by Abha Dawesar
I stared at India for a while, then slowly wriggled toward the edge of the bed so that I wouldn’t wake her up. I was almost at the edge when she turned a little and murmured, “Don’t leave me.”
“I thought you were asleep,” I whispered, not wanting to stir her further.
She reached out for my hand. With a surprising grip for someone still half asleep, she pulled me back to her and embraced me. The same embrace from the previous night. Total. Kindling a flame on the entire surface of my skin.
We lay on our backs, watching the morning light filter in through gaps in the white curtains. I moved a few inches away from India and took in the view again. Her body was low and flat on the bed, her stomach concave, her breasts reaching up to the ceiling. As a child I had never thought that this world of adulthood would be accessible to me. I stretched out my right arm and placed it on India’s chest, in the middle, where her heart was. I felt she belonged to me; not the person I had known and loved, but her body. I could touch it as I pleased, place my palm carelessly over it.
Until now my moves in bed had been somewhat premeditated. I would move slowly and carefully, following various instructions that my brain had filed away. In more heated moments the words from the Kamasutra were my guide, and I would constantly ask myself how the other person felt when I touched this way and that. But in Kasauli that morning, as my hand slid down the front of India’s body and the side of her thigh, I did not think of her at all. She was mine to touch, like a doll, a toy. Her eyes were closed, her lips were slightly apart.
“Your fingertips feel as if someone is running a feather over my body,” she said.
We heard some doors in the house open, and I could hear the rubber chappals of the servant as he fussed about in the kitchen.
“Will you open my suitcase and give me my nightie?”
I pulled on my shorts and T-shirt and went over to her blue suitcase. India’s saris were neatly folded on one side, her blouses and petticoats stacked on the other. A long flimsy nightie with lace around the neck was rolled up on the side. I passed it to her. She propped herself on the bed without sitting up fully.
The servant knocked and announced that he had our bed tea. I let him in. Along with two steaming cups he brought us a plate of biscuits and four buttered toasts. India asked him if we could get more toast. A warm buttery smell filled the room. We placed the tray between us on the bed. I slid under the covers again, feeling so happy I could have died then without a single regret.
India started speaking about Deepak. She said she had known his mother for many years, and that Deepak had become her friend when he was my age. I wanted to ask her if he had been her lover as well. As she spoke of him she got very animated, and I started feeling jealous. I became more and more convinced that he had been her lover and that we were in Kasauli so that she could be near him.
“Why did you want me to meet him?” I asked.
“He’s traveled everywhere, he’s successful, and he’s got a big heart. Most of all, Deepak is a brilliant man,” she said. I felt a spasm of pain in my stomach because of the way she said “brilliant” and “man.” I felt she was trying to tell me the two ways in which I was different from him. I got up from the bed and went to the bathroom; I wanted to shut the door and be unwatched. I stared in the mirror and imagined a whole series of events. Deepak and Arni would pick us up at night, and we would go to some small place in the hills for dinner. It would be deserted and dark at the restaurant, and brigands would hold up the restaurant owner. Deepak would run and hide, but single-handedly I would beat all the dacoits and capture them. I would save India and Arni from danger. Later, Deepak would come cowering out from under the table, exposed for the cowardly, pathetic guy that he was.
I had been in the bathroom for some time and began to wonder if India missed me. I pulled down the cover of the toilet seat and sat on it. It was unlikely we’d be attacked by dacoits. And Deepak, apart from being taller and stronger than I was, was a karate black belt. It might be easier to ask Deepak questions about particle physics and confound him. If he knew the subject, I could ask him about the real-life applications of the wave-particle duality and stump him. I seriously doubted he was creative enough to extend the duality from photons and waves to Arni and India. And if he didn’t know quantum mechanics he’d look like a fool anyway. India had to know I was more brilliant. Nothing short of exposing the lowest, meekest, stupidest, most idiotic side of Deepak would suffice.
I wondered if India had forgotten about me altogether or was busy thinking about Deepak. I went back to the bedroom.
“I thought you were never going to come out,” she said.
I grunted.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, her forehead scrunched up.
I nodded and sat on the far edge of the bed. I didn’t want her to know that I felt small and insecure. I didn’t want to be anywhere near her. She didn’t care for me. I was a fool for having come all this way to entertain this woman who probably saw me only as a simple source of sex because her lover had married someone his own age. I wanted the holiday to end so that I could go back to my house. I wanted to leave her and that wretched Deepak to feel good about each other.
“Anamika, come here,” India said softly. She tapped my pillow as she spoke. She had asked so quietly and gently that I went and sat beside her. I sat stiffly. She put her hand on mine. I felt my muscles and even my bones shrink.
“Anamika, please talk to me. Please,” she said. I looked at her dumbly, unable to open my mouth. The muscles of my face had begun to twitch. I quickly lost all control of them.
“Oh, God!” she exclaimed, looking at me. Everything looked a little fuzzy to me, like a television program with bad reception. She pulled me close. She ran her hand though my hair and tugged at it. My body eased.
“What’s the matter? Please talk to me,” she said softly into my ear.
Her skin was warm, and her hug made me feel better. She put her hand under my shirt and touched my back. I felt that her hands and her touch were telling me the real truth about her feelings for me. Looking back, my reaction to the Deepak comment seemed foolish. After a few more minutes I felt almost normal, and my body started behaving as usual. My hands reached for her back, my face for hers.
“What happened then?” she asked after a while.
“Nothing,” I said, reflecting on how my immaturity had led me astray. I had felt small and rejected, but now, since she had reassured me of her feelings, I felt fine. Pat pat pat like little slabs of butter on a plate. Explanations for everything that ever happened within a human being. Thinking about it made me feel so common I couldn’t stand myself. I was like everyone else. One more photon exactly like billions of other photons exhibiting all predictable photonlike behavior.
“Tell me,” she pleaded again.
“Some chemicals shot into me,” I said.
“Chemicals? What sort of chemicals?”
“Jealousy chemicals,” I said, feeling ridiculous.
She was silent for a moment and then said, “You were jealous of Deepak?”
I nodded.
“I don’t like him that way. And I think you’re as brilliant as he is,” she said, drawing me close. She kissed my forehead and my lips and squeezed me tightly in her arms. I was embarrassed we were actually talking about this.
“You do believe me, don’t you?” she asked.
“Hmm,” I grunted, wanting to drop it.
She pulled my face away from hers and watched it closely.
“You have to believe me. I am in love with you,” she said.
My heart constricted. I felt as if my body existed in only the few square inches in the center of my chest where it was almost painful. No one had ever said that to me. India was in love with me!
I looked directly into her eyes and saw that it was true. Like the advertisement in which the Kawasaki Bajaj motorcycle zooms from zero to eighty in just six seconds, so my heart zoomed. My chest stopped hurting; my he
art was now floating in outer space. The world was beautiful and bathed in sunlight. From far above my heart I saw that the little hills of Kasauli and our cottage were ablaze. Illuminated. Blessed. Singled out.
I spread my arms to encircle her till my elbows were firmly against the back of her rib cage. I wanted to fuse myself with her. I wanted to bite into her like an apple and then eat her, digest her, absorb her into my bloodstream, my hemoglobin, my ESR.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I don’t know what to do. It’s a problem. I can’t have you.”
“But I am yours,” she said simply.
“I know, I know, but, I mean, I want to possess you like an apple,” I said.
“An apple?” she burst out laughing. I didn’t know how to explain what I meant. I didn’t appreciate that someone who belonged to me could just laugh at what I had said. It was not permissible. It was against the rules.
I rolled over forcefully so that she was on her back and I was on top. Then I bit her cheek as if I were biting an apple. It held none of the satisfaction I had imagined. I needed to bite her and swallow. I bit her round shoulders as if they were apples, then her stomach and her knees, her toes and her back, the round lobes of her bottom. I bit them harder than everything else because they were the roundest and most applelike. But she squealed, so I stopped. I noticed that my biting had caused her to start breathing heavily, so I replaced my teeth with my lips. I gathered different parts of her flesh between my lips and kissed her all over, in the opposite order in which I had bitten. In her breathless moans and her cries of pleasure I owned her more than I owned myself and was immersed in her more than I had ever been immersed in my own self. Me, I had not yet discovered. I was an unknown quantity, a constantly unraveling mystery. But India was absolutely and completely known both carnally and otherwise. I rolled off of her with the sweet exhaustion of a man who has just hunted his dinner animal.
xx
Dum Maro Dum
Kasauli was the greenest place I had ever seen. Bushes with exotic flowers were to be found everywhere. On a walk with India I saw pine trees for the first time. We had dallied all morning in bed, and while that had felt like a novelty, the walk reminded me that there was a world outside our bubble. She grabbed my hand in hers and swung it back and forth quite naturally. The jealous fit from earlier in the day seemed like a bout of hay fever, a crash cold, a sneeze that had left no trace.
After we got home I took a shower and waited for India to dress. I wore my jeans and my checked yellow shirt for dinner with Arni and Deepak. I had a beige anorak with me. I pulled that out, too. It had all sorts of buttons and loops on the sleeves that made it look outdoorsy. When I had imagined the scene with ruffians earlier, I had imagined wearing the anorak.
India appeared after a while in a backless blouse; I could see the small of her back and the bones of her spine. Her mustard and green sari was tied low on her hip. I wanted to tell her it was inappropriate and that she should change, but what would she think of me? I could just see Adit sipping a glass of smooth scotch and talking with her, both of them at ease. It was best to say nothing.
As soon as we greeted Deepak and Arni at our door, Deepak was “Auntying” India everywhere and running his hand along her back. Arni stood around smiling as though this were perfectly acceptable and even suggested that India sit in the front seat of the car. Much to my relief, India declined.
We got into the backseat. The sun was setting, and the sky was full of colors I had never seen. When I stopped looking out the window and saw Deepak’s head bobbing in front of me, I remembered the attack of jealousy I had felt. I caught the reflection of his glasses in the rearview mirror now and then and resented that he had suddenly become important in my life while I barely registered in his.
We went to a restaurant that was part of a small resort development near Kasauli. A few honeymooners and some families were seated in the garden. I gave India’s hand a squeeze as we were ushered to our table. When the waiter came around to ask what we’d like to drink, they all ordered beers. I felt ashamed of my age. The waiter looked at me. India looked at me, too.
“Would you like some beer?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Four beers for the table,” she ordered coolly. Deepak and Arni looked alarmed.
I didn’t want any beer. Vidur had said he had tasted his dad’s drink once and it was bitter and awful. What if I hated the taste or lost control of my senses? On the other hand I needed to save face. My sipping a beer would put Deepak back in his place. I had to do it.
“Aunty, I know Anamika’s very mature, but are you sure we should take this risk? I mean, her parents aren’t here, and she’s definitely too young,” Arni said.
I looked at Deepak sitting back a little in his seat, pleased that Arni was handling this.
“Rubbish. It’s perfectly fine,” India said, dismissing them both with one look.
“As you say, Aunty,” Deepak said. I could tell he was waiting for me to get my drink and act like an ass. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I would sip it slowly and stay in control. My mind was powerful and would not be a slave to my body.
“India’s first brewery was established in the Shimla hills,” India said to us.
“I think it’s still running. They’ll serve us local beer,” Deepak said.
The waiter came to our table and handed us menus. At the bottom after all the food listings was the selection of drinks. It said “Beer, Rs. 180.” My mother had given me Rs. 350 for the whole trip. She had put it in a small handkerchief and had asked me to keep it pinned to the inside of my pocket.
“Always keep it on your person,” my mother had said.
“What should we eat?” India asked the table at large, rubbing her palms together.
I looked at the menu again. The dishes were either chicken and lamb or sabzis and dal. Even the rajma cost Rs. 80. What had my parents been thinking when they gave me Rs. 350 for four days? We hardly ever went out to eat, but they knew what prices were like. I would have to ask India to cover me and promise to pay her back as soon as we returned. I was sure she wouldn’t mind.
The waiter brought a large bottle of beer and poured it equally into our four glasses. I immediately divided the Rs. 180 by four and felt better.
“Should we share a dal and two sabzis among the four of us?” India suggested, looking at Deepak. He nodded. India ordered for the table.
Deepak raised his glass of beer and said, “Cheers.”
India and Arni grabbed theirs. I picked up mine. They all clinked their glasses. I did the same. Then I looked at them to make sure they were not watching me and hardened my face as I had my first sip. Even though I had prepared for the worst, my lips curled as the bitter fluid washed over my tongue. It was horrible. I couldn’t believe people drank it.
Deepak started talking about his new job. He had just moved to a computer training firm from a company that made consumer electronics. He said his salary had increased by Rs. 8000. I began to feel impatient for the day when I would earn my own living. I never wanted to look at the cost of a plate of rajma and be affected by it. It was petty to have to think about money, and the only way to avoid it was to have a lot. Arni said she had quit her job when they married because Deepak made enough for both of them. I couldn’t understand how a modern girl who wore tight jeans simply sat at home and lived off her husband. No wonder she had to put up with Deepak touching India everywhere. I decided I did not respect her.
I looked at the beer in my glass and took a large gulp. Then I immediately had a spoonful of dal to change the taste in my mouth. Then I had another large gulp of beer.
“So, are you drunk yet?” Deepak asked.
“Of course not,” I said. The words slid sluggishly from my tongue.
“Don’t give her a hard time. You know you had your first drink at her age,” India said.
“And were you were responsible for it, Aunty?” Arni asked, looking at India.
“Of course she was. Corrupter of youth,” Deepak said. I remembered how I had arrived at Sheela’s house in my red shirt and assaulted her. I was a corrupter of youth, too, I thought, smiling to myself.
Dinner was over before I knew it. When the waiter brought the bill, India waved Deepak aside and put some money in the folder. I felt as if I were seeing the table from a considerable distance. Deepak and Arni seemed to have shrunk a tiny bit. Everything was very pleasant. I smiled. My lover is settling the bill, I thought to myself. I couldn’t remember why I had felt anxious about that. Or about anything else.
Deepak drove us back. My mind drifted. Photons jumped from one state to another, and the words “quantum mechanics” undulated like a flag between the photons. Large wads of cash floated around along with a whimsical cat that played dead or alive. I knew I wasn’t drunk because I remembered everything I had said at the table. When we got back to the cottage I tripped on the way to the door but quickly regained my balance. After we had seen Arni and Deepak off and gone back to our room, India said, “Maybe I should not have let you drink, though you did handle it rather well.”
It was so damn patronizing of her to tell me she shouldn’t have “let me” drink. As if she were my supervisor. I brushed my teeth with a great deal of irritation. After finishing up I went straight to bed and lay down without waiting for her. She joined me after a few minutes.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked as she pulled the covers over herself.
“How quantum physics applies to life,” I said curtly.
“Tell me about it.”
“Wave, particle, wave, particle. One falls in and out of love as if one is jumping over a skipping rope,” I said.
