by Abha Dawesar
I went back to my room and feigned sleep. After having left for Sheela’s house without eating lunch, I had stayed out of Rani’s way upon my return. When Rani came into my room she whispered “Babyji” a few times. She stood by the bed waiting for a reaction. There was none forthcoming. I wondered if she would still get into bed with me. She chose the floor.
I waited till I heard her snoring lightly. I waited some more. Then I did the unthinkable and went to India’s, leaving Rani alone in my room for the first time since she’d moved in. The conversation with Vidur had wiped out the last of my self-reliance. I had failed Vidur as a friend, failed to put his interests over mine or even on par with mine. I could not bear the thought of my problems growing exponentially and then disintegrating into thousands of smaller problems, each resembling the bigger one, each without a solution. I needed the comfort of India’s wisdom.
After a few rings India came to the door. She was wearing a thin nightie.
“It’s you,” she said.
“Can I come in? Can I spend the night?”
She stepped aside to let me in. I walked to her room and sat on her bed.
“Anamika, what will happen if your parents find out?” she said.
“Or the servant,” I said grimly.
“You can’t do this,” she said.
“I don’t have a choice. I need you.”
The door to Jeet’s bedroom was open. In the light filtering through his window I saw him asleep. Maybe after school reopened the headmistress would admit him into my school.
“You didn’t get enough of me today already?” she asked, coming closer to me.
“I need to talk. I really need to talk,” I said, clutching my head.
“I’ll listen all night,” she said.
“I can’t stop thinking about that dream,” I said. I was afraid to tell her about everything that had happened. I didn’t want her to get upset with me about Sheela.
“You think too much,” she said massaging my temples. Usually I would have countered that there was no such thing as thinking too much, but I knew she was right. I could think and think forever; it didn’t mean I was moving forward. I was like a benzene ring locked into myself. A big fucking circle, a gulla, a zero.
“Did something happen?” she asked.
I shook my head, not wanting to spill my guts out. If she got upset it would just add to my problems. Even though I had questioned her actions in Kasauli, looking back on it now I realized I had come to know her for who she really was. After the initial shock of seeing her smoke and drink, I preferred knowing that she had been open with me. I felt as if I could reveal myself to her in ways that I couldn’t to Sheela or Rani or my mother.
“Let me show you the Bosch paintings I had mentioned,” she said.
I sat still on her bed as she got up and left the room. Soon she was back carrying an enormous coffee-table book. She showed me one painting after another of men turned into pigs and tables, holes in their guts, naked figures running everywhere, some calm, some not so calm.
“That’s definitely the stuff in Chakra Dev’s head,” I said.
“He may not be as interesting as you think,” India replied.
“Well, it’s definitely the stuff in my head. Dreaming it is bad enough. Put it away,” I said, my nerves frayed.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
“Maybe you can actually teach me some orgo.”
“Let’s go,” she said, getting up and holding out her hand. “My books are in the living room.”
She retrieved her books from the wooden cabinets at the bottom of her living-room display case. We sat at her table for the next few hours, her love of elements and compounds and hydrocarbon derivatives leading her into an impassioned rendition of organic chemistry that drew me in, freeing me from my concerns. Studies were a wonderful distraction.
At three in the morning India insisted we sleep. She said she had not stayed up so late since the day she signed her divorce papers. That day, to celebrate, she had danced and smoked with her friends all night.
I slept deeply, waking up only at six. As soon as I saw the clock my heart started racing. I jumped out of bed and scrambled to put on my clothes. I ran out of her house, buttoning the last buttons of my shirt as I went, my shoelaces still untied. I hoped against hope that my mother and Rani had overslept. I ran past the jhuggi to the back street. Usually the entire jhuggi would be asleep when I went back in the morning, but today one or two men were awake, doing their daily constitution. I remembered the day I had seen Rani take a pee in the same area. I ran fast and heard the men laugh from a distance.
I arrived at my back door, panting. The door was closed the way I had left it. When I pushed it I realized it was locked, like the other back doors. My heart, which was already beating fast from running, started to pound. My lungs hurt, but I was afraid of breathing too loudly. What was I going to do? Obviously my parents knew I was not home. I had to go in through the front door. If they had just found out, they were probably frantic, trying to call the police. If they had found out during the night they would be worried to death by now. I tried to think of an excuse. On the one hand I wanted to go in immediately and relieve them of their worries, but I was terribly afraid that I wouldn’t hear the end of it from my father. I might be grounded and locked up.
I thought fast. It was best to tell them that I had been with India. It was the truth. Moreover, they had already let me spend nights alone with her in Kasauli. Apart from being angry that I went without telling them and left the door unlocked, they couldn’t really say much else. But what if they called India and she denied it because she wasn’t sure what to do? It would be asinine if my parents thought I was having an affair with some local Romeo in the colony and gave me a thrashing. It would be way too ironic to be caught the one time I had actually spent the night studying instead of fornicating. I ran back to India’s house. There was a piercing pain in my lungs and stomach as I ran. Passing the jhuggi section, I noticed the men had done their morning jobs and were walking back toward the hutments. They gave me peculiar looks as they saw me pass again. I got scared and ran faster. At India’s house I rang the doorbell repeatedly, impatiently.
“What’s the matter?” she said, coming to the door after an interminably long time. Her flimsy white nightie came all the way down to her ankles. Is this the way she opened her door for the man who came to collect her garbage in the mornings?
“The door’s locked, they found out,” I huffed.
“Damn! I just knew it. Now what are we going to do?” she asked, standing in the doorway. I brushed her aside and walked in.
“Tell them the truth, what else?” I said, going to her living room.
“They’ll put me in jail for taking advantage of a minor,” she said.
“Hello, World! You were actually teaching me last night,” I said.
“No one will believe it,” she said.
“Look, the books are still here,” I said, pointing to her table. And in her handwriting, an explanation of everything including the benzene ring.
“It’s statutory rape,” she muttered.
“Not last night,” I said.
“But yesterday morning was. I grabbed you as soon as you got here.”
“Shut up!”
“Oh, God, what have I done?” she exclaimed with total alarm. I hadn’t seen her like this.
“For God’s sake, calm down!” I shouted. She sat still.
“I’ll tell them I came here because I couldn’t fall asleep. I had spoken to you yesterday. You’d offered to help me with chemistry. You were going to work all night anyway since you had a deadline, and I decided I would study here. I left the back door unlocked—my fault. I was going to call them as soon as they woke up. Not to worry. But I got engrossed in studies,” I panted.
She was silent for a second. I waited, hoping she would agree to my story.
“Fine, let’s do it,” she said.
“Do what?�
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“Call your parents and tell them you are here. Ask your father to pick you up. He can’t get too mad if I am right here. He can see the books and notes for himself,” she said.
“Okay,” I said, getting up and walking to her phone. My heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to explode. My stomach and all my muscles felt tight. My hands and legs were unsteady. I dialed my number, my fingers shaking.
“Hello,” my father said, immediately answering the phone.
“Papa, it’s me,” I said, trying my best to sound normal.
“Where are you?” he said softly, his voice full of love, fear, thankfulness. I felt wretched. He had probably imagined the worst.
“Papa, I am sorry, I was going to call earlier. I came to Mrs.
Adhikari’s house to study chemistry. I know you must be worried. I am sorry,” I said, imploring him, afraid he was going to roar over the phone.
“I’ll come and get you,” he said, his tone hard all of a sudden. He hung up.
“So?” India asked.
“I’m in for it,” I said.
“I’m in love with a minor,” she said, starting up again.
“For God’s sake, don’t have a fit of conscience now,” I said.
Jeet had woken up. We heard him say, “Maaammma!”
“Oh! Just great,” India said with a frown, walking to get him.
Who was I to tell her not to have a fit of conscience? My conscience was practically epileptic. I was frothing at the mouth about my feelings, my thoughts, and even my dreams.
She came back to the living room with Jeet in her arms. He was pouting.
“Your father will hate me. Your mother will never talk to me again,” India groaned.
“Listen,” I said, shaking her by the shoulder, “change from this nightie, that’s the first thing. Second, they must think you’re entirely in the clear. We’ll say that I told you it was no big deal. We’ll say I never told you about the back door being left open. Now go and change fast. And give him to me,” I said, taking Jeet in my arms. I had no idea if he had understood what I had said.
India’s phone rang. I wondered if I should answer it. It rang a second time. I picked it up. It was my mother. Jeet shouted, “Hello, World!” into my free ear when I answered.
“I am so glad you are okay. Rani woke me when she found you missing and the back door unlocked. I almost died. She’s been hysterical for an hour,” she said.
“I am sorry. I am sorry. I just couldn’t sleep, and I thought Mrs. Adhikari could help me with chemistry,” I said, careful not to call her Tripta.
“Papa is livid.”
“I am sorry, Mom.”
“Why couldn’t you have woken us up and gone through the front door?”
“Mom, I didn’t want to wake you. It was the middle of the night,” I said.
“If Papa says anything, don’t answer him back.”
“I won’t,” I said, hanging up. I could tell that my mother had already forgiven me. But I’d have to find a way to placate my father. I might have to ride it out for weeks.
India had changed into a modest-looking, dull green salwar kameez just in time to answer the doorbell.
“Namaste, Madameji,” my father said. He was already in his formal office clothes, but I could tell he had not shaved. He looked grim.
“Please come in. Would you like some tea or coffee?” she asked.
“Nothing,” my father said. They were both in the drawing room now. My father looked at me. I could tell he was angry, but he didn’t disbelieve the story.
“No, you have to have something. It’s the first time you have visited. Even Narayani has not been to my place,” India said with much charm. My father was left with no choice.
Jeet ran to my father and held his hand. He said, “Hello, World! Uncle.”
“Hello, Beta, what is your name?” my father asked, lifting him up on his lap.
“Jeet,” he said, kissing my father on the cheek. Jeet hadn’t been as friendly with me the first time we’d met.
“So, coffee or tea?” India asked.
“A cup of coffee in that case,” my father said.
India smiled and left the room. I looked at my father and said, “I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t think straight.”
“Despite all your brains you have no common sense,” my father said.
“Common sense so uncommon,” Jeet chanted. Did he know what he was saying?
“Where did you learn that?” my father asked, laughing. Jeet was now holding my father’s hand in his and comparing the sizes of their palms.
I shook my head morosely. It could have been so much worse. I wasn’t sure how my mother had softened him so much.
“What did you learn from Madameji? ” my father asked me.
“Well, these books that Aunty used in her M.Sc. course are much better than what we have now. I am going to borrow them,” I said. The “Aunty” felt like a big stony lie in my mouth. I picked up the notes India had written in her own hand the previous night and held them up.
India came back to the room with three cups of coffee and some cake rusk on a tray. She got Jeet his milk in a plastic cup. We sat and dipped our rusks in the coffee and ate them since the coffee was still too hot.
“So, Sharma Sahib, which ministry do you work for?”
“Water Works,” my father replied.
“My former husband used to work for Natural Resources and Minerals in the gems section, but then a private company hired him,” India said.
“This coffee is very good. It’s not instant,” my father said.
“I get it from the Madrasi store in the market. They grind it fresh.”
“Thank you for helping Anamika with her chemistry. She said your books are better,” my father said, pointing to the massive nine-inch-thick textbooks sitting on the table.
“No problem at all. She can come anytime,” India said.
“Can I borrow those two books?” I asked her.
“Sure, keep them as long as you like,” she said.
“We should go,” my father said, looking at me and getting up. Jeet clung to him.
I got up and closed India’s books. They must have weighed a few kilos each. I had to hold them close to my chest to manage the weight.
“Madameji, thank you for the coffee,” my father said, freeing his hand from Jeet and folding his hands in namaste to India. Jeet grabbed my father’s leg and embraced it.
India said namaste to my father and then called Jeet back to her.
“Papa, will you please carry one of these?” I asked, giving him one of the books.
As we walked back I almost swerved in the direction of the jhuggi shortcut but stopped myself in time. When we got back, Rani and my mother were both at the door.
“Mrs. Adhikari gave us some coffee,” my father said, then added, “excellent coffee.”
“She’s nice, isn’t she?” my mother said.
“Yes. Very nice.”
Rani just stood there, her eyes bloodshot and her nose still runny.
“There was nothing to worry about. I was just studying,” I said to her in Hindi, pointing to the large load in my father’s arms and mine.
After my parents had left for work I spent some time teaching Rani words in English and telling her about vowels and consonants. On the surface our interaction was normal, but there was an undercurrent of distance. I had failed to apologize for the previous day when I had left abruptly for Sheela’s and had provided no reassurance for having left her at night. I couldn’t get myself to. A while later the phone rang. Rani went to get it.
She came back and told me it was the Memsahib. I wondered if she thought anything of the night I had spent at India’s.
“I wanted to make sure you didn’t have any problems after you left,” she said.
“All is fine.”
“I am thinking of having a party, a real dawat, a feast,” she said.
“Who will you invite?”
“Everyone I know. You’ll call all the people from your dream. You’ll see everything will resolve itself. You’ll figure out how you feel,” she said breezily. It sounded like a test by fire.
I was silent.
“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” she asked.
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then?”
“Will you dance to ‘Dum Maro Dum’ and do drugs?” I asked. I felt uneasy asking, but better that than to expose my parents to the other side of Mrs. Tripta Adhikari. They would like her less if they knew her better. Considerably less.
“Do you think I’m dumb?”
“Maybe in your social circle everyone does this sort of thing,” I retorted.
“Come on! Only in front of Deepak and you. I’d never roll joints in front of anyone else in Delhi. This place is so backward,” she said bitterly. I suddenly felt very backward for not accepting her. She accepted me, after all, my wretched mood swings and my carnal imagination in the space between my temples that reduced all love, friendship, and filial affections to an orgy in the gutter.
“Okay, have a dawat,” I said.
“I want it to be a true dawat with excessively rich food. I have a caterer whose family used to serve the Nawab of Hyderabad for generations. There will be naan stuffed with nuts. There will be ground cashew nuts and almonds and rich spices in everything,” she said dreamily.
“Christopher Columbus embarked on a dangerous voyage just for our spices,” I said. I imagined him disembarking on India’s shores. Her shores. I wished he’d made it.
“Can you invite your parents? And please invite some of your friends! Anamika, I want to meet your friends, the people who are important in your life,” she said.
“When will you have it?”
“Saturday night. I already told Deepak and Arni. They said they miss you,” she said.
I called Adit at work right away to invite him, his wife, and Vidur of course. I thought Vidur might not accept if I called him directly.
“Have you relented about me?” Adit asked.
“No. But Vidur is still angry with me.”
