Om inspected the interior too. He found three clothes hooks and a mirror, but nowhere to conceal oneself. “It’s impossible,” he concluded.
“You think so, do you?” said Jeevan. “Now let me show you smart boys something.” He led them behind the counter, to the rear of the partition that formed the back of the booth. “Put your eye to that,” he said, indicating a crack in one corner.
Om gasped. “You can see everything from here!”
“Let me look,” said Maneck, pushing him. “It’s perfect, yaar!”
Jeevan strummed his lips and smirked. “Yes, but don’t get any ideas. I will be in a madhouse before I let you in here.”
“Aray, please!” said Om. “It’s such a perfect top-to-bottom free show!”
“Perfect, yes. Free, no. Everything has a price. You go for cinema, there is a ticket to buy. Take the train, and there is the fare to pay.”
“How much?” asked Om.
“Never mind how much. I cannot risk my shop’s honour.”
“Please, yaar, Jeevan, please!”
He began to relent. “You’ll behave yourselves? No going crazy at the sight of flesh?”
“We’ll do whatever you say.”
“Okay. Two rupees each.”
Om watched Maneck check his pocket. “Yes, we have enough.”
“But I want only one at a time back here. And no noise, not even breathing, understand?” They nodded. Jeevan examined the order book. Two women were due that evening, one for a blouse and one for pants. “Who wants which?”
Maneck suggested tossing a coin. “Heads,” said Om, and won. He closed his eyes, smiling, trying to decide, and selected pants. Jeevan said they had at least an hour to wait, the customers would be coming after five. Since the rain had eased up, the two decided to go for a stroll.
It was a tense, silent walk, the air heavy with expectation. They spoke just once, to concur that they should be getting back in case the women were early. Barely fifteen minutes had elapsed.
They waited on edge in the shop, getting on Jeevan’s nerves. There were four false alarms — people collecting repairs and alterations. At a quarter to six, their patience was rewarded.
“Yes, madam, your blouse is ready for trial,” said Jeevan, giving the boys a discreet nod. He browsed through a stack of clothes to allow Maneck time to slide behind the counter into the dark space. Then, retrieving the blouse, he indicated the curtain to the woman. “In there, madam, thank you very much.”
Maneck thought the pounding of his heart would knock down the partition. High heels tapping sharply on the stone floor, she entered, hung the new blouse on a hook, and drew the curtain. She pulled her neatly tucked top out of her skirt and unbuttoned it, her back towards him. He watched her reflection in the mirror.
He held his breath as the top came away. She was wearing a white brassière. Her thumbs travelled under the straps, shifting their position. Two red lines upon the skin of her shoulders marked the place. Then she moved her hands behind and unhooked the brassière.
For one insane moment he thought it was coming off. He clenched his fist. But the hook was merely moved to the next loop on the fraying elastic band. She rolled her shoulders a couple of times and adjusted the cups, pushing them higher till they settled snugly, and put on the new blouse.
Beads of perspiration rolled down Maneck’s forehead and stung his eyes. She left the booth. He took the opportunity to inhale deeply. Through the crack, past the open curtain, he could see Jeevan checking the fit. Om turned suddenly and winked at the crack, putting his hands on his chest and squeezing.
The blouse was satisfactory. She returned to change, and exited in less than a minute. Maneck waited; he could hear Jeevan thanking her and providing a final delivery date. Then the high heels tapped their way down the steps, and he emerged from the hiding place.
He wiped his brow on his sleeve, shaking out the shirt underneath his armpits. “It’s so hot behind the partition.”
“Don’t blame the partition. Your heat rises from your lower part,” laughed Jeevan. He gestured for the money, and Maneck paid up.
“How was it?” asked Om. “What did you see?”
“It was great. But she was wearing a bra.”
“What did you expect?” said Jeevan. “My customers are not low-class village women. They work in big offices — secretaries, receptionists, typists. They apply lipstick and rouge, and wear top-quality underwear.”
Om had to wait another half-hour before his customer arrived. He sidled nonchalantly past the counter, disappearing before Jeevan found the garment and directed the woman into the booth.
When she stepped out Maneck wished he could have opted for this one. The way the new pants hugged her thighs and gripped her crotch brought a lump to his throat. Jeevan knelt before her to verify the inseam, and Maneck swallowed hard.
She returned behind the curtain. Seconds later, there was a muffled thud and a scream.
Jeevan jumped. “Madam! Is everything all right?”
“I heard a noise! From the back!”
“Please madam, it’s all right, I promise you,” he grovelled with masterful calm and speed. “It’s only rats. Please don’t worry.”
She came out flustered, flinging the pants on the counter. He reverently restored them to their hanger. “I’m very sorry you were frightened, madam. Rats are such a problem wherever you go in the city.”
“You should do something about it,” she said angrily. “It’s not nice for your customers.”
“Yes, madam. Sometimes it hides in the boxes behind the partition and makes a noise. I’ll have to spread more poison for it.” He apologized again and saw her off.
Om emerged wearing a sheepish smile, quite ready to be teased about his trouser-rat. Jeevan clipped him viciously over the head. “Saala idiot! Such huge trouble you could have made for me! What caused the noise?”
“Sorry, I slipped.”
“Slipped! What filthy things were you doing that you slipped? Get out, both of you! I don’t want to see you again in my shop!”
Maneck tried to placate Jeevan by offering the two rupees for Om’s viewing, but that only aggravated him further. He swept the hand aside and looked ready to strike him. “Keep your money! And keep this troublesome boy out of my shop!” He pushed them through the door and down the steps.
They were subdued as they walked up the lane to the main road. A crow shrieked from a window ledge. The sobering effect of Jeevan’s rage was deepened by the evening light lapping at the hem of darkness. Streetlamps started to flicker tentatively — yellow buds, intimating the arrival of the full glow. Something scampered across their path into an alley.
“Look,” said Maneck. “There goes madam’s rat.” They caught a flash of pink skin through the rodent’s diseased fur, patchy and mange-eaten.
“It’s searching for Advanced Tailoring,” said Om. “Wants to order a new suit.” They laughed. The rat disappeared into the alley’s darker recesses where a gutter gurgled. There were sharp squeaks, and sounds of splashing. They headed for the bus stop.
“So tell me,” Maneck nudged with an elbow. “What were you doing in there?”
Smiling wryly, Om made a fist and moved it up and down. A short laugh that was more like a cough broke from Maneck.
Ahead, something spattered onto the crowded pavement from an upper-storey window. Pedestrians who had been soiled screamed at the building. They reached the entrance steps and raced upstairs, though it was impossible to know which window was hiding the culprit.
“Did you see much?” asked Maneck.
“Everything. Her new pants were so tight, when she pulled them down her knickers went down as well.”
Maneck kicked a stone into the gutter. “You saw the hair?”