Across the Line

by Nayanika Mahtani

  ‘You’re so wicked, Inaya,’ snickered Lubna. ‘Okay, I’m starving now. Where’s that sushi place of his? All this stalking had better be worth it.’

  Empty-handed

  ‘Didn’t you like anything at all, Jai?’ asked Toshi. ‘I thought you would come back with a gift.’

  Jai was still hopping mad after his encounter.

  ‘I had selected something, Badi Ma, but then . . . ’

  ‘But then, what, Jai?’

  ‘But then that Pesky Girl showed up, and she was insinuating stupid stuff and going on about masking body odour, blah, blah, blah, so I just left the shop. I should have told her off! But instead, I told her about the sushi place.’

  Toshi was looking at Jai, wholly baffled, ‘Which girl? What body odour? What sushi?’

  ‘That Pakistani girl, Badi Ma. Ma was right about Pakistanis. They are just bad news. Especially the girls.’

  ‘Do you mean that girl, who was accompanied by her grandfather, with whom we had to share a table?’

  ‘Yes, yes, that one. I feel like she’s following me everywhere. Wherever I look, she’s there—laughing that annoying hyena laugh of hers.’

  ‘Tsk, you shouldn’t let anyone put you off your plans, Jai.’

  Arathi came in just then, dropping her bag on to the settee and subsiding into the cushions after a hard day at work.

  ‘Hello family! So, what are the devious schemes currently being hatched by grandmother and grandson?’ she asked cheerfully.

  ‘Er, nothing, Ma,’ said Jai.

  ‘Tomorrow’s agenda—that’s what we were planning,’ volunteered Toshi. ‘As it’s your day off, should we visit Lord’s and then the Tower of London? I have always wanted to pay good money to see our very own Kohinoor diamond, which was so considerately confiscated from us to be securely stored in a tower for all tourists to admire.’

  Arathi laughed.

  ‘Are you plotting a diamond heist to retrieve the Kohinoor and restore it to its rightful place in India, Ma?’

  ‘Well, my arthritis has been playing up, so that may not be possible,’ said Toshi. ‘But Jai, this is now your life’s mission—to reclaim the Kohinoor as our national heritage. Do not return empty-handed, is that understood?’

  Jai nodded distractedly. He was concerned with more immediate missions for the moment. Such as how to give a fitting reply to Pesky Girl, should he see her again—which, with his luck, he was bound to do.

  The Bridge

  Inaya whistled as she waited outside Adeela’s home, having rung the doorbell four times.

  Then it dawned on her that her grandparents and Adeela Khaala had gone visiting a cousin of theirs and had left a spare key under the mat for her.

  Inaya strolled into the house and kicked off her shoes, before she guiltily realized that she should stow them away tidily in the shoe cupboard to avoid getting another lecture. Finally, she plonked herself down on the sofa.

  It still hadn’t sunk in that she had qualified for the next round of the league. But now, she knew without a doubt that no matter what happened, whether she made it any further or not, she was going to give everything she had to tape-ball cricket. Nothing else made her as happy.

  She had an overwhelming urge to tell everyone about this win. Especially Abba. She missed him—whether or not she admitted it to herself. More than anything else, she wanted to hear the pride in his voice when she gave him the news. However, deep down, she knew that this wouldn’t be the case. He thought so little of her cricket. How she wished Ammi was alive. Somehow, with Abba, there was always a yawning chasm that neither of them could ford, however badly they both wanted to. Inaya decided to try and bridge that gulf today. She reached for the phone, and then remembered that he would still be at work. Perhaps she should wait until he got home. She sat back down.

  But then, on an impulse, Inaya got up again and went to look for her father’s work telephone number in her grandmother’s diary. As she rifled through the large brown moleskin diary, some papers fell out. Inaya picked them up and was about to return them to the diary, when she caught a glimpse of something on the pages.

  They were sketches and they looked like they had been drawn by a small child. Inaya held them up, bemused, wondering why her Daadi had saved these in her diary. They weren’t even pleasant to look at—the images looked chaotic, with many huddled figures drawn in a circular scribble, all dark and gloom. And strangely, each of the pictures had a jagged line running across it—as if the picture had been crossed out after having been drawn.

  Inaya put them away and went back to looking for her father’s number. When she found it, Inaya took a deep breath and dialled the number from the London phone that Adeela Khaala had given them.

  ‘Hello,’ Irfan’s deep, familiar voice came through.

  ‘Abba, it’s me.’

  ‘Is everything all right, Inaya? Are Daada and Daadi okay?’ There was concern in Irfan’s tone.

  ‘They’re very well, Abba. I wanted to tell you that our team won the league match today.’

  There was silence at the other end.

  ‘Abba? Are you angry with me for taking part? I’m sorry, Abba, I didn’t want to hide this from you—I really wanted to share—’

  ‘Daadi mentioned that you were playing in some games there, Inaya. I’m glad that you won and that it’s all over now. I hope you’ll be back soon.’

  That was it? Was that all he had to say? There was no point in trying to reach out to him. It was always the same dead end. Inaya suddenly wanted to hang up. Her breath felt short and sharp.

  ‘Hello? Inaya, are you there?’

  ‘Yes, Abba, we’ll be back next week,’ she replied curtly.

  ‘That’s good, Inaya,’ said Irfan. ‘It seems unlikely that I’ll be able to join you in London. My work won’t allow me to get away . . . as I explained to your Daadi too. I need to go now, I have a meeting in five minutes.’

  Inaya hung up and sat on her grandmother’s bed, knees drawn up, her head cradled in her arms. So much for trying to make a connection and establishing a rapport. If anything, she felt they were even further apart than before.

  The High Road

  The morning dawned bright, fluffy white clouds pegged to blue skies as far as the eye could see. Arathi came into Jai’s room and drew aside the curtains. Jai squinted as the sunlight pierced through his groggy daze.

  ‘Rise and shine!’ said Arathi, annoyingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. ‘I’m off for a meeting, Jai, and then I’ll meet Badi Ma and you for lunch. You choose where to eat—as long as it isn’t exorbitantly priced. But before that, take Badi Ma out for a walk or something.’

  ‘Not another walk, Ma,’ groaned Jai. ‘Badi Ma is arthritic. So much walking isn’t good for her.’

  ‘Nice try, Jai,’ said his mother. ‘Now stop being such a lazy lump. I’ll see you at lunch. Didn’t you say you had two more restaurants you wanted to visit before we leave? You’re going to bankrupt me at this rate.’

  ‘I’ve saved up some money, Ma. So, this can be my treat, since it’s your birthday soon.’

  Arathi beamed and gave Jai one of her bear hugs that left him gasping for breath.

  ‘All grown up, huh, Jai? Buying me lunch already? I’m not quite ready to have my baby boy grow up though. I still want that little boy who was terrified of giraffes.’

  ‘Er, bye Ma—I’ll see you at lunch.’

  Arathi smiled and left the room, blowing him a kiss, which he pretended not to notice. Jai found all this demonstration of affection most unnecessary but was never quite sure how to tell his mother to stop without hurting her feelings.

  As he bathed and got dressed, the thought of choosing a lunch venue cheered him up considerably. But before that, he had to subject himself to yet another walk. He had come to the conclusion that this city required way too much walking. After this London holiday, he didn’t want to go for another walk for a year or two.

  ‘Jai? Are you ready?’ called his grandmother.
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  ‘I’m coming, Badi Ma,’ sighed Jai.

  Jai slipped on his sweatshirt and joined Toshi at the dining table for breakfast.

  ‘I was thinking that we could go to that recreation ground nearby for a walk today. What do you think?’ asked Toshi, as they sat down to a breakfast of cereal and milk.

  ‘How’s your arthritis, Badi Ma? Aren’t your joints hurting at all?’ Jai asked hopefully.

  Toshi gave him a knowing look. ‘I’m deeply touched by your concern, Jai,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  As Adeela loaded the dishwasher after breakfast, she glanced at her sister, who seemed a little preoccupied.

  ‘Is everything all right, Humaira Aapa?’

  ‘Huh? Yes . . . yes, everything is fine.’

  ‘Where is Bhaijaan? Did he not want to have breakfast this morning?’

  ‘He had a cup of tea and left with Inaya. She has some practice games today.’

  ‘Inaya mentioned something about him sleepwalking again last night?’

  Humaira sighed deeply. ‘It’s something that we just have to live with. I don’t think that will ever leave us.’

  ‘It’s been so many years. Why don’t you seek some help while you’re here, Aapa? There’s no shame in doing that . . . ’

  Humaira stiffened at the mere suggestion.

  ‘Everything is fine, Adeela,’ she repeated, using ‘that voice’ that Inaya had also heard ever so often.

  ‘I think I need to use the toilet, Badi Ma,’ panted Jai, after his fourth lap around the walking track with his grandmother.

  ‘Okay, I’ll wait here for you,’ said Toshi.

  Jai walked slowly towards the restrooms. He didn’t really need to go—he merely wanted to squander time until they could leave for lunch, instead of pointlessly circumambulating that track.

  While Toshi waited for Jai to return, she gently rotated her head from side to side to release the stiffness in her neck that her arthritis sometimes caused. As she swivelled her neck to her left, she noticed a man collapse and fall to the ground, a short distance away. Toshi looked around. There was no one else in sight. She quickly walked over and helped the man to his feet. As he stood up, Toshi recognized him as the man she had met at Nabeel’s Kitchen. The Pakistani. He looked at her and smiled weakly, in recognition.

  ‘Thank you for helping me.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘I could get you some water from that café . . . ?’ she indicated the café, which was about fifty metres away.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Habib. ‘I just got a bit dizzy—I think my blood sugar level might have dipped. It happens sometimes when I haven’t eaten for a while.’

  ‘Can I get you a sandwich?’ offered Toshi.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but I’ll be fine. Honestly.’

  As he said that, he staggered. Toshi reached out and steadied him.

  ‘Please, let me accompany you to the café,’ she said. ‘Are you here by yourself?’

  ‘No, my granddaughter is actually playing some practice games here.’

  They walked together in an awkward silence for a bit.

  ‘I’m sorry about troubling you like this,’ said Habib. ‘I’ve brought all my medication with me from Rawalpindi, but I often forget to take it. Humaira, my wife, always reprimands me for being so absent-minded.’

  Toshi smiled. ‘I can’t blame her,’ she said. ‘So, you’re from Rawalpindi? My family lived there once.’

  ‘Ah. I assume you left during the Partition. Whereabouts did you live?’

  ‘Near Kohati Bazar.’

  ‘That’s not very far from where we are. Perhaps you should think of visiting sometime.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so. There’s nothing left for me to go back for,’ said Toshi flatly. ‘So, what brings you to London?’

  ‘Well, I’m here for an art exhibition. It’s at the Aicon Gallery this Friday,’ said Habib. ‘Do come if you’re free.’

  ‘You’re an artist, then?’

  ‘Some deluded people seem to think so. I live in dread of being caught out, every day,’ said Habib, smiling. ‘This exhibition, however, does include some truly gifted artists from the subcontinent. There will be a display of cityscapes of Rawalpindi and Amritsar. By artists from both sides of the border. Do drop by with your family, if you have an hour or so to spare.’

  Toshi smiled. ‘That’s very kind of you to invite us.’

  Just then, Jai trotted up to Toshi, ‘Badi Ma, you simply have to try this quiche. It’s made of the most delicious cottage cheese—you’re going to love it.’

  He handed her a mini quiche and took a big bite of his own.

  ‘Hmm. Now I understand why you were away for so long, Jai,’ said Toshi. ‘By the way, do you remember we met this gentleman?’

  Before Jai could reply, Inaya hove into his view, shoelaces undone and flyaway hair unrulier than ever.

  ‘Daada, they’re selling autographed posters of the cricketers. Can I get one, please?’

  ‘Is your practice over, Inaya?’ asked Habib.

  ‘Yes, Daada, thanks for watching. Not!’ She grinned impudently at her grandfather. It was only then that she noticed Jai and Toshi—and did a double take.

  ‘Hey, it’s you again!’ said Inaya, crossing her arms belligerently as she turned to Jai. ‘Did you send the legs of raan to your Indian bowlers yet?’

  Jai cursed under his breath. Over seven billion people in the world; why was it that he always ended up running into this unsavoury sample?

  Habib put an arm around Inaya’s shoulders to gently rein her in, but Inaya was on a roll.

  ‘Perhaps you could parcel over some rogan josh to up their josh?’

  Jai spluttered with indignation, mostly at his own lack of comebacks for this annoying gadfly of a girl. Inaya watched him in wicked amusement.

  ‘That’s quite enough,’ said Habib quietly to Inaya, and then turned to Toshi. ‘Well, it was good meeting you, and thank you again for your help today.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Toshi. ‘Good luck with the show.’

  As Habib and Inaya walked away, Jai turned to his grandmother, red-faced. ‘Just who does she think she is—telling me what parcels of food to send to the Indian cricket team and stuff?’

  ‘She’s just pulling your leg, Jai. She wants to make conversation with you, and this is probably her way of breaking the ice.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Badi Ma. I can’t believe you’re taking her side. Even her own granddad told her off.’

  ‘I’m not taking her side. I’m just saying—don’t let her get under your skin. I thought you handled it very well by not retaliating.’

  Jai took another bite of his quiche, quite pleased that his inability to come up with a fitting response was being held up as taking the high road.

  ‘The next time she tries that, I may not be as magnanimous,’ he announced. ‘Enough is enough.’

  Houseful

  The Puri family was now in full force in London. Rajan had also arrived for the last lap of their stay, before Arathi’s assignment came to an end and they could all return to India.

  Jai and Rajan were busy chopping vegetables for dinner, while Toshi cooked the lentils and rice. Arathi called to say that she was on her way home from work.

  ‘Is our bowling really that bad, Papa?’ Jai asked, as he expertly chopped the brinjal into roundels.

  Rajan looked at his son in amazement, unused to this line of questioning from Jai. ‘Our bowling as in . . . ?’

  ‘I mean the Indian cricket team. Is our bowling not as good as Pakistan’s?’

  ‘Of course not. Our team is way better than Pakistan’s.’

  ‘That depends on who you ask,’ interjected Toshi, smiling. ‘Are the vegetables done? My dal is almost ready now and so is the rice.’

  ‘Almost done, Ma,’ said Rajan. ‘I didn’t know you were into cricket, Jai?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not. There’s just this annoying girl who is following me everywhere—so I
need to follow cricket just so I know what to say to her when she gets annoying, which is most of the time.’

  ‘Okay, you’ve lost me there.’

  ‘It’s just a teenage tiff,’ said Toshi with a wink, always game to add fuel to the fire.

  ‘Pfft . . . Oh please, Badi Ma!’

  ‘I seem to have missed quite a lot in these past few weeks,’ said Rajan.

  ‘Badi Ma has made friends with that girl’s grandfather—that’s why she’s always taking her side.’

  ‘Hmm. I really do seem to have missed out on quite a lot,’ repeated Rajan, with a smile. ‘So, you’ve made new friends here too, Ma?’

  ‘There’s no “too” about it, Papa,’ said Jai. ‘That Pesky Girl is definitely not my friend. And I don’t think you’ll like them either. They’re from Pakistan.’

  Jai said it with all the emphasis he could muster, so that his father knew full well just how treacherous a path it was that they were treading. Rajan looked rather taken aback.

  ‘You’ve been meeting Pakistanis, Ma?’

  ‘Well, I think they’re quite all right. In fact, we’ve all been invited by them to an art show this Friday at the Aicon Gallery,’ said Toshi. ‘The girl’s grandfather is an artist, and he said there will be art by leading Indian and Pakistani artists on display.’

  Rajan’s brows knitted together, as they tended to do when an idea didn’t find favour.

  ‘I think Arathi was planning a visit to the Sherlock Holmes museum on Baker Street on Friday, Ma,’ he said. ‘But we can drop you off and pick you up after, if you like?’

  Toshi turned to Jai. ‘You’re not keen on Sherlock Holmes. Would you like to come with me, Jai?’

  ‘There’s nothing I would like less, Badi Ma,’ said Jai, picturing Inaya peeping out from behind every piece of artwork, doing her jarringly hideous hyena imitation.

  Acrylics and Oils

  The art show was an incredibly pompous affair where the glitterati rubbed shoulders with the literati—sipping cocktails and commenting on how deeply moved they were by the ideological pathos of the acrylics and oils.