The Miser and the Memsahib

The balcony was littered with the jetsam and flotsam of the household. It included amongst other odds and ends, a chipped glass photo frame, a grey rectangular clutch with a permanent gape, a handicapped high chair, an abraded gas regulator and a cracked pale green plastic bucket without a handle. This heap was being inspected by the landlady of the house. Manohar, the domestic help, was sitting obediently, on his hunches next to the heap. 

“ Bhaiyya ( Elder Brother), How much will the scrap dealer pay for this?” Her outstretched hands pointed to the discarded heap.

Manohar forced a sarcastic smile on his face.

“Memsahib (Feminine version of Master), It is we who will have to shell out something to entice the dealer to lift this garbage.”   

The landlady's face dropped upon hearing the verdict. Manohar took this as a cue to conclude the inspection. Manohar bundled the odds and ends into a plastic gunny bag, secured its mouth with a discarded jute thread and shouldered away the booty to his scooty. He delicately secured the overflowing cargo with both his legs and sped off.

Manohar was looking at the scrap dealer with the deference of a supplicant looking at his religious master. The dealer surveyed the spoils bought by Manohar with a critical eye. He fished out a crisp hundred rupee note from his wallet and dropped it into Manohar’s palm. Manohar’s face was taken over by utter disappointment. Even as he prepared to initiate a bargain with the dealer, the mobile phone beckoned to him. It was memsahib. 

He nodded his head without uttering a word in response to the orders being issued from the other end as if Memsahib was issuing them in person. After the call he walked up to the nearby Pharmacist and showed him the whatsapp message sent by memsahib. 

The Pharmacist peered at the message nonchalantly, went inside, cut a strip of tablets, slid it into a small snug fit brown paper pouch and handed it over to Manohar along with the bill. 

Manohar’s eyes widened on seeing the bill. 

“Five hundred seems too much for such tiny tablets. How about four hundred?”

The shopkeeper looked at Manohar with a mixture of scorn and shock. 

“This is not the weekly vegetable market where you buy brinjals. Be gone from here before I add some sleeping pills to this purchase as a free offer.” 

A few days later Memsahib declared that she will be selling off her daughter’s bicycle. It was a rickety piece of metal which had been last put to use a year ago. This piece of news gladdened Manohar.

Manohar was the undisputed heir to all the discarded properties of the household. Hence, it was a resounding shock for him, when Memsahib announced that Seema, the maid servant, had offered Four hundred rupees for the bicycle which offer was being seriously considered. 

Manohra’s ego suffered a grievous dent with the realisation that there was a contender to his exalted position in this household. He desperately started scouting for an opportunity to retrieve his monopoly over memsahib’s benevolence. The search did not last long.

The very next day Memsahib announced that her mother- in-law was descending upon the household soon. Manohar did not fail to smell the tinge of hostility in her tone. 

Her mother in law’s presence meant that memsahib will have to cede proprietary rights over the daily menu and the television set. The last time the old lady was here, Memsahib had to forgo most of her swiggy orders and soap operas. 

Both ladies watched and lived through the pain of the same television cryfests. However, her mother-in-law’s uncanny knack at fleshing out similarities between the scenes in the serial and their own household was something Memsahib abhorred. She decided that this time the old lady will be drawing her comparisons in solitude.

Manohar was tasked to procure a Smart television set at the lowest possible price. The term lowest elicited a sly smile on his face. Manohar approached Jaggu, the self certified electronics dealer. He selected a Twenty one inch set.  A few hours of relentless bargain which included repeated threats to reveal Jaggu’s connections with the city’s housebreakers helped Manohar seal the deal for a measly two thousand rupees. 

Jaggu, a dyed in the wool miser himself, grudgingly acknowledged that he had met his match in Manohar. Pointing to the Smart TV, Jaggu meekly spoke.

“Brother, no part of this concoction is branded or reliable. Do get a branded Voltage stabiliser before you turn it on.”

The piece of advice wafted through Manohar’s one ear and exited seamlessly through the next without creating any effect in the space between the ears. The Bicycle deal was sealed in Manohar’s  favour as an award for the disruptive price at which he had managed to purchase a flawlessly functioning Smart TV. 

It was seven in the morning a day after Memsahib’s bete-noir had arrived home. The Bicycle contract was about to be executed. 

The Smart TV had sprung to life since  early morning. The old lady was seated obediently in front of the television with folded hands. A God Man was howling out hymns propagating peace and tranquility. A graphic image of the cosmic version of the supreme lord lit up the TV screen. 

Even as Manohar extended his hands to receive the bicycle key from Memsahib, a thunderous explosion shook the foundations of the house. Memsahib, Manohar and the rest of the household rushed in to find the old lady sitting erect  with a shell shocked expression but hands still folded. The Smart TV was spewing out sparks and smoke of multiple colours and was on the verge of being rechristened a Spark TV.  It was as if the Supreme Lord had decided to step out of the TV to grace his devotees. Manohar could not help recollecting Jaggu’s brotherly advice.

No words were spoken between Memsahib and Manohar as they walked out of the room. Manohar could not get his eyes to meet that of the lady. The bicycle key was  lying on the dining table unattended. Manohar silently exited the house and sped off on his scooty never to be seen again. It was not just the Smart TV that had gone up in smoke that morning.