All the Tomorrows

by Nillu Nasser

  “Why is Ruhi having friends over on a Sunday night? Don’t they have work the next day?” muttered her mother, waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. Her expression morphed into something approaching disgust. “What are you wearing?” she said, her voice rising with her eyebrows. She scanned her daughter from head to toe, lingering on Jaya’s asymmetrical feet.

  Jaya kept her voice level. “I bought it from the market. Do you like it?”

  “A bit tight, isn’t it? Pull your scarf over your breasts. Honestly, any one would think...” She fussed over the scarf, rearranging it in the style she herself wore. Jaya stiffened. Her mother tutted. “Girls these days, going out at this time of night.”

  Jaya gritted her teeth. “It’s Ruhi’s house, Maa.” I’m forty-five years old, she thought.

  “Lucky for you your father has fallen asleep in his chair.” In the living room, the television blared. Her mother continued, enjoying her flow. “Otherwise he would have something to say about this. Take your keys. I won’t wait up for you.” She never did.

  Outside on the street, Jaya slipped her keys into her clutch and lifted her head up to the sky where charcoal clouds hung on the horizon, blotting out a sea of stars. She breathed in the city fumes, feeling alive and unconstrained away from her parents, before remembering what she had agreed to do.

  It had been Ruhi’s idea. She had visited their parents, and afterwards, while their parents immersed themselves in the latest episode of their favourite soap opera, Jaya and Ruhi retreated into the garden to drink chai and exchange news beyond the sphere of their mother’s eavesdropping.

  “Come on, yaar. It will be so fun. Step out of Maa and Papa’s shadow for once. Sometimes I think you live in this closed triangle.” Ruhi gestured abruptly with her hands, a geometric shape carved into the air. “Home, the theatre and the art studio. Be spontaneous. It’s just some of my dance troupe. Six or seven people max. We’re going to play Antakshari after Devan is in bed.”

  “I guess I can come and look after Devan if he wakes up.” She loved her nephew, and this way she could give in to Ruhi’s pleading but still have a crutch to lean on if the party was awkward. It wouldn’t have been the first time she had fallen asleep next to her nephew to escape the company of adults.

  “I want you there to enjoy the evening, Jaya. Not to be a babysitter.” Ruhi smiled coyly and sipped her tea. “Besides, it’s the perfect occasion for Vinod and me to meet Ravi. I’ve been dying to meet him, and this way, there’s no pressure. He’ll be one amongst many.”

  Jaya balked. “I can’t bring Ravi.”

  “Why not? What are you going to do? Invite him home for dinner with Maa and Papa? This is perfect. He gets to meet your family. Well, the coolest member of your family.” Ruhi winked. “I can make sure he is right for you.”

  “I’m tired, Ruhi. What with the current run of shows at Tara, I need an early night.”

  Her sister saw through her lie. “Please, Jaya. Remember how we used to play Antakshari as children? How carefree we were. You’ll have such a blast. Ravi will, too.”

  It had been years since Jaya had played Antakshari. True, they had spent happy hours in their childhood entertaining themselves with it, competing over the most unusual song choices and who had the best singing voice. Ruhi had always insisted she was the winner, of course, and Jaya had let her. She had last played Antakshari at university, raucous games filled with banter and cheering. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Jaya tidied up her cup and sweet treats on the table to indicate the conversation topic was over. “What would all your friends think? I can’t do that. An old maid like me turning up with a man. No, it’s not for me.”

  “My friends will be too busy having fun to focus on you. And even if they did, none of them will think anything of it. This is the 2000s. We’re not in Rajesh Khana territory where women hide behind their dupatta and pretend to be all shy. We’re emancipated, yaar.”

  “Are we?” Jaya raised an eyebrow. She had finished her chai but the scent of cinnamon and clove wafted in the confines of the walled garden.

  “No, maybe not, but it’s heading in that direction. We don’t want to be like the Americans, but a middle ground would be good, wouldn’t it? Besides, if it really worries you, think of it this way: I’m married and I can chaperone you. And Ravi, after all the chasing he has done of you, wouldn’t it be nice to include him? I remember, after the fire—” Ruhi whispered the word, as if it were a demon rather than an event Jaya had overcome. “—you used to ask why no one ever approached you, not even the ones who didn’t know you were married. I know now. Very few people are sure enough of themselves to ask someone out. Especially in our culture.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Indians have so much bravado. We are natural flirts. Look at me and Vinod. We flirted, danced together, but it took his aunty to bring us together. No one likes to lose face. Whatever you look like, however old you are—”

  “Thanks!”

  “Oh shut up, Jaya. You’re Madhuri Dixit to me, the bee’s knees. Toes or no toes.”

  “I was teasing,” said Jaya, chuckling. “I know you love me.”

  Ruhi ignored the interruption. “It takes courage to pursue someone, that’s all, knowing you might be rejected. No wonder we flounder when we are left to our own devices without aunties and uncles to match us up.”

  Ruhi had a point. Jaya hated disappointing her sister. Besides, it would be nice to be with Ruhi and Vinod without feeling like a spare wheel. Jaya accepted the invitation, and shyly invited Ravi along, who beamed and pocketed the piece of paper on which she had scrawled her sister’s address. That’s how she found herself en route to Ruhi’s house, on a Sunday night, dressed up to the nines, feeling nervous and foolish, praying that her social awkwardness wouldn’t trip her up in front of Ravi, and that her sister wouldn’t embarrass her.

  She arrived at Ruhi’s apartment just before the other guests. Her sister looked beautiful in trousers and a sleeveless kitty party top, baring her delicate dancer’s arms. She opened the door to Jaya but didn’t stop to talk, instead dashing to lay the dining table with vegetable samosas, bhajiya, rice and daal, an array of chutneys, juice and a small selection of alcohol. Vinod, Ruhi’s husband, looked bemused as his wife whizzed past, a whirlwind of activity compared to his sedate air of calm.

  The guests arrived in ones and twos, full of smiles and chatter, taking off their shoes in the entrance hall, scooping up food onto paper plates, eating with their fingers and licking them clean. Ravi entered last, the only man in a suit jacket, shaking everyone’s hand, eager to please, devouring the food, oblivious to a speck of pastry lodged in his tooth until Jaya pointed it out. Ruhi didn’t introduce them to her friends as a pair and relief flooded Jaya, though she made sure she remained close to Ravi’s side, and found his exuberance took the pressure off the need for her to speak. She nodded and smiled, and spoke only when directly spoken to.

  “So, you’re Ruhi’s sister?” said a tall girl called Yasmina.

  “Yes,” said Jaya.

  “You don’t look alike.”

  “I suppose we don’t.”

  Her sister crossed the room, deer-like in her grace, and came to a standstill in front of a tapestry embroidered with a scene from Ramayana. She clapped her hands to command her guests’ attention, and Jaya was pleased about the interruption.

  Ravi stood beside her.

  Her body became hyper alert at his presence a hair’s breadth away as her sister spoke.

  “Listen up, everyone. You know the rules. Two teams, one on either side of the room. Jaya, Ravi, Simran, Anil, Rehman; you are one team.” Ruhi smiled at her husband and pulled him towards her. “Vinod, me, Khalid, Hana and Yasmina are team two. One team sings two lines of a Bollywood hit. The next team sings a song starting with the letter the previous song ended on. We have food. We have drink. We have tablas.” Her friends cheered. Ruhi pointed to a few drums in the corner, their exteriors made of intrica
te carved wood in an elephant design. “Extra points for dancing. Let’s play!” Ruhi flung herself to one side of the room, and her team followed, laughing.

  The green velvet sofas sat snug against the walls. The teams positioned themselves, some cross-legged on the carpet, with a tabla resting between their thighs, others a level higher on the couch. The game began, a to and fro between the teams of ghazals and dance floor hits, of laughter and applause, so much so that Jaya’s nephew woke, and she excused herself to take him back to bed. She wondered whether Akash would have sung as raucously as those here. The temptation to stay with her nephew was strong, but in the end, Ravi came to find her and insisted she sit next to him on the sofa.

  So she nestled there, in a small space, between Ravi and a girl called Simran, awkward at her closeness to him. She tucked her deformed foot behind her leg so no one would see it, and let the front row do most of the work. The smell of alcohol rolled off Ravi in thick waves, but she found him to be an amicable drunk. Eventually, as the night wore on, she joined in the singing, first reluctantly, then with increasing gusto, especially when the tune suited her soprano voice. Ravi, too, did his fair share of singing, and she witnessed how he was freer than she, and wondered if his confidence stemmed from the fact he was a man, or the younger sibling to his brother, or because he had been born that way.

  When all the guests had left, Jaya kissed her sister goodbye, an empty exhaustion settling like a blanket over her. Ravi teetered at her side.

  “It was hard to speak to him in the chaos, but I like him,” whispered Ruhi into her ear, as Ravi said his thank yous to Vinod. Out loud, once Ravi had finished slapping her husband on the back, she said, “I’m glad you came, Ravi. Maybe we’ll meet again, if Jaya decides to keep you.” She giggled, high on the success of the evening. “You’ll walk Jaya home?”

  “Of course,” said Ravi, “and thank you. The food, the company, the game. I enjoyed every minute. We’d better go, otherwise you won’t get rid of me. I’ll be singing in your living room until dawn.” He grinned, and her sister beamed back, but to Jaya they were a motley foursome. She couldn’t imagine Ravi ever really being a part of her family.

  They waved Ruhi and Vinod goodbye and began the walk home. A crescent moon cast a sliver of light onto the dimly lit street. The roads had cleared but pollution hung in the air like fog.

  “I’m only ten minutes on foot from my sister’s house. You’re not tired?” said Jaya.

  “No, I’m glad to get some time alone with you,” said Ravi. His hair was no longer held captive by gel. It rose up like a lion’s mane, full and shaggy.

  “I wasn’t sure about tonight, but I’m glad we went,” said Jaya.

  “You weren’t sure about the singing or the people?”

  “About taking you, more than anything.”

  He turned his gaze on her, shrewd and kind at once, his breath sour. “What were you worried about?”

  Jaya shrugged. “What everyone might think, what you might think.”

  “And now?”

  “I had fun. And I think I’ve tried so hard to be good, that maybe I’ve missed out on fun before.” She felt light-headed after the stuffy heat of the sardine-packed apartment, and it must have been witching hour, because words spilled out of her mouth before she could summon them back. “All the love I have missed out on, staying alone. What if I had been more selfish over the years? Thought more about me? Is it wrong to sacrifice virtue for a little love?”

  Ravi’s eyes darkened. He grasped her forearms, and then, before she could refuse, his lips swooped down on hers, dry and hard. His lips drove into Jaya’s with bruising pressure, his tongue prising the cave of her mouth open. For a brief moment, she gave herself to him, wondering if that was expected. She wanted nothing more than for the world to melt away and to feel bonded to him, but only Akash’s face swam before her. She became unresponsive, a porcelain doll.

  Ravi continued, his whisky breath suffocating, oblivious to her lack of participation, her unease. His hand descended to her waist, pulled her closer and inched up towards her breast.

  Jaya lashed out, furious at both his plundering of her and her own uncertainty. She pushed him away with all her might, her balance tipped forward, so that when the bulk of his body retreated, she stumbled.

  Ravi lurched away from her, dumb-founded. “I don’t understand. I thought this is what you wanted.”

  She used self-righteousness as a shield for her momentary lapse, her confusion, and the more she thought about it, the angrier she grew. “What made you think I was inviting you to touch me? I’m not that kind of girl,” said Jaya. Heat rushed to her face. He was willing to risk her honour. She surveyed him with a sinking feeling of an evening ruined. Whatever magic had encompassed them had been dispelled. If only she could save face, their evening could be salvaged.

  “Relax, Jaya,” said Ravi, stepping towards her. “I felt you kiss back.” Street lighting illuminated his bloodshot eyes. The evening’s exertions had taken their toll. He trailed a finger down her bare arm. “Let yourself enjoy it.”

  She shuddered and her mind flash backed to a very different experience long ago, her and Akash underneath sweaty bedclothes.

  “No!” She hated her own confusion. Ravi’s unwillingness to accept her stand unnerved her, and for a second she grew fearful. Though cars and rickshaws sped past, the streets had emptied of pedestrians. The moon above seemed less romantic than eerie to her. “I mean it, Ravi. This is too much. Even if I had said yes, have you no respect, that you touch me here in the open street?”

  She assembled her argument as he watched her in disbelief. Perhaps she had returned his kiss for a moment, but it had been a mistake. Younger generations risked public intimacy in nightclubs or in the ghost-light of a cinema, but this would horrify their parents. Soraya may have been able to succeed without sexual inhibitions, but then she represented a hothouse bloom, that rare breed of Indian woman who had created her own family and fortune outside of the confines of traditions. Jaya had been cut from a different cloth. Her DNA spelled out conformity and caution, a result of her upbringing and experiences, or perhaps character.

  Surprise registered on Ravi’s face. “But all that talk of sacrificing your virtue for love... I thought this is what you meant.” Could the drink have really distorted his judgement so soundly?

  Jaya kneaded her temple to ease the cloud of tension that had gathered there. “I meant it felt good to let down my barriers and step outside my comfort zone.”

  “Well that’s not what you said.” His eyebrows knitted together in reproof.

  Justifications did not appeal to Jaya at this late hour. She wanted to go home and close her door. She raised an arm to hail a passing rickshaw.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going home.”

  A rickshaw pulled up beside them. She could have easily walked, but she needed an escape route. She needed to think about her reactions to Ravi’s advances. She climbed into the cab, and called out her street name to the driver, withholding her house number lest Ravi overhear.

  Ravi clasped her shoulder, his voice a low hum barely audible above the stream of nightly traffic. “I don’t enjoy arguments and drama, Jaya.”

  “Let’s go,” she said to the driver, shrugging Ravi’s hand off.

  “What’s the use!” said Ravi, flinging up his hands up.

  Jaya stared straight ahead as the rickshaw sped away, bumping over potholes. The taste of disappointment pooled on her tongue. Kissing was not a great matter, she supposed, except it was to her. It spoke to her longing to be loved from depth of emotion, rather than biology. She longed to lock her past away. Even without the flashback that had visited her while she was with Ravi, she knew one thing with certainty: she had not enjoyed the kiss.

  Of course, this may have been because she hadn’t opened herself up to accept Ravi. He had felt alien to her, no surprise as it had been twenty years since she had kissed a man. Even so, something in her gut felt so
ur. It had been less of a kiss and more of a groping. She had been the lesser partner, the unwilling recipient, hadn’t she? Ravi hadn’t waited for a signal she was truly ready. Her feelings about him had seesawed from the very beginning. Perhaps her instincts had been right.

  Chapter 19

  Akash slept under the bridge, listening to Tariq snoring in his sleep and the sound of the tarpaulin they kept for monsoon thrashing in the gusts. He slept fitfully, tossing on the hard ground, his body refusing to find ease because of the spinning cogs in his mind. You are alive, Jaya. He was at once overjoyed and dejected, daunted by the thought of wrong-stepping again, of making a bad situation worse. His old nightmares punctured his rest, the fire more ferocious than usual, although logically he knew now that Jaya had survived.

  He woke in the chill morning air, drenched in sweat, his throat parched. Akash gulped down some water, envious of the peacefulness of Tariq’s sleep. The sun rose higher, filling the crevices of their hideaway with yellow. Akash closed his eyelids and let the sun warm them, meditating on Jaya and Soraya and the years he had spent running. He would run no more. In that moment of calm resolution, an idea crystallised. He kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Only one person could help him: the person Jaya loved most of all.

  He rearranged Tariq’s wayward blanket, tucking it under his friend’s shoulders, and crouched to use a small piece of flint on the wall of the bridge to scratch out a message for when his friend woke up. He had promised to be more considerate and he didn’t want Tariq to worry that he had disappeared again. Then, he plucked his towel from amongst the small pile of his belongings and headed down to the beach to wash in the sea. He wanted to be presentable for what followed.