Page 45 of Musafir Cafe

‘How are you going to figure that out from my room?’

‘The way we stay in our rooms says a lot about who we are as a person.’

‘But it doesn’t make a difference to you, does it, who I am?’

‘Nope.’

‘Then why do you want to see it?’

‘Just like that.’

Saying this, Pummy held on to the little finger of Chandar’s hand. His little finger hugged her little finger. He entered the hotel with her. The reception guy saw them together, winked at Chandar and said, ‘Sir, let me know if you need anything at all.’

The moment they entered the room, it embraced them. Pummy had brought a little bit of Mussoorie’s mist with her, and Chandar was carrying all the memories of Honeymoon Inn that he couldn’t make. Chandar started looking for Sudha’s memories in Pummy; Pummy started to look for new ones in him. Mussoorie’s fog started to melt in Pummy and Chandar’s new habits. Sometimes all it takes to truly come closer is an evening.

The next week, Chandar and Pummy didn’t talk much. Chandar had finished reading all his books in a week; Pummy finished all the paperwork of the café. She called him to the registrar’s office. He was startled to see his name in the papers. Her paperwork listed Chandar as a 50 per cent owner of the café.

When he asked Pummy about it, she shrugged it off with a smile. ‘Had it not been for you, Musafir Café would have remained just a dream.’

Chandar didn’t say anything. When he was signing those papers, he was reminded of Sudha. He also remembered that there was no single paper in the entire world that bore their signature together.

As soon as he signed, Pummy said, ‘Check out from the hotel and come stay at my home. It’s not a palace exactly, but you won’t have any problems.’

Chandar neither accepted nor rejected this proposal. He picked up his bag and books and reached Pummy’s house, all the time wondering whether this was the right thing to do. The world that had defined right and wrong for such things was now behind him. When he thought of the unborn baby, he started to feel everything was wrong. Pummy showed Chandar his room. It didn’t have many things; it was empty like his own life. A single bed, a table and a chair.

Chandar felt weird all evening; he didn’t talk much. He felt the exact way he had felt when Sudha had moved into his house. Even as he thought of all this, he picked up Pummy’s phone and dialled Sudha.

‘Hello, Chandar here.’

‘How are you?’

‘I am fine. You tell me, how are you?’

‘I am good.’

‘How’s your health?’

‘It’s fine now.’

‘Had your dinner?’

‘Yes. You?’

‘Not yet. Will have it in some time.’

‘This is your new number?’

‘No. This is Pummy’s number.’

‘Pummy who?’

‘I’ll tell you, it’s a long story. I met her here in Mussoorie. I have bought a café with her.’

‘So you don’t have any plans of coming back?’

‘No idea yet. If you want me to, I’ll come.’

‘No, don’t come back because of me.’