“Yes. I need to go thank him. It was so sweet of him to remember that I was looking for those pickles. I hope he doesn’t send more though. That one jar can feed my entire family for a year.”
“I can’t believe he brought you homemade pickles. He’s known me for years and he’s only ever scolded me for parking in the wrong spot.”
Aditi snickered, running her hand over the beaded designs on a mannequin.
“He’s a sweet old man. I like the folks around where we live. It's a nice community.”
He believed her. And it was clear that they returned the sentiment. The parcels she’d been receiving, as he had recently found out, were gifts of gratitude.
Aditi had been helping people with medical queries in his locality. As word of mouth about her spread, so had the number of people who’d approached her.
“It feels like you operate a free clinic everywhere you go,” he said, handing her a sample piece that the vendor pulled down. “Aren’t you a gynaecologist, not a family doctor?”
“OB/GYN,” she corrected. “But, it doesn't matter to them. They hear that I am a doctor, and they want a solution. Why would I hurt their feelings by turning them away when a sympathetic ear is really all they require? It costs me nothing to help them address a cold or fever,” she explained, sending him a soft smile before walking past him to inspect the saree.
Rian stood behind her and watched her interact with the vendor, charming him into holding the saree up so she could take a photo. The more time he spent with her, the more things he saw to admire. Still, he struggled between appreciating her kindness and disapproving her inability to stop people from imposing on her.
She spun towards him suddenly, her face bright. She held up the phone, showing him the screen with a toothy grin. “Success! She liked this one,” she said, pointing to the saree that the vendor was holding.
“How much for this?”
“This is a special piece, sister. Only one of its kind,” the seller began, causing Rian to stifle a snort. He wondered if all the shopkeepers in India read the same manual. This particular dialogue was used before every purchase, no matter the product.
“For you, I will even add a discount. Only Rs. 12,849.” He smiled widely, unaware that his betel-nut-stained teeth made him look like a vampire about to attack an unsuspecting victim.
“That’swiththe discount?” Aditi asked, gulping at the price tag.
“Okay, for you, sister, just because I want you to be happy,” the vendor added, as if he hadn’t deliberately named a high price at first, “give me only Rs. 12,800. It is a nice round number.”
Rian almost burst out laughing when Aditi’s polite smile twisted into a look of bewilderment, unsure if she was being pranked. He watched her attempt to lower the price, only to have the man regale her with a well-practised sob story of how he would make no profit on this, how his children would not have any new clothes for the upcoming festivals if he let his customers steal from him, how this saree was made by blind nuns in the midst of the Sahara with only water to fill their bellies.
Okay, that last one was his own frustration talking, but Rian couldn’t hold himself back from interrupting when he saw Aditi reach for her purse.
“8,000 rupees. Not a single paisa more.”
Aditi’s eyes grew comically wide at the number he threw out, her head whipping around to see if he was serious. He blinked once, reassuringly, telling her without words to not interfere.
The vendor blustered, emphatically refusing to accept a price that was less than five figures.
Aditi watched in awe as Rian steadily wore the man down, going as far as asking her to move on to the next shop to look for a similar saree before the seller finally caved.
A short while later, sitting at the outdoor stall of a nearby restaurant with the saree safely tucked into her bag, Aditi couldn’t help but stare at the broad back of the man who was picking up their orders, as at ease in this hot and dusty roadside eatery as in his posh apartment. Rian seemed to surprise her at every turn.
“I can’t believe he agreed to your final offer,” she said yet again, accepting the plate he passed to her. “Why wouldn’t he listen to me?”
“He probably figured that you were not from here and attempted to stick you with an expensive tag. Your Hindi is far more polite than Mumbai’s street language.” He ripped open a packet of ketchup and squirted some onto her plate for her.
“Thank you for stepping in.”
“I had to. It’s obvious that you can’t say no to people easily. First the sick folks, now the vendor. How do you get through life without being taken advantage of?”
Aditi puffed out her cheeks in irritation, looking like a chipmunk. “I’m not being taken advantage of. And I don’t like to disappoint people when I can help them. My Amma always says that good deeds earn good karma.”
Rian snorted softly, wishing he could be as idealistic as her. He picked up his food and took a bite, enjoying the flavours that the famous Vada Pav packed in each morsel. A delicious layered concoction of golden bun, spicy cilantro chutney, dry garlic spread, and a hot ball of potato fritter stuffed within, there was no doubt that this was one of the most popular snacks amongst Mumbaiites on the go. He glanced at Aditi momentarily, glad to see that she was enjoying her food as well.
“You’re close to your parents?” he asked, munching quietly.
“Yes. You?”