A Hundred Flukes

Accident

Chapter 6

New Delhi

Devyani Raizada was a woman of extraordinary youthfulness. The 78 year old widow of Pratap Singh Raizada had as many wrinkles on her face as grey hair on her head- both beyond numbers, still she ran on the stairs with the agility of a seven year old. The straightness of her back was comparable with a plumb line; her heart would beat 72 times a minute, her blood pressure never quivered beyond or before 120/80, her hemoglobin 12 and sugar levels admirable. Doctors could well put her up as the specimen of perfect health and ventured to predict she would sure shot hit her century.

Had her daughter not died that fateful night years back, Devyani would have been healthier was her conviction. A debater and an artist Devyani patronized the conservatism in Indian culture and was forever critical of its so called 'westernization'. An outside supporter of the RSS (Rashtriya Seva Sangh), she held several Satsangs but remained the worldly duck who could only think about her grandchildren even in the mouth of the Vaishno Devi cave.

The chauffer opened the rear door of the sparkling white Porsche; Devyani Raizada disembarked, clad in white chiffon sari with silver embroidery. The Bahrain pearls gave her an almost divine aura as she brisked her pace towards the entrance of the palatial Raizada Mansion which she had named 'Shantivan' two and a half years back when her family had moved into it.

"Where is Lakshmi?" she demanded from the more than a dozen servants who lined up in front of her.

"Wow nani, you are back!" Anjali flashed a bright smile while touching her feet. Her grand-daughter’s face made Mrs. Raizada forget that there was a world that existed beyond that face.

"Oh, my daughter when did you come? Where is my dear son-in-law and what about your oafish brothers?"

"Easy nanz" said Anjali nudging at her, "MJ's off to Bombay, so I thought I'd drop here and stay with you guys while he's away. I came here the day before and found the boys were off to Lucknow, so I followed them there."

"Lukhnow?" Devyani gasped.

"All's fine nani, just business. We flew back in Delhi yesterday.

                                                             ****

The huge mirror reflected the gargantuan bling of the yellow metal but Manorma Raizada could never be pleased enough. Her husband remarked that she alone was responsible for the decline in the value of Ruppee in circulation as she held half of the RBI's gold assets.

"You just sut up" she scolded the scientist who was her forever obedient husband. Mahendra Singh Raizada was never allowed to have a voice. Regarded as inept by both his mother and wife, he remained quiet in his shell for most of the day, delving only in his research at which he was as successful as he was at reconciling the differences between both the women in his life.

"One, your mother," Manorma grumbled, "will never understand me, two, you- momma's boy will never speak for me." she said as she wore another coat of the flashy pink lipstick that matched with her equally flashy pink saree with broad golden border.

"Manu, it’s just a simple pooja, only family, just the five of us, not a party that you are dressing like that."

"You just sut up! A woman of my stature doesn't step out of her bed without adorning the finesht silk."

"Finest." Mahendra corrected.

"Oh, the same and does not step out of her room without being wrapped in gold." she said haughtily and lifted her plump frame from in front of the mirror giving her reflection a last admiring look. With elbows resting on her waist and forearms thrown up open reaching till her shoulders, she walked like a house-maid who just got her month's salary in advance. Manorma Raizada could never learn sophistication. All of the ostentations, all of the bling were abject failures in disguising her proletarian background.