She couldn’t help but smile fondly at him. I could buy all of Radio Nepal with that kind of money, and I could sing to my heart’s content.” You know how much the jackpot is now? One lakh fifty thousand rupees.
“Or maybe I should buy a few Bhagyodaya chithha tickets,” he said. She meant it half in jest, but he nodded again without looking at her, dragged on his cigarette, and threw the smoke to the ceiling in a moody way. Her hand on her belly, Mohini told Yudhir that she’d never thought Mukesh was good, anyway. There he was, still in his underwear, exposing his hairy thighs and claiming to be better than the most famous singer on the radio even she, who didn’t get to watch Hindi movies, knew that Mukesh was like a god.
“Sometimes I think I sing better than Mukesh,” he said, so innocently that she had to suppress her laughter. He nodded, distracted, as he inhaled, then said something about how he would produce record after record, and might even go to Bombay to become a playback singer in Indian movies. She agree that all Yudhir needed was one song broadcast on the radio, and the public would clamor to hear him day and night. “I know I am better than a lot of other singers you hear these days.” And he recited names that meant nothing to Mohini-she knew only some of the songs he mentioned. She didn’t tell Yudhir about this, but the thought occupied her even as she listened to him speak, with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, about how he knew people in Radio Nepal who could give him a break and have his songs be broadcast nationally. She felt raw, bruised, and already a fullness inside her, akin to what she imagined pregnant women feel. It hurt her down there, a sharp sting every few seconds. Then he sang to her, a sad song that made her want to cry. Yudhir spit on his handkerchief and smudged the stains as best as he could. The bed sheets stained, and she became afraid. As they made love, Mohini mentally addressed Father, Do you like this, Father? Do you think my husband would like this? And in the middle of their lovemaking, she cried, from the incredible pain that was pulsing between her legs, also because she really didn’t want to hurt her parents, but that’s what she was doing. The shoe shop owner next to the hotel had smiled suggestively at Mohini and Yudhir as they walked up to their room. The neighborhood, at the edge of the fields where jyapus grew spinach and radishes, was known for heavily made-up women standing outside their doors and making lingering eye contact with men, and married men swiftly ducking in and emerging half an hour later, with a satisfied gleam in their eyes. Mohini and Yudhir sneaked outside, then casually strolled to the shrine, with smiles on their lips.Ī few days later in a seedy hotel in Baghbazar, down the street from Tundikhel, they made love. A few feet away, two men were smoking and arguing. He didn’t fuck her because voices sounded outside, discussing something about the evening, and, hearts pounding, the two scrambled to get up.