There's Something About You

by Yashodhara Lal

  Ma was seated at the table in the drawing room that doubled up as the dining room. Trish could just about make out her angular profile in the dim light coming in through the windows. She dropped her purse to the floor with a thud. She’d thought her spontaneous solo tour of Mumbai would have calmed her down, but she felt all her irritation rising to her throat now as she snapped at her mother: ‘Of course it’s me. You were expecting maybe Shah Rukh?’

  It was a standing joke in their otherwise humourless relationship that Trish’s mother was a big SRK fan. When both her parents had moved in with Trish two years ago, Ma had been brimming over with excitement at the prospect of seeing Shah Rukh in the flesh, considering that he too lived on Bandstand, albeit in a mansion approximately seventeen times the size of this matchbox apartment which was all that Trish could afford to rent. Used to be able to afford to rent. Trish swallowed a lump in her throat, glad that it was too dark for her mother to make out her expression.

  ‘I was worried …’ Ma said, her voice trailing off.

  Trish let out an exasperated sigh and lowered herself on to the chair opposite her mother. ‘I had called you saying I would be late. And remember the deal, Ma?’

  Her mother didn’t answer, which Trish took to be a silent confirmation that she did remember. The ‘deal’ was that, once her parents moved in, no one would stay up waiting for anyone, since everyone in the house was an adult now, as Trish had emphasized. She couldn’t be made to feel like an errant teenager in her own home or the whole tenuous arrangement would implode. Oh yes, Ma knew the deal and had honoured it all this while. It had been easy, considering this was actually Trish’s first really late night in months.

  ‘So.’ Ma’s voice became brisk, as she made a clear shift from the defensive to the offensive. ‘Did you ask about the medical insurance today?’

  ‘Oh.’ Trish hesitated. ‘That.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her mother’s voice rose plaintively, ‘You’ve been postponing that for weeks now. You know how Ba’s new medicines are so costly, and you said even this morning that you would check on the company’s policy for dependent parents. And you didn’t?’

  ‘No,’ Trish admitted.

  ‘I knew it.’ Her mother fumed, now getting into full form. ‘Delay, delay, delay. Just like your father. It’s a wonder how anything moves forward in this family with all this procrastination, there’s absolutely nothing that anyone …’

  Trish interjected: ‘Ma. I got fired today.’ She figured it was best to just get it over with.

  Ma either hadn’t heard or pretended that she hadn’t, because she went on railing. ‘Even when it was well past the time that we could look after ourselves, your father insisted that we stay in Indore.’

  Trish began to worry that she would disturb Ba, sleeping in the other room, but Ma wasn’t about to stop.

  ‘No matter how many times I said, “What’s the use of having a grownup daughter living in a big city with the best medical facilities if we don’t stay with her in our old age?” and …’

  Trish felt herself quivering with anger as her hands clenched and she hissed at her mother: ‘Ma! I said I got fired.’ She glared at her mother. ‘Are you even listening?’

  Ma sure as hell was listening now. Even in the dim light, Trish could make out her shocked expression. Ma blinked hard once and then opened her mouth to speak.

  Before she could say anything, another voice floated in. ‘Trishna?’

  Ba was the only person who ever referred to Trish by her full name. Both Trish and her mother automatically glanced in the direction of Ba’s room. Ba sounded confused and worried. They would have to set their differences aside for now. It was important to keep him calm.

  ‘Trishna?’ His voice came again, louder and more urgent this time.

  For once, Trish didn’t move in response. She just sat stubbornly at the table, staring at her mother, who was looking at her with a mixture of disbelief, panic and, Trish imagined, a hint of disgust.

  Finally, her mother rose and hurried out of the room and down the hall to attend to her husband, calling, ‘Yes, yes, she’s here, she was delayed at work. What is it now, why are you up?’ Her voice trailed off as she shut the door behind her.

  Trish put her arms on the table and lay her tired head down. She felt overwhelmed by the events of the day. Someone else might have thought it might be better to let it all out with a good cry. But Trish didn’t believe in that shit.

  Redness. Bright, hot, uncomfortable redness.

  It was a ray of the morning sun, shining right into Trish’s eyes. She blinked awake unwillingly, groaning softly to herself. What time was it? She sat up with a start and then realized it didn’t matter anyway. She had lost her job. It hadn’t been just a bad dream after all. Damn.

  She glanced over at the small clock on her bedside table. Eleven o’clock. Wow. Well, she’d had a bad night, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. There had been sounds from her parents’ room, indicating that Ba was giving Ma trouble about something or the other, but she hadn’t gone in to investigate and try and calm Ba down. She felt a little guilty because she knew that her mother’s ability to handle her father was nowhere near her own, but she just hadn’t felt up to it.

  The sound of the waves rhythmically crashing upon Bandstand hit her ears. Usually, she loved the fact that she could wake up next to the sea, with what, to her, was the most soothing sound in the world. Right now, though, it only served to remind her that a sea-facing apartment in Mumbai, even one the size of a matchbox, was an indulgence she could no longer afford.

  Her throat felt parched and dry and she struggled heavily to her feet to go and fix herself a glass of water. She was wearing her pink flowered night-shirt, one she’d slept in for years. It was her favourite, although it had become rather tatty with use. She was in a loose pair of Winnie-the-Pooh pyjamas. She had no love for Winnie the Pooh, it was just that it wasn’t easy to find pyjamas her size. Besides, here at home, there were only Ma and Ba. No one she was trying to impress. Not that it took much to impress Ba these days; Ma, of course, could never be impressed anyway.

  She was still rubbing her eyes as she ambled towards the kitchen. She could hear Ma’s voice in the drawing room. Who was she talking to on the phone? It wasn’t the phone, Trish realized as a high-pitched voice rang out in response, ‘So what’s she going to do now? Sit around in her pyjamas

  all day?’

  Trish rounded the corner and stood in the doorway, the glass of water and parched throat forgotten. Her friend and neighbour Akanksha sat there in all her petite, coiffed and judgemental glory, across the table from her woebegone mother. Both women registered her presence and glanced up at her with sudden bright smiles that only irritated Trish further.

  ‘Good morning, dear,’ said Ma, who only used terms of endearment under the pressure of guilt. ‘Akku just came two minutes ago …’

  ‘Took just two minutes for you to tell her?’ Trish growled. ‘So that both of you could sit there together and judge me for losing my job?’

  ‘Now, Trish,’ Akanksha cut in smoothly. ‘Don’t be silly. Aunty is just worried.’

  ‘“Aunty’’ is always worried, Akku.’ Trish went over and sat down next to her friend. She pointedly ignored her mother, grabbing a bottle of water from the table and glugging the water straight from the bottle, a habit she knew Ma hated. She then picked up the newspaper and made a show of pretending to read the headlines. She looked up for just a second and saw the meaningful glance that her mother and Akanksha were exchanging. She quickly turned back to the paper.

  After a few minutes, her mother rose from the chair, saying something along the lines of, ‘I suppose I’ll see what that lady of yours has made for lunch.’

  That lady of hers was Munni the part-timer. She’d been with Trish for five years, and it had taken a lot for Trish to persuade her to continue with the household chores after her parents had moved in. Her mother was of little help in the kitchen but she certainly knew how to
hover and make the help’s life miserable. So poor Munni, who had become so used to Trish’s easygoing ways and lack of interest in household matters, had suddenly found that she no longer ruled the roost. Trish felt a lump rising in her throat. She might even have to let Munni go now; money was going to be tight until she found another job. She didn’t even have a resumé ready. Plus, she had chosen not to go in for that damn MBA. Ma’s fault – if she hadn’t pushed Trish so insistently towards an MBA, Trish might not have automatically dismissed the suggestion, choosing instead to find work straight out of college. Where had all her hard work and initiative got

  her anyway?

  ‘Trish.’ Akanksha’s voice, gentler than before, snapped her out of her reverie. She looked up to see her friend’s perfectly made up, pretty, pixie-like face, with its stylish smooth hair framing it, staring at her with concern. ‘Tell me, what happened?’

  Trish sighed. Akanksha lived in the same building in one of the big, luxurious ground-floor apartments. Trish didn’t recall exactly how they had become friends in the first place, especially given how different they were from each other. Akanksha was married; she was a mother; she was rich and beautiful. All the things Trish knew she would never be. It was probably just that they had lived in close proximity for so many years here, occasionally helping each other out with mundane neighbourly matters. Also, Akanksha was usually too self-centred and thick to see through Trish’s sarcasm, so Trish had wearied of her usual tactics to fend off potential friends and had accepted that Akanksha was going to

  hang around.

  Akanksha was the persistent sort, so Trish knew she wouldn’t give up until she knew the all details. She said reluctantly, ‘There’s nothing to tell, Akku. My boss called me in yesterday and pretty much said that there was no place for me in the organization any more.’ The memory of the humiliating conversation began to fill her with anger again and she continued bitterly. ‘There’s some new fashion portal that they’re launching and I guess he figured I wasn’t hip enough to do the content for that.’ Her friend’s expression flickered for just a second, but Trish caught it. ‘What?’ she said sharply.

  ‘Nothing,’ Akanksha said, just a little too quickly. ‘Go on.’

  Trish frowned. Akanksha’s expression continued to hover between sympathy and impassiveness. Then Trish’s frown cleared. ‘Ah. Of course. You think he’s right.’

  Akanksha protested. ‘Who? No! You must be crazy.’ But Trish saw through it.

  ‘You think he’s right!’ The full implication hit her. ‘It’s all about appearances with you people, isn’t it? There’s no such thing as talent or determination or hard work. It’s all to do with style, not substance.’

  Akanksha narrowed her eyes. ‘Look, sweetie.’ Trish was usually tolerant of her friend, but right now the ‘sweetie’ made her want to strangle Akanksha. Akanksha continued, oblivious to her glowering. ‘I won’t try and sugarcoat this, okay? I’ve been telling you for years that you’ve got to try harder as far as putting yourself together goes …’

  ‘Not the time, Akku,’ Trish said quietly.

  ‘Sure, it’s not the time. It’s never the time.’ Akanksha was undeterred. ‘Except that it is the time now. Wake up! Smell the coffee. Look at your pyjamas. Look at you!’

  ‘Is this some kind of new-fangled therapy you’re suddenly into? It’s not helping.’

  ‘It isn’t any therapy. It’s the truth you’ve been denying.’ Trish rolled her eyes but Akanksha went on. ‘You haven’t bothered to try and stay relevant. You had this new boss who clearly wanted to shake things up, and you never made a single bit of effort to get to know him and align yourself with his agenda. I don’t work, but even I know that that’s how things go in the corporate world.’ This got another eye-roll from Trish which Akanksha just ignored again. ‘And now that you’ve gone and messed up your only source of income, you’re just taking it out on us.’

  ‘Who the hell is “us”?’

  ‘Your well-wishers. Me and your mom, who only want to help …’

  ‘Akku, please.’ Trish put her face into her hands. ‘Can you stop now? You did this when I told Ma to get off my back about finding a man too. I don’t know why you always side with her. I don’t need the two of you ganging up on me right now, all right? It’s my problem. I’ll handle it myself. So can you please just drop it?’

  There were a few moments of silence. When Trish looked up again, Akanksha was staring at the wall in front of her in silence, biting her lower lip. It struck Trish once again how similar Akanksha and her mother were. They both looked younger than their respective ages, they both didn’t seem to want to act their age; they had both never had to work a day in their lives to support themselves; and they both were always trying to solve Trish – fat, unmarried and now jobless Trish.

  But when Akanksha finally spoke again, her voice had more of what seemed like concern. ‘How are you on funds? Will you need something for a few months? I can always ask Vinay …’

  Trish shook her head brusquely. ‘No. No thanks.’ No way, she thought. No loans. Trish had barely said two words to Akanksha’s husband over the last few years. He was a perfectly nice, handsome man with a big business of his own. Akanksha always proudly said she had lucked out with her arranged marriage. But there was no question of Trish borrowing money from anyone. ‘I’ll figure it out,’ she added more gently, noting that Akanksha looked disappointed at her response. Her friend was irritating, but at least her heart was in the right place. In approximately the correct

  region, anyway.

  Akanksha’s breezy tone was back. ‘Well, you’re right. You’ve got substance. You’ve got some solid experience. You’ll be back on your feet soon.’

  Trish’s head was buzzing and heavy despite the fact that her day had just started, but she tried to end the conversation by making a joke. She rubbed her ample tummy and said, ‘Yep. Lots of substance here. Plenty of me to hire. I could offer a BOGO scheme – buy one employee, get one free!’

  Akanksha frowned. ‘Let’s not do the fat jokes.’

  ‘Okay,’ Trish agreed, dropping the act. It was draining anyway.

  Akanksha smiled at her. ‘You’ll be okay. You’ll get another job in no time.’

  ‘Sure.’ Of course. Trish feigned confidence as she returned the smile.

  After all, it was a fake-it-till-you-make-it kind of world. Especially if you were a single twenty-eight-year-old woman with two dependent parents and no job in the unforgiving city of Mumbai.

  3

  The Search

  ‘Well, thanks for coming down. We’ll get back to you.’

  Trish looked up at the beaming face of the HR girl who had been sent to tell her that she was done for the day. The week. The month. Forever. ‘We’ll get back to you.’ Of course they wouldn’t. She had learnt to read the signs now. After all, it was the sixth interview she’d had in the last two months, each culminating in that phrase. Never to be actually followed through on.

  Trish slowly rose from her seat in the small conference room while the puny HR girl continued to beam in that unnatural fashion so popular with HR people. Oh, well. At least the coffee had been good. The last guy who had interviewed her – who had been so cool and senior that he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself, naturally assuming that Trish should recognize him on sight – had clearly been unimpressed with her. They had been the same old painful questions, which she knew indicated that the guy was just going through the motions because his team had falsely led him to believe that this lady was perhaps worth his time. Even though she had tried to answer sincerely, his disdain had made her so uncomfortable that her words had rung false in her own ears and she was just glad it was all over for now.

  ‘What are your strengths and weaknesses?’ Puke. ‘What have been your biggest achievements?’ Gag. And the most annoying one, which usually set her babbling. ‘So. Tell me about yourself.’ Double-puke-gag-slide-under-the-table.

  What Trish really dreaded even more t
han these questions was the inevitable, ‘So why did you leave your last organization?’ The honest response, ‘They sort of made me,’ was always on the tip of her tongue, but she usually ended up with a one-liner about irreconcilable ideological differences, which usually left the interviewer looking unconvinced.

  No one actually mentioned it, but she knew it was possibly this lack of clarity on why she was out of work that was doing her in. And also her non-MBA-ness. And her looks. She had tried to make herself presentable for these interactions by taming her thick curls into a ponytail and by not wearing her glasses, but she knew that her plus-size wardrobe, consisting mostly of loose kurtas, didn’t make for smart, formal dressing. Akanksha had repeatedly suggested that they go shopping together, but Trish had put her off obstinately, digging out and dusting off a couple of formal trousers and shirts from several years ago. They weren’t in the best of shape, and neither was she, so it was a real squeeze getting into them. She had really allowed herself to balloon up over the last few years, she realized. She’d got too comfortable in more ways than one.

  She smiled a wan goodbye at the puny HR lady and then walked out past the reception to wait for the elevator. This was just yet another organization that had called her in only to dash her hopes. Well, it wasn’t like she had harboured that much hope anyway. After the fourth interview, she was pretty much just going through the motions herself.

  Still, it was important for her to get out of the house occasionally and these interviews served as an excuse. It had been bad enough having to deal with her parents in the mornings and evenings while she was working, but being cooped up with them the whole day was too much. Ba had become even clingier and more dependent on her now that he had figured she wasn’t leaving for work. And her mother was just being herself, which was enough to drive