Monsoon Memories

by Renita D'Silva

  I didn’t come to London in the end. The shoot got cancelled. I think I was glad I didn’t have to make the choice, didn’t have to be proactive. I could preserve the status quo but still console myself if I tried.

  You once told me you admired my ‘devil may care’ courage. What courage does it take to barter your sister for your love? What courage does it take to come up with excuses not to do the one thing that would make a difference? You are the brave one, Shirin, the truly courageous one. Taking all that happened on the chin. Doing what you had to for Reena.

  In your email, you said, ‘If you want to talk...’ It should be the other way around. I cannot believe you still want to talk to me. After what I did. Thank you.

  Shirin, your email, it came in the wake of me being grilled by an eleven-year-old on how I could possibly abandon my sister, how I could wipe her out of my life. Yes, I am talking about Reena. She’s grown into a lovely young girl—mature, sensible, kind. When I look at her, I feel broody. I who have always maintained I am not maternal. She’s been asking me about you. She found that photograph of us taken on your twelfth birthday, the one where we had to pose in Ashok’s studio for what felt like hours and I started to cry and had to be consoled by promise of mango ice cream after—if I smiled. Remember? Madhu had saved it. Reena doesn’t know much, only that you are her aunt. She’s angry on your behalf with all of us. As she should be. What we did, are still doing, is disgraceful. I gave her the letters you wrote to me while I was away at college. Hope that is okay. I wanted her to get to know you first, before easing her into...

  She looks just like you.

  Shall I tell her?

  Shirin, I have so much more to say. But I will end for now with this: Come home. This has gone on long enough. Ma and Deepak can be talked around. Please come home.

  Lots and lots of love (remember how we used to sign off letters to Da this way? Only Ma made us add, ‘Craving your blessings.’ Bleugh.).

  Anu xxx

  ‘Shirin.’ She was vaguely aware of arms around her. Kate. She pointed to the screen. ‘Read,’ she mouthed.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Afterwards, Kate locked Shirin’s computer. ‘Come outside for a bit.’ Kate led her to the smokers’ corner. ‘Hay fever,’ Shirin explained, sniffing, to Jane, Justine and Rob who were blowing smoke rings and laughing about something. In silent agreement, she and Kate chose the bench furthest from the door, tucked into the rose bushes. ‘Hay fever in October? What was I thinking?’

  ‘You weren’t. Sod it. They weren’t listening anyway. Here. Have a good cry,’ Kate said, handing Shirin a pack of Kleenex.

  Shirin blew her nose, crumpled the tissue in her fingers. ‘She’s found out about me. She’s angry on my behalf.’ Through her tears she smiled. And then she was laughing, so hard she had to gasp for breath.

  Kate laughed along with her.

  ‘When I think of going home,’ she said, sniffing, ‘I think of my mother…’ Her ma’s face. Closed. Turning away. You are dead to me. A memory: reading her mother’s diary, hungrily lapping up her mother’s words, the cold seeping in through the floorboards and settling in her bones...

  Just before her marriage, when she was preparing to leave her childhood home, Shirin discovered her mother’s diary—a worn hardbound notebook, a posy of faded pink carnations adorning the front with ‘JACINTA MACHADO’ written in bold capitals below—lurking among her mother’s best saris at the back of the Godrej wardrobe. It felt like a gift, at an emotional time. Shirin had had no idea that her mother kept diaries. At last, an insight into her mother’s mind. Without pausing to question whether what she was doing was right, Shirin packed the diary.

  She didn’t have time to read it. Preparations for her wedding were under way; there was so much to do. She couldn’t read it immediately after her wedding either. But she hid it among her belongings, savouring this secret from home, looking at her mother’s handwriting, conjuring her up when homesickness threatened; and waited for the right moment to read it. It never came. Events took over and after it happened, Shirin was too depressed to care or even remember that she had something of her mother’s.

  And then one gloomy, drizzle-soaked autumn morning, their first week in the UK, Shirin was pacing aimlessly between cardboard boxes that Vinod was in the process of unpacking, when she saw something disturbingly familiar poking out of one of them. Curious, she pulled it out. And found herself staring at her mother’s busy, untidy handwriting, so unlike Jacinta’s calm, reserved exterior. She stopped pacing, plonked herself down on the chilly wooden floor, and, one finger unconsciously caressing the pages her mother had once touched, where her aloof mother had poured out her feelings, she started to read.

  That overcast wintry day, sitting among the cardboard boxes which were all she and Vinod had of the past they had left behind, with her mother’s diary on her lap, something had unfurled in the cold emptiness that had settled within Shirin since it happened. She had been wanted. Her mother had wanted her. This diary was proof. Her mother’s voice described the joy she felt on discovering she was pregnant, her excitement on having a sibling for Deepak, but stopped right before Shirin’s birth. She’d flicked through the few remaining pages, feeling cheated, wanting to read more, to find out how her mother had felt when she was born: a girl; dark-skinned; plump.

  ‘How could she do what she did, Kate?’ Jacinta’s face the last time she’d seen her swam before her eyes. That day, after reading the diary, she’d tucked it carefully back into the box, feeling bereft, chilled to the bone. She’d put on another coat, pulled the hood over her head, left the apartment and walked, as she had done every day since she and Vinod arrived in the UK, as if the very act of walking would erase her mistakes and the recent past... ‘For a long time, I could not forgive myself for what I did. But she’s my mother... Mothers forgive, don’t they? If Reena had been in my situation, God forbid, I would have believed her, been there for her…’

  ‘Shirin...’

  ‘One day, when I was about eight I think, Ma took the three of us by bus to Mangalore. I got off at the wrong stop. As the bus pulled away with her in it and me standing outside, I saw her face. And I carried her expression of pure panic with me for days, savouring it, like a gift. That was the first time I knew, really knew that my ma loved me...’ She paused, took a breath. ‘All my life I’ve tried to please her, to be worthy of her. When I married the man she chose for me, I thought I had succeeded. She was happy, proud even. Of me. And then...’ Her mother’s face. Wounded. Ashamed.

  ‘This is about Reena, too, Shirin.’ Kate’s voice was soft.

  ‘Oh, Kate. Why do you think I did what I did? That horrible choice I made. It is about Reena, but it is and always has been about Ma... How can I ask Reena to invite me into her life, to accept me, if my own mother cannot forgive me?’

  * * *

  She forwarded Vinod Anita’s email and he called right back.

  ‘You read it?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Joy in his voice, dancing down the phone line.

  ‘Anita said she looks just like me.’

  ‘She’s beautiful, then.’ And, a heartbeat later, ‘We can go home now, Shonu.’

  Chappals hitting feet. Like slaps. Hard. Urgent. Fetid rank breaths. Gaining. A pair of eyes, empty, menacing. She willed them away. They went. Vinod’s face puckered in pain: ‘I miss them.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes. Once Anu has talked to Ma and Deepak and Preeti. And prepared Reena.’

  ‘Sounds to me like she’s already made up her mind about you. She’s on your side, giving her aunt a piece of her mind.’

  She laughed along with Vinod, identifying the emotion ballooning in her chest as pride. ‘Yes. That she is.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Destined for Greatness

  ‘So,
is she starring in a film, then, your aunt?’ Murli asked, grinning. Since Aunt Anita’s arrival, Reena’d hardly had time to see him, but now they were sitting in their usual spot by the pool, Murli having escaped his chores for a few minutes.

  It was a sunny Saturday. Birds chirped, women gossiped, sitting or standing hunched in little groups outside their flats. Chattering monkeys in bold gangs of twos and threes hopped from the roof of one building to the other, trying to enter flats through windows left inadvertently open, drawn by the promise of food, scents of cooking. One sat right across from Reena, black lips on a hairy brown face stretched in a smirk, munching on a chapatti, feeding bits to the baby straddled across its stomach. The two girls were on the swings again, actually swinging this time, heads thrown back, pigtails flying. Upstairs in their flat, Reena’s dad worked. Aunt Anita and Preeti were shopping. They had asked if Reena wanted to come but she’d declined, saying she’d rather read a book. ‘Just like your Aunt Shirin,’ Aunt Anita had whispered in her ear, and, ‘No reply yet.’ The fact that she said the two together: Aunt Shirin and reply, in the same sentence, Reena took to be confirmation that the email had been from Aunt Shirin. It was only a matter of time before Reena found out the truth. ‘She’ll be back soon. I know it,’ Madhu had said last month. Reena’s heart jumped at the thought of meeting this mythical person she had grown to like and even perhaps love, without ever having met her… The girl from her dream rose before her eyes. Bring me home, please. She blinked.

  ‘Reena?’

  Murli was waiting for a reply. What had they been talking about? ‘The sunglasses were just a fad. She’s not acting in any movie, as far as I know.’

  Murli looked disappointed. ‘Oh, well, I will get her autograph for my daughter, just in case.’

  ‘How are things in your village?’

  Murli smiled again, a wide grin. ‘The monsoons arrived on Wednesday. Not a moment too late. It hasn’t stopped raining since. See, your prayers worked.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  The girls stopped swinging, jumped off.

  ‘So how long is she staying, then? Your aunt?’

  ‘A while, I think. She wants a break from everything.’

  Murli nodded. ‘These posh people like your aunt, they tire easily. Not used to hard work, see,’ he said wisely.

  Reena threw a pebble in the pool and they both watched it ripple.

  ‘So did you find out any more about your missing aunt?’

  Missing aunt. ‘Don’t call her that, Murli. It... sends shivers down my spine. Her name is Shirin.’

  ‘Shirin.’ Murli rolled the word around on his tongue, dragging it into three syllables. ‘Unusual name.’

  Should she tell him about the letters? She had been carrying the secret around too long. ‘Aunt Anita gave me letters to read.’

  ‘Letters?’

  ‘Aunt Shirin wrote to her.’ Calling her ‘Aunt Shirin’ still felt odd. ‘Before it all happened. Whatever it was that happened to make them wipe her out of their lives.’ She looked up to the open window of her flat, lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Aunt Anita won’t tell me what happened. Says it’s for the best. I hate it.’ Reena pulled out clumps of grass from beside where she was sitting, flung them hard. They did not go far like the pebble, just flopped down weakly next to her outstretched hand.

  The girls came and sat by the pool close to where Reena and Murli were sitting. They started whispering something, their heads close together.

  ‘Every family has secrets, Reena,’ Murli’s voice was soft, ‘and they’re there for a reason.’

  ‘What could she possibly have done...?’

  ‘Maybe you should listen to what everyone says. Perhaps unearthing this will do more harm than good.’

  ‘Oh, Murli, not you too.’ Reena stood up, started stomping towards the stairs.

  ‘Wait.’ He caught up with her, held her hand. ‘I’m just saying... You might get hurt, Reena. Have you thought that they might all be protecting you?’

  She stared at him, puzzled. ‘Why do you think that, Murli?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He chewed his bottom lip. ‘I just thought it could be a reason, is all. Don’t look so worried. When did all this happen, with your aunt, with... Shirin?’

  What was it Madhu had said? ‘Eleven years ago.’

  ‘Before you were born then.’

  ‘When I was a baby. I just turned eleven, Murli.’

  For a brief moment, something flitted across Murli’s face: an expression she had never seen before. Then it was gone.

  ‘Anyway, it’s nothing to do with you. Forget what I said. I have to go back. She’ll be wanting her food.’

  She glanced towards the pool. The girls were watching them curiously. When she met their gaze, they looked away. I am Super Sleuth Reena Diaz. I refuse to be invisible anymore. She retraced her steps, started walking towards them. She turned once and saw Murli give her a thumbs up and flash his yellow-toothed grin before dashing up the stairs. The worst they’ll do is ignore you. Well, Aunt Shirin has been ignored for eleven years. You can do this, Super Sleuth.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, as she drew level with them. ‘I’m Reena. I live at number 26.’

  Two pairs of brown eyes staring at her.

  She kept her smile fixed.

  Then, ‘That’s your flat isn’t it?’ said one of the girls, just as a monkey sneaked in through the open window.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Reena said. ‘Mum did ask Dad to keep the windows closed.’

  The girls laughed, and patted the space beside them. ‘Come, sit. We watched you skim that pebble before. Can you teach us how?’

  She spent the rest of the morning playing with the girls, Geeta and Gowri. She taught them how to skim stones, and after, they invited her back to their flat to meet other girls from the complex, including the snooty one from number 36, who wasn’t snooty at all, only short-sighted and too vain to wear glasses. It turned out that her new friends were in awe of her friendship with Murli, that they had been afraid to talk to her, had thought she was superior. How could she have got so many things wrong? She mused as she walked home, unable to ignore her growling stomach any longer. On Monday, she resolved, she would talk to Divya; march right up to her and ask her if she wanted to be friends again. Perhaps Divya was afraid to take the first step and wanted Reena to instigate the conversation. She had caught Divya looking her way a few times, but she had always looked away when Reena met her gaze. I do not want to ignore her for eleven years like my family have done with Aunt Shirin, she thought. She felt courageous, different, brimming with energy. Was this how it felt to be a grown-up?

  * * *

  Reena sat in the kitchen watching her mum grind red chillies, coriander seeds, cumin seeds, turmeric and vinegar to a paste in the new mixer she’d purchased in the Diwali sales.

  Her dad had locked himself in the bedroom; he was on an important conference call. Aunt Anita was having her hour-long cleansing and creaming session in the bathroom. There was still no reply—Aunt Anita had checked once when she returned from the shopping trip, and once before she went to have her bath. Reena knew Aunt Anita was disappointed. The euphoria of the day before had gradually dissipated and the sunglasses had reappeared.

  Reena hugged the secret of her new friends close, but now that the buzz of talking to them, playing with them, had settled, Murli’s comment played on her mind.

  ‘I got such fresh mackerel from that Arun in the Mangalore shop, Rinu. He always saves the best ones for me. They must have been caught just this morning,’ Preeti said as she marinated the mackerel pieces in the red paste making sure they were completely covered and no skin peeked through. ‘I bet you, today, my fish fry will be better than Madhu’s.’

  The warning Murli had given that morning had made Reena alternately worried and scared. Whatever had
happened with Aunt Shirin had happened eleven years ago, right around the time she was born. Why had she not thought of this before? What sort of a detective was she?

  Progress so far: Murli (this detective’s friend and confidante: think Doctor Watson to Sherlock Holmes) thinks that the reason nobody is willing to say anything about the rift is because they are protecting this detective. Could this be the case?

  Reena stopped writing and sighed deeply. Her mother looked up, ‘What’s the matter, Rinu?’

  ‘Mum, why am I an only child? Why don’t I have any siblings?’ She had always asked for more siblings; it had never before occurred to her to ask why she was an only child.

  Her mother came up to her, squatted in front of her, ‘Look at me,’ she said. Reena recoiled from the vinegary smell on her mother’s hands. The spices made her eyes water. Her mother yelled, ‘Wait!’ ran to the kitchen tap as fast as her limp would allow, washed her hands, dried them on her salwar bottoms and pulled Reena onto her lap, cradling her in her arms. ‘Don’t cry, Rinu. Whatever is the matter? Why this question all of a sudden?’

  She was tempted to curl up in her mother’s arms and forget about everything: Aunt Shirin, Murli’s words. Murli’s words. Reena sniffed, buried her face in her mother’s shoulder.

  Her mother patted her back gently, then pulled her up. ‘Come with me.’ She led her to the full-length mirror in the guest bedroom—Aunt Anita’s room—as the main bedroom was out of bounds; they could hear Deepak pacing behind the door, snatches of what he was saying: ‘…ready for testing… first week of November…’ Reena sneaked a glance at the bathroom. Still safely locked. She could hear the shower running. What had got into her?