Monsoon Memories

by Renita D'Silva

  Madhu ran her fingers gently over the girl’s face, her hair.

  And Reena understood why the picture was worn.

  ‘She had lovely hair, thick and long. I used to plait it for her in two long braids, and tie it up behind her ears. She always made sure I used matching ribbons.’ Madhu smiled. ‘She sat so still while I oiled it and combed it, no matter how knotty it was, no matter how much it hurt. And I talked to her the whole time. She was my favourite, you know. It was a secret—hers and mine.’ Madhu’s voice broke.

  Reena waited until Madhu had composed herself somewhat.

  She hated herself for doing so but she had to ask. ‘Did she die?’

  Madhu blanched. Years of living in a Catholic household had rubbed off on her and she made the sign of the cross, her puffy, red-rimmed eyes sprouting fresh tears. She spoke so softly that Reena had to strain to hear. ‘No. Thank God, thank Jesus, no.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Blue-Green Soda Bottles

  ‘You’re early today, Shirin.’ Kate said as she and Shirin took the lift up from the car park together.

  ‘Yes, well, Vinod had a breakfast meeting and I was awake,’ Shirin said, yawning.

  ‘Wide awake, I see,’ smiled Kate, who always turned up at the office at the crack of dawn—which would have been an extremely annoying trait in any other boss. ‘Journey here okay?’

  ‘Yes.’ She had sped past that particular pedestrian crossing, ignoring the two people waiting to cross. No haunting eyes.

  ‘It’s not the nightmare keeping you up?’ Kate’s voice was tentative.

  Sister Maya’s face—thick bushy eyebrows joined together at the top of her frog-like nose; a moustache replete with the beginnings of a beard; moles dotting her face, with curly black hairs growing out of the larger two, located rather symmetrically on either side of her nostrils—flashed before Shirin’s eyes. She smiled. ‘Not the nightmare, no. An ogre called Sister Maya.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘She was my primary school headmistress.’

  Kate’s eyebrows were two question marks, her lips curved in a bemused smile. A query.

  ‘Memories,’ Shirin continued by way of explanation. ‘They’ve been overwhelming me.’

  ‘Since the dream?’

  Shirin nodded. ‘Vinod thinks it’s the healing process. He’s read all the books that counsellor gave us. He says I am ready to revisit the past.’ Words tripped over themselves in their hurry to get out of Shirin’s mouth, a bit like the memories that hovered, ready to spill out at the slightest provocation. ‘He thinks it’s the only way I can let go. Move on.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  Numbers blinked red on the panel by the lift door: 2, 3, 4. ‘It doesn’t hurt to remember, Kate. Not anymore.’

  Kate smiled. ‘Good. That’s good.’

  The lift pinged, the doors opening with a sigh. Shirin looked at the rows of desks, bereft without their occupants. ‘Right. Work,’ she said.

  ‘If you need to talk about anything, you know where I am.’

  ‘I know. Thank you. For yesterday.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. See you around ten-ish for the UAT meeting.’

  ‘Oh, Kate, I almost forgot. That guarantees spec you requested is ready. Shall I email it to you?’

  ‘I think it would be better if we went over it together. Print it off. I’ll be at your desk in a tick.’

  As she waited for Kate, Shirin clicked on the first message in her inbox, one of those forwarded emails that she usually deleted unread: a photograph of a Stella Artois bottle sans label, sitting on a windowsill, a ray of weak winter sun illuminating it, making it glow. To Shirin, it looked just like the blue-green soda bottles of her childhood.

  A memory, long forgotten, suddenly vivid: Pelam beach. Sea roaring; sea gulls hovering, scavenging for fish scraps; noisy crows swooping and cackling; men with wicker baskets of churmuri slung loosely round their necks peddling their wares; the overpowering stench of rotting fish masking the salty-sweet tang of sea and the inviting spicy oniony aroma of churmuri; Madhu haggling for fish; Deepak wandering off to the little shop on the far side of the beach, drawn by the soda bottles, meticulously counting out all his pocket money; Shirin and Anita impatiently hopping from one foot to another—they were barefoot and the sand was quite hot, even in the setting sun—urging him to hurry: ‘Madhu will be looking for us, Deepak. Quick.’ Deepak looking up at the shopkeeper, eyes shiny with hope, ‘I have fifty-five paise here. Mummy also said I have five rupees in the bank. Will that be enough to buy the bottle?’ The shopkeeper smirking, displaying black, paan-stained teeth,

  ‘Shoo. Go away. The bottles are not for sale.’ Deepak’s face crumpling. And Shirin, boiling with a rage she hadn’t known she possessed, shaking her fist at the leering shopkeeper, using the very bad English word she had overheard once, ‘You—you bastard.’

  ‘What are you looking at?’ Kate perched on the arm of her chair, looked at her monitor and guffawed, ‘A Stella Artois bottle? You in the mood for a pint, girl, at barely nine in the morning?’

  ‘It looks just like the soda bottles of my childhood.’ If she closed her eyes, she could see the beguiling crates of blue-green glass bottles outside the thatched entrance to the little shop by the River Varuna, which sold sweet milky coffee, onion bhajis, green plantain crisps and whole clusters of tiny ripe bananas, yellow skin flecked with black, each shaped like the tail of the letter ‘y’.

  ‘The bottles were sealed with a marble on top to stop the gas escaping and they used to fascinate us kids. We often tried to prise the marble out, under the watchful gaze of the shopkeeper. We had to pay twenty paise—our sugar-cane juice money—for the privilege.’ Sugar-cane juice: thick, frothy, the colour of milk sprouting from between the brown hands of Ananthanna’s wife as she squeezed Nandini’s udders, sweet as Alphonso mango mixed with honey, served in cloudy glasses that had once upon a time been clear. It was freshly pressed courtesy of the booming enterprise that was Jenna Uncle’s sugar-cane machine, headquartered under the shady, all-enveloping branches of the banyan tree beside Muthu, the fisherwoman hawking fresh fish caught that morning arranged in neat piles on a dry banana branch, which slotted onto the two handles of her basket: an impromptu tray.

  Kate laid a hand on Shirin’s arm and smiled. ‘Shirin, your face, it’s glowing. From the inside.’

  ‘It’s such a relief, Kate, to let the memories come instead of always pushing them away, repressing them.’ The Varuna River rippling silvery grey beside the shop with the soda bottles; the coven of crows conversing in their secret language as they perched on coconut trees that bowed down to the river as if drinking from the water; the boatmen humming a catchy, elusive tune as they ferried people across, their dark muscles gleaming, beads of perspiration forming little rivulets down their bare torsos, soaking their colourful lungis. The bus from Dommur, creaking and complaining as it disgorged its straggling passengers, the conductor yelling instructions to the driver to turn the bus around, slapping the back of the bus when it was in danger of going too deep into the river, inadvertently waking the drunk snoring open-mouthed in the back seat; the conductor balancing on one leg on the steps of the bus, his skinny body dangling, yelling, ‘Dommur! Dommur!’ urging the few people clustered around, dressed in their best clothes for the trip into town, to climb aboard, and, once they’d boarded, blowing his ear-splitting whistle and shouting, ‘Right, Poi,’ scaring the few crows perched delicately atop the bus into squawking in fright and flying away.

  ‘Earth to Shirin... Shirin, you in there?’ Kate gently tapped Shirin’s forehead.

  ‘Sorry, Kate.’ Shirin shook her head to clear it of the images. ‘Was miles away.’

  ‘I could see that,’ Kate grinned.

  Shirin blinked to rid herself of the sudden urge to run away, to go home. Why did her
mind insist on calling Taipur home when it had not been that for years? ‘I know—guarantees beckon.’

  ‘Yes, sadly they do. But we are early and you’ve finished the spec ahead of schedule, so what the heck, you are allowed to daydream for, let’s see—’ Kate made a show of looking at her watch, ‘—a minute more.’

  ‘Aw... just one minute?’ Shirin feigned a whine and they shared a laugh.

  Kate stopped abruptly mid-laugh, clapped her palm on her mouth. ‘Shirin, I forgot to tell you before. Jenny’s back. She starts tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Will you be okay?’

  Shirin willed her lips to move, curve upwards in a grin. ‘Of course. Shall we begin?’ She waved the sheaf of paper she had printed in front of Kate.

  Kate looked piercingly at her and nodded, morphing into brisk work mode. ‘Let’s.’

  Shirin let out the breath she was holding, glad of work to take her mind off things. Work was her saviour, and she was grateful to Vinod for persuading her to do the software course during those early dark months in the UK—which had led to this job—when all she’d wanted was to wallow in depression. It had given her a reason to get up each morning, to face the world, to escape her past—however briefly.

  She would keep the smile fixed on her face and deal with Jenny tomorrow—but right now, guarantees beckoned.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Madhu’s favourite

  ‘Shirin,’ Madhu said. ‘Her name is Shirin.’

  She was calmer now. They had moved to the kitchen and she was sitting on the cold cement floor, her legs bent and her knees touching her forehead. Her hands circled her knees and she nursed a tumbler of sweet tea in them.

  ‘Who is she?’ asked Reena.

  Madhu stared at her sharply for a moment and then shook her head, a funny half smile playing on her face. ‘Of all the people who could have found it…’ she whispered almost to herself.

  ‘I mean she’s obviously a relative. Is she my dad’s cousin?’ Reena didn’t want to sound impatient, not with Madhu in this state, but she was a sleuth and sleuths had to follow rules. ‘Get to the point; don’t allow the subject to digress’ was one of them.

  ‘She is your dad’s younger sister. The one in the middle. First Deepak, then Shirin and then Anita.’

  The shock Reena felt must have shown on her face, because Madhu put down her tumbler and gently stroked Reena’s cheeks with her callused hands.

  ‘Why doesn’t anyone mention her? What has she done?’

  Madhu’s open, expressive face closed before Reena’s eyes. Her lips became a thin straight line. She stood up wearily, went to the sink and deposited her tumbler. Then she turned to face Reena. There was such sorrow in her eyes that it hurt Reena to look.

  ‘It’s not my place to say anything, Rinu, to comment on what goes on. I have always felt part of this family, but I did not agree with what was done eleven years ago, with what is still being done.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t agree then and I don’t now,’ she repeated.

  ‘But...’ Questions scrambled through Reena’s head and she couldn’t decide which to ask first.

  ‘I could tell you about her if you like...’ Madhu said softly.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Come here then and sit beside me. It’s a relief to be able to talk about her at last.’

  ‘Tell me everything: how she looked, how she was...’

  Madhu smiled fondly, brushing a wayward strand of hair away from Reena’s eyes and tucking it behind her ear. ‘Let me get you something to eat first. I could talk about Shirin forever, you know. Stop me when you are bored...’

  So, sitting on the kitchen step, eating sannas and dry fish chutney, with Chinnu and Gypsy begging for scraps, Madhu told her about Shirin, Madhu’s favourite. The aunt whom Reena hadn’t known existed: a dusky, plump, shy girl who felt she wasn’t good enough—not nearly as pretty as her sister, and not the coveted male, the son to carry on the family name, like her brother...

  ‘Oh, poor Shirin...’ Reena’s heart ached for the girl her newly discovered aunt had once been.

  ‘Yes, she was always trying to please.’ Madhu’s eyes had a faraway expression, as if she was looking not at the fields in front of them, but directly into the past. With an effort, she pulled her gaze away and focused on Reena. ‘Right, I have to prepare dinner. Your mum, dad and Mai will be here soon.’

  ‘They will have eaten at Aashirwad.’

  ‘Not your Mai. She likes to have red rice, curds and lime pickle for dinner.’

  ‘Tell me more, Madhu.’

  ‘I thought you would tire of my ramblings and ask me to stop.’ Madhu smiled fondly at Reena. ‘Thank you for finding that picture. It’s been wonderful to talk about my Shirin.’

  ‘What happened, Madhu? What did she do?’

  Madhu stood up slowly, joints creaking and stretched. Then she turned to Reena, held her face in her palms and kissed her nose gently. ‘I told you; it’s not for me to say.’

  At least, thought Reena as she came away into the living room and lay down on the mat beside the front door, she had garnered a few facts. She wrote them down in her notebook, below the list of suspects.

  Mystery Girl—Name: Shirin

  Relationship to other subjects in photograph: Deepak (this detective’s dad) and Anita (aunt): sister.

  Other: Madhu’s favourite.

  IMPORTANT: Rift that caused her to be erased from family happened eleven years ago.

  ‘How could they all do this?’ she wondered, re-reading what she’d written and correcting the spelling of ‘favourite’. How could her dad live his life, visit his old friends and reminisce whilst completely blocking out a major part of his childhood: his sister? How could you forget your sister existed? What had Shirin done to deserve this sort of punishment?

  If she, Reena, had had a sibling, she would have stood by them no matter what they did. She longed for a sister or brother. She had hounded her parents for a time, but had given up when the answer was always: ‘You are perfect, darling. You are enough for us.’

  ‘Yes,’ she had countered. ‘But what about what I want?’

  ‘When you are older, you can have lots of children,’ her mother had said, laughing at Reena’s expression of disgust.

  Reena pulled out the picture and looked at Shirin again. She looked ordinary and a bit shy. Her eyes were kind. She thought of the story Madhu had told, of a timid girl always trying to please. Had Shirin changed when she grew up? Turned into the monster that sometimes stirred within Reena when she wearied of being the good girl she was expected to be? Sometimes, when her parents told her off without even bothering to listen to her, she felt this monster waking, growing, and she lashed out, without thinking, without caring. She had even bitten her mother once. Afterwards, when the monster retreated, she had apologised to Preeti.

  Preeti had lifted Reena’s chin and softly wiped the tears streaming silently from downcast eyes. ‘We all get angry sometimes, Rinu. But it’s not okay to hit, bite or lash out physically, however angry you are. No pocket money for two months.’ Reena had looked up then, her gaze settling on her mother’s face. ‘Consequences, Rinu, consequences. Think before you act. Even when you are so angry you want to hurt someone very badly,’ her mother had said, gently tapping her nose and pulling her close into a hug. Her mother understood, had known about the monster without Reena ever having to tell her…

  She had come to believe that everyone had a monster living inside them. But was it possible for someone to change so drastically, to completely renege on the person they were and become only the monster? Could she, Reena, change too?

  And her grandmother, Jacinta: how could she turn her back on her own child, one she had carried for nine months, one she had watched grow from a helpless baby to an independent adult? Weren’t
mothers supposed to forgive even the worst sins when the perpetrator was their child?

  TO DO: Find reason for rift.

  Plan A: Madhu. Refuses to tell. Work on her.

  Plan B: Mai? Not a good idea. Deepak (this detective’s dad)? Even worse. Preeti (Mum)? Does she even know? Aunt Anita? Possible.

  Plan C: Find Aunt Anita and ask her about Aunt Shirin.

  Reena looked up from the photograph and the past, at the world beyond the front door. While this revelation had turned her whole universe upside down, nothing had changed outside. If anything, the fields looked a more brilliant green than usual, and the flowers in the courtyard shone. It was as if the rain had decided to be extravagant and applied an extra coat of paint on Nature.

  Smells and sounds drifted from the kitchen: pots banging, onions sizzling as they hit the pan of hot oil. Reena lay there, with Gypsy, who was sprawled across the steps leading down from the front door, for company and pondered the doings of the adults in her life, people she thought she’d known—until twilight set in, sapping the world of colour; until mosquitoes started feasting on her flesh; until it started raining again, and her parents and grandmother returned from their shopping trip, wet but happy and full of news, bringing noise and busyness into the quiet house.

  ‘You should have come, Rinu. We had such fun. And the rain held off, well until just now.’ Preeti flopped onto the mat beside Reena, her face animated. ‘I bought a sandalwood jewellery box for Mrs. Gupta. What do you think? Will she like it?’

  Reena looked at her mum as if seeing her for the first time. Did she know about Shirin?

  Preeti didn’t seem to notice that Reena hadn’t replied.

  ‘And the food at Aashirwad was great. But there was a fight just outside. When we went in, it was a small spat between two people and we thought nothing of it. But when we finished, we couldn’t get out of the restaurant! The entrance was blocked by so many people all arguing and shouting at each other. The little quarrel had ballooned into this huge altercation between the Hindus and the Muslims. We had to leave by the side entrance. As we were leaving, the police drove up... In a way I was glad you didn’t come, Rinu. Dommur is changing. Ma said there’s been plenty of unrest in the last few months. Isn’t that so, Ma?’ Preeti turned to include Jacinta who had just hobbled into the room, sighing with exertion, into the conversation.