sides, and he opened all of them. The wind flew in and out, whistling, playing hide and seek with itself. He leaned to a windowsill and the back of his shirt fluttered. His sweat touched coldly against his skin for the breeze. It seemed like it would rain. But Vasu didn't consider it. The weather had cheated him several times before.