When we break for lunch, I walk to the clubhouse. Gesturing to the others to proceed, I stop by Vishal. All through the game, he's been watching me.
"Hey, Bro. How are you?" I greet him, and slap him on the back.
No response. He's not exactly happy to see me, and I'm not sure why. It's only been a year. He's got that look on his face. Half-lost. Half-defiant. He wore the same look when Dad brought him home all those years ago.
"You're looking good, Vishal." I try to draw him out of his moody silence.
"You're sweating like a pig." His voice is harsh, tinged with that peculiar breaking-at-the-edge tone which marks the onset of puberty.
I shrug. "It's hot."
"Very different from St James, isn't it? This?" He looks around, then back at me. "Slumming it, are we?"
I don't rise to the bait. Is that what it's about? Me going to St James. And he still in Bombay. He misses me. Yes. That's it.
"Why are you so angry, Vishal?"
"Why shouldn't I be?" There's heat in his voice. He's looking at me like he wants to hit me, his body tensed, ready to spring. "You ran away, left me here to face them on my own."
Guilt twists my gut. I wipe the sweat running down my forehead. See the rejection on his face. There's anger and something more. He feels let down. Abandoned.
"It wasn't my decision," I say softly. How to make him understand?
"No, of course not," he agrees. "Nothing's ever your decision. You just do as you are told, don't you? The good little obedient boy who gets sent to the top school in the country. While me? I am sent to the local boys' college hostel."
"Vishal—" I feel helpless. After all, it's my parents' decision to send him there.
He goes on, "You could have convinced Dad to send me to St James, so we could have been together, but you didn't, did you?"
He's right.
The truth is I'm secretly happy he is not at St James. I don't want to share it with him. Don't want to have to introduce him to Ash, or Tenzin or the Koreans, or even my lack of musical abilities. That's my space. Mine. It's my secret world. Away from the fighting, the shimmering resentment between Mum and Dad. A relief from the daily guilt I bear at how Mum treats Vishal. I can be free there. No rules. Not like the ones at home.
"Yes," I say, looking him in the eye, "I could have," I admit. "But I didn't. And … even if I did, I doubt I would have succeeded."
I see the shock on his face. His skin goes pale and his lower lip quivers. Is he going to cry?
"You admit it then?" he asks.
I nod.
Next thing, Vishal has launched himself at me. I fall on the ground. The helmet and bat fly out of my hands. Vishal grips me around the waist with his thighs and beats me on my chin, and another to the chest.
"Vishal. Stop!" I gasp.
He punches my side—once, twice. Pain wracks me.
"Enough! You are hurting me!" I yell.
He snatches my cricket bat off me, raises it.
What the—? He's going to hit me with it? Why is he so angry? I don't understand. I put up my hand to shield my face. The next he is being lifted off me.
The dreadlocked guy says, "Leave him, his friends are coming back to help. Let's get out of here, before they call the police, or worse."
Police? Why should they call the police?
"Wait," I gasp out. "Vishal."
He looks at me, his eyes feverish, burning me up. It's worse than being under the sizzling rays of the afternoon sun. I lick my cracked lips.
"I looked up to you," he says, "but you were just a fake. Just like your family. You never really wanted me. None of you did."
As they walk away, the dreadlocked guy puts his arm around Vishal's shoulders. He's wearing a hoodie with a big GAP scrawled on the back.
Have I lost him forever?
17
Age 15
SUMMER HOLIDAYS—2
Mum's gearing up to have her friends over this afternoon. Dad's got his cricket dos. Mum has her kitty parties. Lots of food, drinks, and chattering aunties. My idea of hell.
Every month, Mum and her friends contribute money into a kitty which gets handed over to the charity of choice of the person who is hosting the party. So, some good comes of it. But I can't wait to get out of here before the ladies come charging in. I ran into one of them at the ice-cream parlor yesterday and her eyes lit up on seeing me. And it wasn't just because she hadn't seen me for a while. No. Thinking I was out of earshot, I heard her mention to Mum that she thought I'd make a great match for her daughter, some day. No, I don't want to be the object of attention. I have to get out of the house. Go to the gym, or to the CCI. Anywhere but here. But it's the only time I can get with Mum, as she's setting up for the afternoon. Her social life's even more active than what it was a year ago … She's filling her time up, rushing from one social event to other, trying to plug the holes in her life. As if she ever stopped to think, she would fall off a cliff, see things for what they were.
I don't want to think about that. Not now. Mum and Dad seem fine, aren't they? He's saving the country. She's saving herself. All squared up.
"Mum—" I've been trying to get her attention for the last ten minutes. I follow her to the kitchen as she supervises cook. Back to the living room, where she is getting the furniture rearranged. Then, the groceries she's ordered arrived. Then the caterers. She instructs them on how to lay out the snacks just so. She calls Xavier, sends him off to the wine shop to get more wine. Vodka. And gin too. Bombay Sapphire.
Finally, she sinks down onto the settee to catch her breath and picks up her phone to check her messages. I sit down next to her.
"Mum?"
She stiffens, her body going rigid. She doesn't look up from the phone.
"I am really busy just now. Can't we talk later?"
"M-u-m please."
The desperation in my voice gets through to her, and she looks up at me.
"Okay. Okay. What is it, Vik?"
"Vishal—"
She pales, looks back at her phone but doesn't play with it. Just stares as if all the answers are there on the screen.
"Well?" she asks.
"Why did you send him away, Ma?"
"Who's telling you these lies?" She's trying to control herself, but her cheeks redden and she twirls a strand of hair between her fingers, curling it tight, stretching it as if she wants to tear it out. "He's gone to a good school, with a nice hostel. Just like, you are now at St James. Just like we sent you away …" Her voice trails off.
"But I am in Mussoorie, and he is here in Bombay. In the same city as you and Dad. We're his family after all, and isn't this his home too?"
"You won't understand, Vik. You are just a child."
Grown-ups! When it suits them, I am an adult. When it's convenient, I am a child.
"I'm fifteen, Ma. I. Am. Not. A. Child, anymore. Besides, I am taller than you now." I will not raise my voice. Will not get upset. So, they won't send him to St James, but why can't he stay at home?
"It's better for him to be at the hostel."
"Is it because he is not your son?"
Thud—She slaps me. The skin of her hand is soft. It's just a light brush over my cheek really, not even a real slap. But the surprise rams into me. It's more painful than a boxer's punch. Mum's never hit me before. Never. I've always been her favorite. The one she relied on. She looks as shocked as I feel and covers her mouth with her hand. Then she hugs me. Tight.
"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean that, Vikky."
At least I got through to her. Now maybe she'll tell me what really happened.
"Why, Ma?" I ask again. I don't hug her back. I just wait to hear what she has to say.
She pulls back and holds my palms in her smaller ones.
"It's easier this way, Vikky. On both of us. Don't you think I don't know it's not his fault? But every time I see him. Every. Single. Time. It hurts. It really does."
She's crying a little. Not sobbing or anything. Only her eye
s shine with unshed tears. Her life is in her eyes. This is her life. This house. Me. Dad. Seema. Her family. Her world.
"I can never forgive your father, Vikky. Will never be able to accept him in this house. We can't live under the same roof. If he's here, I'll only make all of us unhappy. Your father. And his son. Both of them."
His son. She still never refers to him as Vishal.
"I'm not a saint, Vik. I am just a woman. Do you understand?"
No, I don't. Not really. Let Vishal stay home. What's the big deal? Pushing him away to a hostel when he has a home of his own in the same city? It doesn't make sense.
I nod.
Why does life have to be so complicated?
18
Age 15
I asked Ash out for dinner. Nothing major, just a casual meal to celebrate the end of our grade ten exams. I am about to become a true senior now. As I wait by the gates of school, I look out over the lights of the city in the distance. They twinkle like the floodlights from ships crossing the ocean. The world is out there waiting … and I want to discover it all … Find out what life is like beyond what I see here.
There's a light touch on my shoulder and I turn to look down at Ash. Over the last year I have been growing steadily and now at six feet I am much taller than her. She has grown too, but is still only chest high in height. Unlike her usual jeans and shirt, today she is wearing a dress. She wears her hair loose, so the brown-blonde curls cascade down to below her shoulders. I almost don't recognize her. That ever-present curl of desire grows even stronger, and I try to ignore it.
"You look—" My tongue seems to stumble over the words and I can't think of what to say.
"—Beautiful?" Ash grins, and I relax. Her lips curve in a smile I recognize, cheeky, saucy with a hint of arrogance. She is once more my cricket-playing buddy.
I give her my hand. "Shall we?"
She nods and we walk down the curving driveway towards the gates. I sniff an unfamiliar too-flowery scent.
"You're wearing perfume," I say accusingly.
"Wow, you are observant," she says, her voice threaded with a hint of sarcasm.
"I don't like it," I say flatly, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice.
"What, my perfume?" Dropping my arm, she looks at me as if I am crazy.
"I prefer your natural scent." I say it, then realize how that sounds.
"You mean my usual muddy, grubby smell."
"Oranges," I say. "You normally smell like chocolate cookies and oranges."
"Was that a compliment?" She nudges me with her elbow and I feel my cheeks grow hot. Ash still makes me awkward and tongue-tied. That hasn't changed.
She looks at me closely as we walk. "I do believe you are blushing, Mr Roy."
"Mr Roy's my dad," I say, trying to be flippant.
She doesn't reply, and I wonder if I have offended her.
"You do look very nice," I offer by way of a peace offering.
She changes the subject; "Here I was thinking you had finally got up the nerve to ask me out on a date."
"Date?" I say stupidly, as if the thought hasn't occurred to me at all.
"You may look all grown up but inside you are still a kid, you know?" she says, only half-angry. Before I can reply, she asks, "So, where are you taking me?"
I lead her to the waiting taxi. It's forbidden for students to use the local cab service, since they are rumoured to sell drugs to kids, but this once I am willing to break the rules.
Dinner's a ten-minute ride away. A little Italian restaurant in the mall of the nearest town. It's affordable. Besides, it's the only restaurant in the village with candles on the table. Pretending I know what I am doing, I ask for wine, only to be told they don't serve students.
Ash laughs at my disgusted expression. There goes my attempt at trying to look grown up. The pizzas arrive. Hungry, we demolish them quickly, concentrating on the food.
"So, you have a girlfriend, Vik?"
"Hmm?" Mouth full of food, I look up at her and nod my head, then shake it.
"Yes, No? Confused?" Her voice is amused.
"Uh! I have you, don't I?"
She sputters, spewing food. Wiping her lips she says, "Just because I am having dinner with you, doesn't mean I am your girlfriend."
"You are a girl and my friend. So you are my girlfriend?" Lame. Very lame. How could you say that, Vik?
"I do have a boyfriend, you know?" She lifts her soft drink, drains it.
"Amar? I thought you didn't like him."
"Whatever gave you that idea?" She looks at me as if I am a retard.
I feel like one just now.
"But you said—" Before I can complete my sentence, the waiter arrives to clear our plates. Then she wants ice cream for dessert and spends another ten minutes deciding which one. Once it arrives, she digs in and slurps it all up in less than five minutes. To my disappointment, we are done with the meal and out in less than half an hour.
"So, about Amar … you were saying, Ash—"
"Oh! Forget Amar." She links her arm through mine. Her skin is so soft. Silky. My head spins slightly. Mouth goes dry. I try to speak and find I can't. As we head out, Ash asks, "Have you ever been to Gap 50?"
"You mean the house on the edge of the valley?"
She nods. "Just as I thought … you've never been there, have you?"
"Isn't it haunted?" I offer tentatively.
"You scared, Vik?" She crosses her eyes, opens her mouth wide. "Boo!" Did I scare you then?" She giggles, hits me playfully on the shoulder.
She really can be mean, Ash.
"Ha. Ha," I laugh politely. "You want to go? Now? Are you sure?" I look at the gloomy woods thrown into relief by the moonless night, the trees making ink-black blobs against the hillside.
"Go on Vik … Time to lose your virginity, don’t you think?"
"Huh?" I stare.
The breath rushes out of me as if I have been hit by a massive rock.
She laughs.
"Stop it." I feel stupid, really dumb. My face reddens.
She laughs some more.
"I mean your Gap 50 virginity, of course. Time for you break that barrier at least, no?"
Her mocking tone angers me. She's expecting me to refuse. Well, I'll show her that nothing scares me. Certainly not ghosts.
"Come on," I say. Taking her hand, I pull her along, setting a fast pace through the woods.
It's a dark two-storeyed structure, built in the English-Gothic style popularised by the British when Mussoorie was their main summer resort in the country. I have passed it from a distance, seen its white and red sloping roof glistening in the sunlight. This is the first time I have been so close to it at night. Walking up the steps, I hesitate at the entrance. The building curves around us, and for a moment it feels as if the walls are closing in on me. As I hesitate, Ash holds up both her hands, making them into fists and slams them down on the door.
"Ash!" I exclaim.
"Scared I'll wake up the ghost?" she teases me.
In reply, I push at the doors. It's locked of course. What was I expecting? That it would creak open on its hinges like in a horror movie?
"Come on!" I break into a run, intent on taking the lead. Running around the building, I stop at a window. Looking around for a stone, I pick one heavy enough so I need both hands to pick it up and heave it, so it goes through the dusty glass pane. The resulting crash is loud enough to startle both of us. I can hear the sound echo around the interiors of the house, emphasising how isolated we are here.
When I begin to unbutton my shirt, Ash looks at me with raised eyebrows.
"Really?" She smirks. "In such a hurry?"
"It's not what you think." I bite out the words.
Before she can ask any further questions, I wrap the shirt around my fist and use it to break off the jagged pieces of glass on the pane. Then, pushing my arm through the square, I open the lock of the window from inside. Opening it, I grab hold of the window ledge and heave myself
over, falling over promptly on the other side.
I am stunned, but bounce back on my feet quickly. Coughing out the dust which streams over my face, I tell Ash, "Come on to the front door."
Running to the front door, I pull at the old-fashioned wooden bar which is placed across it. Pleased when it comes away in my hand, I open the door, panting with the exertion of pulling at the heavy wood. Then, grinning, I bow to Ash, who is standing at the threshold.
"Come in, your highness." I make a mock bow.
Ash holds her nose in the air, playing her part, and walks past me. It's gloomy inside but the moon is bright enough to light up the way. Ash follows me as I walk past an overturned chair, a large settee covered in plastic, and take in the paintings on the wall.
"It's as if the family who lived here abandoned it without moving any of their possessions out," she says. Holding my hand, she drags me to the staircase.
"Where are we going?"
"On a tour, dummy. Don't you want to see what's upstairs?"
I follow her, our shoes making clattering noises on the wooden steps, then, I hear something.
"Wait." I stop midway up the stairs.
"What?" she says loud enough for her voice to echo around the building.
"Did you hear that?"
"No." In the silence that follows, she laughs nervously.
Then she hears it too. A soft padding from upstairs, the unmistakeable noise of nails dragging on the wooden floor. We look at each other wide-eyed. A chill runs up my back, and the hairs on my forearms spring upright.
"Come on, we have to find out what it is." Grinning wickedly, Ash leaps ahead and runs, dragging me along.
"Ash, honestly," I mutter, more scared than I'd like to admit.
We cross the landing of the first floor and walk towards the open door leading to the room on the far side. Once again, there's the sound of dragging footsteps. I swallow nervously in the darkness, but chivalry gets the better of me and I walk ahead, pushing Ash behind me.
Chosen: Vik's origin story (Many Lives Prequel Book 2) Page 7
