Of pests and pesticide.

'Nahin, hamare pati kaam nahin karte'
'Aap ke bachche hain?'
'Haan, nau betiyaan hai'
'Monthly income?'
'Kyon?'


Mrs. Parikh heard a number of strange stories while doing the government census rounds. But this one would surely cause a tiny statistical blip. 'Well', she thought, 'serves them right'. Forcing school teachers to take on the unenviable task of door-to-door data collection in the blistering summer heat topped the list of cruelties the school board routinely doled out to its staff. ' Hope they have twenty years of shani-dasa', she thought viciously and decided to fill in Late B. J. Hirnani particulars from her own imagination.

Pooja Hirnani slammed the door and heaved a tiny sigh of relief. The censuswali didn't even blink at the mention of nine daughters. It was becoming harder to hide 'the girls' from all these prying eyes. People were probably saying something nasty behind her back, after all nine paying guests, all girls, didn't exactly look respectable. But that was the least of her worries.

She sat down to supervise the two workers who were being paid to carve out yet another room from the rapidly shrinking apartment. The house was beginning to resemble a bee-hive with flimsy plywood partitions. A bee-hive populated by strangers, who shared a bathroom and ignored each other's presence with practised finesse. But for the landlady, every extra girl was worth five thousand rupees. Dhanlakshmis indeed. She would bend over backwards to cater to their whims and fancies. 'Beta, aap chai laynge?'. 'Beta, aapki tabiyaat kaisi hai?'. She didn't care two chavannis for their welfare. It was all part of 'you-pay-I-simper' routine she had perfected over the years.

Some of the girls secretly swapped stories about 'that Hirnani rodent'. Of how her kitchen was a playground for cockroaches and how she rummagaged the girls' dustbins for food. Of how she mistreated Suman bai and how Ganga bai mistreated her. Of her obsession with money and how she saved on her husband's medical bills and sent him to 'his heavenly abode'. 'Lying is second nature to her', they whispered, 'lock your cupboards. Count your clothes and measure out your shampoo. You never know with her.' They say gossip is a facet of the truth. The truth, however, always generates the most colorful scandals, don't you think?

Saturday morning ki baat hai.
'Beta, aaj thoda late aana. Maine ghar me pesticide karne ko bulaya hai.'
'Achcha, Pooja aunty. Khidkiyaan kholna mat buliye, aunty.'

One of the girls received a frantic call from a fellow paying guest in the evening. There were police pounding down the door. The girls desperately tried contacting each other. 'Where is that woman?' 'You mean, she has vanished?' ' Yaar, I haven't seen her since ten in the morning'. 'Kya bol rahi hai tu?, pick up your stuff and leave man!'. 'Do you have Sneha's number?' 'Police raid?'. 'Why? Is keeping paying guests illegal?'.'Hey bhagwan, mera exam hai kal!'. 'Woh pesticide ka kya hua?'

The girls vanished as quickly as they came. Dozens of stories floated around after the incident. Apparently Late B J Hirnani had a couple of secrets. He had pledged the property over to his business partners after making huge losses. The property was seized by the High Court to settle the case. Keeping paying guests in such a situation could have triggered the raid. Another version talked of land-grabbing and goonda-gardi.
'They come at night and murder people in their sleep. Land is very valuable, no?'.
'Kaise kaise log hote hai! Yeh tho kuch nahin tha'.
Pooja Hirnani is yet to come back home. If she does, she will be greeted by a massive lock and a court summons. Then again, she probably will never return. The pesticide was quite potent.