The Team

“This hope is treacherous, this daydream is dangerous.” Treacherous

Pratap was greeted at the entrance of his childhood home by the smiling Mr Chundawat, who informed him that Miss Punwar was already “on-site” and he would wait for Pratap to settle in and freshen up before taking him to the place of work. Pratap suddenly felt relieved at the idea that she was not home. Throughout the journey, he had been preoccupied with the thought of going home and finding her waiting for him there. Well, she wouldn’t wait for him, but the sight of her at the door or perhaps in his home was not good for his dainty heart. He had braced himself for her cold, formal greeting or a shake of a head for acknowledging his presence and nothing more. He found it easier to look around the place, settle his things and take a quick shower before following Mr Chunadwat when her scrutinising eyes were not on him, judging his every movement. But Pratap hoped for that. He hoped that she would scrutinise and criticise him, notice his flaws, and rebuke them. At least that was better than ignoring his presence altogether.

The site of the “Punwar Sisodiya” factory was a closed-off area with high walls and a large gate, which housed multiple warehouse units, several sections with handmade and machine-made clothes being stored for use, colouring sections for clothes, and design sections for the people to explore new ideas and meet with potential clients who would come to buy their clothes. Their clients ranged from large-scale business houses to designers who would often visit their main office and want to see the factories themselves, and there was a separate place for the weavers and artisans to hand weave their magic and hand make their Bandhani and Leheriya works into drapes and drapes of clothes to be made into dresses and sarees of all sorts. It was also where special orders were met. Behind this frenzy of colour and pattern was the office bungalow, where the finance department, maintenance department and administration were housed. Mr Chundawat led Pratap to the back, where one chamber was separated into two by a partition wall of wood, making each door of the original two-door entrances the passage to get into either chamber and on them were the words “Punwar” and “Sisodiya”. 

“Your grandfathers shared the office, but your fathers thought it was better to have their own private space because that way their work styles being different would not clash. Miss Punwar is in if you want to see her?” Mr Chundawat opened the door of the “Sisodiya” chamber. Pratap inhaled and managed a faint smile. “No, Mr Chundawat, I would like to see my workstation. I don’t wish to disturb her.”

“Very well, Sir, I will be at my office, the extension line is 7 if you need anything.” He left Pratap in front of the boxes of stationery, his files heaped on the desk in front of him with a newly installed rotating chair, a fan above his head, and a pedestal one pointed at him. He looked up at the newly installed AC machine and opened the top left drawer of the desk to find its remote. When the room was finally filled with some cool air, Pratap sat down on the chair and adjusted its height. His hand travelled to the chest pocket of his formal light blue shirt, and he found the pen. He put his elbows on the desk to rest and placed the pen down gently. It was one of his grandfather’s pens that his grandmother had given him. She had said that one day, when he sat in the office, they would be proud of him. They were probably proud of him. But what had he done yet to accomplish anything to be proud of? If anything, this day and those chambers were what he was looking forward to for the past decade and more, yet he was not happy. The heavy feeling in his chest refused to leave. He stood up and noticed the traces of dirt in the lines of his beige pants and brown boots. He immediately remembered something his mother often said. “The soil, by playing with your skin, makes you one of its own.” Pratap wondered if he truly belonged here. Like Ajabdeh often said, it was their privilege, not skills, that brought them here. He was detached from this place and its people more than his father was. Sarangpura to him was nothing but a vacation home. Could he care for the place and its people enough for them to respect him and allow him to work among them? As his thoughts ran, he managed to unbox his belongings and keep them on the desk. A picture of his parents with him and Shakti, a few files and paperwork, his laptop, and samples of clothes they needed to deal with while they learned the trade. And then his eyes fell on the frame he had no idea his mother had packed in. A picture with her, Jalal, Rukaiya, Heer and Shakti. It was Humayun’s annual Iftar party last year. The year everything changed. He took the frame, momentarily lingered his finger over her smiling face, opened the lower drawer and put the frame in.

“Mr Mishra is here to see you, Ma’am.” Ajabdeh looked up from the samples of clothes she was examining. The fan whirled over her head, as drops of precipitation were seen on her forehead, and the pedestal fan swung by itself in a corner. It was messing up her hair, so she kept it away.

“Should I turn the AC on, Ma’am?” The secretary enquired again. What was his name? Was it Sanjay or Vijay? Ajabdeh’s brows narrowed. She was still not used to having a person at her beck and call. It wasn’t even 24 hours here.

“No, not the AC, the global warming…” Ajabdeh stopped and sighed. “Never mind. Bring him in.” She straightened the white kurti she had chosen for the day with her brown cigar pants. The Kurti was handmade by the artisans of Sarangpura, and she thought it would be a perfect first-day attire paired with her diamond studs. She expected an older man in his 50s in the meeting, but was surprised to find a much younger man, almost her age, being led inside. Ajabdeh stood up.

“Thank you… umm…”

“It’s Ranajay, Ma’am.”

“Yes, yes, Ranajay. Sorry, my first day…” The secretary smiled and left. Ajabdeh had no idea if he cursed his boss under his breath. Perhaps he hated her already. 

“It’s your first day? Congratulations.” The man extended his hand for a shake as Ajabdeh took it.

“Thank you. I am sorry, I expected someone… umm…”

“Older?” The man smiled. “Yes, my father. But now he is sick, so I am taking over our business.” Ajabdeh nodded at his words. “Please sit down.”

“I am Chakrapani.” The man introduced himself. “I am not sure you remember me, but I used to come with my parents to your Diwali parties.”

“I am sorry, I don’t remember. I am Ajabdeh Punwar.” She shrugged with a polite smile, “Now…”

She opened the samples the Mishras had sent. They were the company’s oldest associates for raw materials. “The samples look okay for the price. I think the prices this season have been set higher…”

“Let me explain that, Ma’am…” Chakrapani took the samples Ajabdeh extended to him. 

“You see, the workers involved in the cotton plantations had recently asked for a wage raise, and the union had been struggling with that for a long time. To top that, the season hadn’t been quite favourable…”

“But as a buyer, I have to see the price and quality and not your problems, no matter how practical you sound.” Ajabdeh interrupted. “More cost of raw materials means more cost of sales, and my clients may not be happy with it.”

“You are our biggest client, ma’am. Do you think we can afford to lose you by increasing prices if we had a way?”

“I am not saying that, Mr Mishra, but other people are giving me raw materials at lower prices.”

“I am sure they are, but you can’t trust them with quality or timely orders. We have been doing business for over three decades with your company, and I don’t think you will rule me out just like I won’t rule you out.” Ajabdeh inhaled and looked up at the man who spoke confidently. She could not help but think that if Bade Papa were sitting there instead of her, he would never be oozing with the confidence he had in her. Perhaps because she foolishly admitted it was her first day? Or because she was a woman? Ajabdeh had her doubts.

“And I am not saying so because you are a woman.” He seemed to read her mind, “My wife runs a CA Firm as well.”

Ajabdeh sighed, “I will look into this, have a meeting with my colleagues and get back to you.” She sounded confident. “As I mentioned, we do have some offers that will bring us more profit.”

“Very well, Ma’am.” The man rose from his chair. “But I do hope you choose quality over profit like your father would.”

As soon as the man left, Mr Chundawat arrived to remind Ajabdeh that he had set up the trip to the properties beyond the orchards as she had asked him to.

“Very well, ask Mr Sisodiya if he wants to accompany us. I will be in the car.” Ajabdeh got up and picked up the sample file. She needed to go home and think. The easier way to go would be to call her father or Bade Papa for advice, but that would make them doubt her decision-making skills. They expected her to do her job.

Pratap saw her the moment the driver opened the car door for him. She was sitting on the other end, looking out of the window, tapping on the bulky file placed on her lap. Her handbag sat next to her, almost making a border he could not cross. He got in, making her turn as Chundawat sat down beside the driver.

“What is this about?” he asked nobody in particular.

“I wanted to see the area beyond the orchards. If we can do anything with it. For the community.” It was Ajabdeh who answered in a rather formal tone, looking outside the window once again.

“For the community?” Pratap raised his brows, trying to sound the least condescending as he could. “You just arrived here.”

“Every year, the Company gives something back to the community, Sir. It has been so for decades. This year, the head office instructed me that I should do what you decide on.” Chundawat chipped in.

“So it's a unanimous choice?” Pratap asked, eyeing Ajabdeh, who seemed to have made up her mind. She frowned at his choice of words.

“Why? Do you want to pitch in with some ideas to save the earth?” Her tone was amused. Pratap shrugged. “I might.”

“I am looking forward to it then,” Ajabdeh murmured under her breath.

Pratap noticed her file with curious eyes but refrained from asking any questions about it. The message from his father was clear: she was his boss. And as weird as it sounded, he still had to be ready to follow her orders. Pratap did not mind because he had been gearing up for his role for as long as he could remember. Besides, he eyed her, lost in thoughts as the car zoomed past the village scenes, she wouldn’t be too bossy with him, right? They were a team.