Bombay Rains, Bombay Girls

by Anirban Bose

  ‘Yeah, I suppose,’ she said. ‘It’s different in old, traditional business families like ours. If I weren’t doing medicine, I’d end up with a few kids, perennially hosting parties for my husband’s clients.’

  Adi smiled. ‘It’s funny how the grass is always greener on the other side. I guess you are not very traditional.’

  ‘Are you?’

  Adi hesitated for a second. ‘No… I’m not.’

  ‘Would your family mind that you are out with me?’

  Her question quickened Adi’s pulse. ‘No, not really. My parents are fairly non-traditional. How about yours?’

  She sighed. ‘They wouldn’t be too happy. They are very traditional and I’m the only daughter in the family. I think they even expect me to marry this guy from a family they know…sort of bringing together two business houses, you know…’

  She looked away.

  Adi stirred his coffee slowly, unsure of how to react. He didn’t even know his status: friend…boyfriend…shoulder to cry on?

  ‘So, you don’t like him?’ he asked finally.

  ‘It’s not really a matter of liking or disliking; I think I should have a say in my life. I should get to decide who I choose to be with.’

  ‘Absolutely! But shouldn’t you try talking to this guy or your parents, and tell them this?’

  ‘My parents would never understand.’

  ‘You might be surprised, Renuka. I think parents put up a fight initially but nearly always agree with what their children want,’ said Adi, feeling rather proud of his excellent advice.

  ‘No, no, you don’t understand, Adi. There are three generations involved in this decision. There would be hell to pay in the house.’

  ‘Then maybe you should listen to your parents. Lots of arranged marriages work, you know.’

  Adi regretted his remarks almost as soon as it left his mouth.

  Surprised, she shot back, ‘Whose side are you on?’ Then, consulting her watch, she mumbled, ‘It’s time for me to head home.’

  She picked up her bag and started to walk away.

  Adi abandoned his coffee and ran after her. ‘Renuka…hold on!’

  The restaurant manger noticed him rushing out without paying and sent a waiter hurrying after them.

  ‘Eh…pay for your coffee!’ the waiter shouted at Adi.

  Adi tried to ignore the waiter as he tried to keep up with Renuka. ‘Renuka… Renuka. Hold on… I didn’t realize what it meant to you. I was just trying to say something smart…wise…funny…’

  ‘Smart? Wise? Funny?’ she repeated, her voice dripping with condescension.

  Adi rolled his eyes skyward and sighed. ‘What can I say?’ he said, trying to keep up with her. ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. Look, I’m an idiot in these matters. I think I need to buy a book on How To Talk To Girls And Impress Them or, better still, write a book on How To Talk To Girls And Un-Impress Them…’

  She held her head down and kept walking ahead resolutely.

  ‘Why don’t you pay me and then run after her,’ said the waiter.

  ‘We are coming back to finish our coffee!’ retorted Adi.

  ‘She’s not coming back,’ said the waiter, ‘you can wait forever for her.’

  Adi looked at the waiter and smiled at him appreciatively. Then, with Renuka a few paces ahead but still within earshot, he said loudly, ‘I waited for three hours for you yesterday because I enjoy being with you, and would really like to get to know you.’

  She stopped dead in her tracks. Then, as the waiter’s face crinkled with surprise, she turned around, looked at Adi, and smiled.

  SEVEN

  His transition into the new batch turned out to be much easier than Adi had anticipated. Finding his bearings wasn’t hard and suddenly, the ‘small-town’ feeling didn’t weigh so heavy on his shoulders. Instead, a newfound prominence deified him, stemming from the common speculation that Renuka and he were a couple. Thanks to the incident with Sam and Dr Gomke, Adi had even managed to acquire the reputation of being brilliant, an image that he struggled to keep with a lot of late-night reading. He often worried about the moment the true mediocrity of his mettle would be exposed. But initial impressions stick fast – and so he learned to enjoy it, sparing no opportunity to actively fuel the adulatory fires.

  Despite the academic environs, most of the discussion in dissection hall centered on the upcoming events in the class. As a result, the next big event – ‘Rose Day/Traditional Day’ – an incongruous amalgam of two distinctly puerile celebrations, dominated the buzz. On this day, the entire class dressed in traditional clothing and gifted roses to one another, messages being conveyed in the colour of the roses. Red signified love, orange meant friendship (bordering on love) while white stood for the plain platonic kind. Although no one had ever figured out the roots of this celebration, it provided great service to the silent, lovelorn sufferers who, emboldened by the anonymity as well as the pressure of the occasion, would be spurred on to declare their feelings.

  Amidst all this riveting talk, the process of dissection went on uninterrupted, often inspiring feelings of being closest to real surgeons as they slashed their way through dead human tissue.

  ‘What in the world is this?’ asked Sheetal in the polished English she had acquired from her frequent travels abroad (or so she explained). At the end of her forceps dangled a small black organ, which she had dug out from the abdomen of the cadaver they had lovingly christened Chachu.

  ‘Uterus,’ suggested Sam.

  ‘Sam… Chachu is a male, ya,’ said Sheetal.

  Everyone started laughing and Sam joined in the laughter.

  Amidst this merriment, Adi’s eyes fell on Isha. God, her laughter was beautiful! Her pretty face had curled up with delight while two dimples on either cheek accentuated the glee. Her mouth opened to reveal beautiful white teeth, and then followed the vivacious sound – clear, warm and effervescent with happiness. He’d start feeling happy just watching her laugh.

  ‘Isha, you have a beautiful laugh,’ said Sheetal.

  ‘Really? Thanks,’ smiled Isha, somewhat embarrassed but clearly enjoying the compliment.

  ‘Yeah, I think so too,’ said Adi.

  Almost instantaneously everyone turned around to stare at Adi as though he had said something uncomplimentary.

  ‘What?’ asked Adi, taken aback.

  ‘Adi, you are not supposed to admire somebody else’s smile!’ accused Sheetal, ‘You are almost a married man.’

  ‘I’m not…. Come on,’ protested Adi.

  ‘Come on, spare him,’ said Sam. ‘He is allowed a little variety. You know, variety is the spice of life…for Rose day he is ordering six red roses.’

  ‘What? No. You know that’s bullshit, Sam.’

  ‘Six red roses, Adi…ya?’ teased Sheetal. ‘Somebody is getting six red roses…’

  Adi recoiled feeling very uncomfortable with the situation. Not only did he find the attention unwarranted, he hadn’t even planned on what to give Renuka. His intent had vacillated between red and orange (and in some moments of extreme insecurity – white), primarily because he wasn’t sure where their relationship stood. Sometimes, even calling it a relationship seemed excessive. They did hang out together during the breaks between lectures, and sometimes ate together in the canteen, but, other than that, it had not progressed. Time was a major constraint; she returned home in the evenings whereas Adi lived in the hostel. The pressure of studies along with the numerous small exams squeezed out any chance of some intimate tête-à-tête. The batch redistribution had only made it worse. So, while he enjoyed being called a couple and the attention it generated, he was privately besieged with doubts about the accuracy of such an epithet. Unable to pin down her affections or his feelings with accuracy, Adi often burned in the insecurity of this confusion.

  He decided he needed to clarify this with Renuka away from the prying eyes of the class. Making a mental note of meeting her by the end of the day, he returned to the
conversation around the dissection table. Luckily for him, the discussions about him and his extracurricular activities had died down.

  ‘That must be the head of the pancreas… Sam, you idiot, you have cut off the body and tail.’

  ‘How would I know that the pancreas has a ‘body’ and ‘tail’?’

  ‘Let’s call Dr Gomke…’

  ‘What? Are you crazy? Let’s look it up in the book.’

  As Adi reached for his book, his eyes fell on Harsha, holding his copy of Cunningham’s Manual of Human Anatomy upside down. He stood a few feet away from Isha, motionless, as if rooted to the spot. He stared at her intently, completely oblivious to his surroundings, mirroring her actions involuntarily. If she smiled, he beamed. If she spoke, his lips pursed. If she posed a question, his eyebrows furrowed. And when she laughed, he laughed with unbridled happiness.

  Adi smiled: one red rose for Isha for sure.

  Adi spotted her walking down Mohammad Ali road.

  ‘Renuka,’ he called after her.

  She turned around. ‘Oh…hi, Adi… I didn’t recognize your voice,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘Oh, okay, but I’m on my way home.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. We can talk on the bus or in the train…’

  ‘Can’t we talk tomorrow, Adi? We could skip dissection and go for lunch or something.’

  ‘No, no, I can’t skip any more classes, Renuka. I’ve lost a lot on attendance already.’

  ‘Okay, so what is it you want to talk about? Anyway, I hear I’m getting six roses from someone.’

  ‘No, no,’ clarified Adi. ‘I hadn’t planned anything of the sort.’

  ‘And that is supposed to make me feel better?’ she asked, smiling.

  ‘No, no. How do I explain this? It is really a misunder-standing. Sam started this whole thing about the roses. I had actually not planned it like that at all.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘but I wish you hadn’t clarified that misunderstanding.’

  Adi was at a loss for words. Annoyed with himself for having shot his mouth off again, he said, ‘I could actually send you the roses if you want.’

  ‘You should do whatever you feel like, Adi, not what I want.’

  ‘Look, Renuka, I’m not sure about us…or what we mean to each other…and that leaves me a little confused.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I… I don’t know what rose to send you…I don’t know what is appropriate for us.’

  ‘Why should anything be appropriate for us, Adi? All that matters is how you feel, not what you should feel or think I feel. You’ve got to decide based on your feelings. Why is that so confusing?’

  ‘I just wanted to be sure…about…about…’

  She smiled. ‘I guess you want to know what I’m going to send you, right?’

  Before she could answer, a car pulled up next to them and someone said loudly, ‘Hey…there you are!’

  The door opened and out stepped Neil Kapoor. Neil was a year senior to them. His height and build matched Adi’s closely, but his poise and attire clearly spoke of a privileged upbringing. Swinging his car keys with confidence, he approached them, looking like he had just stepped out of the pages of an advertisement for fine Italian clothing.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, addressing Renuka. ‘I was waiting near the chowk.’

  ‘I was on my way,’ she replied. ‘Oh, by the way, this is Adi…Adityaman.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Adi, smiling and shaking hands.

  ‘Neil lives in Juhu. He is giving me a ride home,’ said Renuka.

  ‘Oh, okay,’ said Adi, forcing a smile on his face.

  A few seconds of awkward silence followed. The three of them shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Should we get going, then?’ Neil asked Renuka. He followed his rhetorical question by holding the passenger door open for her.

  Adi hoped she would answer the question she had posed just prior to Neil’s arrival. Instead, she hopped into the passenger seat, rolled down the car’s window and said, ‘Bye, Adi.’

  Adi lifted his hand to wave goodbye. The car pulled away, their silhouettes against the rear windscreen melting rapidly with the distance. Then, even before he could take a step, they were out of sight.

  The incoherent babble, peppered with loud laughter from Toshi’s room, was a persistent distraction. Adi tried to concentrate on the factors affecting cardiac output as he prepared for the upcoming Physiology examination. There were definitions to mug and graphs to commit to memory. There were headings and subheadings, sections and sub-sections as Guyton’s Physiology described, in the span of twenty pages, why and how the heart beats. It explained in great detail why it speeds up and slows down, and how it works tirelessly to keep one alive. Yet, as the open book stared back at Adi, the details flew past his preoccupied brain, the words on the page barely registering their message.

  His mind grappled with a hundred thoughts. He wondered why the others weren’t worried about the exam. He worried about the remaining course-work. He wondered what colour rose Renuka would give him. He chided himself for doubting her. He wondered who else, if anybody, would give him a rose. He hoped Isha would give him a rose…just a white one…like he would give her and the others in the batch.

  The open book suddenly came into focus again. Adi cursed his lack of concentration and decided to take a break. He walked to Toshi’s room and peered inside.

  Sam and Rajeev stood next to the window. Harsha sat on the bed next to Toshi, who was idly strumming an old guitar. Pheru sat on the table, next to Jagdeep, his arm flung over Jagdeep’s shoulder.

  ‘Hi, guys, what is this? Group study for Physio?’ asked Adi.

  ‘Screw Physio, man,’ said Sam. ‘We are talking about more important things here.’

  Loud shouts of ‘yeah, screw Physio,’ filled the room. The beer bottles lying spent on the window-sill readily explained their cockiness.

  ‘So, Adi, are you really sending six roses?’ asked Rajeev.

  ‘No… I may send one.’

  ‘Red?’

  ‘Maybe…I’m not sure…orange or red.’

  Toshi stopped strumming. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure what to give her. I certainly don’t want to give her the wrong impression.’

  ‘Saala, this Adi is always confused,’ said Harsha, ‘and he is causing confusion for everybody.’

  ‘Look who’s talking,’ said Sam, throwing Harsha an accusing glance. ‘You stare at Isha like your eyes are pasted on her.’

  Everyone looked at Harsha.

  ‘She is really good, man,’ said Harsha, smiling shyly.

  Adi smiled to himself. Harsha’s trouble with English inevitably handicapped the verbal expression of his true emotions. His face, curled up with coquettish happiness, was easier to read.

  ‘You seriously like her?’ asked Rajeev. ‘Not like just…time-pass?’

  ‘Yes… I really like her,’ grinned Harsha.

  ‘She is a really nice girl,’ blurted Jagdeep. ‘She was in my batch before the redistribution. She made me feel very comfortable when I first came to Bombay and didn’t have any friends.’

  A smile surfaced on everyone’s lips. The allusion of romance in Jagdeep’s admiration left a distinctly adversarial silence hanging in the air.

  ‘So, Jagdeep, are you going to send her a rose?’ asked Rajeev innocently.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jagdeep.

  ‘I will send a rose,’ declared Harsha immediately, as though the first one to say it reserved the privilege.

  ‘All right!’ cheered Rajeev. ‘Red or orange?’

  Adi noticed the lack of a white option.

  ‘Orange…maybe,’ said Harsha somewhat hesitantly.

  ‘What? Why?’ asked Rajeev. ‘This is the time, man. Just tell her how you feel. Be a man!’

  ‘I’m… I’m…’ stuttered Harsha.

  ‘Harsha, just do it man. Just s
how her how you feel, otherwise guys like Jagdeep may give her the red rose while you’ll be left scratching your head and holding your balls!’

  Harsha looked around the room, gathering strength from the expectant stares. His smile broadened. He rolled up his sleeves, pumped his fists in the air and declared, ‘I will send her six red roses!’

  EIGHT

  The success of Rose Day depended on the enthusiasm of the class representative, and enthusiasm was undoubtedly one of the many deficiencies in Manish Torwadkar’s character. The attribute he did possess in abundance was shrewdness, in keeping with which he limited his efforts to arranging the cancellation of classes scheduled for that afternoon, deferring all other arrangements to his self-appointed deputy, a short, plump, effeminate guy named Praful Sangvi. Praful, happy to have this extra assignment for some inexplicable reason, began to give the function some character. What he lacked in height, he made up for with an almost inexhaustible supply of energy. His boundless enthusiasm and machine-like efficiency were admirable, although those were the limits of his praiseworthy qualities. He carried a roster of lists on a clipboard, periodically brushing his hair back from his eyes to consult it, prior to making notes or checking off things with a theatrical seriousness. The lisp in his speech didn’t dampen his air of authoritarian importance as he assigned roles to any unsuspecting victim who mistakenly lent him a willing ear. Watching Praful flit around, giving instructions and taking notes, one could be forgiven for mistaking the medical college for the high school drama club.

  Adi was in Toshi’s room discussing options for dinner, when Praful showed up unexpectedly. Ignoring Adi, he addressed Toshi. ‘So, Toshi, what are you doing for Traditional Day?’

  ‘Being traditional?’ offered Toshi. Adi laughed.

  ‘No, no, seriously…are you going to dress up as a Naga?’ asked Praful, dutifully consulting his clipboard.

  ‘Most people in Nagaland wear jeans and tshirts, man.’

  ‘I meant the kind of dress they show in the Republic Day parades, with the headgear and spears…the really lovely costumes,’ said Praful. ‘You must wear it, Toshi! You just have to!’