Even as I am thinking what to do, it dawns on me that I don't actually have a mobile phone. So the next morning I go to Delite Phone Mart and purchase a basic Nokia 1110, so as not to rouse any suspicion. It is the same cheap phone that the corner tobacconist and the neighbourhood washerman use. It feels funny paying for a mobile phone for the first time with my own money. Well, it is my money now, isn't it?
Try as I might, I cannot resist calling Ritu. Within ten minutes of inserting the SIM card, I am punching in her number. She seems to be expecting my call, picking it up on the first ring.
'Hello, Ritu. Vijay Singh speaking,' I say somewhat lamely.
'Hello, Vijay,' she replies, somewhat coyly.
There is an awkward silence as I think of what to say. I have never had occasion before to chat up a rich girl on the phone. I try to think what girls like her like to do and the only thing that comes to mind is shopping.
'Would you like to go shopping?' I ask.
There is another pause as Ritu ponders what to make of this request. 'Yes. That would be nice. Where do you suggest we go?'
'Where are you staying?'
'Mehrauli,' she answers, surprising me.
'What a coincidence! I live in Mehrauli too! So how about meeting up at the Ambawata Complex? It has all the designer shops.'
'No,' she replies after another pause. 'I would prefer some place which is far from Mehrauli. What do you think of Connaught Place?'
'Yeah, I go there all the time.'
'Good. So should we meet up at three o'clock?'
'Where?'
'The only place I know is the Wimpy. Malini took me there once.'
'Perfect. I know the Wimpy. I'll see you there at three o'clock.'
Even before the call is over, I have figured out Miss Ritu, scoped out the tactics I need to seduce her. It is clear from our conversation that she is a small-town girl looking for cheap thrills in the big bad city, without her parents finding out. I am sure she would be open to a little affair with a fellow Thakur! For a beautiful chick like her, I wouldn't mind blowing even twenty grand. I will take her on a shopping spree, impress her with my extravagance, and then lure her to bed!
The first thing I do is buy a new flannel shirt and corduroy trousers from the Metropolitan Shopping Mall. I don't want Ritu to see me in the same clothes as last night. Then, on a whim, I watch an English film in the multiplex. I barely catch any phrases, but a delicious contentment spreads through me as I watch the pale-skinned actors speak non-stop English for one and a half hours. Somehow it makes me feel better equipped to date a rich chick. I leave the cinema, put on my dark glasses and hail an auto-rickshaw.
I reach Connaught Place at quarter to three and wait for Ritu in front of the Wimpy. She arrives a little after three, in a different car this time – a sleek grey Mercedes SLK 350, but there is the same tall moustachioed guard sitting on the front seat with an AK-47.
She steps out of the car, says something to the guard and the car drives away. Today she is wearing off-white churidar pyjamas and a matching kameez. A red chunni is pulled down demurely over her chest. In broad daylight she looks even more beautiful and radiant. I admire the soft contours of her face and the delicate arch of her neck, and marvel at my luck in bagging such a beauty.
She spots me almost immediately and a warm smile spreads on her face. 'Hello, Vijay,' she greets me, as her eyes dart around suspiciously, perhaps looking to see if any of her relatives are snooping around.
I feel it is time I found out about her family. 'Yesterday you came with a gunman too. How come?'
'My father insists that I take one. He is concerned about my security.'
'Is he a big businessman?'
'Sort of,' she says and tries to change the subject. 'So what are you going to buy in Connaught Place? I have never shopped here before.'
'I don't need anything. This is going to be your shopping spree,' I reply and lead her into an air-conditioned boutique selling expensive designer clothes. Ritu browses through the racks, then checks the price tags and rolls her eyes. 'These prices are ridiculous. In Lucknow I can buy ten outfits for what they are charging for one.'
'But this is Delhi. Here you have to pay Delhi rates. Don't worry, today I am paying for your shopping,' I assure her with the brash confidence of a man with a hundred thousand rupees in his trouser pocket.
She looks at me in a funny kind of way. 'Arrey, why would you spend money on me? Are you my brother or what?'
The word 'brother' jars a bit. I peer into her eyes, which seem transparent and sincere, and wonder if I have made a mistake in reading this girl, a costly error of judgement.
'Let's try this shop.' I indicate the adjacent showroom, which has 'Sale' emblazoned across its window.
Ritu shakes her head. 'These sales are all fake. I think we should go to Palika Bazaar. I am told that the market has much more reasonable rates.'
Why should I quarrel if my seduction budget is going to be reduced by half? So I lead the way to the underground market situated in the middle of the park, full of small shops selling clothes, trinkets and electronic items. The bazaar is teeming with shoppers, mostly middle-class behenji types and groups of college students. I am immediately propositioned by shifty-eyed shopkeepers sitting behind rows of computer CDs and DVDs. 'Want blue films?… We have Triple X, Sir, very good print,' they whisper as I walk past their cubicles. The stuffy atmosphere of the place suffocates me, but Ritu is entranced by the brightly lit shops. She conducts an impromptu market survey and declares that though Palika Bazaar is marginally more expensive than Aminabad Market in Lucknow, it has more variety. True to her small-town roots, she shows no interest in the shops displaying T-shirts and jeans and heads straight for the corridor vendors selling ladies' suits on open hangers. For half an hour she haggles with a middle-aged shopkeeper over a pair of salwar suits. She wants to buy them for three hundred and the shopkeeper wants five hundred. Eventually they settle on three hundred and seventyfive. I offer her a five-hundred-rupee note but Ritu refuses it resolutely. She takes out a worn ladies' wallet from her handbag and pays for the purchase with her own money. Her scrupulousness both impresses and troubles me.
Near gate number three, a gangly youth with a load of belts draped on his back buttonholes me. 'These are imported designer belts, Sahib, one thousand rupees in Connaught Place, only two hundred rupees here,' he says and offers me one with a 'Lee' buckle. I wave him away but he refuses to go. 'Have a look,' he insists. Igniting a lighter, he tries to burn one end of the belt. 'You see, Sahib, genuine leather!'
'Don't fool me,' I laugh. 'These are cheap Rexine belts.'
'No, Sir. It is real leather. And for you I will reduce the price to a hundred rupees.'
'I am not interested,' I declare.
'Please, Sahib. Buy just one,' he pleads. 'I will reduce it further to just fifty rupees.'
'Fifty rupees?' Ritu asks. 'That is quite reasonable.'
'See, Sahib? Even Memsahib wants you to have one. Buy one and God will keep you pair together for ever,' he says with the verve of a professional beggar.
Ritu blushes and the pink glow on her face is the surest sign that she feels more than sisterly concern for me. I grin and take out a fifty-rupee note. 'Here. Take this and keep the belt too. You will also remember this encounter with a rich guy.'
The belt vendor accepts my tip with a surprised look on his face. Ritu taps me on the arm. 'Do you distribute largesse like this to every poor fellow you meet?'
'No,' I say jauntily. 'But I had to respect his appeal to God.'
She blushes again and I feel a shiver of lust run down my spine. I feel I am on the right track now and the shopping expedition will lead to something memorable. As Ritu ducks into another clothes shop, I try to figure out the nearest hotel I can take her to.