Madness In Mumbai: Vrushali Samant Explores A Real Mid-Life Crisis

Until forty, Monica Singh never put a foot out of the line. And why would she? As a pampered socialite, wife of a rich businessman whose life had never taken her beyond the luxuries of Pali Hill and Mount Mary, she had almost everything she could ask for—except for love. And then her unfaithful husband leaves her for his baby-popping, business-tripling mistress, his company’s VP Sales ‘Luckshmi’, throwing her life and sense of self into disarray overnight.

Abandoned by everyone she has ever known, Monica rediscovers her first love, photography, kick-starting a mad chain of events that sends her hurtling in a whirlwind through the streets of Mumbai. Navigating her way through tarot card readings, a gangster—sorry, social worker—romance, a kidnapping, a car chase, a murder plot, a surly policeman, a drug bust and more—will Monica be able to find herself at the end of it all? 

In all its hilarious, suspenseful, steamy and witty twists and turns, Madness in Mumbai will take you on a wild ride of self-discovery, passion and adventure that is only possible in a city like Mumbai. 

Here's an excerpt from Vrushali Samant's Madness in Mumbai

‘Are you out of your mind, Monica?!’ her friend Tara, the not-so-famous tarot-card reader, exclaimed, and Monica froze that moment in her camera frame.

‘Stop it and get serious!’ Tara fumed as she put her chopsticks down on the plate. Monica had just told Tara about her forbidden carnal bash, the following day.

They were at the exquisite Wasabi by Morimoto in Mumbai’s heritage five-star hotel, the Taj. Since it was a weekday afternoon, the tables buzzed with lunching ladies from the champagne set of the island city. 

Breaking her trance, Tara moved in closer and hissed, ‘Damn it, he is a gangster!’

‘But the sex is so good. It is the best I have ever had.’ Saying this, Monica took a sip of her jasmine tea.  

Tara opened her mouth to say something. However, she was unable to find words. She noticed a certain newfound composure in her…er…well...friend. Of course, there was a vast difference in their financial status. And age as well. In her late twenties, Tara read the tarot to pay her bills while forty-something Monica was someone who had never worked. Nor would she ever need to. 

She was Tara’s former client. Monica had come to seek counsel in Tara’s tarot just three months ago. Back then, Monica’s skeletal frame had quivered with anxiety. Her eyes had dark circles, bags and deep-seated grief. But just a quarter of a year had passed since, and seated in front of Tara was a composed, radiant Monica. 

Gathering her bearings, Tara said, ‘It is dangerous. You could get into a lot of trouble.’

Monica picked up a piece of sushi with her chopsticks.

‘How? I am not cheating on anyone. On the contrary, my husband—sorry, I mean to-be-ex-husband—was cheating on me, right?’ Saying this she dipped the sushi in a thin puddle of piquant Kikkoman. 

‘But he is not just any man, don’t you get it? He is a gangster, damn it. Those “dishkyaon dishkyaon goli maron bheje mein” types?’ 

‘Until I met him, I had no clue what I was missing for twenty years of married life!’ Saying this, she put the taut bundle in her mouth. Tara stared at Monica as she enjoyed her bite. 

‘Monica…’

‘Yes?’

‘I…I…don’t know what to say… Don’t you think you are doing something wrong?’

‘No one thought of me when To-Be-Ex-Husband was busy screwing his Sales VP, now fiancée, right?’

‘It is bad karma,’ said Tara, shaking her head from one side to the other. 

‘But the sex is exceptional!’ piped up Monica and called for the bill. 

As the two glided towards the door of the restaurant, they heard thundering  laughter from a nearby table. Then the laughter stopped abruptly, prompting Monica to turn and face a long table.  The eight ladies seated in there stared at Monica. And she stared back. They had been friends for two decades. They used to be a team: the wealthy sisterhood who ate small bites in public and binged on biryani in private. And together they’d purge it out as well for the fear of getting fat. Apart from wealth and status, they were united in their fears too: 1) getting fat, and 2) losing their husbands to the charms of another woman. 

Now that Monica was not ‘Mrs Singh’,  she was no longer ‘one of them’. 

Uncertain of how to react, they looked at her. Then, at each other, fumbling for words. For her part, Monica folded her hands and waited patiently. Intimidated by the hostility of the rich, Tara, who was going to get dropped at the station to catch the local for her home in the far-flung suburb these women would call Candy Valley (Kandivali), stood a few steps behind.   

One of them spoke up. Feigning concern, she asked, ‘Monica? Hope you are fine? Do you have thyroid?’

Monica shook her head no. 

‘You look like you have piled on a few pounds.’ Saying this, she looked at her pack, who nodded back, acknowledging the observation.  

But that did not deter Monica. She continued to smile beatifically. And then, without thinking, involuntarily, words of wisdom spewed forth. 

‘That is because I have been having mind-boggling orgasmic sex. He makes me come multiple times, each time, every time. I scream in crazy ecstasy. I am busy screwing unlike all of you who snoop on your husbands to find out who they have been sleeping with. Because who better than I would know that none of you gets much action. Bye, babies. I got to meet and mate. And after I am done, we both shall share a meal. Nalli Nihari and Boti Kebab!’ her voice thundered.  

Announcing her post-coital Mughlai meal plan in one of the city’s most exclusive Japanese restaurants, Monica glided away from the shocked bunch. 

Extracted with permission from Vrushali Samant's Madness in Mumbai; published by Rupa Publications