Excerpt: The Death of Kirti Kadakia by Meeti Shroff-Shah
This extract from a murder mystery set in the wealthy enclave of Temple Hill in Mumbai, presents the novel’s central characters at the prayer meeting to condole the death of the eponymous patriarch
The soft strains of a devotional song floated out to Radhika as she entered the temple complex. It spoke of how the entire life span of man was but a fraction of a moment in the great passage of time. The prayer meeting was well under way, the hall a great sea of whites and off-whites. On the left, the men sat in crisp cotton shirts or kurtas, while on the right, the women wore Lucknowi salwaars, flared cutwork palazzos and organza saris, dazzling in their diamonds and pearls. On Temple Hill, a prayer meeting was as much a social occasion as a wedding. It was common for attendees to show up in their longest cars and largest solitaires. Though the mood was sombre and there wasn’t much conversation, it was still an opportunity to see and be seen.
Right at the front, below the stage where the musicians were performing, there were two rows of chairs facing the audience reserved for the Kadakia family. On the left, Mrs Kadakia headed one row, followed by Sanjana, Hetal and Sonal, and a couple of other women from their extended family. On the other side, Amit, as the eldest son, sat at the beginning of the row, followed by Ranjan, Jayesh and a few uncles and close cousins. From their vantage point, the Kadakias could clearly see when someone entered the room and acknowledge them when they came forward to pay their respects.
When Radhi looked around, she saw a lot of familiar faces. Neighbours, acquaintances, friends from school and college and even a few of their old teachers, who’d probably come because of Manjula Kadakia’s powerful position on a number of school boards. Radhi saw Mrs Maniar sitting a few rows ahead, busy whispering to Mrs Poddar and Mrs Gandhi. Mr Poddar was at the other end of the room, sitting right at the front in the first row, along with Mr Parekh from Sea Mist’s first floor. At the back of the room, Bhawani was sulking in one corner with Kamal and the Kadakias’ old driver, Ashokji.
Mrs Kadakia seemed to have aged a few years in the last few days, Radhika thought. Her eyes were sunken, the circles around them dark and deep, and yet her gaze was alert, her back straight.
This was a woman who only seemed to grow stronger in grief.
XXX
Manjula Kadakia looked at the roomful of people who had shown up to offer their condolences for her husband’s death. What a circus these prayer meetings could be. How did it matter if other people were sorry for your loss? Even if it were genuine, how did their fleeting presence relieve your constant suffering? What did their empty words do for the cloying emptiness that you felt within? When she died, she didn’t want a prayer meeting to be held. She would leave strict instructions for the family. If she’d had her way, she wouldn’t have had this one either. But she knew Sanjana would’ve protested. She was her father’s daughter – mulish, if she thought she was right. And Manjula didn’t have the energy to fight her. Not now. All the bitter arguments, the spiteful slights and the cold clashes with her late husband had taken the fight out of her. At least for the time being. Right now, she just wanted to be left alone. To mourn. To rest. To remember.
XXX
Hetal looked at the roomful of people who’d shown up to offer condolences for her father-in-law’s death. All the chairs were occupied and the people who were entering now had to stand. Some had positioned themselves at the back of the room, and some were leaning against the side walls. Her yoga friends were seated in the middle row and a cluster of mums from her children’s school were at the back, by the door. Hetal was glad they’d come. The size of the crowd spoke to the Kadakias’ standing in their community. It was proof of their social currency. Hetal knew her friends were taking it all in, so she sat up straighter. Perception management was everything. It seemed to her that everyone had a certain image of her. Her friends, her mother-in-law, her husband... especially her husband. But now that was about to change. People would have to recalibrate their idea of her. It wouldn’t be easy. No, she’d seen how negatively her father-in-law had reacted when he’d found out. He’d sputtered, incredulously, then furiously. He hadn’t known what to do with the information. She had begged him not to say anything, but he’d refused to cooperate. Stubborn to the very end.
XXX
Amit looked at the roomful of people who had come to mourn his father and felt a great surge of pride. This. This was real. This was what mattered. How you were mourned was proof of the life you had led. It wasn’t important now how he had felt about his father these past few days. Even gods had character flaws. His father was only human. And humans make mistakes all the time. It didn’t matter what Sonal said. She didn’t know him the way Amit did.
XXX
Mr Poddar looked around at the roomful of people who’d shown up to offer condolences to the Kadakia family. This. This was what money did. It got you friends who called you back. Colleagues who wanted to stay in touch. And relatives who were comfortable being related to you. Money got you a packed prayer meeting. Mr Poddar wondered how many people would attend his prayer meeting when he died. He had long lost touch with people he’d called friends in a previous life. He had a small extended family, but most of them were in Rajasthan. He doubted if many of them would travel to Mumbai for his funeral. They weren’t very close. Luckily, on his wife’s side there were a lot of them, all in and around Temple Hill. Even if only the first cousins showed up, there’d still be 50 of them. A good, respectable number. There were also his neighbours at Sea Mist. He’d known each family for more than four decades now. He was certain that most of them would come. Not out of love – he was optimistic, not delusional – but out of propriety. Because it was the right thing to do. And on Temple Hill, righteousness was prized. Then there were his daughter’s in-laws. His daughter, God bless her soul, had married well. They were a small family, but they had a large social circle. This was what the lack of money did, it made you worry about who would show up when you died. Money was why he had done what he had. He had tried to explain it to Kadakia. But how rigid he had been. How unreasonable. How glad he was to be rid of him.
XXX
Sonal looked at the roomful of people who’d shown up to offer them condolences and was reminded of her wedding reception. That was the last time she’d had to receive so many people. The memory of it made her cringe. How uncomfortable she’d been. How terrified that something would go wrong, that her parents or her relatives would say or do something to embarrass the Kadakias. She’d known that the Temple Hill crowd was sizing her up. They were nice enough when they walked up on the stage to wish them well, but she knew they were taking it all in, her clothes, her jewellery, even her accent! They’d analyse everything as soon as they were off the stage. But Sonal had an even greater fear. What if they didn’t? What if they found her so unremarkable that they promptly forgot all about her? Sonal had made herself utterly miserable that day. She knew how hard Amit had worked to convince his parents to agree to an ‘inappropriate’ marriage. It was probably the only time Amit had quarrelled with his father. Apart from that one other time.
XXX
Bhawani looked around at the roomful of people who’d shown up to offer condolences to the Kadakia family. He wondered how many of them really knew the old man. Like really. Wasn’t the true test of a man’s character how he treated those inferior to him? What did that say about the miserly Kadakia, then? Kadakia who’d looked the other way when Bhawani’s daughter’s wedding fell through because he hadn’t managed to come up with the dowry money. His daughter had cried for days after that. His brothers had mocked him. What was the point of working in the big city, they said, if he couldn’t manage a simple wedding dowry? It had hardly been simple. The groom’s family had asked for gold worth five lakh! Maybe they thought that because he worked in Mumbai, he shat gold bricks. But it would all be OK now. By this time, the day after tomorrow, he’d be sleeping with his head in his wife’s lap and Kadakia’s death would be like a sour dream. Yes, it would all be OK, he thought, looking at Kamal sniffling beside him, if only this foolish girl would keep her trap shut.
XXX
Ranjan looked at the roomful of people who’d shown up to offer condolences for his father’s death and suppressed the overwhelming urge to run away. Here were all these people expressing their sorrow while he, Ranjan Kadakia, still hadn’t shed a single tear. Wasn’t it meant to be easier to be charitable towards someone after they’d died? So why was he finding it impossible to grieve the man who’d sired him? How had it come to this? If the theory of karma played out like it was meant to, what would his fate be? He shuddered to think of the consequences of his actions. His last conversation with his father played over in his mind on a loop. And the thing that his father had asked of him at the end? How cruel, how cold Ranjan had been. Not for the first time he wondered how unforgivable what he had done was.
XXX
‘A big thank you to each and every one of you on behalf of the Kadakia family,’ the lead singer announced as the musicians reached the end of what seemed to be the final song of the day. ‘The family is grateful to you for having taken the time to attend this prayer meeting, as they say farewell to a beloved husband, father, father-in-law and grandfather, Shri Kirti Kadakia. Before we wind up, would anyone from his family and friends like to say a few words about Mr Kadakia?’
An expectant silence descended on the audience as they waited to see who would come forward to speak. It seemed to Radhi that the Kadakias had not anticipated this. Amit, painfully shy as always, looked down at his feet. Ranjan squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Hetal and Sonal looked at each other and then at their mother-in-law for some cue, but Mrs Kadakia continued to stare at the audience, her expression unreadable.
The silence was just about to become awkward when there was a simultaneous sound of scraping chairs. Radhi saw that the old Mr Ganatra had risen with the help of his son and a walking stick. At the same time, Sanjana had got up as well. She didn’t appear to have registered Mr Ganatra.
Radhi, who knew her friend’s face as well as she knew her own, felt her stomach lurch. Sanjana had a strange, almost reckless expression on her face. She watched, nervously, as Sanjana climbed the few steps up to the stage, without a backward glance at her brothers or anyone else in the family.