Dad nods. He hesitates, as if about to say something else. Changing his mind, he moves away and towards the door. He stops and turns to all of us one last time. "What do you say to a soldier going off to battle?"
"Luck!" we chorus in unison. Mum keeps quiet.
"Bring back my spy safely," she says, her voice calmer now.
Dad nods. Then a last look at us and he is gone.
And so I move into the next stage of my life, much as I am going to spend the early years of adulthood. On my own.
PART 2: ST JAMES
TWELVE
"St James's campus covers more than 250 acres of protected forest on the foothills of the Himalayas!" the ward mother exclaims, her voice excited.
I've made the journey from Bombay with Singhji. His father worked for my grandfather all through the time they lived in Mussoorie. After grandpa died, Dad sold off the ancestral home … using the money to buy the spacious flat we live in at Breach Candy. Since Dad travels a lot on work and Mum can't leave Seema on her own to come see me that often, they tell me that Singhji is now my designated local guardian.
I drop my bags on the floor of the room that will be my home for the next five years. It's wide enough to have two beds pushed apart at opposite ends of the space. Next to each bed is a chair and table, between which is a large bookcase, with a smattering of books. I walk across and pick up one. Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda. My eyes glaze and I set it down; my eyes flick over the other one, The Hero's Journey by Joseph Campbell.
The third is a Mills & Boon romance, showing a muscled man in a clinch with a woman whose breasts are outlined through her thin white shirt. Her face is contorted into an expression of what is meant to convey ecstasy. Seems more like agony.
I walk to the large bay window between the beds and take in the scene. It's as if I am alone, adrift in a sea of varying shades of green. The sunlight dances off the emerald canopy which stretches all the way to the hill in the distance. It's broken in places by red-roofed structures. This is the highest I have ever been both physically and spiritually. If I reach out now I could touch the gods above.
So, this is why the ward mother sounds so happy. She's living close to the skies.
My head spins, and I grasp the window frame for support. "It's a nice view," I manage.
She comes over and places a hand on my shoulder. "You're a smart boy, Vikram. Outstanding grades. Spelling champion all the way."
Okay. Okay. So, I don't want to remember those agonising spelling competitions
"So you're a bit ahead of other people in some subjects, but you know our human abilities are pretty multifaceted. What you'll learn here will come from more than books. It'll be from your fellow students, from nature."
What's she talking about? I simply stare at her.
"What I am trying to say is, just enjoy your years here." She laughs at the surprise on my face. "I know, I know. You are so young, what I am saying probably sounds all too distant and in the future. But the friends you make here will last you a lifetime. That's how it is with school friends, and more so when you are in a boarding school like this one." She prompts, "So, be pleased your parents sent you here."
"I am," I mumble. How strange. I never told her about how lost and unwanted I was feeling. It's like she's reading my mind.
"Okay?" she asks again, eyebrows furrowed.
"Yes. Yes, I am," I say
"That's good." She smiles. "And remember, if you have any questions, you can always ask me."
I look away at that, feeling grateful, but also a little shy.
"I'm sure you'll settle in just fine," she says.
I nod. After she leaves, I continue to stare at the scenery outside. So, this is the view I will be waking up to for what seems like an impossibly long time—for the next many years.
I sit down on the cushioned seat, a wave of homesickness washing suddenly over me. I close my eyes and listen for the cook's sounds from the kitchen, the muted roar of the TV in the background, the horns honking from the ever-present traffic clogging the streets below …
The piercing cry of an unfamiliar bird jerks my eyes open, and I notice a boy at the doorway. He walks towards me, hand outstretched. His face breaks into a smile.
"I am Tenzin Wangchuck," he says.
"Are you Chinese?" I ask surveying his features with a curiosity I am trying to hide. He looks similar to our Nepali watchman. But he is so well dressed. I know he comes from a well-to-do family.
His hand falls to his side and the smile disappears, replaced with a frown that mars the smoothness of his forehead.
"From Bhutan," he says, his voice flat.
"Wow." It's my first brush with someone not from my country … and with it a sudden realisation that there are kids like me in so many other places. That the world is much bigger than I thought it to be.
I smile, not quite sure what to say. Then it's my turn to hold out my hand. "Vikram Roy. From Bombay."
"Hey, Vik." He shakes my hand. Going over to his side of the room, he pulls out a large box from under his bed to the middle of the room.
"Hmm. What's in this then?" he wonders aloud.
"Aren't you supposed to open your tuck box only once a week?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies. "But why wait?" He holds up the keys. "Made a duplicate set. So I can get in whenever I want."
"Isn't that against the rules?" I frown.
"So?" He looks up, a question on his face, as if he doesn't quite understand what I mean. Opening the box, he pulls out Pringles, Maggi noodles, a jar of marmalade, Kit Kats, Toblerones and Bourbon chocolate cream biscuits. "Where is it?" he wonders aloud. Then, he turns the box upside down so a few single-packed slices of cake fall out.
"What are you looking for?" I ask.
In reply, he taps the bottom of the box while still holding it upside down. Nodding as if satisfied at the noise it makes, he slides his hands around the sides and then rips it out.
"Hey! What is it?" Now I am really intrigued.
He turns to me, holding a Playboy magazine. "See, it's good to have the family servant in your pay, don't you think?"
It's even better to have a roommate who gets showered by such care packages from home on a regular basis.
THIRTEEN
I want to fit in with everyone here. I also want to stand out. It's all so confusing. I haven't stopped feeling this way since I arrived here.
It's been six months already, since I've been at St James. I am now officially a teenager. Thirteen. Not that it feels any different. More like I've gone back in time. Like I am ten again. I'm not really sure what to make of what's happening around me.
I try to focus on the basketball tournament taking place at the gym. I sit far behind the court, watching the game in progress. I feel awkward, as if everyone is watching me. Other than Tenzin, I have no other friends yet. But then, I haven't tried very hard either. Surrounded by strangers … foreigners in varying sizes and colours, for the first time in my life, I am tongue-tied. Nepalese, Koreans, Tibetans, Americans, British. There's even a boy from Eritrea—Eritrea? —Is that even a country? They all seem so exotic. And confident. Me? I'm just ordinary.
My dorm parent tells me it's quite normal to feel a little lost, that it will take months, maybe even a year, to settle in. A year? That long?
I've always managed to make friends quickly. Before I came here. Maybe it's being this high, at the foothills of the Himalayas, but everything feels so out of balance. I am not sure I actually want to stay here.
I don't want to go home either. Everything I left behind seems tiny … little, compared to what I am discovering here.
I can't really concentrate on the game, so I give up and leave the gym. I continue walking till I have left the Quad and the main building of the school behind. A path leads into the woods behind the school. The fresh air hits me. Even after all this time I'm not used to it. I take a deep breath and the bright, white air rushes in making my head whirl. It's evening, a
nd the shadows of the pine trees mesh together on the ground so it feels as if I am playing hopscotch with my own shadow. Their needle-shaped leaves crunching underfoot is the only sound I hear. Out of nowhere something slams into my back. What the—? What was that? I'm pushed over, doubled in pain, all my breath knocked out of me. I hear footsteps behind me.
"Hey, you okay?"
I look up into a pair of blue eyes, fringed with the longest, brownest lashes I have ever seen before. Her hair falls in a braid down her back. She's wearing a white T-shirt stained with mud and grass, and jeans torn at the knees. On her feet, faded blue-black sneakers.
"Are you hurt?" She waves a hand in front of my eyes and I snap back to the now.
"No. I'm cool." My voice comes out a little breathless. It's because I've just been hit square in the back by something that felt like a heavy brick. Of course, that's what it is.
"Oh! Good. You scared me." She walks to where a red-coloured ball lies on the ground. "I would have never forgiven myself if you had been badly hurt, and at the speed this ball was travelling, it could have been quite lethal. You know what I mean?" Her words wash over me, but I can't hear what she is saying anymore. She uses her hands when she speaks. They rise and fall, like birds skimming air currents, as if they are talking to each other, in secret code, a language of their own. She picks up the ball and I notice the curve of her hips where the jeans pull tight against them. She turns, and catches me staring, and I find myself blushing.
"Well?" She rubs the ball on the front of her thighs. I can't take my eyes off her hand. "Never seen bowlers shine a ball to get better swing?" she says, smirking.
"Uh?" What's she talking about? It's as if she is speaking a completely alien language. Which, of course, she is for me.
"You're playing cricket?" I sound so stupid.
She shakes her head in exaggerated surprise. "Well, of course, dummy. Is there any other game to play?"
She brushes past me towards a clearing I hadn't noticed earlier.
"Well?" She looks over her shoulder. "You coming or what?"
When we reach the edge of the forest, she whistles. Catching the attention of the tall boy behind the cricket stumps, she throws him the ball, before running over to him lightly. I trail behind her, feeling just a little useless.
"What took you so long, Ash?" the tall guy asks in an irritated voice.
Aware of four sets of eyes following me, I try my best not to hunch inside myself. I do need to look strong in front of Ash … who has just jumped up to kiss the boy, full on his lips, before running past him towards the far side of the field.
"I was getting you your sixth player." She gestures vaguely in my direction.
The tall boy sweeps me with a gaze that seems to go right through to my bones. "Him?"
I bristle at the tone in his voice, which implies I don't play the game—which of course I don't. Not that I am going to admit it.
The boy hasn't taken his eyes off me. Hands folded, he continues to assess me, his stance aggressive. He's older than me, a senior. I look from him to the girl and back.
"A newbie, Ash?" he drawls. "You sure about this?"
"Of course." She replies. "He fielded the ball, after all? Besides, I can spot a cricket player a mile off."
I make up my mind right then to become the best cricket player in school.
And I am going to get Ash.
***
"Watch carefully, and I don't mean me. Watch how I roll out the grass mats, because it's your turn tomorrow."
"What?" I grin. She's right. I was watching her. But what a picture she makes. I know I am in the throes of my first crush. But I am not fighting it particularly hard. I'll probably regret making a fool of myself over her.
Right now, I don't care.
Best to just give in and watch her. Let this feeling just pull me under. My pulse is racing; breath coming out in short bursts as if I have run a mile. I feel dizzy. Feel like jumping high in the air, leaping from treetop to treetop. Just as long as I'm with her. And that's the only reason to come here after school. I'm keeping Ash company as she rolls out the grass mats over the rocky ground between the trees. It's the only way to create a smooth enough pitch to play on.
"Tomorrow you roll out the pitch."
"Me? I don't know how to do it," I protest.
"You'll learn." She brushes past me to get to the cricket stumps. Her scent is sharp, tangy like that of an orange, but musky on the edges like a warm chocolate cookie.
I wonder if she wants to meet after practice for a coffee. I'm about to ask her when a voice hails her from the distance.
She looks up, waves back. "All done, Amar. We're set up, ready to go."
The tall boy from yesterday comes up to me. The look on his face says he is not happy to see me.
"Stay away from my girlfriend," he mutters in a grim voice, low enough that only I hear it, as he passes me.
"Let's see if she can stay away from me," I reply in a matching undertone.
He shoots a glance at me. "Let's see, shall we." His forehead is contorted, cheek muscles pulled back in a grimace. He wants to punch me. Good. I feel good. I'll fight for her if I need to. He walks over and kisses Ash full on the lips. He wraps his hands around her waist and lifts her up so her feet dangle in the air. The kiss seems to go on and on. I wipe the smile off my face and turn away.
Soon the other three players have joined us.
Amar is clearly the captain of the team. "Okay, newbie, show us what you've got!" He gestures to me to take the bat.
No way can I refuse this challenge. Picking up the bat, I take position on the pitch in front of the wickets. The very first ball bounces off a rough patch to hit me full tilt in the chest. I drop the bat and bend over in agony, sparks of pain flashing across my limbs.
Amar runs up to me and pats me on the back. "You all right, man? You sure you want to continue playing?"
His voice is smug. He did that on purpose, I am sure of that. I am so going to show him! Am going to learn how to play this game if it's the last thing I do. Shaking off his hand, I pick up my bat.
"Just bowl," I grind out through clenched teeth.
My fielding is the only thing worse than my batting. I can't hold onto a single ball which comes my way. They slip through my fingers or I don't get to them in time. I give away so many runs that when the hour's play is up, no one meets my eyes as we wind our way back to the school in time for dinner. Ash lags behind the others.
When I reach her, she links her hand through mine. My chest, which is still on fire from where I got hit earlier, freezes at her friendly gesture.
"It's okay, you'll improve," she says in a soft voice.
"Easy for you to say. You are a genius when it comes to the game." And I am not joking. Ash fields like a maniac, throwing herself at every ball that comes in her direction. She bats fearlessly, and when it comes to bowling … well it's clear she has a really good arm.
"I'll teach you," she offers.
"You will?" I am so surprised I stop walking and look at her. She is slightly taller than me so I have to look up to meet her eyes. The breeze blows that warm biscuity-orange scent of hers towards me.
"I will," she nods.
"What about him?" I look ahead to where Amar's head bobs above the others.
"Nah! Don't worry. Leave him to me."
"You his girlfriend?" I look straight into her eyes, fascinated when the grey dots inside her blue eyes contract.
"He's not my boyfriend—"
"But he does think of you as his … girlfriend." I finish her sentence for her.
She leans close and I lose track of what I was about to say. How convenient. Girls are real good at distracting you when they don't want to talk about something. I don't mind though.
"Tomorrow then? 5pm? Just after class?" she asks.
"Huh? What?"
"After class, dummy? Practice? Cricket practice? No other way you're going to improve."
Ah! I see. "What about h
omework then?" I ask before I can help myself.
She laughs. "Live dangerously, Vik. You can always do your homework later. Or is it because I-is-a-gihl?" she says in an exaggerated American hip-hop'ish accent.
"Of course not," I protest. "Some of my best friends are girls … I love learning stuff … from girls …" My voice tapers off at her wide grin.
"See ya tomorrow." She waves and runs ahead.
I follow her, and somehow I just know my life is going to change.
THIRTEEN
"I miss you, son." Mum's voice echoes down the phone lines, bringing with it the familiar feel of home.
"Me too, Mum. I want to come over and see all of you."
"You can come when the term is over, for your winter holidays." Her voice is firm.
My weekly Sunday phone calls with the family back home are a reminder of what I am missing. I still miss my parents, and Seema … even Vishal. I do look forward to speaking with them every week. I imagine them clustered around the phone, and for a second I wish I too could be there with them instead of here. Where I belong. With my family.
"So how's it going?" Dad's voice booms down the phone. He's probably taken the phone from Mum before she begins to sniffle, and for that I am grateful.
"Ah! Good. Uh! I met this girl—"
"Finally! About time, isn't it?" I grin at the explosion and don't try to correct his impression that she is my girlfriend. The last few phone calls have already taught me that my parents always prefer to assume what they want about my life here at St James … and it's best sometimes to leave it at that. Especially if it keeps them happy. I continue without breaking my sentence. "And she's teaching me to play cricket."
"I like her. A LOT!" Of course, Dad is happy about my learning to play cricket.
Hearing Mum's voice in the background asking about the "girlfriend", I want to hang up right then. She is going to hit me with all her questions. She won't stop till she has wormed it all out of me. What have I got myself into?
The First Life of Vikram Roy (Many Lives Series Book 3) Page 4
