Mimosa with Samosa, Manisha (Part-1)

“Manisha, Rashmi Agarwal just called. She wants to fix an appointment for this afternoon. Call her”
“Ji Paapaji”

Rashmi Agarwal is my new client, introduced through one of my father-in-law’s temple contacts. She wants to buy a house. That’s it. She hasn’t zeroed in on a location yet. That means I will have to take her around the Orange County as well as the San Bernardino County to show her some houses and give her some knowledge about each community so that she can pick one. That means I will have to drive around all over the place hoping that she might buy a house through me at least to cover my expenses. Most of the times people who start out like this without a budget or a zip code end up buying somewhere else, with another realtor. I hope that is not the case this time. With the economy going downhill, as it is we aren’t making as much as we were, and if the people who make us run around ditch us, there is no way our profession will recover in this economy. People think being a realtor is easy. Take some pictures, list a house, wear pretty clothes and shoes, drive a swanky car and sit browsing the internet in an open house on the weekends, and make money for all of this. It’s not. We have an image of success to portray so that clients think we actually sold a lot of homes and made a lot of money and they are good hands.

I call Rashmi Agarwal and fix an appointment for the afternoon to go to Shady canyon. Apparently Ms. Agarwal has a decent amount stashed and might be able to buy something there. Or at least I can try that she does. It will be a decent earning if it happens. I get dressed to project the image of a suave realtor and pull out the Armani shades to go with it, and start the car to see Ms. Agarwal in her house first and then hit the freeway. The phone rings! I hate to use my blue tooth, but it’s the law and for my own safety.

“Hello, Vani, How are you?”
“Manisha, I am doing good, how are you?”
“Good, so, what’s up?”
“Hmm.. Madhuri is here. She wanted to talk to you”
“She lost her cell phone?”
“No, she wants to talk to you about something important, and didn’t have the courage to tell you herself. So, she came to me this afternoon”
“She came to your office? What happened? She lost her money or something?”
“Manisha, listen, this is important”
“What happened that she couldn’t lift the phone and tell me, but disturbed you at work?”
“Manisha, calm down and meet us at our house in half an hour. We are driving home”

I hate going to Vani’s house. There will be things strewn all over the place and Vani will give the same old Oh-I-am-so-busy expression. She behaves as though being a realtor is not a job at all. I am responsible for everything at home and make money in whatever time I spare each day. I spend hours reading blogs about local real estate. With the market crashing, there are blogs sprouting everywhere calling the bluffs of realtors. They check our spellings, they post the loss on the house we are about to sell, they already tell if it’s close to a freeway or in a not-so-good school district. Not like before when the client depended on you solely for all the information. I have to do that, get up-to-date with the fashion so that I don’t look dated and jaded, reading about latest gossip and movies so that I can engage my client in small talk. Politics, Bollywood, Hollywood, sports.. all ice breakers need to be ready for us. I am judged everyday on how I look, how I behave. Unlike her, who has to interview once for a job and is chained to the cubicle and the computer till they let go of her. She never cooks or cleans. She has a full-time job, so the kid is dumped in an after-school program till she or Shekhar pick her up. I have to drop off the kids, pick them up, cook for everyone, and make do with a weekly help on housecleaning. I don’t understand why this kid of mine went to her for help. I don’t even know what kind of help it is that her own mother couldn’t offer.

“Hi Vani”
“Hi Manisha, come in”
“So, where is Madhuri?”
“She is upstairs, in the game room playing some Wii game”
“What happened”
“Sit down, I will bring you something to drink”
“Actually I have to go and see a client soon”
“May be you want to cancel”
“Huh?”
“Madhuri did something and now she is worried that you will be mad at her”
“Oh! She probably didn’t get a 100% on her math again. This time she promised”
“No Manisha, it’s not that trivial”
“What happened?”
“She is pregnant”
“What!”
“I told you.. you have to calm down and listen to me”
“How could she be? I haven’t even talked to her about the birds and bees”
“Manisha, she is fourteen”
“That’s what! She is too young, Besides, she is not that kind. There might be some mistake”
“She told me that she took a test. Manisha, just because you didn’t talk doesn’t mean she doesn’t know”
“But she is not that kind. She is a good Indian girl who spends time singing bhajans in temples when her friends are singing and dancing like they are next Rihannas”
“That has nothing to do with this Manisha. Our grandmothers never wore miniskirts and danced around shaking their butts, but had babies in their teens. They never had anyone talk to them about birds and bees or show them educative videos but they knew what to do when the time came. We on the other hand went to school, educated ourselves and waited several years to experience the bodily pleasures”
“So, how far along? Who is the boy?”
“Someone she goes to Kumon with. A Chinese boy”
“Oh no!”
“What does it matter? If he is Indian, and Gujarati are you going to get them married?”
“No, that’s not the issue”
“She hasn’t told me how far along she is. But I think far enough to worry and take a test, and get a positive in the school restroom”
“Who all know about this?”
“I don’t know, I think only me. If she had told any of the girl friends, they would have helped her, and she wouldn’t have to call me”
“Vani, do me a favor”
“What?”
“Don’t tell anyone about this. Think of Madhuri like you would for Ruchi, and forget that this happened”
“Sure Manisha, you can trust me on this”
“Not even Shekhar or Ruchi should know about this”
“Sure, I promise. So, what will you do next?”
“Let me talk to her”
“Don’t be mad at her”
“I won’t be. What’s done is done. There is no point troubling the already troubled soul”
“Right”
“Hey listen, don’t tell anything to Jignesh”
“Manisha, he is the father”
“Just don’t, OK. I will figure out how to handle this mess. I don’t want everyone in the house to know and put her down every moment of the day after this”
“What are you going to do Manisha?”
“Don’t worry. I am her mother. I will do whatever is good for her”
“Madhuri, your mother is here. Come downstairs”

Madhuri still looks like a little girl walking down the stairs in her school uniform and two braids, and that messenger bag. No makeup on her face, no earrings or even a bracelet. So simple, unlike girls of her age. I still can’t believe she would do something as huge as this. I wish she had talked to me instead of going to Vani. When did I become so distant? She told me everything about school when I picked her up. About the boys, about the girls, about math that day, about how she is trying to a nerd like other Indian kids. Why did she hide just one thing, and a very important one at that?