Aftertaste, the second novel by author Namita Devidayal, tells the story of one business family and its bitter dynamics: of resentful wives, emasculated sons, controlling in-laws and rapacious siblings. For at the heart of a good Indian business family lies money, not love and the story is about these inter-familial dynamics. This extract is about the ineffectual Rajan Papa who is content to run the family’s mithai business as it has been run for years. His more ambitious younger brother Sunny wants to modernise it and expand and this leads to an inevitable and bitter clash.

One of the best kept secrets about the mithai business is that the delicate sheet of silver that is used to embellish mithai is made by Muslim men who expertly beat little pieces of the precious metal inside the soft folds of a sheep’s intestine, until they are thinner than the finest tissue paper.

Once a day, their old-time supplier Javed bhai Varakwala would drive down with a big stainless steel box strapped on the back seat of his two-wheeler. The box contained layer upon layer of the delicate glistening silver sheets called varak, separated by butter paper. These would then be gently slapped on to the naked mithai, which lay like a beautiful bride awaiting her final jewels.

Although the price of silver had gone up, and therefore their costs, Bimmo di Barfi had not raised their sweet prices. There was an unwritten rule that price lists would be revised no more than once a year and that had already taken place.

Sunny thought that this method of making varak was not only disgustingly unhygienic, but led to wastage. Besides, it was patently non-vegetarian and it puzzled him that most customers were either unaware or chose to be in denial about the fact that the sweets they were eating, offering to gods, and serving at their weddings and poojas, was steeped in the juices of the filthy innards of an animal. He figured that there had to be a way out so that business did not suffer. He got in touch with an old friend who had been to engineering college and learned that one of his classmates had just imported a German technology that machine-made this varak. It was the first of its kind in India. He had just set up a small operation in Thane. Sunny went to meet his friend and got a sense of what it would cost as well as how it worked.

The brainwave came to him the morning his wife delivered their baby daughter in Delhi, while he sat smoking a cigarette in the bathroom in Cozy Villa. He chuckled silently to himself as the idea took shape. Ha! They would turn the sweet shop into a chain and advertise the outlets as the only hygienic vegetarian mithai shop. That would be their unique selling point, the differentiating factor, which is what all businesses need to survive and grow. He had written a paper on that in business school. Yes, and they would change the name. He saw an advertisement for Nirma detergent in the paper, a product that had given all the big multinational companies a run for their money. What an excellent, short, catchy name, he thought. They needed something like that. Something that was modern and scalable. He took the last drag and dropped the cigarette stub into the toilet bowl — even though he knew it irritated his mother when it didn’t flush down.

Bimz — that’s what they would call the chain.

Sunny suddenly felt heady from the two newborns in his life — his baby girl and his business plan. After his bath, he went and lay down on his bed, his towel still wrapped around him, and let it fall to the side. His mind was in a whirl. Should he talk to Mummyji first or to Rajan Papa about his idea? He also had to fly to Delhi to be with his wife and the baby. Oh god! He had a baby. How on earth did that happen? How could he be a father when he wasn’t even sure about being a husband? They were so much better off as girlfriend and boyfriend. He felt a sense of panic. Sunny did what he found most reassuring when he was stressed. He braced his body for release, while thinking of a hazy, squirming Jassu the way he remembered her that night they spent in a wood cabin in the Catskill Mountains. He then lay on the bed, feeling lighter, debating whether he should have another cigarette, when he heard the door open. Mummyji walked in and he jumped up, clutching his towel.

‘Mummy, how many times have I told you to knock before coming into my room?’

‘What is the problem, Sunny? Don’t forget I have seen you naked a thousand times! Just because you have become a father don’t think you can throw your weight around,’ she
giggled. ‘Any way, come and have some hot hot parathas. I am ordering six boxes of mithai for you to take to your in-laws.’

As Sunny munched on his breakfast on the aquarium dining table, he suddenly felt sad. The excitement he had earlier felt over his business plan had gone away. Instead, he was irritated with his mother, frustrated with work, and fearful about the future. Then he remembered what his mother-in-law had said on the phone earlier that morning — that the baby had his eyes — and he managed to smile.

Sunny returned from Delhi within a week. Jassu was even more hormonal and bad-tempered than she had been during her pregnancy and he thought it best to leave her with her parents for some more time. Although he was elated to hold her, Sunny could barely connect with the infant who stared blankly at him and seemed to only want her mother’s breast which is what he also wanted, but was not getting.

Author Namita Devidayal Price Rs 399 Publication Random House Pages 292

He went straight from the airport to Cozy Villa, and found his mother sitting in her armchair, with an enormous vat of boiled milk in front of her cooling under a whirring fan.
‘Come come, kakka! Who does she look like? Is she fair or dark?’ said Mummyji, ringing the bell for the servant. ‘First tell me, would you like tea or lassi?’

‘She looks just like you. Achha, Mummy, I wanted to talk to you about this idea I had for the business,’ said Sunny, grinning as he pulled off his shoes with each foot.

‘Tell me?’ she shooed Ratansingh away and sat back, delighted to talk shop with her son, for she often felt alienated from the operations.

‘But I don’t know if Rajan Papa would agree.’

‘You don’t worry about that…’ she said, with a hint of impatience.

And so Sunny laid out the idea meticulously, describing the technology that made varak and the advantage of rebranding the business. His mother listened carefully, her mind carefully absorbing the information, stopping only to dip her little finger into the milk and see if it had cooled. She asked how much the technology would cost. He told her that even though it was expensive, it would pay off in the long run.

‘Let’s do it,’ she said and Sunny spontaneously touched her feet as if he had already struck a great business deal.

Armed with renewed confidence, Sunny decided to speak to Rajan Papa about his proposal. But it was Tuesday morning, and five minutes into the discussion, Rajan Papa became distracted by a group of old associates who came into the shop. Rajan Papa cut him short and got up to greet them in his usual good-humoured way and said to every one present, ‘My little brother now wants to teach me about business. About business, ho ho ho!’

Rajan had no idea that his innocent playful comment would have such an impact. Sunny felt belittled. The anger inside him started welling up. It was that same feeling of frustration he used to feel when his wife would pick arguments with him and he had no control over the situation. He left the office early that evening and went to an old bachelor friend’s house for a party, where he had such a good time that he felt even more unhappy about his current situation.

Sunny tried to talk to Rajan Papa again the next day. This time, he brought with him his friend who had imported the technology and asked him to explain the details to Rajan Papa.

But even before he could listen to what Sunny had to say about the machinery, Rajan Papa said, ‘But why, Sunny puttar? Javedbhai is our oldest supplier. His father was our
father’s friend.’

‘What do you mean,Papaji?’ growled Sunny. ‘Business is business. There should
be no friendship or emotions when it comes to work.’

‘Okay. Look there are too many customers asking for me and one of the cooks has sprained his ankle. Can we please talk about this some other time?’ He turned to Sunny’s friend who looked uncomfortably at the floor. ‘Hope you don’t mind, Chetan? Please do have some tea.’

Sunny was livid. He walked outside with his friend and they sat in Sunny’s car, smoking
cigarettes. That was when he saw Javedbhai parking his two-wheeler outside the shop. Sunny narrowed his eyes like a wild beast that has just seen his prey and stepped out of his car. Javed went, as usual, into the courtyard at the back of the shop where the mithai was being made and stored to leave the fresh supply.

Sunny followed him there and said, loud enough for all the cooks and their helpers
to hear him, ‘So, Javedbhai, I wonder if people really know how you make the varak.’
Javedbhai looked at him quizzically.

Hearing the commotion, Rajan Papa came into the kitchen area. ‘What are you doing, Sunny puttar,’ he said softly. ‘Show some respect.’

‘What respect? Why don’t you show respect to me.’ His voice was rising.

‘Sunny…?’ Rajan Papa had not heard this tone of voice coming from his brother. ‘Calm down, brother…’

‘I don’t want to calm down. Stop treating me like a child.’

Rajan Papa looked helplessly at Javedbhai and then his forehead corrugated. He didn’t know how to handle what was happening around him. He went back inside, sat down on one of the chairs in the eatery, and held his head with his hands. The happy space where people generally came to feel good suddenly smelt of hatred.

Suddenly, Sunny started shouting. ‘We don’t want your filthy stuff. We don’t want to bring in disease.’

‘Don’t talk to me like that, please, Sunny sahib.’

‘What do you mean don’t talk to me like that? This is my shop.’

Then, in one indiscriminate, impulsive move he did something that surprised even himself. He pushed Javedbhai. He didn’t push very hard, it was more a shove, but the shock of it made the man fall backwards on to a pile of syrupy gulab jamun that started spreading into a sticky swamp on the floor. His hand landed on a tray of jalebi and his foot on a mound of flour, sending up a cloud of white dust. It was a terrible moment. He could barely lift himself off the floor of sticky sweetness and continued sitting in it for a few minutes, trying hopelessly to pick at bits of mithai stuck to his clothes.

Sunny and Rajan Papa stood in the middle of the debris, neither of them able to speak.
Finally, Rajan Papa helped Javedbhai up and told one of the cooks to start cleaning up the mess.

Anger is usually a disguise for fear. And the intense fear that Sunny suddenly felt over what he had done gave vent to another burst of rage.

‘How can you be so incompetent about every thing Rajan? You know nothing about how to make a business grow. This shop has remained the same for the last fifteen years. I can’t bear to be here. I should have just stayed on and finished my degree. I don’t know what came over me and brought me back to this dump.’

It was the first time in his life that he had called his brother by his name, without the added term of respect. Neither of them were aware of this, but terminology can entirely change the tenor of a relationship.

He then walked out of the kitchen, past the picture of Daddyji and his laminated
laddoos that hung behind the cash register, out of the shop, and got into his car. Daddyji looked forlorn inside the photo frame. He knew that the fight between the two brothers was a karmic thing that they had no control over. They were playing out the battle that would have some day taken place between him and his wife. Sunny raced home to Cozy Villa, seething, barely able to see ahead of him, almost running over a stray cat.