Svetleena Choudhary’s prompt:
500 words on 'koi no yokan', the extraordinary sense upon first meeting someone, that you will one day fall in love(Japanese).
Where there's a Will
It was a messy will. It was being contested by several parties, all of whom claimed to be the patriarch’s legal heirs. There was HUF property involved, as well as personal assets. There were also several wills floating around, of different dates and ambiguous signatories. The senior Mehta of Mehta, Mehta, Sarin and Mehta, had long since met his maker, and was the partner who had drawn up the earliest of the extant wills. His grandson, Mohit, was the present day senior-most Mehta in the firm. At thirty seven, he seemed far too young to inspire confidence within older clients, but there was little he could do about that. He did wear unpowered spectacles to make himself look older.
He had verified all the documents the firm had that dealt with Lala Kishen Chand’s properties. The last will they had made had been thirty years ago, but that was not necessarily binding. He needed to know more details about the family. Lala Kishen Chand had died a week ago, the memorial service had not yet taken place, and there were already three different claimants to his property. It had not been easy dealing with them, telling them to at least allow the thirteenth day ceremonies to be over.
He had decided to go for the public memorial service on the evening of the thirteenth day. And pay his respects to this old client of his family’s law firm. The speeches that followed the bhajans seemed interminable. The entire family then lined up near the exit to be swiftly condoled with before the assembled guests gathered for a simple tea in the Ayra Samaj temple grounds. The potential stake holders crowded round him, insisting that Vakeel Sahab have a samosa, or at least a biscuit, with his cup of over sweet tea. A young woman was introduced to him as Lalaji’s youngest grandchild, whose parents had died in a car accident a few years ago. She was her grandfather’s special pet, and had been very close to him, said one of Lalaji’s daughters. Preeti used to take wonderful care of Lalaji, said another.
There was something special about Preeti, thought Mohit. Perhaps it was her quiet, contained air, in the midst of all the clamour. She brought to his mind the Japanese phrase, koi no yokan, the extraordinary sense upon first meeting someone, that you will one day fall in love. He smiled to himself. Getting fanciful thoughts about a client’s relative wasn’t particularly professional. He folded his hands in a general Namaskar to the family, and left.
On Monday morning Preeti visited his office. She had with her Lalaji’s Last Will and Testament. It wasn’t registered, but was properly witnessed by Lalaji’s best friend, Lala Ghanshyam, and his physician. It was all clear and above board. All the residents of the family home and their descendants had claim on the family home, while his personal assets he had willed to Preeti, who had cared for him during his terminal illness.
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