Free Bombay Time by Thrity Umrigar Page A

Baug he is, same as us plain folk.”
    Dosa’s victory was complete a few years later, when Zubin came home and recounted a conversation he had had with Rusi earlier in the day. Rusi had applied for another loan from Central Bank and Zubin’s boss had just turned him down.
    A teary Rusi poked his head into Zubin’s office on his way out.
“Arre, bossie,
what’s wrong?” Zubin said, rising to his feet. “What brings you here? Come in, come in.”
    Rusi’s eyes were bloodshot and his usually neat hair looked disheveled, as if he had run his hand through it one too many times. “I’m sunk, Zubin,” he whispered. “My boat is sunk. I have creditors in the market from whom I’ve borrowed money for the business. Twenty-eight to thirty-one percent interest they’re charging me, boss. I came to see your branch manager for a loan at a regular interest rate, so I can get these bloodsuckers off my back. I’m expecting a big order soon from Sharma Enterprise. Big concern. With one order, I can wipe out my debts. But what to do? Your boss says he won’t loan me another paisa. I don’t even have the money to buy some inventory.”
    “But Rusi, are you mad? Doing business with these loan sharks? They’ll bleed you dry. Plus, you owe
us
money. But how did you get yourself in this mess anyway?”
    Rusi’s lower lip moved, but his eyes were steady. “Just years and years of problems catching up with me. Always trying to stay one step ahead of failure. I started my business with no capital, Zubin. Do you understand? Nobody to back me up, nobody to teach or guide me. Every mistake I made, I paid for it myself. All by trial and error. I was a young man and impatient. Those American books I read, like
Think and Grow Rich,
made it look so easy. It wasn’t. And trying to remain honest in business in this corrupt country … But forget it. I myself don’t know what went wrong. Whatever it is, here I am now. With a young child and a wife and mother to support. I tell you, Zubin, if I don’t get this loan, I’ll have to close the business down. Don’t know what I’ll do then—probably drive a taxi or something.”
    “So what did you say?” Dosamai asked her son eagerly.
    “Say? Nothing,” Zubin said with a shrug. “He went back in to see Mr. D’Souza, the branch manager.” He did not tell his mother that he had personally implored his boss to extend Rusi another loan. And that D’Souza had reluctantly agreed.
    And he did not tell Dosamai when D’Souza came into his office sixteen months later, all smiles. “That Bilimoria chap. Amazing fellow. Came in earlier today with the last payment on the loan. We were pretty sure he was putting some money aside, y’know, taking his cut before paying us back. So we did an audit on him, and guess what? Came back clean as a whistle. Turns out he was paying us back every penny he owed. Damn honest bugger. Guess I wouldn’t be too happy if I were his wife. But since I’m his banker, I’m delighted.”
    Zubin’s heart swelled with pride. “Yah, he’s a good man, that Rusi. Known him my whole life, sir.” But part of him also thought Rusi was foolish. So he’s averted one crisis, Zubin thought. But without any money put aside, he’ll be in the same boat next time. He’s still living from one contract to another.
    Dosamai did not share her son’s affection for Rusi. When, after years of tracking him, she was convinced that Rusi would never be the success he had predicted, that his star did not burn as brightly as it had once seemed, she continued to watch him out of habit. And when Rusi’s wife, Coomi, began to visit her with her litany of complaints against her husband, she became the jewel in Dosa’s crown. Now, Dosa had an inroad into the innermost chambers of Rusi’s red heart.
    Dosa shuffled into the small dingy kitchen to take out an old battered frying pan in which to make her scrambled egg. She wished Zubin would call her tonight from Pune. With so many of the