Malavika’s Mumbaistan: Tea and Talk

During the pandemic’s forced isolation of closed doors distancing and masks we’d lost touch and only recently I’d caught glimpses of her back at her old haunts: on ski slopes and bespoke getaways, art soirees, three Michelin star eateries and black tie events

The phone rang

Malavika’s Mumbaistan: Tea and Talk

It was our Oolong Tea Serving Hostess Friend (OTSHF); after a long hiatus.

Where had she been all this while? We’d missed her company.

After all, she was famous for her peripatetic lifestyle and her connections in every drawing room that mattered- from Mumbai, to Delhi to Paris and New York and Bhubaneshwar and Berlin and Budapest to name a few.

During the pandemic’s forced isolation of closed doors, distancing and masks, we’d lost touch and only recently I’d caught glimpses of her back at her old haunts: on ski slopes and bespoke getaways, art soirees, three Michelin star eateries and black tie events.

How had the years treated her? Had she changed?

Her response to our query ‘where on earth have you been’, was characteristically vague.

‘Oh you know the usual: Mumbai- Delhi- New York - Paris- and everything in between.’ she trilled before inviting us to come by- for what else ?

Some Tea and Talk.

***

It had been a while since we’d rung the bell to the OTSHF’s well appointed digs in a quiet neighbourhood in a cul de sac of the city, but we were happy to see not much had changed.

The same air of bygone glamour, the same memorabilia from her abundant travels across the world and the same cavalcade of stories, tales, accounts and observations about people, from what she called ‘here and there’.

It was said that the OTFSH was a good listener and people tended to tell her things. (it was also said that what they didn’t, she got to know anyway.)

It had been a consequence of what she described as ‘hanging around many levels of various food chains’ over the years. It had given her a pretty good antennae for an understanding of human behaviour and the way things panned out.

It was said that though the OTSHF often appeared as though she couldn’t find her way out of a cubicle, she could read a room and what was really going on beneath its surface, the undertone and the things left unsaid, as accurately as a gypsy could read the tea leaves.

***

So there I was, being greeted by her trusty bearer ‘Boy’ and after his customary three soft knocks on her bedroom door, was led into the recesses of her inner chambers.

And there she was: the OTFSH.

Just the same behind her pillows and poufs and puffs.

But not quite.

Perhaps it was the early evening light, but I couldn’t tell if she looked older or younger, bigger or smaller, or even if like everyone else after the pandemic, she just looked wiser.

Or perhaps just more weathered.

***

As always there was no small talk; the OTSFH always went straight for the jugular “Ah, there you are. Come, sit. What a great time to be alive if you love the theatre of the absurd. Tea?” was her opening gambit, even before the bearer had shuffled in with the tea tray filled with home made cakes and pastries.

And from then, it was a roller coaster: about the people and places , the high and mighty, the low and humble, the simple and the complicated, she’d encountered from all the months we’d not been in touch.

“Have you noticed how the more things change the more they stay the same? I mean you’d think that having been so close to their own mortality, suffering and loss, people would finally grow up, make peace with themselves and others and live and let live, no? the OTFSH was saying, balancing a perfectly held teacup in her hand.

“But no, there they are, still consumed with hatred, still indulging in petty one- upmanship, garden variety snobbery, monstrous social mountaineering, low level hustling, insincerity, primitive tribalism, kindergarten groupisms, gas-lighting, cynicism.”

***

I nodded sagely, but couldn’t for the life of me understand what the OTSHF was going on about. Did she mean the people she encountered on a daily basis in the swish circles she moved in? Or the pandemic? Or how people had been dealing with its aftermath? Or the demons that they’d silently wrestled with and the demons they still were?

I thought the best way to catch up was by prodding her with a bit of small talk:

Where had she travelled to recently?

But the OTSFH was having none of it

***

“I mean I’ve never been able to understand the seriousness of it all, the seriousness of pride and prejudice. People talk, act, live as if they’re never going to die. And what do they leave behind? Nothing. Nothing but a mask.” She pronounced dramatically.

Mask? Was she referring to the one she’d worn during the pandemic? I looked around to check, but there was none in sight.

The bearer ‘Boy’ shrugged and gestured helpfully towards her commodious Amirah.

***

Now, there was no stopping the OTSFH. She was on a roll: “One would have thought that people would use their time in isolation to evolve, grow, transcend their limitations and hang ups, be kinder to themselves and others But no : still the same old harsh judgments, fake friendships, false words, meanness, pettiness, apathy, runaway egotism, hustling and opportunism,” she said “In fact it ‘seems like it’s got worse…”

***

Worse? I said, looking alarmed. But the OTFSH was in full steam now.

“Yes they look like an innocent flower, but be the serpent under it. They give themselves all kinds of airs and graces. Do a pennyworth but strut about as though they had done a hundred roubles’ worth. Are consumed by envy and jealousy. Are like The green-eyed monster, which mock the meat it feeds on. Have placed a halo around their heads and opinions. Are quick to condemn and judge and the worst –the worst of all- are the ones who occupy the bottom of the social abyss- the ones who bitch and complain ceaselessly about their own dearest friends and betray their confidences behind their back -you cannot imagine the stories they tell about each other.” said the OTSHF, suddenly shuddering so emphatically that her pet pooch, sleeping under her pouf, momentarily twitched open an eye.

I realised it was time to put a stop to her soliloquy.

“But surely not everyone is like that? I said to the OTSHF. Surely there are those that redeem your faith in humanity?”

***

“Huh? Of course dear girl. “Said the OTSHF , How else would I have survived otherwise? No, of course not all are like that. There are still lots of people who are genuine, compassionate, kind and believe in living and letting live. In empathy and integrity. People tired of bullshit who walk in light and laughter and love. People who stand quietly by your side when the going is tough. Gentle people, who understand things without them being said. In fact, the best thing you learn when you inhabit the circles I do, is that people will never cease to surprise you - and that tough times teach you so much about their character. And that is the saving grace” said the OTSFH, adding “How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.”

***

I could see that the OTSFH was now slipping into anecdotage and it was time for me to go.

Just one thing, I said to her, before I walked out: The people you were referring to : which city do they belong to?

But it was too late, the door had shut behind me, before I caught the OTSFH’s answer.

***

It was only later, when I encountered the rank, heavy, odious air outside and reflected over our conversation, that I realised that throughout our chat, the OTFSH had quoted variously from Shakespeare, Chekov, Bob Dylan and sundry randomly -circulated WhatsApp memes and wisdoms, she received on her phone.

Another visit was certainly called for soon.