Mrs & Mr Ahuja

From the towering recesses of the mansion, erupts a grand battalion of workers, for the morning shift. They will take their positions in the kitchen, washing and cleaning departments. Some of them, in the same grey uniform, relieve the drivers of the night. The routine is the same -- 7 am and 7 pm -- as Mrs Ahuja observes from the window opposite the Modi Mansion. With a faint sigh, which one will easily miss if not paying meticulous attention, she commands for her newspaper. Like a method she chooses the celebrity supplement and opens to find out about the previous nights' exploits around the city. At forty-nine, her fat is yet to make a mark on her. She smiles as she sees twenty somethings pouting for attention. A bowl of freshly cut papaya appears as she turns the page. After sometime she is satisfyingly done with the paper and the papaya. She calls for Nina, her service-girl and asks for the day's appointments. 

'Verve at 11 30 for hair dressing and facial. Lunch at Hyatt at 2 with Mr Vajpayee and Mr Cheng about the export deal. Party at 9 hosted by the Nopanys, residence. Clothes are sorted for the day and kept in the closet accordingly. Papers for the meeting are being rechecked by Vinod now. You haven't had your BP medicine, and Sir's medicine bowl is ready, you can take it in now.' Nina finished with an air of professionalism. No invisible pat on the back needed.

Satish Ahuja suffered a stroke when he was barely thirty five. His wife had taken over their thread business and built this house in two years' worth of profit. Even as movement returned to his body, he was no longer interested in the business and all day long he sat reading books. Megha Ahuja, thirty, did not give in for a second. With each failure, her personal grandeur grew. She started accepting party invitations, decked up Satish in the best of suits and carried him as her favourite hand-bag. The papers would have their photo as they got off their car. Whenever someone came to congratulate her guts as she persisted with her business, she would reply, 'It would not be possible without Satish. He makes sure the best deals are made.' And pass a smiling glance at a whisky glass holding Satish at the bar counter.

Finally Mrs Ahuja, championed the business of private meetings. She created a house in the up-market residential area of the city and assigned rooms to exotic gift items, limited edition clothesline and of course a private catering available to private meetings. Such was the success she had from such a concept that she had to sell off the thread-factory and build a chain of private residences in three other cities. She was planning to do a similar chain in Singapore and Hong Kong. In an interview she said, 'Satish and I always believe in the exclusivity. We planned to offer it to our clients.' In another news-spread she remarked, 'Satish is my inspiration. Without him, nothing would be possible.' All day long, after Megha left, Satish would go through the newspapers, not knowing a thing about how business grew. He had long accepted that he would have to be Megha's hand-bag whenever she thought it was needed and not raise a word about her moves.

The idea of private residences struck Megha the day she emerged from Ravi Madan's suite at the Hyatt. She was weary lest she be recognised. In the lift itself she conceived the planning for exclusive services. 

As Mrs Ahuja got done with a fruitful meeting on the export deal, she remembered the many afternoons she had spent in it, in many arms. She slept on the same bed as Satish, but her pleasures were satiated in by various men in various beds. Mr Ahuja's presence as a happy part of the other-half never allowed for any kind of controversies to arise ever. The day she realized Satish would not earn home a penny, she decided to use him to her benefit. 'Mr & Mrs Ahuja are an ideal couple', 'Mr & Mrs Ahuja open another residence in Hyderabad', 'Mr & Mrs Ahuja welcome you to...'  she thought of the many reports and left. She was very, very happy with her life and did not care if he was too. He is a vintage hand-bag, not use and throw.