by Abha Dawesar
“Can I ask you something?” I said, suddenly remembering his letter.
“What?”
“Was that really a used Nirodh?”
“Why, are you jealous? I paid her seventy rupees,” he whispered.
“Frankly, I don’t believe you. You spent too much time with your hand in your pocket that day at school,” I said, openly admitting that I had noticed.
“I’m a real man, unlike that stupid boy Vidur who follows you around,” he said.
“Vidur is not stupid,” I said sharply.
“Do you have a crush on him, too?” he said, snickering.
I felt fed up with Chakra Dev.
“Listen, I’m not in the mood to tolerate your rubbish. Do you want the address to the party or not?”
He was silent for a few seconds, then he said, “Okay. Give me the address.” I may have imagined it, but I heard a tone of apology in his voice, as if he had returned to his civilized self.
After I’d given him the address I said, “I’d like to tell you something.”
“I’m listening,” he said, sounding almost like a grown-up.
“If you get into trouble at school again I am resigning my Head Prefectship.”
“So resign!” He didn’t believe me.
“It’s not a joke. The princi let you go only on that condition,” I said grimly.
He didn’t say anything. I was sure he was evaluating my words, trying to decide if I was lying. But he knew I had invited him to the party of my own accord. Maybe he would accept it as a gesture of appeasement.
“I have to go now. Maybe I’ll see you at the party,” I said, hanging up.
A sense of great peril overtook me. Without the risk of injury to myself it would be impossible to know if I was going to end up like a diamond or like a piece of charcoal. When I faced the bathroom mirror while changing, I felt more responsible for the things that were going to happen to me than ever before.
“What are you wearing?” I asked Rani after I had changed.
“One of my two saris,” she said simply. I suddenly wanted her to be the most beautiful woman in the room. More beautiful even than India or Mrs. Pillai. I went to my mother.
“Mom, can you give Rani an old sari you don’t wear?” I asked.
My mother’s face looked imposing. I didn’t think she was going to say yes. In fact, she looked poised to ask me several questions. But “why?” is all she said.
“I’m tired of her looking like a servant and being treated like a servant. I feel almost as if she is a member of the household. I want her to dress better,” I said. After I had spoken I was sure my mother would say with irrefutable logic that Rani was a servant.
My mother opened her cupboard and asked me to choose something. She didn’t look too happy, so I couldn’t understand why she was doing it.
“Just give her something that’s old, that you don’t wear,” I said.
My mother pulled out a green sari with a golden border. She also took out the matching blouse and petticoat. When Rani wore it I asked her to pull it down and wear it lower on her waist.
“Memsahib won’t like that,” she said, refusing to pull it down.
My parents led the way to India’s house, with Rani and me following a few steps behind. We had circumvented the shortcut through the jhuggi but had to walk past a small section of it. There was a sudden barbaric sound like the bleating of a dying pig. Before I could recover a man was hissing at Rani and me, his teeth exposed. Rani let out a sharp cry, equally primal. The acrid smell of fear enveloped us. My parents had turned around.
“Rundee,” he was shouting. The crude Hindi word for whore, just sharper, more derogatory.
“Speak politely,” my father said in Hindi, approaching the man.
“Come back home, come back to your husband,” the man shouted. He moved threateningly close to Rani. I was frightened but stood rooted to the spot, unable to run and protect myself or do anything to defend her. She recovered quicker than I did.
“I am home,” she shouted, her voice higher and thinner and louder than I had ever heard.
“Kutti, rundee, sallee,” he cursed on.
“Leave her alone,” my father said, his voice commanding, even.
“Maderchod,” the man swore as he turned and lifted his hand to slap my father. I saw everything from my petrified coordinates, Rani eight inches away, my father two feet over, the animal in between swaying somewhat uncertainly in his dirty white pajamas and his yellowing rubber chappals. My mother had moved closer to my father and was holding a hand in front of her mouth.
My father grabbed him with such force that the man lost balance and fell to the ground. I wished I had been the one in my father’s place. Instead of kicking him, my father looked at Rani’s husband with utter contempt and said, “If you are interested in speaking, come to the house tomorrow morning after nine. And be sober.”
The man staggered away like a defeated animal. My heart, which I had not felt beating during the episode, now started a thunderous racket at the idea of the beast coming to take Rani away. It was Rani who spoke first, and not to my mother, but my father. This was the first time she had ever addressed him of her own accord.
“Sahib, I don’t want to go back,” she implored.
I heard a sharp intake of breath from my mother as she opened her mouth. But my father waved his hand at my mother. I consciously prayed as I awaited his verdict.
“Rani, you don’t have to go anywhere. He can’t harm you as long as I am here,” he said.
“Sahib, thank you, thank you,” Rani said in English. She clasped his hands in between hers and brought her forehead down to touch them. I was afraid she would fall at his feet.
“Let’s go, we are late,” my father said, reddening. He nudged my elbow and gestured to me to go ahead.
Rani and I now walked ahead of my parents. I grabbed her hand and held it all the way to India’s house, aware my parents were watching, scared I might be suspected, but utterly unable to let go after what had just happened. The streets seemed new, as if I had never walked on them.
xxvi
Dawat
When we reached India’s house and I rang the bell, it sounded louder and more menacing than at any other time. As we waited for someone to open the door I imagined that people were dancing to “Dum Maro Dum” and partaking of chemical substances. Arni answered the door, her bright voice putting aside any misgivings I might have had about the party.
“Hello, Aunty. Hello, Uncle. Hi, Anamika,” she beamed.
My parents and Arni immediately started chatting. I left them and walked into the drawing room. Deepak was off to the side, taking everything in. The bar took up a prominent spot. Bottles of booze were lined up neatly in a row, and an ice bucket sat on one edge. I watched my parents from the corner of my eye to gauge their reaction. I thought I detected disapproval on my father’s face, but he did not say anything or make it obvious. Deepak walked over to shake his hand.
I suddenly became very anxious about Adit’s arrival. I was as tense about my father seeing through him as I was impatient to see him myself.
India came into the room a few minutes later. She was wearing her backless choli. It sheathed her bust and torso from the front and left nothing dorsal to the imagination. Anyone who saw it could only want to tear it off. A jet of poison shot into my blood with such unbelievable force I could feel my face and entire body get hot.
“You’re looking fantastic, Tripta,” my mother said immediately.
“Namasteji,” my father said formally.
I knew India had discerned how upset I was—she had read my expression. I wished I could hide my feelings better. She hugged me somewhat coldly. The doorbell rang. I felt great relief. I wanted more people to come into the room. Seeing India half naked like that, the thin bones of her neck exposed and her lower back on display, filled me with shame, desire, violence, jealousy, and distaste. I was glad Rani was mine to own.
Some of India�
�s friends had arrived. The men kissed her on the cheek and touched her back in different spots when they spoke to her. I felt powerless, almost cuckolded. One woman lit a cigarette as soon as she came into the living room. She was even more glamorous than India and regal in her bearing. My father glanced up at her. So did my mother. Rani, who had brought in glasses to place on the bar, also looked at her. As she took her first puff of smoke, her eyes met mine. I thought I saw a smirk on the corner of her lips. I decided to ignore her for as long as I could.
India introduced my parents to some of her friends. I joined the group. Two of them worked at India’s old ad agency and were very funny. They told my father about a government contract they had once had and the bureaucratic rigmarole they had to go through for each version of their ad to get approval.
The doorbell rang again. This time Mrs. Pillai and her husband stood in the doorway. “Good evening, ma’am,” I said.
“Hello, child. This is my husband, Kotak,” she said. I shook his hand.
“This is Tripta Adhikari,” I said, introducing India. I took them to my mother and introduced them to everyone in the circle. The bell rang again and more people came in, filling the room. The place felt crowded. One of India’s friends was behind the bar, shaking what could only be a martini in a steel glass. He poured it into a long-stemmed glass and handed it to the glamour queen.
I went to the bar and asked him for a Coke. When I turned around I saw that Adit and the family had arrived with Sheela. They were walking toward my parents. I felt immediate disappointment at seeing Mrs. American Express and her rotund behind. I had imagined Adit’s wife looking like the glamour queen. I joined my parents, and Adit introduced her to all of us. Vidur and Sheela were laughing. Sheela had worn a cobalt blue blouse that lit up her light skin. Her hair tossed about her shoulders.
Mrs. Pillai and my mother were already involved in their own separate conversation and returned to it after this new round of introductions. I watched Vidur’s mother for a few seconds. She was tall for an Indian woman but rather ordinary looking. She carried herself with a sense of importance. I was sure she had a lot more power over people with her international banking job than my parents did in the government or even Deepak did as a managing director in a small firm. But she lacked the sophistication and urban edge that India and the glamour queen seemed to possess so naturally.
“Should I get you a scotch?” Adit asked his wife.
“Yes,” she said.
Then he looked at my father and asked, “Mr. Sharma, what would you like?”
“Nothing, thank you,” my father said.
I followed Adit back to the bar. On the way Adit saw the glamour queen. They looked at each other. I told Adit in a whisper about the two foreigners in the pastry shop with the baby.
“They’re making a huge mistake. You need a woman to raise a child.”
“Stop being so narrow-minded,” I said.
The man behind the bar chatted with Adit as he poured two glasses. Adit rested his hand lightly on my shoulder, and I saw the glamour queen look in our direction. We went back to Adit’s wife so that he could give her the scotch. Then Adit said, “Let’s find ourselves a spot.”
We walked away from everyone else and stood in the corner.
“Who is Vidur talking to?” Adit asked.
“Mrs. Pillai, our mathematics teacher.”
“She’s hot.”
“And that other woman is even more hot,” I said, referring to the glamour queen.
“Way too hot,” he said.
“Don’t even try.”
“I can’t. The boss is here,” Adit said, looking in his wife’s direction.
India walked over to Adit and me.
“I’m Tripta,” she said, putting her hand forward.
“Adit,” he said, gripping it.
“Are you Vidur’s father?” she asked.
“Yes. And you are India herself?” he said. India looked taken aback. I had told her only once about the name I used for her. I wondered if she would be angry that I had told Adit, but she didn’t show it.
Deepak saw us talking and came to join us. He was holding Arni’s hand. Sheela was now talking to my father. I could tell he liked her. I noticed there were even more people in the room now. India slipped away to greet them. I followed her. From where I was I could see the glamour queen move away from the men she was talking to and walk toward India. I let my hand rest on India’s lower back, my thumb pushing inside the edge of her sari.
“This is a great party, Tripta,” the glamour queen said.
“I thought it was time,” India said. They seemed very comfortable with each other. I could tell they were good friends. But India had never mentioned her to me.
“By the way, I’m Maya,” she said, turning to me and offering her hand. I shook it.
“You haven’t met? This is Anamika,” India said, touching my cheek.
“Nice to meet you,” Maya said.
“Want to get a smoke?” India asked Maya.
“I was smoking here,” Maya said.
“Let’s go to the back veranda. It’ll get too smoky inside,” India said.
“Coming?” Maya asked me.
“Later,” I said. If I disappeared with two women who smoked, my parents would think I smoked, too. I walked over to Mrs. Pillai and my mother, who were talking to the ad agency guys. Vidur had moved to my father and Sheela. I could tell he was not going to leave her side the entire evening. Mr. Pillai had walked over to Adit and Deepak, but Arni was holding court. The men stood quietly listening to her.
“I need some fresh air,” Mrs. Pillai said when I reached her.
“We can go to the veranda, ma’am,” I said. I led the way. We passed the kitchen on the way. I saw Rani working with someone from the catering company, filling bowls with soup.
On the veranda India and Maya were staring at the sky and smoking. India was standing in the middle of the veranda, and Maya was sitting on a wicker chair. Mrs. Pillai walked to another corner and stared at the stars, too. I didn’t know where to stand. I didn’t want to breathe in the smoke, but I didn’t want to ignore India or the glamour queen or Mrs. Pillai.
“It’s a full moon,” India said to no one.
“The full moon makes me go mad,” the glamour queen said.
“It makes me sad,” Mrs. Pillai said. I was surprised she had joined the conversation.
“And you, Anamika?” the glamour queen asked me.
I always imagined walking on the moon or living there, but it had nothing to do with whether the moon was full or not. I didn’t respond.
“Mrs. Adhikari, do you have some pills for a headache?” Mrs. Pillai said.
“Sure, but please call me Tripta.” She walked back into the house, Mrs. Pillai close on her heels.
I was standing two feet away from the queen and felt incredibly stiff. I was aware of her movements but did not look at her. She threw her cigarette by my foot. I stamped on it with gusto.
“Come here,” she said.
I walked to the chair beside hers but remained standing and looked down.
“So, what’s your story?” she said.
Who did she think she was, asking me so presumptuously? I just shrugged. We stood for a few seconds in a vastly uncomfortable silence.
“Talk to me. I am so curious about you,” she said.
I couldn’t tell if she was drunk. I looked into her eyes. They didn’t seem unfocused.
“Why are you curious?”
“Tripta told me about your affair,” she said. I couldn’t blame India for telling her. She must have wanted to tell someone. But I felt ill that this woman saw me as a curiosity, as if I were a monkey on display at the zoo. I wanted to go back inside, but it would seem rude.
“When did she tell you?”
“Just last week, when you almost got caught.” It was when I had told Adit as well. I grunted. “I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” she said. I kept silent. She se
emed uneasy now that she had upset me. “When Tripta told me about you, I really couldn’t understand how she could like someone so young. But as soon as I saw you I knew it was you and could see why it had happened,” she said. She was speaking rapidly, as if she were trying to sweep away the earlier awkwardness.
“I guess that’s a compliment,” I said, lightening up.
India came back on the veranda. There was no one else with her. She came to where I was standing and immediately took my hand.
“I don’t want Maya to charm you away from me,” she said, squeezing my hand. I kissed India on the cheek. I heard a foot-step on the veranda. It was Chakra Dev. I had never seen him out of school uniform. He was wearing pleated pants and a shirt almost the same shade of blue as my own. He had even worn a tie in the stifling heat. He looked like any other person. Almost like one of the young ad wallas.
“Hi,” I said and proffered my hand. He came closer and shook it. I smelt Old Spice.
I introduced him to India, calling her the host.
Then India introduced him to the glamour queen. “This is my friend Maya.”
“Hi, Chakra,” Maya said with a smile, unaware of all the shenanigans I had gone through to get him here.
“Hello,” he said. I noticed he hadn’t called her “Aunty.”
“So are you one of Anamika’s school friends?” Maya asked.
“Yes,” he replied, smiling. He had a dimple when he smiled. I hadn’t noticed it in all our years in school. I smiled myself, amused that we were suddenly having to say we were friends.
“Did you meet the others yet?” I asked, looking at Chakra.
“No. I came straight to the veranda since the servant said you were here,” he said.
“Do you want something to drink?” I asked him. I wanted him to be nice to me.
“If you go back in, can you get me another martini?” Maya asked Chakra.
“Sure,” he said. I went into the house, and Chakra followed me. I wondered if he knew what a martini was. When we passed the kitchen Rani saw us and stared at him for a second.
In the living room I saw Adit and walked over to him.
“Adit, this is Chakra Dev Yadav. He’s in our class,” I said. Chakra Dev looked surprised at hearing me address Adit by name.
