Mrs. Sharma was a long time resident of Doctors Apartments. Her buttocks were so heavy that you would think that they were a part of the apartments' foundation. Mrs. Sharma was a stickler for hygiene and cleanliness. Thats why she would often look outside her balcony with disgust. The thing was that the footpath across the south west corner boundary of Doctors Apartments had a massive Delhi style garbage dump and the garbage always spilled out onto the road, which attracted all kinds of gourmands. Cows, crows, dogs and rag pickers were regular patrons of the joint. What Mrs. Sharma couldn't digest was the stench that wafted into her house whenever the southern winds blew a bit too excitedly.
"Chhi!" she would remark, "Good I didn't vote for anybody during Municipal election. MCD anyway doesn't clean this mess. One day I'll die of this stench. Why dont you do something?" she would lob at Mr. Sharma who would try harder to evade her gaze by burying his head deeper into the morning papers.
"Are you listening? Do you want me to die?"
Mr. Sharma always wondered if he will be arrested or ostracised if he actually answered that question. He wasn't the kinds who like to shake things up. Moreover, his nose had become insensitive to the smell that disturbed the residents only once in a while.
You could give the credit for Mrs Sharma's excellent rump to Ombir's milk. Mrs Sharma wanted only the best for her family. So she only trusted fresh cow's milk.
"Oh God Mrs. Gogia, have you seen how they carry that Mother Dairy milk in trucks. It looks like it was produced in a petroleum refinery. And God only knows how old that milk is. Our Ombir brings only the milk drawn in the morning. Have you seen how much 'malai' I get out of it?"
So thats the secret of Mrs. Sharma's health - the cream from Ombir's milk. Mrs. Gogia would only nod her head in mock agreement and hate the fact that Mrs. Sharma's hind was more majestic than her own.
Mrs. Sharma kept three litres of Ombir's milk everyday. She forced four glasses down the throats of her teenagers Roshan and Roshni - two in the morning and two in the evening. She made tea, kheer, gajar ka halwa, shakes and many other healthy items out of that milk. She loved it so much.
Ombir was a strapping Jatt from Dallupura village. If only he'd shave, he'd look like Arjun Rampal. He had a small dairy that belonged to his family. He made a good income supplying milk to residents of Vasundhara Enclave and Mayur Vihar. His prized posession was his powerful Enfield Bullet that never had a legible number plate. He was also proud of his young milch cow 'Doodhia'. No she wasn't called Doodhia because she gave good milk, but because she was white like milk. Nevertheless, Doodhia would loyally squeeze out of her udders 3-4 litres of milk every morning. Ombir made sure that it was appropriately 'monetized'. So he would shout out to his nephew,
"Oye Jitender! Make sure you mix equal amount of water. These meydum jis and their kids in the high-rises have weak stomachs. I don't want any complaints of impure milk."
Jitender would diligently get 'clean looking' water from the local rusty municipal tap or handpump or from wherever he could, and make 8 out of 4.
Now Doodhia being young, was also foot-loose. Her light feet took her farther than other cows. She would roam around Trilokpuri, Dallupura, Vasundhara Enclave and nearby areas. She was free to go wherever she wanted to, but she would instinctively return to her master at sundown. She was free to choose her own grub. Ombir, being the liberal he was, never stopped her from experimenting. So off she went checking out various diners in her area of influence. Grass was good, juicy leaves were better but those were hard to come by. But last night's shahi paneer, rajma masala and sundry vegetable peels? Well, now we're talking gourmet food. Now and then, she would join other regulars, Kali, Tommy, Kaw-Kaw, Raju and such, for a hearty meal; often at the dump opposite Mrs. Sharma's. More than once Doodhia has noticed Mrs. Sharma casting a disgusted look towards her.
"She's just jealous of my rear end." Doodhia would conclude.
"Chhi chhi chhi! These animals eat anything!" Mrs. Sharma would say while loudly slurping her morning tea made out of Doodhia's milk.
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