Bombay Stories, Fictional curry

The Water Game

“Water, water, everywhere,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.”

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

In this old-rickety building of two floors and six flats, new neighbours have arrived. A family of six we are told: A couple with three very young boys and a baby girl. They have occupied the flat on the last floor. 
And as excited as the rest of the Christian colony is, nothing has disturbed the occupants of Stellar Mansion more than the thought of how the municipal water will now be distributed in the building.
The remaining residents, all ageing, total only six, with one old woman — either widowed or single — in each flat; the previous misfits being the Machado couple, who like the others are also riding in the sunset, and whose two children are settled, much to their displeasure, in Australia. Their happiness knew no containment when they learnt of a new family having moved in.

“It will be like the good old days again…aaah…the sound of young kids in our building..I cannot wait Joseph, I cannot wait,” Mrs Merlyn Machado whispered into her husband’s ear, even as her next-door neighbour and the society’s secretary Ellena sat across the other end of their drawing room rambling about the hubbub that the rest of them were to expect, now that Stellar Mansion was going to be home to four young children.

“Its been so long since we had children in Stellar. Almost 15 years now, the last being your son, Merlyn, who followed your daughter Sarah’s footsteps and went abroad. There has been so much peace and quiet since…I don’t know how I am going to cope with having a family around…” Ellena would have continued, but Merlyn cut her short. “What do you mean by ‘peace and quiet’ Ellena? Were my kids noisy, did they bother you..”

“No, no, no, no. That is not what I meant Merlyn darling. You raised such sweethearts, they still send me Christmas cards each year. Sigh, I cannot expect every family to inculcate such discipline in kids like the two of you did.”

“Don’t fall for it Mel. She is humouring you…you know the tough time she gave us when Pat and Sarah were around,” Joseph tried to murmur into his wife’s ears.

Mr Joseph Machado, a retired plumber, could never speak softly, no matter how hard he tried. His deep baritone always gave way; this time it dropped a sour echo in Ellena’s ears. She got up immediately, but lightly, acting as if she never heard a thing, “Oh! The two of you…your habit of whispering into each others’ ears, when in the company of guests, hasn’t died yet. Anyway, I shall take leave now; have some files to get sorted.”

“Oh! okay..Bye Ellen, thank you for bringing the good news,” Mrs Machado said, as she led her to the door.

“Merlyn darling, I am not sure it will be such good news, once you begin to consider how our water is going to be distributed now. Remember they are six, and so are we,” Ellena exclaimed, and walked out, leaving Mrs Machado with a bad aftertaste. Her beaming smile suddenly wore out, and she grew slightly pale. 

Having convinced the Machados of their unexpected doom, 70-year-old Ellena D’Souza’s job became half easy. She went on to spread the bad news from one neighbour to the next, leaving a pall of gloom in the already as-good-as-dead mansion.  

The problem, as one could see, was that of water. In this burgeoning city of Mumbai — where the ratio between the hourly-increasing population and the available basic amenities was skewed and stank of poor town-planning — water was scarce and had to be rationed, just like kerosene, rice and sugar.
And like most people, who lived in quaint, colonial homes, where water was not stocked in big tankers installed on terraces, but in buckets and water drums at home, the residents of Stellar Mansion were also feeling the crunch. 
One municipal pipeline was channeled to six flats, and fed water daily for an hour starting 5 every morning. Each flat barely filled five to seven buckets within an hour, since the force of the water was inadequate, sometimes just beating into parched steel buckets in drops, both big and small. On good days, which were a rarity in the summers, water flushed for a good 15 minutes like waterfall, before beginning to thin slowly with the tick of each second. Until today, a mutual understanding between the residents of the five flats had ensured five buckets full for each household, with the Machados bargaining for an extra bucket, because of Joseph’s embarrassing diarrhoea problem that resurfaced every two days, and Ms Caroll Lobo, who lived below the Machados, requesting one-and-a-half buckets more, so that she could feed water to the plants in her garden. Previously, Ms Lobo needed at least three buckets for her garden, but was later forced to get rid of most of her plants, following the insistence of the other residents. New neighbours meant a bucket less for each home, but after so much compromise already, none were willing to make that sacrifice. 

Thus, in this apprehensive and water-starved building, the Braganzas came to make a new home for themselves. None had warned the family of their impending troubles, not even the landlord who had sold them the flat that had been lying vacant for over 35 years. 
So, when they finally settled down, Ms Ellena D’Souza and the rest of the neighbours, were expecting a huge uproar. They were both prepared and unwilling to budge on the earmarked water distribution. 
But Day One passed, and there was not a single word of complaint from the new neighbours. Day Two, and the water arrangement continued to remain unaffected, despite the presence of a family of six in the same building. Day Three: Apart from the clattering of kids, up and down the stairs — that brought great joy to Mrs Merlyn Machado — all was normal. Now, everyone started growing suspicious, but nobody dared to discuss the issue, lest the Braganzas demanded a bucket or two more. 
“Let us not jinx our own happiness,” the widowed Ms Caroll Lobo advised Ms Ellena D’Souza over the phone, when the latter suggested that the issue be discussed in a residents’ meeting. 
On Day Four, the Machado couple dropped by at Ellena’s home, after making a courtesy visit to the Braganza household.
“The children are so wonderful Ellena…,” Mrs Merlyn informed, “They gave us a peck on the cheek, and also promised to come over now and then, to spend time with us. You must meet them Ellena; such darlings, I tell you,” she added.
“Oh! Forget that, did they discuss the water problem,” Ellena asked curiously. 
“…not at all. In fact, they appeared seemingly happy with their new house, and its condition, despite the fact that it has been out of use for over three decades. And they did not mention water, not even once.”
“Strange, don’t you think Merlyn,” Ellena said. “Do they even bathe…I mean, were the children clean, you know am just checking, since they kissed you and all,” she added embarrassingly. 
“Of course, Ellena. In fact, they smelled of Johnson & Johnson’s.”
“Aaah! Interesting! Then I need to go and check how much water they have been using,” Ellena said.
“Come on, Ellena, spare them your grief. You need to stop behaving like an old cat. They are happy, so are we,” Mr Joseph Machado butted in, bluntly, “Leave them alone.” 

That rude remark from her arch-nemesis did not stop Ms Ellena D’Souza from prying into the life of the Braganzas. As a daily practice, she would snoop from the balcony of her home, to see Mr James Braganza leave for work in his car, and Mrs Christabell Braganza drop her three young boys to school. “They all looked spic-and-span,” she wondered, “…but how?”
“From where did they get the water?” she thought, more amused than shocked. 

After a month had passed, and still no complaints from the Braganzas end, Ms Ellena D’Souza’s inquisitive mind gave way; she decided to pay a brief visit to the family, to check what could have possibly gone so right for the new neighbours, when the rest of the building had been denied good water supply for years together. 
Christabell, who was at home with her young daughter, greeted her warmly and also welcomed her into her flat. The house looked neat and tidy. “You sweep and mop your house daily I am guessing,” Ellena asked. 
“Oh! Yes, with so many children around, you can’t but help. I need to ensure that the house is dirt and germ free.”
“Yes, that is true, very true.” 
After a brief pause, and a lot of thinking on how best to put her question forward, Ellena asked, “Christabell darling, I hope am not prying too much, but could you tell me how much water you use to mop the floor of your home…my maid tends to use very little water, and often, after a mop, my home looks dirtier than before,” she lied because considering her water situation, she only mopped her floor once, during Christmas.
“Just two buckets daily Ms D’Souza…one with plain water, and another with phenyl.”
“Just two, just two, just two,” the figure kept playing in Ellena’s head. “And that too for cleaning the floors, while I barely get five buckets daily. What a waste?” she wondered.
Observing the old woman break into sweat, Christabell asked, “Ms D’Souza are you okay…you appear pale. Should I get you some water.”
“No, I am okay. Just a little flustered. Can I use your bathroom dear?”
“Yes sure,” Christabell said, as she led her to one.

To her shock, the faucet in the bathroom was running. It was 11 am, and municipal water never came at this time. Then How? Also, the flush worked; when Ellena tried using it, it sprayed what she quantified as almost two buckets of water. She hurriedly got out, and decided to pointedly ask Christabell the secret behind the unlimited source of water to their home.
“Chrsitabell do you get continuous water supply?” she asked, throwing her an accusatory glance. 
“No Ms D’Souza, of course not…it is the municipal water.”
“Then how is your faucet running even now?”
Slightly taken aback by the questioning, Christabell said, “I don’t understand what you mean…it is all municipal water, stored in a tank.”
“Tank…there’s a tank in this building,” Ellena asked.
“Well, there is one, above our house.”
“You have a tank…when did you install it?” she asked, shaking furiously.
“Ms D’Souza calm down. We did not install anything…there was one when we came here.”
Unable to calm her nerves, she said, “Take me up to the tank.” 
Since it was a roofed building, only the Braganzas and 90-year-old Ms Tresa Lawrence, both of whom lived on the last floor, had access to the roof. But considering Ms Lawrence’s age, it seemed unlikely that she ever considered taking trips above, lest she desired to ascend higher above to God’s home.

After struggling a climb on the unsteady wooden ladder with Christabell carefully trailing behind, when Ellena finally reached the flat surface on the roof, she saw what she had so deeply desired all these years.

The black water tank. 

But even as she tried to keep balance, what caught her eyes were three pipelines jutting out of the tank; she slowly closed in and peered below from where she could see the rear of the building. What she saw was the work of a genius plumber. While one pipeline was directed to the Braganzas, the next ended at the home of the Machados — who lived right below them; the last stopped at Ms Caroll Lobo’s residence. 
“It was a ploy, and how the shrewd Ms Ellena D’Souza had fallen for it all these years.”
She got down slowly and thanked Christabell for her kind reception before taking leave.

That evening a note was dropped in the mailboxes of the Machados and Ms Lobo.
Joseph had the ill-fortune of reading it first: 

“With much sadness and a heavy heart, the secretary of the society has decided to re-work the water distribution plan. Bearing in mind the arrival of our new neighbours — a family of six — the residents of Stellar Mansion will now have to be more accommodating to ensure that equal quantity of water is distributed to all. In light of the recent developments, we request that only two buckets of water be filled by each home from today onward.  P.S. No extra buckets of water will be provided to people suffering from diarrhoea or those with gardens.”

Mr Joseph rushed to the phone, he dialed his widowed sister’s number. “Caroll, the old cat found the tank…we are busted.” 


7 thoughts on “The Water Game

  1. The beauty of this story is that it contained the essence of Bishop and Pope's Town. In the characters, I saw glimpses of the people I have met in Pius Mansion. I must admit that the story was ordinary but the way you breathed life into it made it (for me) one of your best works so far. Suddenly I felt I was in Cavel sitting with you while you narrated, as usual, an incident that happened in your building.

    Need I add that you are a gifted story teller?


  2. Thanks a million Candice, Tesso, Blessy, Aru and Salma…your feedback means the world to me.

    Candice, actually I was partly inspired by a chapter from Kiran Nagarkar's Ravan and Eddie, while writing this short story.

    Tesso and Blessy, my building is home to interesting people.
    Though I cannot deny the source of my inspiration…Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental 😛


  3. “Caroll, the old cat found the tank…we are busted.” – brilliant ending. one way i fall in love with short stories is not just by its characters or plot or one specific thing. but a fantastic ending is prime to me liking a story. and i really do like this one, coz it's ending is just plain perfect!


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