Goagram by Bina Nayak

Author:Bina Nayak
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: null
Publisher: HarperCollins India
Published: 2024-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

PART III

CHAPTER 18

Fuchsia Fashion

Madhur shortlists five properties and shares the listings with Karl. He responds immediately to her WhatsApp, ‘I know two of the owners, their studio apartments look nothing like the pictures they’ve posted,’ his message says. ‘But check out the other three, I’ll come along with you, if you want.’

Madhur likes a studio apartment in a bright yellow building in Mont de Guirim, called Shubhangi Niwas. It is a fifteen-minute walk from Karl’s place, and the apartment is furnished modestly, but is still a little outside her budget. ‘You are close to my home and office,’ Karl tries to convince her, ‘Jacinta and I will always be around if you need anything.’ They make the final negotiations with the owner and Madhur pays an advance.

‘I’ll accompany you tomorrow for the agreement, and also pick up your things. Will your luggage fit inside my SUV, or do you need a truck?’ he jokes.

‘I just have two suitcases,’ Madhur replies ruefully.

‘Fine then, tonight will be your last at Casa Coutinho,’ he says, ‘and I’ll inform Stella that you’re moving out.’

Madhur parks her scooter one last time outside the main entrance of Casa Coutinho. She enters the house, remembering the first time she had stepped inside. Walking around the sala, she gently caresses the furniture, antique vases, velvet lounge sofas, teakwood and mahogany display cupboards, all the framed photographs on the wall, as if acknowledging them. Every object feels alive to her touch.

Walking into her room, she sees her suitcases in one corner, her bed draped with new sheets—the old sheets are washed and put away in Mrs Coutinho’s cupboard. Her wardrobe is open and empty. Madhur inhales the intoxicating wood smell one last time—her new studio apartment has a Godrej metal almirah, just like her home in Kalkaji. She walks around her room, opening the bedstand drawers, opening the wardrobe again, entering the bathroom to check if anything is left behind, opening the wardrobe again. She latches the two windows in her room, bolts the balcony door, checks underneath the bed and opens the wardrobe again. Glancing into the oval mirror on her wardrobe, she sees tears roll down her cheeks.

Next morning, Karl arrives at 9.00 a.m. to pick her luggage and stand as witness to her rental agreement. Madhur makes a cup of chai for him and turns off the LPG cylinder. While he is loading her luggage, she takes a quick last look at the house and locks the main door. She hands over the keys to Karl, feeling a huge sense of relief and sadness. Some neighbours come outside to wish her goodbye, while a few stare from their windows. Madhur gets on her scooter and rides out of Parra through the Dear Zindagi road, passing a horde of people posing under coconut trees.

They are at Shubhangi Niwas in fifteen minutes. As Madhur is unloading her bags, a young girl—roughly the same age as her, comes by and offers to help.

‘I’m Chaitali, you must be Madhur. Baba said you’re also a fashion designer.

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