Eight years ago, Naomi Dutta and Abhijeet Dutta were forced to abandon their perfect life in the land of the brave and the free and move to sadda Gurgaon. A decision made not out of choice but compulsion. Abhijeet, then some senior level executive in one of the big tech giants, had been asked to leave or relocate to India. The official reason for the relocation, or what he told his family, was that his manager wanted him to head a division in the India office; the unofficial gossip was that the boss had wanted him out of the job/ company, all because Abhijeet was bonking the boss’s secretary; but Abhijeet’s superior networking skills (and keeping the even higher-ups in good humour) saved the day for him. Abhijeet packed his bags and convinced his reluctant family and moved to Gurgaon. Since the move was a sudden one, it was he who had come down and found a house first to rent - a largish 4 bedroom apartment in the same apartment complex; one with a lovely view on to the vast arenas of the Golf Course Road. The papers were signed and soon the Duttas were here.

For Naomi, who prided herself on being one of the special ones compared to her lesser fortunate cousins and countrymen, because she lived in the US of A, this sudden, unplanned move back was a setback. Nothing could or would compare to her “home” back in California - a place where she had made a world for herself. The splendid view and the airy home at first of course did not meet Naomi’s superior discerning eye. She did not like it. And she made her opinions known. Loud and clear. That too within a month. Her husband, already anxious and stressed all account of his office shenanigans, did not want any more unwanted tension at home. He agreed to her wish that they own a house on the sprawling Golf Course Road. (After all the least he could do was ensure they lived in their own house, in the poshest part of this ugly suburb of Delhi!). However, a month later, when Abhijeet proposed looking for a more spacious, flat in one of the other “posher” complexes on the road, after fixing his finances, and totally his resources,  Naomi flatly refused. She said she wanted to shift into a villa in this very complex. Poor Abhijeet was perplexed! He could not fathom the reason behind this wish, sudden and whimsical. Knowing better than to question his wife, Abhijeet agreed to this as well. While this sudden change of heart on Naomi’s part may seem whimsical, it stemmed from one particular episode that had taken place on a sunny day merely three weeks from the day they had moved in.

On the said day, a bright day in the month of March, a few days after the colourful day of Holi, a group of ladies, fresh and chirpy, met at a building in the centre of this oddly shaped complex. That building, known as the clubhouse, was hardly a lavish place that one conjures up when one hears the word clubhouse. The clubhouse in Arcade Emporia is a mere two storeyed small building, with some small rooms passing off for activities, gym and a parlour. Bare minimum. In fact this had been one of the reasons Naomi had earlier wished to move to a better, posher condominium. “God, Abhijeet, can you imagine living in this sub-par, sub-standard place, especially after our marvellous home in Campbell;?” Naomi would often wail, every day in fact, when the couple would take rounds of the small complex on their daily morning walk.

On the day that Naomi sauntered into the club, it so happened that a group of enthusiastic ladies in the condominium were coming together to plan an event, a respectable charity event, a mela, the proceeds of which would be given to a deserving charity. This event organisation chai/ coffee meeting was widely publicised in the form of fliers on the notice boards in every building. A few days before the said meeting, Naomi Dutta, on her way back from yet another shopping trips, had spotted the flier. Bored, and keen to make new friends and of course make her presence felt and show off her superior organisational skills (after all she had been the president of the Indian ladies association in Campbell) , she decided she would attend. And so she did.

With a supercilious smile plastered on her face, Naomi Dutta breezed into the club house at precisely 10 minutes before the meeting time to check out the place. “Namaste madam ji”, the scrawny guard seated at the entrance greeted her, a wide smile on his cheek. She raised her eyebrows at this boisterous greeting. “Namaste” and greeted him back rather perfunctorily.  With a sweep of her gaze, she scanned the small area in front of the spiral staircase that led up to the small parlour/ salon and the gym. “Oh god, this area is so small. Not fit for my living here!” She thought to herself, walking to an unattended table laden with fliers and some goodies, intended for distribution. Helping herself to two packets of the packed goodies which she promptly slipped into her shopping bags, she stood and looked around. Mainly to see whether someone had spotted her doing that. Thankfully no one hadn’t, not even the guard. You see, Naomi had a rather interesting habit. Anything she wanted, she had to have, had to take - shopping therefore was one of her favourite activities, thrilling and exciting, as she had perfected the art of slipping small items quietly into her bag and getting away with it. Back in Campbell, she had perfected another art. In fact had turned it into a business. Going to a store, say for instance the local Walmart and picking up an item on heavy discount (after paying for it, of course) and a few days later, making her way to a far away Walmart where the said item was not on discount. There she would return it and claim and pocket the full amount of the item! This said “business” - of buying discounting things from one store and returning the same at another store - kept her busy (what with her having to scour the local store’s fliers for identifying and selecting the discounted items and the far-away branch of the same store, where to sell!) and her pocket flush with funds most of the time.

Even as she was mulling over her lost glorious time back in good ol’ Campbell, a group of sweaty, flushed women caught her eye. Probably five of them in total, they were of different shapes and sizes  ranging from S to XL. They were huddled around a woman and were listening intently to her. The woman in the centre was svelte  and had a figure-to die for. With her hair, silky, dark and smooth of course, tied up in a casual bun, and sweat beads all over her toned body, she stood regally, mesmerising her onlookers and holding their complete attention. Despite the obvious inference - that the striking lady in the centre was some kind of instructor,  Naomi’s interest was piqued and she found herself moving towards the group, looking to overhear their conversation. Amidst the high-pitched voices, speaking all at the same time, somehow, the svelte lady seemed to notice her, “Oh hello, I am Zenia,” she said looking at Naomi with a beaming smile on her face. The other ladies became silent and turned to look at her. Naomi was embarrassed but she recovered herself and smiled back. “I am Naomi, Sorry, I don’t really listen in to conversations. But, may I please ask what your fitness group is all about?” Zenia smiled. “Oh, Welcome to Zenia’s Zumba Zing. This is my Zumba class here at your condo and these lovely ladies here are my students.” Recognising this as an opportunity to blend in and meet people, Naomi quipped, “Zumba? That is cool. I would love to join.” Numbers exchanged, Naomi Dutta stood speaking to one of the ladies there, Ashima Mathur to get more details about the fitness routine and well life at Arcade in general.

It was then Naomi noticed an elderly lady, busy body written all over her face, recently having entered the club house, looking her up and down. The old lady then beamed at Ashima. “Ashima, it has been a while. Who have you here with you? I haven’t seen you at Arcade.” “Oh Vimla aunty, I am fine. How are you? Oh this is Naomi. She has recently moved to Arcade.” Ashima replied. Naomi smiled politely, and introduced herself. “Are you a tenant or an owner?” Vimla aunty’s this question was to change the course of life for the Duttas. Even as she replied that they lived in a rented house, Vimla aunty’s interest faded fast and she started discussing some other thing with Ashima.

Ashima, embarrassed at this whole exchange profusely apologised for the older lady’s snobbishness. But Naomi, much aggrieved and insulted, had started making future plans. When she found out that this Vimla aunty owned a similar sized flat in a neighbouring tower, Naomi decided to move to a bigger place - which left only the villas. Naomi Dutta was insistent that she would move, and that too to a villa in Arcade Emporia.

And that is how Abhijeet Dutta found himself the proud owner of the corner-most villa in the last lane of Arcade Emporia. It was the only villa available for sale back then.