THE SALESWOMAN

Dipankar Rai lived in a third-floor apartment. Once in a while, a middle-aged woman visited him. The neighbors assumed she was his estranged wife because he became upset after her visit. But the next day, he went to collect the milk bottle and greeted everyone with a smile. His pleasing demeanor had endeared him to his neighbors, particularly the old folks. In his late forties, Dipankar looked many years younger, with no gray hair, wrinkles, dark lines under his eyes, and paunch. He dressed well, combed his hair, and trimmed his mustache. Nobody saw him in a crumpled nightdress and bathroom slippers. The women admired him for his excellent dress sense. The girls who had crossed marriageable age flirted with him with a secret desire to marry him. But he ignored them with an affable smile.

Children liked him the most because he pinched their chubby cheeks and gave them chocolates. He exchanged ‘hellos’ with teenagers and inquired about their studies. With men of his age, he exchanged pleasantries. He did namaste (with hands folded) to his elders and helped them to carry their bags, climb the stairs, and sometimes chat with them. The respect he gave them floored most wives, unused to courtesy at home. He bowed to them, and made way for them in the lift, on the staircase, and in the corridor.

The newspaper vendor, the milkman, the maid, and the gatekeeper spoke very highly of him. Some men not half as good as him felt jealous to hear his praise from their wives, who urged them to learn something from him.

Despite his omnipresence, he remained an enigma to many. The credit for adding mystery to his persona went to Sheela, his maidservant who worked in a few more houses there. She did her chores in his house first before going to others. The gossip-hungry wives waited for her impatiently. Each day, the maid had a new tale about Dipankar. Her stories were a cocktail, a little fact, and an abundance of fiction. Over the years, she’d developed a

faithful audience with more education and intelligence than her but whose hunger for gossip was insatiable. The women wanted to know everything about him, like his food habits, favorite TV programs, daily routine, and whether he colored his hair. The poor maid had to satisfy their unending curiosity. At times, she got so exasperated that she thought of leaving the job but the bribes were too tempting.

Dipankar was oblivious of the curiosity his presence had created among his neighbors. No one knew where he worked. His nameplate had his name without designation, and office reference. The rumor was that he was a senior officer in a big firm. He had no peculiar habit except he slept in the afternoon on Saturdays and hated to be disturbed. No one had the time to bother him except for the saleswomen, who did door-to-door advertisements of the newly launched products. In a bid to enter the market, the manufacturers sold them at half the price and hired educated and English-speaking young boys and girls for the job.

The security guard warned them not to ring the bell of apartment 16. For a year, nobody disturbed him. On a hot summer afternoon when he was fast asleep, someone rang the bell. He thought he was dreaming, but it rang the second time, longer than the first. He awoke, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at the wall clock. Who the hell that could be? He grumbled. He changed his clothes, put on the jeans and a T-shirt, washed his face, and walked towards the entrance. Before the bell could ring again and infuriate him, he opened the door. A young girl surprised him.

“Young lady, who do you want to meet?” he asked.

“Sir, I’m Usha, a saleswoman. I want to show you some products,” she replied.

“I don’t need anything,” he said and tried to close the door.

“Sir, please. I won’t take much of your time,” she pleaded.

He took a close look at her. She was sweating, and looked thirsty. His heart melted, and he let her in. He gestured to a sofa, and went to the kitchen. She wiped her sweat and glanced at the tastefully decorated drawing room.

His footsteps drew her attention. He walked in and handed her a glass. “Have it. You look thirsty.”

She gulped the water and placed the glass on the side table. He sat opposite her and asked, “You can show me the products.”

The saleswoman opened her carry bag and took out an assortment of items— insect repellents, gas lighters, magnetic slippers—one by one. She explained how each item worked and the company to promote it had priced them very cheap. He watched her with keen interest. When she finished, he bought a gas lighter not to disappoint her, though he didn’t need it. He went back and returned with a glass of cold drink.

“Your throat must be parched by the talking you did,” he said.

She thanked him and had the cold drink. He paid for the lighter. She glanced around and asked, “Sir, do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me if you need anything else, I’ll bring it next time.”

“A good dictionary,” he rattled out, but regretted it. It would encourage her to visit his house unnecessarily.

She stood up to leave.

“By the way, what’s your good name? I forgot to ask.”

“Usha.”

“Your top doesn’t go well with your jeans. I mean, either it should be a perfect match or a nice contrast. Remember, a good dress sense enhances one’s personality.”

Dipankar couldn’t stop himself from commenting on her awful dress sense. He rarely commented on the strangers’ clothes. In the morning, Usha had hastily worn her clothes. Now she felt awkward. She gave him a sheepish grin. “You’re right. I’ll be careful in the future.”

When she reached the door, he smiled and said, “Usha, you forgot something.”

“What?” she asked. A shiver passed through her.

“To say thanks for the cold drink.” He smiled.

“I’m so sorry. Thank you so much,” she bowed and rushed down the stairs.

Dipankar closed the door, returned to his bedroom, and lay on the bed. It was half past five and he never slept after five. He went to the kitchen, made tea, and sat before TV with tea. It struck him that he’d spent an hour with a strange girl. He’d never done that in the past. After a brief while, he went to the gym. He did the workout thrice a week.

The next day, the maidservant removed the empty glasses from the drawing room, and she noticed lipstick stains on them while washing. The sahib had lady guests last night, she smiled. It was the first incident in a year with signs of a woman’s presence in the house. Her heart went out to him. How long could a lonely man live without a woman? After all, he was a handsome man. Whenever she thought of his loneliness, she cursed his estranged wife, who had failed to discharge her wifely duties. He was a kind-hearted man, and deserved a better treatment.

Though she sympathized with him, she was unforgiving about the gossip. The stories about him were the most sought after in the colony and fetched her good tips. So far, she’d made up a few lies, but now she’d laid her hands on a true story. Not one but two women had visited Dipankar sahib last evening. The gossip-hungry wives would lap up that story, and she would extract handsome reward for that. Sheela wrapped up her work and rushed to the next house where a few women were having tea. With husbands in the office, and children in the school, they gathered in a house daily, had tea, and gossiped until lunchtime.

The maid entered with a grin. One woman remarked, “Sheela, it seems you have found something interesting.”

“Ji memsahib,” she said and walked into the kitchen.

“She’s feeling pricey. Wants more money,” spoke another woman, sipping her tea.

“Tell us about it,” said the third woman.

Sheela didn’t respond. The women got impatient. They asked the lady of the house to call her. A lot of coaxing and the promise of a hefty bribe brought the maid out of the kitchen. Sitting on the floor in their midst, she said, rolling her eyes, “Dipankar sahib had two women guests last night.”

“What!” they screamed. “We don’t believe it. He is a thorough gentleman, and has never looked at us with a bad intent.”

“In the morning, when I was cleaning the house, I picked two glasses in the drawing. Both had lipstick marks on them,” the maid explained.

The wide-eyed listeners looked at one another in dismay. They weren’t prepared for that. If that had been about their husbands, some would have believed it but about Dipankar, it was hard to digest. They held him in high esteem. If the maid was swearing she’d seen the lipstick on the glasses, it must be true, they argued. A few women, sceptical about the maid’s claim, found it hard to believe a man could have a simultaneous affair with two women. Intrigued, a woman probed the maid, “How can you be so sure there were two women?”

“Two glasses had lipstick marks,” the maid replied, unruffled.

“The stains on both glasses could be of one person,” the second woman argued.

The maid for a moment was speechless. She hadn’t thought about that. It occurred to her she’d cleaned two glasses, one smelt of cold drink and another of water. So, both stains could be of the same woman who had water first and then a cold drink. Since she’d committed that two women had visited the house, she was in no mood to climb down from that argument because it could mean a loss of face for her. So, she fabricated a lie, “Madam, I’m old enough to differentiate the color and smell of lipsticks. I distinctly remember one stain was pink and other maroon.”

The women seemed convinced by the maid’s explanation. The scandal, which in the normal course would have delighted them, was received with mixed emotions. A few were amused, but the most felt cheated. In their wildest dreams, they had never imagined something like that about a man whom they admired so much. The indignation arose out of jealousy for those two women who had walked into his heart so easily. Who were they? Where do they belong? What they looked like? The questions tormented them and the maid was to find the answers. Until Sheela brought them more news about the women in Dipankar’s life, they wouldn’t sleep in peace.

Oblivious, Dipankar went about his job. For the next month, no one disturbed him. He waited for Usha anxiously. He’d horrible time with his estranged wife who visited him a few times and fought with him. She often came unannounced and disturbed his peace. She did it purposely to upset him. After a terrible month, he wanted some solace and waited for the saleswoman.

Whenever the doorbell rang, he rushed to the door but returned disappointed when he didn’t find her. The wait wore him down. He was watching the news on a Sunday afternoon when the bell rang. Perhaps that was the newspaper vendor, who collected payment on a Sunday. He opened the door, and stood still, unbelieving his eyes.

“Sir, may I come in?” Usha said.

He noticed she was no more a hesitant girl. Unlike the last time, she wore a matching dress. Her actions were confident, and her manners pleasing. She wasn’t sweaty. It seemed she’d taken extra care to do her make-up. She opened her bag and laid out the products. He brought her a cold drink. She looked at him and said ‘thank you’ a little louder. She acted that way to tell him that she’d followed his advice religiously. She gave him an Oxford dictionary at half the price. He thanked her. Then she showed him more items in which he showed interest only to please her. Usha said, “This is all I have.”

Though he didn’t need any of those, he chose a few items and paid.

“Did you have something to eat today?” he asked.

“No, sir,” she couldn’t lie.

“Alright, wait here, I’ll get something to eat,” he said and vanished into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, she walked around and stared at every artifact. She returned to her sofa when he walked in with sandwiches and two coffees. He gave her the sandwich and coffee and sat down.

“Usha, tell me something about yourself,” he said.

The question brought a smile on her face. She replied, “Sir, I’m the lone child of my parents. My father died when I was ten. My mother has raised me singlehandedly. She wants me to do MBA and stand on my feet.”

“You’re lucky to have such a nice mother,” Dipankar said.

Then they chatted about their hobbies and interests. She was truthful in her answers. After a while, she asked leave of him. He said goodbye and closed the door. He picked the glasses, cleaned them, and replaced them in the rack. Usha during her hour-long presence had brought a fresh breeze into his life. Her visits became the most awaited event. On her third visit, she surprised him with a gift, a tie, which he accepted under one condition that it would be the last one. On every occasion, he made her a different and tastier snack. He pampered her so much that she felt awkward.

The frequency of their meetings increased. Slowly, she found virtues like compassion, truthfulness, respect for women, pleasing manners, and an immaculate sense of dressing, in him. The younger generation lacked those. She was drawn to him and sensed he was fond of her too. Many meetings later, she asked him out for dinner. Baffled, he remarked, “So, you want to go on a date with an old man.”

“Please get dressed,” she urged him.

He noticed she had stopped addressing him as sir for a quite a while now. A familiarity was growing between them. He was glad their relationship was emerging from the buyer-seller stereotype. They faced many curious glances in the corridor when they moved to the ground floor. He ignored them and drove her to the restaurant. Inside, they sat by a corner table. He pulled the chair for her and asked, “What is the special occasion?”

She giggled, like an adolescent in love and whispered, “From tomorrow, I won’t sell items and wake the sleeping people. My training’s over. I’ve got a job in Bangalore.”

“That’s great news indeed. You should celebrate it with your mother or boyfriend.”

Her cheeks dimpled as she blushed. He waited. Suddenly she leaned forward and said, “I intend to celebrate it with my boyfriend.”

He looked around and asked, “Where’s he? Call him here.”

“I don’t have to. He’s sitting before me,” she spoke briskly but confidently.

“What!”

She looked down and nodded.

“No, this can’t be true,” a stunned Dipankar mumbled. “Usha, you got it all wrong. I never looked at you from that angle.”

“Why? What’s wrong with me? Am I not young and beautiful?” Usha said.

“Exactly, that’s where the problem lies. You’re beautiful. You’re young and less than half my age.”

“I don’t bother about the age difference.”

“But I do. You should know how I feel about you.”

“Okay,” she gave him a curious look.

Dipankar took a photo of a young girl from his purse and showed it to her. She almost jumped in surprise. Though it wasn’t her photo, the girl resembled her a lot. Except for her nose, they could have been twins.

“Oh my God! Who’s she?” she asked, staring at the photo.

He wiped his moist eyes and replied, “She’s Meghna, my darling daughter.”

“Where is she?”

“She works in a company in Singapore.”

“Sir, I’m so sorry. I got it wrong. Anyway, we can be good friends and I can celebrate this with you,” Usha said, salvaging the situation. “Can’t I?”

“Sure.”

She shared her past, present, and future. He listened to her with rapt attention. After dinner, he dropped her home and asked her to invite him to her wedding. He gave her his blessings and returned.

Three months later, he was surprised to see her with a handsome man at the door. Her choice was commendable. He ushered them in and got up to make tea. She stopped him and said, “Sit with him. Today, I’ll make snacks and tea.”

Dipankar noticed Usha was taking a long time. He looked at the kitchen door. She held a large tray in her hands and walked towards them. She served sandwiches and tea and joined them.

With a glint in her eyes, she said, “Sir, when we were dating each other, Rohan asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said I had one and told him everything about you. He laughed his guts out when he heard the story. I told him that he was not half as good as you. Since then he is dying to meet you.”

“It’s god you brought him here,” Dipankar smiled.

“By the way, Rohan, how do you like my first boyfriend?” Usha teased.

“He’s a far better human being than I am.”

Dipankar fidgeted in his chair and said, “Usha is like my daughter, and you are like my son-in-law. Don’t sir me. I’m not your schoolteacher.”

They gave him the invitation. He promised them to attend their wedding. Dipankar had regained his reputation, and got a second daughter.

SP Singh, an army veteran, is a novelist, short story writer and painter. His debut novel, ‘Parrot under the Pine Tree’ was shortlisted for the Best Fiction Award at the Gurgaon Literary Festival and nominated at the Valley of Words Literary Festival in 2018. His short story, ‘Palak Dil,’ won the South Asian Award for Micro Fiction in 2019. He is the Best of the Net nominee. His works have featured in many international journals and anthologies, including Penguin Random House SEA, The Seagulls Post, Lit eZine, Aksolotl, EgoPHobia, Phoenix, Delyon World, Rio Grande Poetry Festival, Embark, Ultramarine Review, Compassiviste and MacKenzie Publishing.