Mountain Palaces and the Cordial Repo (Part 1)

Once again, I had over eaten. In a lawless ten-fingered blur of roti, yogurt and paneer masala I had thrown caution to the wind for over an hour at my favorite local restaurant, Ridi Sidi. The sound of spoon scrapes along the bottom of silver serving dishes had finally died down, but thoughts of a potbellied homecoming in December were just starting to brew. Alim, Karthik, Ashini and I quickly paid our shares of the bill - 120 rupees each, about $2.60 - and took one final gulp of cold water before walking out the door into the humid night.

After a short 15 minute walk down the main road, through headlights and horn honks, we turned down the sand-doused concrete side road that eventually led to our GDL entrance. At the front door and under a single streetlight I saw Dharamveer standing there enjoying a large piece of papad, and looking at me with his usual cherubic grin. I stopped for a moment while the rest of the group made their way through the front door.

“Hellooooo. Goood even-en-ing” he playfully said in his sandpapered soprano voice full of its usual inflection and vigor. His English was actually quite good, but everything he said was infused with a slight lisp, and his own brand of accent.

Dharamveer, who we referred to simply as “DV”, was one of those people in life that when you asked someone if they knew him, they would acknowledge with a knowing smile, slow blink and pursed lips - he was a character. Of average height and a portly build, you could often find DV sauntering around our GDL complex with a satisfied smile on his often perspiring face, and if you asked him a 10 second question, you would often get a 10 minute parable in return. He worked with me on the Sarvajal pure-water business, and often had to deal with the late payments, fraud, and general shaky business practices of our franchisee network - a necessary evil of doing business in rural India.

“So - vaat are yoo doing tomorrow?” he asked, holding out a generous chunk of papad. I took it and had a small bite

“As of now, nothing DV. Why?” I already had a smirk on my face though, firstly - because I knew he had something up his sleeve, and secondly - just because I was talking to DV.

“Vvvell - I am going to Jhunjhunu City toom-ardow to take ourd filter machine back from an angry franchisee, and I need your help” His grin turned to a toothy smile as he punctuated “help” with a few decisive pats on his left bicep. I smiled back and looked at the ground in a brief moment of modesty. As I was about 8 inches taller and 60 pounds heavier than nearly everyone in the village, I was the default “muscle” of the group. In the past three weeks I had been called an “army man”, a “movie hero”, and been told with sincere adulation but unintended homosexual undertones that “I want to have a body like yours, sir.” The comments were flattering, but I had never become totally comfortable with them.

Regardless, though being a bona-fide “Repo Man” for the company wasn’t in the job description I received last May, there was no way I was going to let this one pass me by.

“Sure DV, I’m in. But is it going to be just you and me?” Thoughts of a Ben/DV repo team seemed to lack the sense of intimidation and security that I thought we needed.

“No no no. I am having eeeight guys from Sarvajal come” he said

“Ah, got it” I affirmed.

“But - I tooold them vee were going on a pik-nik so that they vould actually come.” He put his hand on my shoulder with a raspy belly-laugh that, in turn, made me break into a laugh and slight head-shake. I didn’t know which was odder, the foolishness of the whole thing, or that I was becoming increasingly used to such absurdity with each passing week in India. Regardless, I patted DV on the shoulder and retired to my bedroom for some good rest before the next day’s repo work.

[It’s late. Going to bed. To be continued....]