Employment: The First Innings - II
After getting frustrated, I wrote a letter to my father informing him that I would stop making any further efforts and would now work like other Managers of the Emporium. Having written so, I indulged in corrupt practices like other Managers and took my share from overcharging customers more than the labelled prices. I also converted dollars received in the branch into Indian currency and pocketed the premium of around four rupees per dollar. In one case, I was confronted by a member of the Indian Foreign Service posted in an embassy in a foreign country. He visited my shop and chose a carpet for purchase. I quoted Rs 3600/- against the actual cost of Rs 1800/-. He asked me to send it to his residence. In the meantime, he visited our main showroom at Prithviraj Rd, New Delhi, where a similar carpet was quoted at Rs 4500/-, which convinced him of a good bargain. However, when the packet was delivered to him, he insisted on a receipt and rang me up. I told him that, in case he wants a receipt, he will have to pay an additional 10% as tax on the product, which I had tried to save for him. That was our usual alibi in such situations. He countered in a loud voice, “Do you know to whom you are talking? He revealed his identity and said, “There is no tax levied on handmade carpets.” I said, “Sorry, Sir, I shall have to check up with my main branch and report back to you. I rang him up after half an hour and told him that he was right, and the receipt is on the way. Thank God the matter ended there. Thus, one carpet was spared and sold without a receipt to another customer. The staff in other branches of KGAE were surprised to hear about my change of heart.
Many people visited our showroom, notable among those were Sonia Gandhi and Rehana Sultan. Sonia Gandhi looked like a foreigner with a cool, calm, dignified and composed demeanour. She was wearing a soft and pleasing dress. She came in quietly, walked across the showroom and checked different shelves on which goods were displayed. She picked a dozen papier mache coasters, placed them on my table and said to me before she left, “I shall have these.” In the meantime, an old lady, whom I knew was the governess of Indira Gandhi, called me out and said, “She is Bahuji. Whatever she picks, please send it to the PM’s house.” I was taken by surprise and tried to recall if I had passed any mischievous smile or done anything rude. After satisfying myself, I rang up the Manager of our main branch, who further guided me on how to proceed in the matter. The bill was cleared by the PM’s house within a fortnight. Similarly, I remember Rehana Sultana, the lead actress in the film ‘Dastak’, entered the showroom, followed by a snobbish person. I was alone in the showroom, and he prompted me to get up quickly and attend to her. I enquired who she was. Sharp came the reply, “She is Rehana Sultana, a famous actress.” I asked, “And you?” He said, "I am Johnny.” The meaning of the term ‘Johnny’ was revealed to me much later when I read an Urdu book by Krishen Chander titled ‘Filmi Qayda’. Rehana smiled and asked me in Hindi, “Don’t you watch Hindi movies?” I had not watched many films, but I replied, “No, I don’t like them.” “What do you like?” She asked. I had no answer, but blurted out, hoping that she would not ask any questions about English movies, “I watch only English movies.” I would have drawn a blank had she done so. Nevertheless, she enquired, “But why?” I replied, “Hindi movies are stereotyped.” She replied with all humility, “Please watch the movie, Dastak, it is totally different. You will surely like it.” There the matter ended.
Another case was much more dramatic. A jet black customer named Abu Bakr Kabeke from Nigeria, entered the showroom dressed in a white Agbada. I was at that time attending to an American customer who was so impressed that she invited me for dinner in the Peacock restaurant opposite our showroom. As the Nigerian entered, he looked at a tiger skin on display in the showroom. He asked me to show it to him by spreading it on the floor. I told him that it cannot be sold as it is forbidden under wildlife conservation. He said in incoherent English, “I supervise Nigeria embassies all over the world. Diplomatic Immunity. Nobody dares touch my luggage.” Still, in order to avoid selling it, I quoted the price at Rs 11000/- instead of Rs 7000/-. He invited the American woman who had praised his Agbada, and they got some photographs taken jointly sitting on the tiger skin. While we finalised the deal, she also selected some items worth more than Rs 3000/-, which he paid for. Besides, he insisted on wrapping it in a costly bedsheet fully embroidered with fine needlework, as well as putting the item in a suitcase which, in fact, had the office records of the consignment dealer in it and was not for sale. I was reluctant to part with it, but he was adamant, and I had to yield. The total amount worked out to around $2000/-, and I got them exchanged the next day, earning Rs 8000/- as a premium. I was, however, afraid of getting caught for selling the banned skin, so I followed Abu Bakr to the airport till his baggage was cleared and the aeroplane took off. The tiger skin was on consignment in the showroom and its salesman was on leave. He came after a few days and was told of the deal. He was furious as he did not expect that I might have sold it at a premium, but he kept quiet when I paid him the actual sale price and his own share of Rs 3000/- in addition. I also paid some amounts to the visiting accountant and the peon in the showroom. It was a windfall for me. Later on, Kebeke visited the showroom again after a few months. I had been transferred from the branch by then. Fortunately, I visited the branch to say goodbye to the staff who informed me that Kebeke is looking for you. I visited his room, where he gifted me a suit which he had purchased from Paris.
Those days, the Asia '72 exhibition was going on, and Manager, KGAE, Connaught Place Branch, Nissar Hussain and I visited the exhibition as our organisation had a pavilion there. By a stroke of luck, I made friends with one of the Girl Guides there, Jyothibala Kulkarni, a Maratha Brahmin from Coimbatore, posted in our pavilion and we came very close to each other. I was very much interested in marrying her, but when she went back to Coimbatore, she wrote to me that her conservative parents wanted her to marry a Maratha Brahmin only. Anyway, the ill-got money described earlier was spent during those days on lunches, discotheques and showing her around the city. Nothing was saved except a few dresses I had purchased for myself.
My curiosity as a writer also made me visit the red-light area of Delhi along with a few friends of mine. After a few setbacks, I befriended the Madam of a brothel and enjoyed her company but had no intention to indulge in sex. My two friends chose their partners and went into the available cubicles. I stayed by the side of the Madam and started smoking a cigarette. She asked for a matchstick, but I offered the cigarette as well, saying in Hindi, “Hamein pilana bhi aata hai aur jalana bhi.” She smiled and retorted, “Shair maloom hote ho. Andar nahi jana kya?” I said, “Nahi, aap ke sath batein karna acha lag raha hai.” In the meantime, she called for tea for herself and started drinking it. I quipped, “Ajeeb mehman nawazi hai, Chai apne liye mangwai, aur hum dekhte reh gaye.” She replied, “Aap hamari chai piyein ge kya?” I said, “ Haan, kyun nahi.” She immediately called the boy back and asked him to bring another special cup of tea for me. Believe me, the taste of that cup of tea still haunts me. I visited her a few more times along with my friends and studied the environs as well as the behaviour of the sex-workers there. I have penned down two short stories on the subject in Urdu, which are included in my first collection of short stories.
