Where's My Tea?

The next day, the sea breeze slipped through the gap in the guest room window and woke Aditya.

Nagina was busy in the kitchen. Seeing him come out, she said, a little flustered, "Sir, why are you up so early? I haven't finished making the tea."

"Carry on." Aditya waved a hand and walked toward the bathroom, bent at the waist.

Being young was good, but it made it far too easy to get carried away. I'll have to eat less masala from now on. It really stokes the fire.

By the time he came out wiping his face, Mary was up too. She wore a blue kurta, her hair loosely pinned up, and stood yawning at the stairs.

Aditya glanced at her. "Did hunger wake you up?"

"You woke me up." Mary rolled her eyes.

Nagina brought over milk tea and flatbread, and the two sat facing each other to eat. Aditya wolfed his food down, while Mary paused after every bite, chewing even a single sesame seed on the flatbread over and over.

"Let's go. I'll drop you at the company first," Aditya said.

Mary murmured assent and rose to get her bag.

The Mercedes stood outside. In the morning light, several scratches showed on its paintwork. Aditya opened the door and slid into the driver's seat, and Mary got in too.

The engine started, and the car slowly pulled out of the alley.

Malabar Hill was quiet in the early morning. The trees lining the sloping road were thick with foliage, their leaves sifting the morning light into patches on the road.

They descended the hill and drove along the coastal road. The sea breeze poured through the windows, carrying the scent of salt and coconuts.

Aditya drove in utter boredom, one hand resting on the steering wheel and the other propped on the window.

Mary looked out the window. The Arabian Sea shone almost white, and a few small fishing boats floated in the distance, like scraps of paper scattered over the water.

"Are you coming back at noon?" Mary suddenly asked.

"No. I'll go straight to the police station this afternoon. I should be back tonight."

Neither spoke again, and the car stopped outside the company building.

Ghulam had already come forward to greet them. He opened the door and said, "Miss Cohen."

Mary nodded and got out, heading into the building.

Aditya leaned out and called, "Once I'm done, I'll come pick you up tonight and take you home."

At those words, Ghulam stared at Mary, his eyes widening.

Mary's steps stiffened for a moment, angered by Aditya's flippant remark.

Aditya turned the car around and first drove to an old building in the old fort district to pick up Kulkarni.

Once he had picked him up, they drove to the Port Authority. The guard at the entrance was smoking, a rifle slung over his shoulder.

Kulkarni rolled down the window and asked, "Brother, has Mr. Gadkari arrived?"

The guard gave him a sidelong glance. "Long since. You're hardly early, though. Go upstairs and wait your turn."

After parking, the two entered the building. People were already waiting in the third-floor corridor.

Two old benches stood outside Gadkari's office. There weren't enough seats, so most people stood against the wall.

A tall, thin man clutched a bulging leather bag, craning his neck toward the door one moment and wiping his sweat with his sleeve the next. An elderly man with graying hair squatted in the corner, gripping a stack of documents. Aditya didn't push forward. He stood with Kulkarni by the stairs.

Ten minutes later, Gadkari emerged from his office. His large belly stuck out, half the hem of his white shirt was tucked into his trousers, and he wore a pair of black sandals. Without looking at anyone, he headed straight for the toilet at the end of the corridor.

The tall, thin man tried to approach him to speak, only for Gadkari to slap him across the face, leaving an instant patch of red.

"Watch where you're going, you fool! Can't a man even use the toilet in peace?"

Only after he entered the toilet did the people in the corridor dare speak in low voices.

Kulkarni whispered to Aditya, "He comes out to use the toilet every half hour. You must never stop him then. You can tell the man who got hit is new. When Mr. Cohen was around, he never spoke to him in the corridor."

Aditya murmured assent. He had visited plenty of government offices in his previous life. The smaller the official, the more rules they had. A joint secretary like Gadkari barely ranked in the state government, but here, on the Port Authority's little patch of land, he was heaven itself. If you didn't let him put on the airs of heaven, he could sit on your paperwork for half a year.

Twenty minutes later, Gadkari returned from the toilet.

He certainly can eat, Aditya couldn't help grumbling inwardly.

As Gadkari passed Kulkarni, he stopped and shifted his gaze to Aditya's face beside him. Seeing the sacred thread across Aditya's chest, he nodded and asked, "You're the Cohen Company's new director?"

"Yes."

"Come in."

Gadkari pushed open the door, went inside, and sat straight back down in his chair. Aditya and Kulkarni followed him in.

The office was more cramped than they had imagined. A large wooden desk occupied half the room, piled with documents, teacups, an alarm clock, and a half-eaten packet of biscuits. A picture of God Shiva hung on the wall, its corners yellowed by incense smoke. A sour smell filled the room.

There were no chairs, so Aditya and Kulkarni could only stand.

Gadkari paid them no mind. He picked up his teacup, found it empty, and roared toward the door, "Yafu, where the hell have you gone? Where's my tea!"

No one answered outside. He cursed and slammed the cup down.

"You're here for the renewal, I take it." Gadkari assumed a serious expression. "You've prepared all your paperwork, but you know better than anyone what condition Pier Three is in. Look how old the equipment is. The pier surface is cracked, and the drains are clogged like cesspits. The Port Authority isn't what it used to be. The higher-ups talk about safety every day. If an inspection turns up problems, forget renewal-even your existing permit could be suspended."

Aditya said nothing. He knew this was the opening speech. The truly important part had yet to come.

Sure enough, Gadkari leaned back in his chair and said at a leisurely pace, "When Mr. Cohen was around, he never made me worry about the pier. That old crane of yours should have been replaced long ago under the regulations. But every time he came, he would first have tea with me, then chat about ships. He understood. He understood us and knew the Port Authority's difficulties."

He raised his eyes and stared at Aditya, enunciating every word. "So, do you know the Port Authority's difficulties?"

Aditya sneered inwardly, but his expression remained unchanged. With great sincerity, he said, "Mr. Joint Secretary, I'm new here, so I wouldn't claim to know everything. But the Cohen Company's thirty-year payment history and safety record are all on paper. The company has never owed the Port Authority a single rupee or had a single major accident. We haven't come empty-handed to ask for a renewal. I have detailed plans prepared for replacing the equipment and covering the costs."

"Plans." Gadkari laughed. "I receive two or three hundred plans on paper every year. Are they any use? Next Wednesday, the safety section will visit your pier. They won't look at your plans. They'll only look at whether the ground is clean, whether the electrical boxes leak current, and whether there's water in the fire hoses."

As he spoke, he drew a sheet of paper from a drawer, but showed no intention of handing it over. Holding it between his fingers, he waved it at Aditya.

"This is a list of safety hazards. I sent someone to take a look beforehand. If you make the corrections on this list, things will look better on inspection day. If you don't take it seriously, I won't cover for you."

Aditya didn't step forward to take the paper. He asked, "Is this list officially issued by the Port Authority, or is it your personal recommendation?"

Gadkari's smile froze, as though he had never expected Aditya to ask such a question. He studied Aditya, then gave a dry chuckle and said coldly, "You brought a lawyer here just to ask questions like that?"

Aditya said, "I respect you, and I respect the law. I'll certainly take the list. But I need to know whether the Port Authority will recognize it afterward. If someone says on inspection day that the list is wrong, what will we have to support our case?"

Kulkarni added, "Mr. Joint Secretary, under the Port Authority's established practice, the renewal assessment should begin eight months before an operating permit expires. The Cohen Company has completed the formal submission process, and the Port Authority has acknowledged receipt of the documents. If this is ultimately delayed over an 'unofficial list,' it will look very bad procedurally. We may then have to request a review at a higher level."

Gadkari slapped the paper onto the desk, his face darkening. "You little brat from the north. You really are difficult."

"It's not that I'm difficult. It's just that Mr. Gadkari and I aren't very familiar with each other yet," Aditya said. "I've only just arrived here. Neither of us trusts the other, so we can only lay things out in the open. I will certainly take this list. Before next Wednesday, I'll have the pier make the corrections on it, and you can inspect it afterward. If that still doesn't get the agreement renewed, I'll find another way."

Aditya placed no particular emphasis on "another way." Yet Gadkari heard the meaning hidden beneath it.

He sneered. "Saparkar down south has already sent people to the Port Authority twice to put in a word. He's willing to invest in equipment, repave the pier's storage yard, and even pay the Port Authority more in management fees. Tell me, should the Port Authority choose you or him?"

After hearing him out, Aditya didn't rush to argue. He had already seen Saparkar's name on Kulkarni's sheet yesterday. This shipowners' agent had ships but no pier, and wanted to take over Pier Three while the Cohen Company was unstable.

Now Gadkari was playing him as a card, merely to tell Aditya that his position wasn't so secure and that he shouldn't take renewal for granted.

"Mr. Saparkar is free to invest in equipment." Aditya thought for a moment, then said, "But the operating permit for Pier Three is still in the Cohen Company's hands. If the Port Authority holds up our renewal because an outsider puts in a few words, who will trust its contracts once word gets out?"

Gadkari's face darkened further. "What do you mean? Are you accusing me of favoritism?"

"I never said that." Aditya smiled. "I just want a clear answer from the joint secretary. Has Saparkar submitted a formal proposal, or has he merely treated someone to a few cups of tea in private? If it's a formal proposal, the Cohen Company also has the right to see it. The Port Authority can't listen to just one side. If it's only tea, I can treat you to that too."

That left Gadkari momentarily speechless. He wanted to lose his temper, but had no grounds.

Kulkarni spoke at the right moment. "Mr. Joint Secretary, established practice is clear. The Cohen Company has thirty years without accidents or unpaid fees. You won't find another record like it in the entire port. If a qualified company's renewal process is halted over a third party's verbal expression of interest, it won't reflect well on the Port Authority when word gets out."

Gadkari snorted and threw the sheet of paper onto the floor, saying coldly, "Don't say I didn't leave you a way forward. If you want this safety checklist, pick it up yourself. Next Wednesday, the safety section will visit your pier. Everything they'll inspect is on that list. If you can meet every single requirement, renewal is still open for discussion. If you drop the ball, don't blame me for disregarding my old ties with Mr. Cohen."

Unfazed, Aditya bent down with easy composure, picked up the paper, and scanned it. More than a dozen items were listed, some genuine and some false. Some were clearly there to pad the numbers. They had even dared include things like "poor ventilation in the changing room" and "damaged roof panels on the bicycle shelter."

He bowed to Gadkari. "Thank you, Mr. Joint Secretary."

Gadkari no longer wanted anything to do with Aditya. He lifted his empty teacup and shouted again, "Where's the tea! Yafu! Yafu! Where the fuck have you gone?"

Aditya and Kulkarni withdrew.

Seeing the door open, the tall, thin man in the corridor hurried inside.

The door slammed shut.

Smack, smack, smack! It sounded as though a face were striking a palm.

Inside, Gadkari cursed, "Did I tell you to come in? Huh? Answer me!"

On the way downstairs, Aditya handed the paper to Kulkarni. Kulkarni glanced over it and said, "These are all trivial little issues, but if the inspectors have coordinated with Gadkari, they may add more requirements on the day."

"Let them." Aditya was unconcerned. "He gave us the list in the end, which means he doesn't want to take things too far either. Holding up the renewal doesn't do him much good. We can drag this out for another six months, but he can't afford to. The Port Authority collects a considerable amount from Pier Three every year. He wouldn't dare block that revenue stream completely."

"So that's why you asked him outright whether it was official or personal." Kulkarni smiled. "That was a ruthless move. If he wants to put pressure on the company again, he'll have to think about how to explain himself to the others first."

"We still can't save on the tea that has to be bought," Aditya said. "All the people behind him-the safety section, the various committees-have to go through the procedures. Once I lay the procedures out, the tea is for everyone. If he wants to drink it all by himself, he'll find it hard to take a sip."

Kulkarni nodded, and they got into the car.

"Are we going to the police station next?"

"Yes."