Samaira:

January 5, 2017

The drive to Mahabaleshwar is silent as Veer sleeps in Sunita's lap. My dad, Ravindra sits in the passenger seat with his gaze across the crests and troughs of the terrain. I use this time to make a to-do list in my head. Harmeet is already in Mahabaleshwar waiting for me to relieve him of his duties. He had asked for white porcelain material sofa set with burgundy arm rests. The electrician was already working on fixing of new light fixtures. The plumber was to come tomorrow to review the situation of the piping and drainage.

"I think I will join work now that we are going back," Dad says turning to look at me.

"I hope you can," I reply and catch mom's eyes in the back mirror. "But let's just be careful."

"He will not come all the way to Panchgani, will he?" I understand the concern in his voice.

"Just hoping, Baba. Mohan is angry and pissed. That's a troubling combination," I respond.

"Aap itni jaldbaji kyu kar rahe ho?" my mom interjects, struggling to keep her tone down. "Why are you deciding now?"

"I know what you mean, Sunita. I am not running away from my responsibility," he answers irritably.

I change the subject quickly to something less troublesome. I tell them about my plan to finish off the work early so that I can get some days with them before coming back to Mumbai. They still don't like the idea of me living in the Wilson House in the midst of men working. But that is the only way I can complete the work on time and oversee each task to perfection. My parent's house was an hour way from the Wilson House, mainly because of the rough roads. It was hardly thirty miles apart, nestling between two villages outside Mahabaleshwar. It offers a splendid view of a strawberry plantation in the valley.

As we reach Panchgani well before the daylight, we head straight to my parent's house. I freshen up and get Veer settled in. He seems excited to see mountainous red soil in the front yard of the house, where he plans to play as soon as I will be out of sight. Give him some water and dirt and he will play with it all day long. My parents rarely raise an objection at his liking to get dirtied, sometimes they encourage it. I only pretend to scowl at that every time.

After an hour and a mug full of coffee in my system, I take off with my bag to my destination. I pull my sweater around me as the throbbing cold prickles my skin. The drop in temperature from Mumbai to here is pretty evident. I had to launder my old stock of winter clothes for this trip as I never used one in the damp and warm Mumbai.

I reach the Wilson House after testing my driving abilities to maximum, but when the front side of the manor comes to my vision, I gasp. I get out of the car and rub my arms with both hands. Passing through the overgrown hedges and unruly climbers, the two storied black stone structure is a vision.

The retracting sunrays glisten on the black stone walls. On both side of the house are small towers, which meant the stairway was on both the sides. It had Romanian windows with white panels, battered white anyway. The door was an old style teakwood door which opened in the middle and had carvings of iron. It was small considering the large height of the floor. The house has a front porch which led to another set of stairs which curve from both the sides and end up at my feet, the spot I stand now. I know after I had done with the house, it was going to be a landmark in Panchgani area.

"It's about time," Harmeet says standing on the small iron rails of the stairs, breaking my inspection.

"Sorry, I can't drive like you with your purring Toyota SUV," I retort, giggling. "And it's good to see you too."

"It's good to see you, madam. Now can we please get started so that I can drive back to my wife," he gestures me in a dramatic fashion drawing another chuckle from me.

I carry my bag and enter through the door and a narrow passageway which opens into a cozy sitting area. Meanwhile, I take in the textures of walls, floor, furnishing and starts scrutinizing the best color palette for space. Harmeet then introduces me to the electrician and two local helps he recruited for the project. We sit across and discuss the tasks to be done and the timelines of the same. I am glad that Harmeet selected the exact combination which came to my mind. Ink blue and white shades. He already bought the paints and plywood for the flooring.

The three men are happy to talk to me in Marathi, the local language. They tell me that from tomorrow onwards one housekeeper and one cook will be at my service for the month I am going to spend here.

Harmeet takes me on the tour of the entire house and explains what he has envisioned for the rooms. We take a full hour in the kitchen, discussing the probable changes which had to be done to make it modern. It is shabby considering it was not used for decades.

"That's about it, Samaira. Now can I leave?" Harmeet asks glancing at his watch in an evident hurry.

"All right," I nod and smile. "I have the plan, the phone numbers and the people with me for the support. I think I am set."

"One more thing," he says picking his bag from below the archway separating the living room and dining area. "Sameer Deshpande is planning to come here to oversee the status. I asked him to call you before coming."

I acknowledge and proceed to wave him goodbye. Meanwhile the electrician, Manish too turns to leave. I suddenly feel lonely in the place. Rajesh and Guru, the local workers help me to set my bag to one of the guest bedroom and leaves. I make myself instant noodles and set myself in the bed of new surroundings. The empty house suddenly starts making me lonely. Aai and Veer surround me their presence and warmth. I feel serene after the tumultuous five years with Mohan and his parents.

I shudder even now when I think about the restraints they subjected me to. The Daughter-in-law of Bhausaheb Chauhan was to be always clad in a sari with a prominent Bindi and no social association outside their circle. The big boundary wall around the house was a cage for a carefree girl like me. The false pretenses in which Mohan had me love him fell apart only after few days in the house. He wanted me to be his wife and then he could meander outside with other girls. But he needed to marry a local girl like me for the public eye.

Bhuasaheb always told me to get adjusted to wealth and power. And that someday he would make me the face of the Bharat Jan Party, he was a part of since last forty-six years. He knew well that his son would never be competent enough to play politics as he neither had any knowledge nor any interest in politics. He toiled away money to betting and extortion.

Shrugging the memories away, I rummaged through my tote bag and pulled out the Space magazine. While reading through the seven advantages of the neutral color palate for beachside houses, I doze off.

In the morning, the shrill house bell stirs me from my deep slumber. Even in my still half awake state, I make a mental note to change the bell. It takes me two minutes to make myself to open the door, after adding layers to my body in the chilled morning. As I open the door, I see a thin woman clad in nylon sari and a sweater and a plump short man standing five feet from the door. There was still dark outside with indigo skyline hinting

"Saheb instructed us to come in the morning," the woman say in a strained tone, her teeth clattering due to the harsh cold wind. Her pallu was draped over her head and she carried a grocery bag in her hand.

"Are you the maid, Kamla?" I ask, wrapping my arms around me.

She vigorously nods as if to shake out the cold from her body. "This is my husband. He is the gardeners and housekeeper too."

The man quickly puts his palms together in greeting, "Namaste, madam. You can call me Haribhau."

I make the same gesture. "Namaste. Please enter, it is really cold outside."

As they take their place in the kitchen, I proceed to take bath and ready myself for work. I need to plan my day before the plumber and electrician would arrive. I sip a hot cup of tea while taking a tour of the house, inspecting each room in the morning light. The electrician already pulled out wiring from the walls, which were strewn in the rooms. I hate the mess. I need to make sure the people work in my terms. I take another mental note to the property manager to call a landscape specialist and see what could be done with the overgrown hedges. That was the only part Harmeet could not plan before leaving.

I take my tablet and move into the verandah of east side opening through the kitchen and dining area. When I see the view, I stop myself for full minutes and watch the cloud cover over the valley. The clouds looked like mysterious fumes in the early morning, touching the crown of the trees and snaked roads along the mountain. The cold felt pleasant and welcoming. So I sit down, almost forgetting work and taking in the fresh air and hot tea. If life can be this easy and serene!

I remember the similar setting in Manali, only a few years earlier. I sat with Mohan on a private balcony of Mayfair resort looking the beauty of mountain Kanchenjunga. We tried to revive our marriage when Veer was only one-year-old. That was the only day when he managed to spend with me. And yet it was not at all special. I shouldn't dwell on those memories, I tell myself. Just a past chapter of life. I have three weeks to complete this job and I need to focus.

Josh:

January 7, 2017

I hum a tune under my breath as I look out the window of Emirates flight from ten thousand feet. Mumbai is drawing closer and here I am with a new tune in my head. Maybe Richard is right after all. While I watched a girl who sat in the opposite seat from me, a tune had sprung in my head out of nowhere. She looked like Serena with the high cheekbones and contour of her lips. I am not sure when I had slept off, humming the tune over and over again, remembering our time together.

Now as the city drew closer, I watch with wonder. Mumbai looks like a city of contrast. Amidst of moderately tall towers were thick slums which resembled like matchboxes in shape, black and haggard. I sort of remember NY. Both cities had thick traffic and a hell lot of people. Well, I don't have to be concerned about it. I am going to a relatively less populated hill station.

After what seemed like forever the baggage finally arrives. After dragging the trolley to the exit, I spot a man standing with my name tag.

"Welcome to India, Mr. Hudson," he says in a very Indian accent and took my trolley from my hold. "This way please."

After walking a good half-mile, I spot his car. It's a black Mercedes C class. Well, what more I can get here! The cars here dated back ten years from the US. Richard and his ingenious plans! The driver asks me when I would like to leave for Panchgani. As I feel too tired, I tell him to stay put for the day at the hotel and that maybe in the evening we can leave for Panchgani.

The Trident hotel by the sea face is a pleasant sight. I think of sleeping in the warm sheets and try to stomach the jetlag.

**Now in the next update Samaira and Josh meets for the first time... Will update in some hours... Meanwhile, show your enthusiasm... Talk about A Song For You with #ASFY ... And share away!**