I am Manju, a maid. I never knew where Tihar Jail was, except that it was some kind of prison. I thought it was in Andaman Islands, Kalapani as they called it, until my husband, Kalu, told me that it was in Delhi, the city where we lived. This is how Tihar Jail figured in our conversation.
“Manju, if you can somehow get into Tihar, it will be great because you will be provided with all facilities; even government hospitals lack such facilities,” Kalu had suggested. I was six months pregnant then. Since I worked as a maid in a few neighbouring houses and Kalu worked as a mechanic in Sadar Bazar, we could somehow eke out a living from our combined salary. But as my due date neared, I could no longer go to work, so we had to manage with a measly ₹1,800 per month, which was his salary. With a baby on the way and winter approaching, our future looked bleak.
“But I can’t go so far,” I had protested.
“What do you mean by far? Tihar is only in Delhi. Also, since you are pregnant, you won’t get a heavy sentence. Now let me think – what crime would you commit?” he said.
“Wait, I haven’t said a yes. Jails are hellhole. What if I’m raped there?” I had retorted. For me, the prospect of going to jail was unappealing. Jails were meant for criminals, rapists, thugs and thieves and I was neither of them. I maybe poor, but, unlike Kalu, whose moral compass kept wavering, I value my self-respect foremost.
“We live on a meagre diet of roti and sabzi, and you had a first-hand experience of Delhi’s winter last year,” Kalu had said. He then went outside to light his chilam. A flaming torch was lit outside by the chaukidars, who patrolled the Inderpuri residential area, to beat the cold. Kalu was a chain-smoker. Even though I had objected to his smoking, even imploring once to quit for the sake of his baby, he never seemed to bother.
We lived in JJ colony near Inderpuri. Most colonies in Delhi have the prefix JJ attached. The posh part of the colony occupied the front portion while JJ colony occupied the rear end. Our one-room ‘so-called’ house was built of part brick (four walls) and part tin (roof and door). The tin roof offered little protection during rainy season, and an old bed sheet served as a makeshift door during daytime as the tin door had broken a year ago, and Kalu never seemed to fix it. During night, we somehow adjusted the broken tin to close the door.
“I shouldn’t have married you. Our village was better than Delhi. Well, at least it was not so cold there,” I said and made my way to prepare dinner.
“Yeah, and you would have died either in childbirth or by chikungunya.”
“What would my parents think of me if they know I have been to jail?” I asked Kalu, who turned his face towards the door. Even though we belonged to the lower class, at least I had not lost my morality. The upper-class people were the ones who lost all their moral values because they had a lot of money to buy their societal positions. We lower class had nothing to lose. Only the middle class seemed to care for society’s opinion and, in the effort, remained honest.
“Haramzadi, your voice seems to have rediscovered its sting. Thank God you are pregnant! Otherwise, I’d hit you so hard you would beg me for mercy,” threatened Kalu. I started to cry. Kalu always abused me, and when agitated, he loses his control and transforms from a loving husband to a roadside pocketmaar.
“Kalu, I have already warned you to not abuse me. I left everything to be with you and this is how you treat me?”
“Arrey, why are you so sad? Chalo, sorry, meri maa,” he said. “I just offered you a solution. Karim’s wife did the same thing two years back when she was pregnant.”
“Liar! I asked Nafisa. She said she could never even think of such a thing.”
“No, I mean, his first wife. She found a lover in jail and they eloped. He married Nafisa then.” Kalu smiled.
“So you want me to elope, too, so that you can remarry? I don’t satisfy your sexual appetite anymore, naa. Kamine kahin ke!” I pointed my chimta at him.
“Arrey, I will never leave you. It’s just that I am worried. Also, where will I get the money to properly feed you, eh? The child would be born malnourished and, without proper vaccinations, would contract infections. The first few days are very crucial for a baby. If it was summer, I wouldn’t have bothered. I can buy a heater, but again who would pay for the electricity?” Kalu then refilled his chilam and took few puffs.
“Let me, too, have some.” I motioned with my hand. Dinner was all ready, but Kalu never ate before 11 pm, still an hour to go.
“What? Are you mad? You are with child. You can’t smoke,” he admonished.
“Arrey, he is not some bada saab ka beta. He is our child. He should get his immunity get going from now onwards. Just give me two puffs. I am too tensed by this jail talk.” He shook his head in disgust but handed me the chilam.
“Okay, if I decide to go eventually, what crime should I commit?” I asked Kalu.
“Hmm, we will have to think of something that fulfils our plan, but not something like murder, which leads to heavy punishment. A petty theft would be an ideal choice,” suggested Kalu. Unknowingly or knowingly, he had indulged in a cost–benefit analysis before actually asking Manju to commit the crime. So, in a sense, Kalu was the most cunning criminal mind you could ever come across, for one who weighs options and knows how much he will be punished is perhaps the most dangerous criminal.
“I can’t murder someone, harami. How can you even think of it?” I screamed.
“No, now, Manju. When I abuse you, you make an issue of it, but who gave you the right to abuse me?”
“Woh to I say it with love,” I said. Kalu couldn’t help laughing. He passionately embraced and kissed me on the mouth, something I disliked, but on this occasion, I did not object. For all the time in the world, I felt happy for those few minutes, and there was no other issue. Kalu and I were happy because we lived for the moment. Early in our life, we had realised that the trick to survive, with the kind of economic status we had, was to not worry about the future, not bother or plan, except for the next few minutes. Otherwise, you would be just cribbing and saving money for those future emergencies, which anyhow, if and when trouble came knocking, would not be enough.
“Khana kha lo ab. Later, we’ll discuss about how I should enter my sasural.” I smiled. Kalu gulped down his food, especially when he was excited. After five minutes, he was done with it while I was just eating my second roti. Once again, he smoked his chilam and stared into emptiness. I hoped he wouldn’t discuss about Tihar anymore, but his mind was fixated on it. He seemed determined to see me in jail.
“You remember that old lady you used to work for before?” he asked.
“Sharma Behenji?”
“Yes, that Sharma lady. You can rob her. Her son lives in Australia and has forsaken her. Since you have worked for her, she won’t be suspicious and would open the door for you. Then, all you need to do is steal something that is cheap and worthy while I engage her in conversation. That’s it, and the maximum jail sentence for such a crime is three years imprisonment or fine or both. Since you can’t pay a heavy fine, you will get a prison sentence, and since you would be stealing something less expensive, I don’t think you will get more than six months.”
“How can you be so sure that it’s just three years?” I asked. I was apprehensive now.
To Be Continued . . .
To Be Continued . . .
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