Once Upon a Curfew

by Srishti Chaudhary

  The broadcast ran loud and clear for a few minutes, and they took in every word. The Prime Minister’s dainty voice formed every word with precision, enunciating clearly. She spoke about internal disturbances, external threats and the price of maintaining security. While Indu understood every word, she was unable to understand the overall message, and looked quizzically at her mother and sister. When the broadcast ended, she asked, ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘What it said,’ her mother replied. ‘A state of emergency has been declared.’

  ‘Yes, but what does that mean?’ Indu asked impatiently, and her mother and sister looked as clueless as she did.

  Her mother shook her head and went to phone her husband again, and this time, the conversation lasted a minute. Indu and Amita looked at her impatiently, waiting for her to explain.

  ‘You will read all about it,’ her mother started, ‘but mostly, it means that civil rights have been taken away. There can no longer be any protests or any kind of bandhs or strikes. Certain schemes and rules will be enforced. Many opposition and other vocal leaders have already been arrested. Most importantly, there will be press censorship.’

  ‘Press censorship?’ Indu asked. ‘Like, how?’

  ‘All publications will have to get approval for whatever they publish, and the same goes for television and other media.’

  ‘Where is the newspaper this morning?’ Indu asked.

  ‘No newspaper today. Electricity to all presses was cut off last night. Nothing will come out until all publications start to follow the rules.’

  ‘But why is all this happening?’

  ‘It had to happen,’ she said. ‘She didn’t want to be unseated.’

  ‘What now? And when will father come home?’

  Her mother shrugged, unable to answer either question.

  * * *

  The streets seemed unchanged, although there was less traffic. She asked Natty if he had noticed anything different.

  ‘Kis baat ki emergency? Everyone here anyway walks around as if they are in an emergency, never giving way to the other person! The only emergency we need is the emergency of common sense!’

  She decided she would discuss it with Rana and Fawad. She was really looking forward to seeing Rana, now that what was between them had been acknowledged. The trouble was that she had to make a decision about Rajat now, and knew that breaking it off would mean a long and rocky path ahead. Her parents would try everything in their power to make her change her mind; Rajat’s family and hers went back a long way and they would not want relationships to be ruined over the whims and fancies of a twenty-three-year-old.

  They would convince her that it was just a phase and that any boy could be forgotten. Her father certainly would think so. What would she say about Rana as an actual possibility in their lives?

  Moreover, could she count on Rana? It was one thing to exchange banter, all fun and games, but he still hadn’t discussed how they should take it from there, and Indu was too proud to ask. She guessed he too was making up his mind, but that reeked of uncertainty. Also, neither had mentioned Runjhun. If he could end things with her so suddenly, didn’t that just reinforce that he was not dependable? And could she rely on him to give up his cavalier lifestyle? What of the next time he saw someone he found attractive and found an opportunity to get to know them, just as he had done with Indu?

  And what of Rajat? He certainly seemed more accommodating and didn’t provoke her with banter, although for all she knew, his politeness was a garb.

  When Rana came in to Number 7 the next time, he shared with her a smile that contained the knowledge of their last kiss, but he didn’t address it, so Indu went about her work, not giving him undue importance. When he sat next to her with his hands folded in a steeple, she gave him a questioning look.

  ‘I’m going to go home in two weeks,’ he told her. ‘For the summer.’

  They sat in silence for a couple of minutes when he turned and began staring at her.

  ‘What?’ she asked, refusing to look at him.

  ‘I have something for you,’ he said, and got up from his chair. Indu sighed, making a show of getting up and shaking her head at him, following him outside into the corridor. A large, flat package was resting against the wall. Indu looked at him questioningly and he nodded at her to open it. As soon as she touched it, she knew it was a canvas and could not stop grinning. He had made a painting for her. She delicately tore off the outer packing, holding the canvas tenderly. She wanted to see all of it in one go, so she opened it from the back, finally turning it around and gazing at herself on paper.

  She was painted with her head tilted to the right, the neck of her beige kurta ending at her collarbones, her hair long and open, parted in the middle. Her eyes twinkled with laughter, eyebrows were raised, lips turned down as if mock-marvelling at something, and she knew he had captured her looking at him, for there was amusement on her face. She definitely thought he had depicted her chin raised to support his theory that she always looked snobby, but it was a beautiful painting nevertheless, white jasmine tucked behind her ear, its petals fresh and white.

  Indu’s painted face glowed against a mustard background, making the whiteness of the jasmine stand out. She ran her thumb across the canvas, its roughness smoothened by patches of the oil paint, its strokes following masterful patterns. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, looking up at Rana. ‘Not just because of me, I mean,’ she added, and he laughed.

  ‘Fawad helped me with it,’ he said. ‘I knew—I had an idea what I wanted to depict, but he helped me execute it.’

  She wanted to say so much to him, but the words got caught in her throat. She wanted to tell him that she had never felt this way about anyone, that the days she didn’t speak to him felt sad and incomplete, that nothing would thrill her more than planning a life with him, but she couldn’t, and instead held the canvas tightly, her eyes sparkling with tears.

  ‘I hope you like it,’ he said, suddenly unsure, and she nodded. He looked at her closely for a few seconds before going on. ‘Ever since you told me that you—well, I couldn’t put it out of my head. I think I love you.’

  How she had waited for him to utter these words! But now that he did, she found it hard to trust them. Despite herself, she couldn’t say anything in reply. She stared at him without blinking.

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ he went on. ‘I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t know what you’re looking for in your future, but whatever it is, I would like you to lead your life as you will, you know? How you want it to.’

  She nodded at him, clutching the canvas tightly. ‘Should we go in?’ she asked, and he paused before nodding. But she did not move. Instead, she put the canvas down, resting it against the wall, and impulsively put her arms around him, holding him close for a few seconds. Then just as suddenly, she let him go before turning to pick the painting up.

  ‘I should thank Fawad too,’ Indu said, touched. ‘Where is he? And oh, did you hear it this morning?’

  Rana shrugged. ‘Hear what?’

  ‘The broadcast!’

  ‘What broadcast?’

  ‘The emergency one! What kind of magazine writer are you? Where is Fawad? He would know!’

  ‘I haven’t seen him since yesterday, he didn’t come home. I think he might be staying with someone else.’

  ‘Don’t you know? An emergency has been declared. I thought I’d ask you what it means.’

  ‘What do you mean an “emergency”?’ he asked, stopping in his tracks.

  ‘I don’t know, something like an emergency situation, I didn’t get it, my mother was telling me but I don’t know. You noticed there was no newspaper this morning? Some kind of press censorship.’

  Indu turned around to see that Rana had stopped dead in his tracks. ‘What?’ she asked him.

  ‘I need to go,’ he said, rushing inside to pick up his stuff.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I’m sure there will be some team meeting o
r something. How do I not know this? The streets did look a bit empty this morning. Where is Fawad?’ Rana darted out in an uncharacteristic hurry, and Indu shrugged it off.

  When Indu took the painting home that evening, Natty decided to narrate a story from his youth.

  ‘I fell in love once, you know, madame,’ he said.

  Indu looked at him in the rear-view mirror, surprised. ‘Really?’

  ‘What, you think this Natwarlal doesn’t have a heart, madame?’

  ‘No, but, I mean, you have a wife.’

  He pffed. ‘I mean before her, I fell in love once. She had the biggest brown eyes, you know, madame. And she wore payals so big, I could hear them from a kilometre away. Her father was also very liberal, you know, for that time. Many days, we passed each other and made eye contact, she always smiled at me. Rajni was her name.’

  ‘Arre waah, Natty.’

  ‘Wait, it has a tragic end, madame. Before I could muster the courage to talk to her father for her hand in marriage, my best friend did it!’

  ‘No!’ Indu said, outraged.

  ‘Bastard. He did, and now they are happily married with five fat children.’ He shook his head in disappointment, hitting the steering wheel lightly in dismay. Indu didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but he certainly seemed regretful enough.

  ‘It was a difficult time, madame. A different time. We didn’t have the opportunities you have now, to be able to talk so freely. One must always talk freely, you know?’

  She didn’t reply. Natty had an ability to say one thing and mean another, and she understood what he was implying.

  Putting up the painting in the house led to considerable grumbling and suspicion, although they thought it was beautiful. Her father, in particular, glared at it every time he passed it, but his eyes softened whenever he stopped to admire his younger daughter’s expression captured on canvas.

  * * *

  Rana didn’t turn up the next day, and so Indu busied herself deciding what else could be done at the library. She could barely imagine a life without it now, but all thoughts about it were inexorably linked with Rana. She was already imagining a life with him. He would need a proper job, though, she decided.

  Her mind wandered back to the Emergency. The newspapers had all carried it today, how the government had declared a state of emergency, and how it would affect people. From the outset, Indu couldn’t help but think that it didn’t seem to make much of a difference. It wasn’t possible to protest now, and so those students might actually attend some classes, she couldn’t help but think to herself wryly. If the decision had been taken, maybe it wasn’t such a bad one.

  What shook her more was when she got home that day and asked her mother casually where Esha was. She was informed that Sunita had taken Esha away to their village to get her married off.

  ‘What?’ Indu asked, shocked. ‘But what—why?’

  ‘Sunita said that everyone around them had started to taunt her that her daughter would never get married. I can’t say I blame her, it really created a mess for her.’

  ‘How can you say that? She was doing so well!’

  ‘You’re doing well too,’ her mother answered, walking away. ‘But will you give up a set future for it?’

  Indu stayed silent, not wanting to reveal the extent of what was going on in her mind. She feared never seeing Esha again, and wanted to tell Rana, but he didn’t come the next day either. She raged and seethed to her sister, telling her how he was completely undependable, master of his own will, doing as he wished without any care or consideration for others. Once she got tired of it, she decided not to think about him at all and instead, pondered what to do about Rajat. The answer had been obvious to her the whole time, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it.

  It would be one of the biggest decisions of her life, for marriage was what she had imagined. It was an eventuality, a natural progression in the events of her life, something so obvious that she never sought to question it. She had known of Rajat for some time, and so when their match was discussed, she thought about it and said yes quite agreeably, for the logic of it was obvious to her. She would have to marry somebody, and he seemed like a decent enough man, liked by everyone she knew. There hadn’t been a reason to turn it down, and so she had consented quite readily. When she learnt that he would study for two years first, it seemed an even better decision, since she wouldn’t be rushed into it.

  But the past year had changed everything. Now that she had a room of her own, a job to call her own, a purpose in life, and they eclipsed everything else. And then she had met Rana. After meeting him, after knowing what life could be, everything had seemed different. The conversation and attraction that constantly drew her to him—she didn’t want to settle for less. She couldn’t take that chance. But it would be the most difficult thing she would ever do.

  She was ready to face the fire from her parents. She decided she would first write to Rajat and try to explain the reasons for her choice as well as possible. She also told Amita her final decision while her sister was packing to move back in with Govind bhai. She would have to talk to Rana before talking to her parents.

  But he didn’t turn up at Number 7 for a few days after he had given her the painting. As she wondered why for the umpteenth time, the little Sardar peeked into Number 7. ‘Haanji paaji, kya hua?’ Indu asked him and he quietly handed her a note. She stared at him quizzically. ‘Who gave you this?’ ‘Bhaiya’ the boy said and scampered away.

  She opened it to discover a hurried scrawl from Rana, asking her to meet him at Bheem House at 5 p.m. that day. She didn’t understand any of it but was curious to hear what he had to say.

  When she reached Bheem House, someone suddenly pulled her into a corner.

  ‘Shhh!’ Rana said as soon as she opened her mouth, indicating that they should quietly sit on the corner seat. There was less hustle-bustle here than in the rest of the place.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she hissed at him.

  Instead of answering, he looked around them, as if expecting someone. Indu noticed that the usual sparkle was gone from his face, and he constantly fidgeted.

  ‘Hello, mister?’ she asked him, ‘what’s wrong?’

  ‘You came here alone, right?’ he asked her.

  ‘Yeah, with Natty. What’s wrong?’

  He shook his head and ordered two coffees.

  She asked him a few more times what was wrong and he finally began after he had finished his coffee. He smoked as he told her.

  ‘Fawad’s gone,’ he said.

  ‘Gone? What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s gone under the radar, with a bunch of other magazine workers.’

  ‘But whom are they hiding from?’

  ‘The government, of course! They are arresting people left, right and centre.’

  ‘You too?’

  ‘No, not me. I wasn’t as involved.’

  ‘We’ll look for him,’ she said confidently.

  ‘At first I thought he was being paranoid, but the mood everywhere is strange.’

  ‘Alright, let’s do one thing—let’s talk to my father about it and he can—’

  ‘No! Of course not! We are not going anywhere near your family.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked him, hurt.

  ‘Your father helped set this up, this emergency, I’m sure, and even if he didn’t, he has to defend it. He can’t hear about it.’

  Indu laughed in confusion. ‘I’m sure he didn’t set it up or whatever, but you don’t have to hide from him. I mean, how can you, you’re with me.’

  ‘I’ll have to go,’ he said.

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘I have to find out where Fawad is, figure out our next move. I can’t stick around.’

  She looked at him incredulously. ‘I don’t get it. Because of what, an “emergency”? Where do you want to go, and what are you even saying—what about us?’

  ‘What about us?’

  She hoped that the hurt di
dn’t show on her face. ‘What do you mean “what about us”? Are we not—what is wrong with you?’

  He shut his eyes before answering and extended his hand, which she didn’t take. ‘Indu, I . . . I can’t say anything right now. You don’t understand. But right now, I can’t promise you anything. I have nothing to promise.’

  She slid her chair away from him, wondering if she was seeing him for the first time. She hoped she had heard him wrong, but she knew she hadn’t. She stared at him for a long time as the din around her seemed to fade. Or maybe it was her own thundering heartbeat that quieted. She realized that all the fears she had with regard to Rana suddenly rang louder in her ears and seemed more valid than ever. Unreliable—the word went around in her head. Life had to be more than just fun and games. She got up from her chair, finally.

  ‘Then you better never see me again,’ she said, and almost ran to the Ambassador. She thought she heard him call out her name, but even of that, she could not be sure.

  END OF PART 2

  15

  1 year later

  Clouds changed shape in the lull before the predicted storm, gliding slyly across the smoky, grey sky, filtering the rays of the sun as a light breeze skipped across the city. The air was heavy with the promise of thunder, and Indu hoped to make it back home before it broke, but the pace at which Natty was driving, her expectations weren’t very high. She sighed as he continued his rendering of ‘Yeh Dosti Hum Nahi Todenge’.

  ‘Oh, do continue the song,’ Indu said, feigning sweetness. ‘It’s not like we are in a hurry.’

  Natty laughed. ‘Coming and going is a matter of fate, madame. How can a simple song halt its course, of what’s been written for us lifetimes ago?’

  Indu pouted at him for a few seconds before turning her head to look at the road. ‘Why don’t you start writing dialogues for movies? You can put your talent to good use, and maybe I’ll finally get my debut alongside Rajesh Khanna.’

  ‘You flatter me, madame. You must be very troubled.’