by Farahad Zama
“Doing anything romantic?” asked Vani.
“Shut up, silly girl,” laughed Aruna, blushing. “Have you told amma and naanna about the picnic?”
“Not yet. I thought I’d ask you first.”
Aruna nodded and reached into her bag. She took out the crisp one-hundred-rupee note that Mr Ali had given her earlier and handed it to Vani. “Will there be other girls at the picnic?” she asked casually.
“Of course,” said Vani. “The whole class is going.”
“Tell amma that we might drop in on Thursday,” Aruna put the last file in the wardrobe and closed it. “Do you want me to drop you off?”
Vani nodded. “Just on the main road will do. You don’t need to come down the lane.”
They said goodbye to Mr and Mrs Ali and got into the car. When she saw Vani’s reaction, Aruna realised how much of a luxury having a car was. I must never become off-hand about my wonderful life and must always remember that these cars, servants, expensive clothes and multiple pairs of shoes are extravagances and not necessities, she thought.
♦
A few days later, she came home from the office and sensed that something was wrong as soon as she entered the house – her mother-in-law didn’t return her greeting and her sister-in-law, Mani, just made a sneering moue and turned away from her. Aruna sighed and walked through the hall to her room. She was sure that, whatever it was, the issue would blow over.
She opened the door to her room and went in. Strangely, the curtains were drawn and it was dark inside. When her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw a tall figure stretched out on the bed, covered by a sheet. Her heart gave a lurch as she pulled off the sheet to reveal her sleeping husband.
“What – ” she began, touching his cheek. She jerked her hand back – his body was burning with fever.
Ramanujam opened his eyes and smiled wanly.
“When did this happen?” she asked. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Ramanujam waved his hand, but the effort left him weak and he closed his eyes again.
“Oh,” said Aruna, when she realised just how frail he was. “What is wrong?”
“I think it is malaria,” he said, with his eyes still closed.
“Malaria!” she squeaked.
“I think so. I am feeling hot sometimes and then shivering with cold other times.”
Memories of her father falling ill rushed upon her. That had been a long and debilitating illness. Ramanujam was always so vital and healthy – she was appalled to see him laid low like this.
“Have you seen a doctor?” she asked.
“I am a doctor.”
The usual joke left her unmoved this time. “No, you cannot diagnose yourself. Which of your friends would be best for this?”
“No need. I’ve already written a prescription and naanna has taken Kaka to get the medicines.”
“I think you should see another doctor. Shall I call Ravi?”
“He is an optical doctor. Good for cataracts but not for malaria.”
“Who else? What about Bhushan?”
“He is an ENT surgeon. Just leave it, Aruna, let me rest.”
“No, I cannot let you rest…” said Aruna.
The door opened and her mother-in-law walked in. “What’s going on? Why can’t you let him rest?” she asked.
Aruna cringed – the sentence sounded very wrong when she heard it back from the older woman.
“It’s not like that,” she said. “I want another doctor to see him.”
“I don’t need another doctor. I can tell what’s wrong with me,” said Ramanujam.
“Of course you do, son. Take a rest.” Her mother-in-law crooked a finger and signalled to her to come out.
Aruna gave a last look at Ramanujam, pulled the sheet up to his shoulders and made her way slowly out of the room.
“I think he should see another doctor,” said Aruna as soon as they were in the corridor.
“Shhh!” said her mother-in-law and walked back into the hall. Aruna trailed behind her.
Mani was standing in the living room, hands on hips, and arching her back, pushing her already big stomach further out. Her face was strained and her eyes were screwed shut. She straightened up, opened her eyes and looked at them. “Oof! My back feels like an elephant has been trampling all over it,” she said. “Aruna, thanks for taking the time off from your highflying career to look in on your sick husband.”
Aruna flushed, but didn’t say anything. Even though Mani’s comment wasn’t reasonable, she couldn’t help feeling guilty. After a moment she said, “Somebody should have called me. I would have come straight away.”
“We were all too worried about my brother to call you,” said Mani.
Aruna’s mother-in-law waved a hand at her daughter, but didn’t admonish her.
Aruna said to her mother-in-law, “Let’s call another doctor to see him.”
“What, you don’t trust my brother’s medical knowledge now?” said Mani, looking outraged.
The older woman sighed and said, “Stop it, Mani. I think Aruna is saying something sensible. I am sure it’s difficult to treat yourself – like a cook checking the spices in a curry she’s cooked herself.”
Mani turned away with a small flounce.
Aruna’s mother-in-law continued, “However, Aruna, it was not a good idea to go on and on about it with Ramanujam in the room. Men become babies when they are even a little unwell. They are not strong like us in that respect. And my poor son, he really is unwell.”
Aruna said softly, “Yes, amma. I will call Ravi. I know he is an eye doctor but I am sure he’ll refer me to somebody more suitable.”
Aruna went back into the room on tiptoe and peeped in. Ramanujam was sleeping, so she stole noiselessly in and came out with Ramanujam’s mobile phone. She looked up Ravi’s number and dialled it.
A hearty voice answered. “Hi, Ramanujam! What’s going on? Any more old widows going blind?”
Before they were married, Aruna and Ramanujam had come across an old villager whose eyes had been clouded over with cataracts and Ramanujam had sent her to Ravi to be treated.
“Hello, it’s me, Aruna, his wife,” she said.
“Hi, Aruna. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?” he said, after a brief but noticeable pause.
“He is not well. He has a very high temperature and feels alternately cold and hot. He says it is malaria and doesn’t want to see another doctor. Can you refer me to somebody who can see him?”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. How high is his temperature?”
“I don’t know for sure but at least a hundred and two, I think, if not more.”
“How long has he had the fever?”
“He was fine this morning and even went to the hospital. He came back in the afternoon.”
“OK, no problem. Don’t worry. I will talk to somebody and send them over straight away.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“No need for thanks. We’ll have him up and running again in no time.”
She closed the phone and went in search of her mother-in-law and Mani. “Ravi said he will send a doctor round soon.”
“Amma!” shouted Mani’s son as he ran towards her.
“Don’t jump on me, baby. My back’s really hurting,” said Mani hurriedly.
“I got an aeroplane!” he said loudly, as his grandfather walked sedately in.
“Shh,” said Aruna, looking down at the young boy. “Your uncle is not well and sleeping.”
“I know,” he said, just a little less loudly as Aruna winced. “We’ve got medicines too.”
“Namaste,” said Aruna, turning to the old man.
He nodded in reply and handed her a small brown packet of tablets.
“I’ve arranged for another doctor to come. We’ll show him the medicines before giving them to him,” said Aruna.
The adults sat around on the sofa while the boy held his plane above his head and ran round the room with it. Aruna wanted
to change but didn’t want to go back into her room in case she disturbed Ramanujam. This waiting was hard – she was getting more and more tense as the minutes ticked by.
Mani turned to her and said, “Didn’t you and anna go to your parents’ house on Thursday?”
Aruna nodded in reply.
“He must have been bitten by mosquitoes there. I was wondering just how a healthy young man like him can get malaria.”
Aruna looked at her sister-in-law, shocked. Suddenly she got up and ran to the shrine in the corner. Behind her, she heard her father-in-law say, “Mosquitoes are everywhere, Mani. Who can say where he got it from?”
Aruna stood in front of the idol of Venkatesha and bowed her head. She closed her eyes and folded her hands in supplication. The lamp by the idol, which was kept always lit, cast a warm, golden, nickering glow on her face. “O Lord of the Seven Hills, Lord of the three worlds, please make my husband better.”
I was so silly, thinking that nothing could touch my happiness now. I, of all people, should have known better, she thought. When my father fell ill, there was no warning. He was ill for so long and wiped out our savings. But ultimately that led to a good end, she reminded herself. I was forced to give up my studies and take up a job. Otherwise I wouldn’t have started working with Sir and Madam, and I would never have met Ramanujam. I would not have known his love or the luxury of this wealth. This, however, was different. No good can come of Ram falling ill, she thought.
She started reciting her favourite hymn that she always turned to in times of trouble – the Gayatri Mantram. “Om Bhoor Bhuvasvaha…”
She could not complete the recitation – her mind was in too much turmoil.
“Lord, if my husband is cured, I will feed one hundred and sixteen Brahmins and poor people.”
Now that she had resolved on an action, her mind quietened and she completed the prayer. When she opened her eyes and turned back to the others, she was surprised to see that her mother-in-law had been praying too.
“He will be all right,” said her mother-in-law.
Aruna nodded. Their servant, Kaka, came in carrying a leather valise, ahead of a very dignified-looking man with thinning, grey hair and metal-framed glasses.
“Namaste,” said the man. “I am Doctor Someswar. Ravi called and told me about Ramanujam.”
Aruna’s father-in-law stepped forward. “Thank you for coming so soon, sir. We are very worried. He is normally such a healthy boy…”
“No problem at all,” said the doctor. “I retired last year but Ravi and Ramanujam are both old students of mine. Where is he?”
“In the bedroom,” said Aruna’s father-in-law and began to move towards it. The ladies fell in behind the men.
“No, all of you stay here,” said the doctor. He turned to Kaka. “You show me the way.”
They went in and closed the door. All the family members waited nervously in the hall. After some time, Kaka came out and Aruna asked him, “What’s happening?”
Kaka said, “I don’t know, chinnamma. The doctor asked me to get a flask with ice in it.”
He hurried away into the kitchen and Aruna exchanged a glance with her in-laws. They were all as puzzled as she was. A few minutes later, Kaka went back into the room with a stainless-steel thermos flask.
It was another five minutes before the doctor came out.
“What’s wrong with him, doctor uncle?” asked Aruna.
“I am not sure,” the old doctor said, frowning. “He is presenting many of the symptoms of malaria but he is not perspiring and his cold phases are not as long lasting as I would expect.”
“Do you think we should give him these medicines, doctor?” asked Aruna, showing him the anti-malarial drugs that had just been bought.
The doctor looked at them and shook his head. “These medicines can have nasty side-effects, so I wouldn’t use them just now. First, I want to find out what’s wrong with him – I’ve taken a blood sample.”
The doctor tore a sheet from his prescription pad and gave it to Ramanujam’s father.
“The sample is in the flask. Take it to a diagnostic laboratory and give them this paper. I’ve written the tests that I want carried out.”
Ramanujam’s father nodded and took the prescription. “What – fees…” he said hesitantly.
Doctor Someswar waved him away. “Your son is an old student of mine. How can I charge him anything?”
Aruna came forward and, bowing to him, said, “Thank you, Uncle.”
The older man patted her head. “God bless you, my daughter. Be brave.”
Nine
Five evenings later, Rehman came back from work before six and his clothes were red with dust.
His mother was in the kitchen, scraping the small, light-green spines off bite-sized aaakaakarakai. With their tough skin and big, semi-hard seeds, they were not Rehman’s favourite vegetable. His mother noticed the look on his face and pointed to a roughly tied, green-leaf packet sitting on an out-of-shape aluminium lid. “Your father got meat from the butcher.”
Rehman smiled. The spiny vegetable mixed with mutton made a good curry. “I am quite dusty. I’ll take a bath and then go out, ammi,” he said.
“You will come back for dinner, won’t you? Pari will be here and so will Nafisa and her family,” said his mother.
Rehman nodded. “I should be back by eight or so.”
When he came out of the bath, Pari and Mrs Ali were talking in the living room.
“Hi, Pari,” he said.
Pari looked him up and down and said, “Are you really going to wear that orange-brown checked kurta with the jeans?”
Rehman looked down at his long, ethnic shirt. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked.
“Everything,” she said.
“Leave it, Pari. I’ve tried to tell him many times but he just doesn’t care. His father is the same, but at least he listens to me,” said Mrs Ali.
“How’s your job going?” he asked Pari, to change the subject.
“I am still in training. There are so many products,” she said.
“What do you mean by products?” asked Mrs Ali. “I don’t really understand what you people do in a call centre.”
“When customers need help with their banking, they call us,” said Pari.
Mrs Ali thought about it for a moment and then said, “But why don’t they just go to their branch and ask somebody who knows about their account?”
Pari laughed. “I guess it is more convenient to pick up a phone than go to a branch. And we handle all sorts of queries, not just bank accounts. Do you know how many different kinds of insurance there are?”
Mrs Ali shook her head.
“There is life insurance, of course. But there’s also buildings insurance in case your house burns down, contents insurance in case you get burgled, health insurance in case you fall ill, pet insurance in case your dog or cat becomes sick, even insurance to pay off your loan if you lose your job or fall ill.”
Mrs Ali shook her head. “Life must be so complicated and expensive if people have to take out loans and then insurance on top to pay it off if they cannot.”
“That’s the modern world, ammi,” said Rehman. “Not many people are as lucky as you that they can buy land and build their house without taking out a loan of a single rupee.”
Pari said, “The other day I was listening in to some customer calls and a woman from London rang in. Young – twenty-six years. She asked us to remove her boyfriend from her car insurance.”
“Boyfriend?” said Mrs Ali.
“Yes,” said Pari. “She said she had broken off with him and he wouldn’t be driving her car any more.”
“Did she sound ashamed at all when talking of boyfriends and breaking up with them?”
“No,” said Pari. “She was very matter-of-fact.”
“Tauba,” said Mrs Ali, “God forbid.” She crossed her hands and touched her right cheek with the fingers of her left hand and left cheek with her right hand.
“Not just in money – but their lives must be so complicated in personal matters too. Find a boyfriend, break off, find another one. It must be so stressful. Thank God we don’t have to go through that repeated struggle.”
Rehman laughed, feeling a bit guilty. “Right,” he said. “I am off. See you in a couple of hours.”
♦
Ten minutes later, Rehman managed to find an empty spot to park in a row of two-wheelers and went into a café. He barely had time to order a cup of tea before Usha walked in.
“Sorry, I am late,” she said. “It is getting more and more difficult to park a car nowadays in the city.”
“I’ve just arrived myself.”
Rehman called over the waiter and ordered another cup of tea. “How’s your job going?” he asked.
“So-so. I need another scoop or human-interest story. When are you starting another campaign?” she asked.
He laughed. “No campaigns for me. I’ve just started working on a housing project.”
“How is it going?” she asked.
Rehman was distracted by her smile. For some reason, the image of serried white cirrus clouds against a deep blue sky came to his mind.
“What is it? Have I got something on my lip?” She touched her upper lip with her finger.
“No, no. I was just thinking of clouds.”
“Clouds?” The doubt in her voice was clear. She shook her head and said, “Anyway, that shirt looks horrible. Let’s go to a shop – I’ll choose something better for you.”
Rehman waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not important. What – ”
Usha cut in, interrupting him. “Not important? Don’t be silly. Nobody will take you seriously if you don’t look the part. Come on, let’s go.”
“Where?” he asked, not rising from his chair, even though she had.
“Khan’s is just opposite. Let’s go there.”
They came out of the café and strolled down the road before crossing it hurriedly, dodging three-wheeled auto-rickshaws, two-wheelers and an overloaded bus leaning to one side from the weight of the passengers hanging off the exits. The doorman opened the glass door to the shop as they reached it.
♦
Neither of them noticed a pair of eyes across the road, following their progress with interest. As soon as they entered the shop, the man took out a mobile phone. “Sir, there’s no doubt…”
