Rohit and I exchanged glances. Rafiq loomed large in my mind, and harmless or not, I wasn’t ready for another encounter. Not. Happening.
“No,” I said. “But we have to leave as soon as it’s light and the rain stops.”
“All right,” she said. “But, while you are here, you can help me catch the leaks.”
The kerosene lamp was strategically situated in the one place where the roof didn’t leak. After we spread out all the pots and pans to catch the drips, we sat down again, facing each other. All the running around had made me hungry and my stomach growled.
“Sorry,” I said, clutching the culprit, hoping it wouldn’t embarrass me again.
“Come, you must eat a bite with me,” Shakuntala said. “After all, you are my guests.”
“Thank—” I started to say when Rohit cut in with a quick frown.
“No, er … we’re too stuffed,” said Rohit. “But thank you for asking.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “I’m a poor woman but what is mine is yours.” She glanced at Rohit, her lined face crinkling into a smile. It was like watching ripples on a pond, and just as calming. “In India, a guest is like a god and should be treated like one. No?”
I turned to Rohit. “I’m your god … cool! Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
His glare was enough to silence me immediately.
Shakuntala shuffled over to a corner of the room that must have been her kitchen and brought out two dented tin plates. “You two can share one. Moti and I will share the other.”
“Moti?” I said, looking around. How could I have missed seeing anyone else in this tiny place? Was it her husband? And if so, was he hiding under the pile of garbage? Because there was no other place he could be.
“My friend and companion,” she replied with a smile.
“Uh-huh,” said Rohit, looking around the room. “Where is he?”
“Oh he’ll come and greet you when the food’s on the plate,” she said, laughing. “He’s a greedy little pig.”
I hoped her husband was a nice guy. I could only imagine Dad’s face if Mom ever described him as a “greedy little pig” in front of strangers.
Shakuntala took the lid off a small copper pot. I was so hungry I was willing to eat a snake or a frog as long as it was well cooked and spicy. At the bottom of the pot were a couple of handfuls of rice mixed with some kind of green vegetable. She ladled out the food onto each plate, piling a bit more into one. Then Shakuntala took a tiny red onion from a basket, peeled it, and smashed it with the heel of her palm, adding a few bits to both plates. The pungent fumes made my eyes water but I kept my mouth shut.
She held out the larger portion to us. “Enjoy.”
I stared at it and then at Rohit, speechless. His eyes glinted with moisture. I knew, without a doubt, we were thinking the same thing. This was her dinner. Probably breakfast, too. But she was willing to share it with complete strangers. This would never happen back home, where most people wouldn’t give you the time of day let alone their next meal.
“Er … thank you, Aunty,” said Rohit. “But we had a huge meal before the movie and we aren’t hungry at all.”
“Not at all,” I echoed him. I like to think she would have believed me but my stomach had a mind of its own. It rumbled loudly in protest again at that precise moment.
“I know liars when I see them,” she said, smiling. “My own children lied to me often. Please eat! I know it’s not much but at least hunger will not be gnawing at your stomachs tonight.”
We sat on the mud floor, facing Shakuntala. She didn’t give us any cutlery and I watched Rohit hesitate for a minute before picking up a morsel of food using his hand, the way his mom ate. I did the same, and even though I dropped most of it through my awkwardly clenched fingers, it was strangely satisfying to feel the texture of the food before putting it into my mouth.
Moti made an appearance at last. He’d been hiding in the garbage pile after all. He crawled out, stretched, and walked toward us, sniffing the air—a black-and-white mongrel with spindly legs and a torn ear. He came to Shakuntala and nudged her gently. She stroked his nose while she murmured something in Hindi to him. And then she did something that made my throat close and tears prick the backs of my eyes.
Out of the tiny portion on her plate, she pushed a little to one side. Moti started licking his portion without encroaching on hers. It was clear they had eaten like this before.
My skin tingled. I abandoned my meal, wiped my hands on my shorts, and raised the camera, knowing with utter certainty that this was The Picture. This was what I had been searching for all along. It captured the essence of friendship like nothing else had on my entire trip.
“Eat, child,” Shakuntala said. “You can take pictures later. Moti and I are going nowhere.”
But I couldn’t stop. “Just a couple more, Aunty. Please!” After taking pictures from every angle, with a flash and without, I was finally satisfied. Rohit had barely touched the food while I had been clicking away.
“Aren’t you eating?” I asked.
“I’m kinda full,” he said. “You eat.”
I forced him to eat a couple more bites, and finished the rest. I was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster I’d been on since this day began: from the anger at the fight on Canyon Hill, the shame of being caught eavesdropping, the panic at the fire and being chased by Psycho, and finally to the relief at being rescued by Shakuntala. Rohit was unusually quiet. I knew this old woman, sharing her home and meager meal with us, had touched him, too. And he was probably still worried to death about his parents.
When we’d finished eating, Shakuntala gathered the plates and put them outside. “The rain will clean them up and I’ll have less washing tomorrow,” she said. Her lips flapped over her gums, making it a little difficult to understand what she was saying.
“Rest now. It will be dawn in a few hours and I’ll walk you to the scootie stand.”
“Thank you for sharing your food with us,” I said, trying not to sound too choked up and wimpy. “But how is it that you’re living alone … at this age? Do you have kids? A husband?”
“My husband passed away many years ago. I have two sons. They are both living in the house I bought with my pension from teaching,” she said without a trace of bitterness in her voice.
Rohit asked the question that was on the tip of my tongue. “So, why can’t you live with them?”
“There’s no room for me,” she said softly. “I signed my property over to them, trusting they would look after me in my old age. But they did not.” She stroked Moti’s head, then stopped, deep in thought. Moti butted her hand gently with his nose and she resumed the calming ritual while he sighed deeply and closed his eyes.
“Aren’t you mad at them?” I said, angry at the way she lived, wondering how her kids could be so mean.
“I forgave them a long time ago,” said the old woman with a shrug. “As I said before, it’s the one thing in life that is in our control. The rest is up to God. I’m very tired and so is Moti. Goodnight.”
Rohit and I lay down where we sat while Moti and Shakuntala snuggled up on the thin reed mat, their noses touching on the tattered pillow.
Within moments she was snoring. It drowned out the clicking of my camera as I took a dozen more pictures, her words ringing in my head.
I forgave them a long time ago. It’s the one thing in life that is in our control.
THE POUNDING OF THE RAIN OUTSIDE HAD TURNED to a light patter. I couldn’t sleep.
“Ro?” I whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for saving me from the fire,” I said.
“You saved me later,” he replied. “We’re even.”
“But are we cool? Are you still mad at me?”
“A little,” he said.
I sat up. He did, too. The air smelled of wet earth, and the steady drip of water in the pots and pans was calming. We sat next to each other, leaning against the wall.
“I
’m sorry I didn’t tell your mom I wanted to go back to New York,” I said. “The fact is, I didn’t want to go. Not so soon.”
“Why?”
“Mom and Dad are going on a trial separation. They’ll probably get a divorce before the year is over.”
Silence. A loud snore from Shakuntala. A tinier one from Moti. And the drip-drip of water around us.
The kerosene lamp was out but his hand found my arm in the darkness and squeezed it reassuringly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wasn’t ready to say it out loud.”
“That’s stupid,” he said.
“I wanted to have a vacation with my second family before I went back,” I said. “In the last couple of years things have been going from bad to worse. Did you never wonder why I came over to your place more than I invited you over to mine? And it was always when my parents were away.”
Rohit took a deep breath. “Yeah, but who cared as long as we were together and had fun?”
“That’s because they fight every time they’re in a room together. Dad’s expectations of his family have been growing along with his business. He wants everything to be perfect—especially me.” Now that the dam had cracked, there was no stopping me. I didn’t even care if Shakuntala and Moti heard. The hurt and anger had been like poison in my blood and I wanted it out.
“You’re doing well at school,” said Rohit. “What else does he want?”
“He wants to be proud of me, of my achievements, so he can brag in front of his club buddies. According to him, the things I love—photography and food—are a waste of time. He blames Mom for the way I’ve turned out. They’ve had so many fights about it, I’m sure I’m the reason they’re splitting.”
Rohit moved closer, sliding his arm around my shoulder. “I think you’re a supercool friend, most times. I’m proud of you. And I think you’re wrong. If they’re splitting, it’s not your fault!”
“Thanks,” I said and meant it. “Dad wants me to drop photography and take up soccer next year. Just thinking about it makes me want to barf. I told him I hated soccer and I’d never join. Photography’s my thing. At least for now. He got really upset with me. With Mom, too, for always taking my side.”
Rohit sat back and looked at me, the dim streetlight reflecting off his glasses. “So, now I get the competition thing. That’s why you want to win so badly.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to control the wobble in my voice. “It’s a chance to prove I’m good at something. It may not be enough to save my family but it’ll be one thing less they fight about.”
“Life’s not fair,” said Rohit. “But if it’s any help, I’m in the same boat.”
“Being a kid sucks!” I said.
“Being an orphan would suck even more. Earlier, I hated Ma and Papa. I wished they would go away and leave me alone, and now my wish might come—” He stopped abruptly. “I’ll have no choice but to live with Bua,” he finished in a choked voice.
It was my turn to reassure him. “They’re fine,” I said. “I know it. You’re really lucky. Your mom can get a bit bossy at times, but at least she cares. Even your dad.”
“And you think your parents don’t care?” he said.
“Probably not.” All those lonely evenings at home flashed through my mind. “They’re so busy with their lives, sometimes they forget about me.”
Though it was murky inside the hovel, I could feel his eyes boring into me. “You’re wrong.”
“So now you know my parents better than I do?” I said, trying not to snap at him.
“What I do know is that Ma calls your parents every couple of days to let them know you’re okay,” he said. “Did you know that?”
“No, I—you serious?” I asked, not daring to believe him, yet wanting to with all my heart.
“I overheard Ma talking to your mom late one night when we were in Mumbai,” said Rohit. “I only found out because I got up to use the bathroom. I think it’s because you refused to carry a cell phone and your emails have been super brief. I was going to tell you, but then I was mad at you and forgot.”
I felt like a jerk for thinking Mom and Dad didn’t care. As soon as we got back to the flat, I was calling home for sure.
“Thanks for telling me,” I said.
“You believe me, right?” he replied.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Good,” he replied. “Because I’m not punking you this time.”
“I know. And there’s no way I’m letting you get left behind in India. Even if it means I have to lock Boa up somewhere and throw away the key till our plane takes off.”
He punched me. I punched him back and grabbed him before he toppled over and woke our hosts.
I HADN’T EXPECTED TO FALL ASLEEP AFTER ALL THE heavy stuff Ro and I talked about, but I did. I woke up to someone scrubbing my face with a rough, wet, disgustingly smelly rag.
“Arghhh, stop that,” I said, opening my eyes.
Moti eyeballed me, his face inches away from mine, his tail wagging like crazy. I pushed him away and sat up. Pale light was streaming in through the grimy window covered with layers of plastic. Shakuntala was sipping a cup of tea. The smell of milk and ginger filled the tiny hovel. In the light of day, the place looked especially dismal and cheerless.
“Good morning,” she said, smiling.
“Morning, Aunty,” I said. “What time is it?”
“I don’t have a clock or watch but I would guess about six thirty.”
“Ro, wake up!” I said, shaking him gently. “Time to go.”
He was up instantly, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “Ready.”
“Would you like a cup of tea before you leave?” Shakuntala asked. “But I will understand if you want to go right away.”
“We’d like to go now,” we said in unison. I could only imagine the state Mrs. Lal would be in with her only son and his friend missing. I hoped they were all right.
Shakuntala put her cracked teacup down and covered it with a chipped plate. Then she picked up a staff from the side of the door and shuffled out, Moti at her heels. We followed close behind. Lolly-land looked clean and fresh after last night’s rain. Even the green looked … greener.
“Hang on!” I said. “Forgot my camera.” I dived back in and grabbed the camera I had deliberately left behind. I hurriedly pulled out all the money I had in my pockets—3,017 rupees and some change. I put all of it on top of the plate that covered Shakuntala’s tea. I knew she wouldn’t accept money from me, but at least this way she might be able to buy food for a few days. I took one last look at this hovel that had brought Ro and me together again before slipping out the door. It was amazing how such a tiny shack could be filled with more love than my entire brownstone.
Shakuntala set off down the road at a slow yet steady pace. I kept an eye out for Rafiq, but like the night shadows, he had melted away in the crisp light of dawn.
We’d barely taken a few steps along the road when a scootie screeched to a halt behind us. I leaped almost a foot in the air as visions of Rafiq chasing us down flitted through my head.
The Lals and Muscles, aka Khan, the driver we’d met when we arrived in Lolly-land, spilled out. Rohit’s parents were red-eyed and bedraggled, soot marks from last night’s fire still staining their faces and clothes. It was clear that they hadn’t gone back to the flat, even to change.
Mrs. Lal launched herself at us, crying and laughing at the same time. “Rohit! Dylan!” she said. “Thank God you both are all right. I don’t know what I would have done if …”
Rohit hugged her tight and then grabbed his dad, his face scrunched up. I knew he was trying hard not to bawl. Mrs. Lal hugged me, too, and the lump in my throat made it nearly impossible to speak. “Shakuntala here was nice enough to take us in when we got lost.”
“Thank you, Shakuntala,” said Mrs. L. “We are in your debt.”
“Don’t mention it,” Shakuntala replied, smiling, her pink gums on full display.
“Did you shatter your glasses while running from the theater?” asked Mrs. Lal.
Rohit nodded.
“Good thing I packed the spare with me,” said Mrs. Lal. “They’re at the flat.”
Khan and Shakuntala exchanged a few words while the rest of us did a group hug again and again.
“We asked every paramedic and passerby if they’d seen a gora with an Indian boy. Sorry, Dylan,” she said, noticing my expression. “You do stand out, and it was the easiest way to describe you two.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“Anyway, an old man in tattered clothes and a floppy hat said he saw you both being put into an ambulance.” Her voice shook and she gulped. “We raced to the hospital.”
Rohit and I exchanged a look. It had to be Rafiq. He must have misled them so he could follow us.
“When we found that you weren’t at the hospital, we raced back here and circled the theater, calling out for you. That’s when Khan saw us and offered to take us around in the scootie. We’ve been to the hospitals and police stations in Deolali and Nashik, and everywhere in between. Why did you boys leave the area? And, Rohit, why didn’t you answer your cell phone? I called about a thousand times!”
Rohit cleared his throat and I knew he was in for the scolding of his life. In front of an audience. He had already been through too much. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.
“Er, Mrs. Lal, it’s my fault,” I piped in just as Ro opened his mouth. “I asked Rohit to lend me his phone and then … I forgot to return it. It’s still at the flat. I’m very, very sorry, Mrs. L!”
Rohit’s jaw dropped, and Mrs. Lal’s face turned red as she tried to contain her anger. I knew she wouldn’t yell at me as much as she would at her own son.
“That was very careless of you, Dylan,” she said in a stern voice. “You too, Rohit. One call could have saved us hours of worry. Do you know that even to file a missing person’s report we have to wait twenty-four hours? The police could not help. So thoughtless … My heart almost stopped when I couldn’t reach you …” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head and sniffed hard.
Mission Mumbai Page 16
