Monsoon Memories

by Renita D'Silva

  Now, Shirin cleared her throat. ‘I apologised to Ian after.’ It was Ian’s eyes that had repelled her: hooded, empty, too close for comfort; his breath when he leaned close, pungent like the smell that populated her nightmares.

  Marie nodded, her strict countenance softening. ‘I know.’ Shirin’s heart constricted at Marie’s expression: an expression she’d seen so often on a much-beloved face. How could this heavyset white woman remind her so of her slender mother?

  ‘So, are you ready to take on Jay’s team, then?’ Marie asked, the beginnings of a smile curling her lips upward.

  Ian’s accusation, the spectre of the Eyes, slunk away, to be replaced by relief. Joy even. ‘Yes. Thank you very much.’ A quick glance at Kate who was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Thanks, Kate.’

  Marie reached across, took Shirin’s hand, held it in both of hers. ‘Prove yourself, Shirin. Show us what you can do.’

  Rob was in the process of biting into a doorstep BLT, mouth wide open, reminiscent of the baby python that had slunk into Ananthanna’s chicken coop, the chicken squawking plaintively from between its fangs before disappearing into its belly. ‘Been sacked yet?’ he asked between munches.

  ‘Unfortunately no.’ She couldn’t keep the smile from her voice.

  ‘Despite all the things I said when Marie asked me about you?’ He shook his head in mock bewilderment and smiled, giving her a glimpse of half-chewed tomato. ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘Thanks, Rob. Any of those left in the van?’

  ‘Nope. Only the mangy salad ones.’

  Shirin pulled a face.

  ‘Why don’t you go to Marks, get yourself a decent sandwich and some cakes for us lot who helped you up by putting in a good word?’ Rob rubbed his stomach. ‘I feel like dessert.’

  Once at her desk, she called Vinod, knowing he would be on his lunch break. ‘I’ve been put in charge of Jay’s team, managing CMS, that account I told you about.’

  ‘Good for you, Shonu.’ She heard the smile in his voice. She pictured him leaning back in his chair, the grin softening his features, transforming his face.

  ‘Marie called me in to tell me. She’s the one who handled the whole thing with Ian. I thought I was going to be sacked...’

  ‘Did she bring Ian up?’ Shirin pictured him pulling at his belt, trying to tuck the beginnings of a paunch in: a recently acquired habit.

  ‘She had to. I am in charge of an all-male team.’

  ‘Way to go, Shonu,’ Quiet pride in his voice.

  ‘She reminded me of Ma.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘Marie.’

  ‘Oh...’ And then, Vinod being Vinod, ‘Good. That’s a good thing, Shonu. Let the memories come.’

  And like a dam burst open, a memory spilled out, insinuating itself to the fore of her mind: She’s four years old. It’s too hot to wear any clothes. She follows the example of the Fernandes twins and runs around naked. Afterwards, her mother’s wrath: ‘Shame on you! Running around nude like that... Don’t you know you are a girl?’ The palms of Jacinta’s hands bunched into fists, her eyes cold and hard like the granite in the Panambur quarry. Shirin is puzzled. Why is her mother asking such a silly question? Of course she knows she’s a girl. That’s why Madhu clothes her in dresses and churidars—not shorts like the Fernandes twins. That’s why she has to wear the heavy gold earrings her grandmother gifted her with when she was born even though they hurt her lobes. She’s about to open her mouth to ask why, but Madhu, hovering anxiously behind Jacinta, catches Shirin’s eyes and shakes her head—No.

  Later, after Jacinta metes out punishment (two sharp beatings on her bare stick-insect legs with the tender branch from the hibiscus plant), after she has cried out her tears and been fed and fussed over by Madhu, she turns around in Madhu’s lap so as to face her and, her eyes still wet with remembered agony, whispers, ‘Why was she so angry?’

  Madhu pats her head gently. ‘You are a girl, Shirin. Girls don’t run around naked.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They just don’t.’

  ‘Shirin, are you there?’ Vinod’s voice in her ear, grounding her in the present.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This morning, I was rushing; I didn’t get a chance...’ He paused and she knew what was coming. ‘Have you thought any more about contacting them?’

  Softly, ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s a way to find their email addresses in this day and age. Perhaps you could ring Deepak’s employer. He’s with HP now, did you say?’

  ‘What about confidentiality?’

  ‘Surely if you explained... Or even just called HP and asked to speak to him.’

  Was it possible? She pictured herself, after saying goodbye to Vinod, dialling HP. Waiting for the heartbeat of static, the pause indicating a transatlantic connection. ‘Hello?’ An Indian voice imitating an American accent. ‘Can I speak to Deepak Diaz, please?’ My brother. ‘Do you have his extension number?’ The receptionist with her fake accent: pish pish, in Madhu’s lingo. ‘No, sorry; I seem to have misplaced it.’ ‘Hold on a minute,’ the receptionist’s bored voice tinged with annoyance echoing down the line. A pause. Muzak bridging the distance, punctuated by static. And then... Her brother’s deep voice—reminding Shirin every time she heard it of the shock they’d all had when out of the blue, the angelic voice of his childhood, the pride of the choir, the favourite of the nuns, had transformed to this. ‘Hello? Who’s this?’ What would she say? That she couldn’t stay away any longer. That she had to come back. That she had to see her. Could she? Drop this bombshell on her brother, sitting in his office, on an ordinary workday, in the middle of an ordinary week. ‘I want to come home. I want to end this. I’ve had enough.’ Could she?

  ‘Shonu?’ Vinod’s voice.

  What if he doesn’t want to speak to me? What if he disconnects the call on recognising my voice? ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’ll celebrate this evening.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Your promotion.’ And then, ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, then. I’ll see you later. Love you.’

  ‘Bye.’

  She disconnected the call, stared at the phone. Could she? Carefully, she placed the phone in her purse. And googled Hewlett-Packard Global Soft Limited, clicked on the ‘Contact’ tab once the page came up, stared at the phone number. So easy. Her phone peeked from her handbag, beckoning. On the screen in front of her, the number glowed. Below it was printed, in small letters, 9:00 a.m.—6:00 p.m. Monday—Friday (IST). She checked her watch. Quarter to two. Which made it 6:15 p.m. in India. She sighed, not sure if it was disappointment she felt.

  ‘Congratulations, manager.’ Kate was at her desk, giving her a quick hug. ‘What say we go to the pub for a quick drink after work? Will Vinod mind? We won’t stay long.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s fine. I’ll tell him I’ll be late.’

  ‘What are you looking at?’ Kate peered at the computer. ‘Hewlett Packard. Not thinking of leaving us in the lurch?’

  ‘My brother works there.’

  ‘Oh.’ Kate’s eyes wide, a question in them.

  ‘I’ll fill you in this evening. Right now I’m off to get cakes for Rob over there.’ She raised her voice at this last bit. Rob looked up, mouthed ‘Cheers’ and winked.

  ‘Ooh. Not that I’m suggesting anything, but coffee and walnut cake is my particular favourite. And I did miss lunch...’ Kate laughed.

  The phone number. Deepak. Her promotion. She stood, her legs wobbly from all the excitement. As she picked up her car keys and handbag, Shirin pictured Madhu’s response to her promotion. Madhu would cup Shirin’s face in her palms and, her eyes glowing with pride, whisper, ‘Well done, Sh
irin, I always knew you could do it. My girl...’

  Why couldn’t she fathom Jacinta’s reaction? Why, when she tried to picture Jacinta, to trace her features from memory, did she only see the expression in her mother’s eyes the last time she saw her?

  * * *

  The pub was crowded, but Shirin managed to bag a table by the window overlooking the high street while Kate went to get their drinks. She took off her jacket and settled into her seat, the capacious high-backed chair engulfing her. She loved being in pubs: the crunch of salt-and-vinegar crisps; the frothy smell of beer mingling with the aroma of chips, onion rings and tart sweet ketchup; the conversations flowing and ebbing; the murmur of the sports commentator on TV accompanied every once in a while by a loud collective cheer or groan—all instilling in her a sense of camaraderie. Here, in this most English of institutions, she could pretend, briefly, that she belonged. That she was not forever floating, straddling two personalities and two worlds—the one she ached for, that she had had to leave behind; and the one she found herself in, the world she would always be in debt of, as it had accepted her, broken as she was, and had allowed her to heal, to make something of herself—so that sometimes, in the dead of night, she woke screaming silently, not sure who she was anymore, lost even to herself.

  She closed her eyes briefly, the stress and excitement of the day catching up. And a name came to her, as if it had been hovering in the forefront of her memory, waiting for her to retrieve it. Sinha. Uttam Sinha.

  She sat up, looked to the bar to see if she could spot Kate. She saw Kate’s distinctive hair, her camel jacket amongst the crush at the bar. She was deep in conversation with a tall man wearing a suit and tie, his head bent towards Kate as he listened to what she was saying. Dark hair. Glasses. Kate’s type. Good for her.

  At the next table, across from her, a very young couple shared a chair. She sat on his lap, her head on his shoulder. His head rested on hers. Her eyes were closed. A half smiled played on her face. She looked so… content. And for a brief moment, Shirin ached to be her, this girl with her uncluttered life. No complicated history. No messy past. A man who so obviously adored her. Her whole life ahead of her, glimmering with possibilities… I wish I’d grown up here. White-skinned. Not having to worry about what people might think or say; not having to heft the burden of obligation, of duty; not having to honour the family name…

  A memory: skipping school on the day of the Kannada test for which she hadn’t prepared, lying flat among the branches of the trees in the orchard surrounding the school, inhaling the fruity breeze, munching on raw mangoes and spying on her classmates, feeling only slightly guilty as they were called forward, one by one and hit with a ruler…

  And another: the river sparkling in the sunlight, a golden blue, the boat undulating gently with the waves; St. Mary’s island shimmering in the distance, a dark haze against silvery clouds and pink-tinged sky; the picnic basket containing dosas, idlis, ambades and fresh jamun courtesy of Jilly Bai snug against their sun-warmed feet, Anita laughing at something she’d said…

  No, she couldn’t imagine swapping her childhood for a different one. She had been happy then. Before she grew up. Before…

  Shirin settled back onto her chair and looked away from the couple, out the window. Taipur. Home. Anita. Anita Sinha. Didn’t sound right. She would google it. Tomorrow. And should she call Deepak? Not yet. Not just yet...

  She had been looking out the window without really seeing anything, but now her attention was captured by a teenage girl, Asian, standing by the bus stop opposite the pub. She looked about fourteen, her school uniform peeking out from under her navy-blue dress coat. She stood hunched against the chilly evening breeze, her hands working busily on a mobile phone, headphones in her ears, hair falling over her face. Every once in a while she looked up, sneaked sideways glances, and Shirin, following her gaze, found she was checking out a tall Asian boy lounging against the British Heart Foundation shop awning, scowling at his shoes. Shirin smiled, her heart going out to the girl. Go on, talk to him if you fancy him. A tall blonde girl wearing the same uniform crept up behind the Asian girl, put her arms around her. She squealed, looked up, laughed. She was very pretty when she smiled. The blonde girl pointed to the boy, nudged her friend. She blushed. The blonde started striding towards the boy, pulling her reluctant, blushing friend along. The boy slouched, scowling, oblivious.

  ‘Whew. What a crush. Everyone’s decided to have a quick after-work drink this evening.’ Kate sank onto the chair beside her, depositing their drinks and a saucer of spiced peanuts.

  ‘Who was the lucky man, then?’

  ‘Nothing escapes you, does it?’ Kate laughed.

  ‘Did you get his number?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Kate grinned and opened out her palm. A number was scribbled in her messy scrawl across it.

  ‘That will rub out. Here.’ Shirin rummaged around in her purse for a pen and a sheet of paper.

  ‘I didn’t know I would meet someone when I went to get the drinks, did I? If I did, I would have gone armed with a notebook and a tad more make up. His name is Callum. Does IT support for DCS. He seemed very nice.’

  Across the street, the blonde was talking to the Asian boy, nudging her shy friend to join in. As Shirin watched, the Asian girl looked up, across the road and through the pub window, right at her.

  ‘Do you know her?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That girl you’re watching? You’re not the only one who’s observant you know.’

  ‘No, no.’ Shirin pulled her gaze away.

  ‘So, ma’am, how does it feel to be manager?’ Kate mimicked holding a mic in front of Shirin’s mouth.

  ‘Good, thank you. Especially as I haven’t started doing the job yet.’

  Kate burst out laughing, squeezed Shirin’s arm. ‘I’m pleased for you, Shirin. You are just the person for the job. It took all my willpower to keep it under wraps when Jay recommended you. Had to run it by Marie first…’ She leaned back, took a long swig of her pint of lager. ‘Ah. I needed that.’ And, smiling up at Shirin, ‘Go on then; spill the beans. Why were you looking up your brother’s company this afternoon?’

  ‘Vinod suggested I call his workplace, ask to speak to him.’

  Kate sat up. ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘What if he doesn’t want to speak to me?’ With Kate, she could voice her doubts.

  ‘If you ask me, I think you should let it be. Why leave yourself open to hurt again?’ She leaned forward, looking into Shirin’s eyes, ‘Look at you: strong, confident woman. Manager. Is there any point in going back?’

  ‘I miss her, Kate. I miss Reena.’

  Kate followed her gaze out the grimy pub window. The girl was walking down the street away from her, flanked by the blonde on one side and the Asian boy loping along on the other. He bent towards her, whispered something in her ear and she threw her head back and laughed.

  ‘I… I think I’ve finally forgiven myself for what I did. I can see that, in the circumstances, I was justified. What the counsellor, Vinod and you tried to tell me all this while is beginning to make sense. I’m not saying all my choices were right; I am still guilty about… Reena. But at the time, the person I was… I understand now… That’s why the memories don’t hurt as much, why I am able to entertain them.’

  Kate nodded once. ‘Do you think after all this time they’re still...?’

  ‘I don’t know...’ Shirin stared at her drink as if it held all the answers. ‘I think I’d like to contact Anita first.’ She paused, taking a sip of her drink before continuing. ‘Anita... She’s…’ she scrabbled around for the right phrase to describe what she wanted to say. Anita asking, ‘Why did you do it, Deepak? Why did you give the note to Ma? It was Shirin’s.’ Shirin sitting shell-shocked on the front stoop, the breeze cold on her bare neck, naked without
its curtain of hair. Madhu sniffing violently as she swept the courtyard clean, her body bent like a question mark, the hair she’d spent hours massaging now nothing but a pool of dark strands hugging the trunks of the coconut trees.

  As usual, Kate understood without her having to say it. ‘I know. The bond between sisters. With a brother it’s not the same, is it?’

  ‘I looked up to Deepak, was in awe of him.’ Deepak’s voice: ‘The Diaz family is Taipur’s most respected and has been for generations. Loving a Muslim. Don’t you realise the scandal it would cause? The disgrace…’ ‘But with Anu it was different. We would get into all sorts of scrapes. “We’re partners in crime,” she used to say, having picked up the phrase from one of my books...’ Her little sister. Her confidante. ‘She’s not judgemental; at least she wasn’t when...’ She used to know every little thing about Anita, once upon a time. Why, Anu, why have you stayed away? ‘When Mijju Aunty ran away with the butcher—a huge scandal in our sedate village—Anu said, “I would, too, if I was married to Rigu Uncle.”’

  Kate laughed. ‘I like your sister.’

  ‘You two would get along like a house on fire. You remind me, in many ways, of her...’ She tried to picture, in a rosy future of the happily-ever-after kind, the three of them: Kate and Anita and her, sharing a drink and chatting and laughing. She couldn’t. The image just wouldn’t form.

  ‘I was this close to calling Deepak today, Kate. Only the fact that it was after office hours in India stopped me.’ And... the fact that I was afraid. Deepak’s face the last time she saw him: ‘I wish to God it hadn’t happened this way, Shirin.’