Murali, like thousands of other cricket-enthusiastic Indians, has woken up at five in the morning, to listen to the India versus Australia one-day international match commentary. It is the last match before the Indian team returns home.
He tosses in bed, lying on his stomach and switches the portable transistor on. He always wakes up alone these days.
No sane girl would come to a chawl for a one-night stand. It seems impossible to get a decent rented house rent in the city these days. The owners fend off bachelor boys like the plague. And this bhosdiwala Amar is making me work like a donkey, he curses. Submit this report, send that file, meet that pickpocketer, collect this information ... he doesn't want a life apart from work, so he thinks no one else does too. Chutiyapan behenchod.
The All India Radio channel comes alive with the Farooq Engineer's grim voice. "It is a bright sunny morning here in the Sydney cricket ground. Opening batsmen Krishnamachari Shrikanth and Ravi Shastri walk up to the pitch. The crowd seems to be in favour of the home boys ... first over by one of Australia's best pace bowlers McCurdy ... "
Murali listens, eyes closed. The clock ticks to half past five.
"A fast delivery by Geoff Lawson ... anddd Mohammaed Azaruddin plays an unbelievable shot from outside off stump to square leg boundary, what a brilliant shot! India's scor" The radio buzzes off with a static interference. Murali pulls the antenna higher. He picks the radio up and taps it. The disturbance prevails.
'Iski toh....' he curses and gets off the bed. He throws the door open and walks out of the house into the corridor, tapping the radio harder and holding it to his ear. The commentary becomes audible again. He lowers the volume and places it on the parapet, stretching. It is still dim outside. The koels sing in the nearby trees.
Rukmini is already awake too. He spots her sweeping the dry leaves and twigs from the frontage of her house. Murali puts his elbows on the railing, watching her sprinkle water and meticulously cleans the place with an old stick broom. She walks back into the house after that.
The cricketers decide to take a drinks break. The AIR plays Sunil Dutt and Saira Banu's superhit song in the meantime.
Mere saamne waali khidki mein,
Ek chaand ka tukda rehta hai ...
The song sings its way into the second stanza as Murali shamelessly waits for her to appear again. The sun appears at the horizon and slowly rises and hits Murali's eyes.
Barsaat bhi aakar chali gayi,
Baadal bhi garaj kar baras gaye ...
Par uski ek jhalak ko ham,
Ai husn ke maalik taras gaye ...
Rukmini reappears, bathed and changed into a printed blue sari. A towel is wrapped around her damp hair. Murali imagines tiny droplets of water on her shoulder, trickling from the few loose strands of her hair. He imagines his arms around her, kissing her shoulder and her cheeks going pink.
Rukmini sits down to draw a quick rangoli. She puts a string of jasmine flowers on the potted tulsi plant and lights two incense sticks. Just then, a crumpled-up ball of paper lands near her. Rukmini looks at it with startled eyes, and then at the direction it possibly came flying from. Murali and winks at her; it is a flirtatious wink. Rukmini's eyes light up as quickly as she reddens and turns away. She picks the paper up; it has three words scribbled on it.
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Bombay Romance ♡ COMPLETED
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