by Tikiri
Yes, very different.
Part SIX
If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant
Anne Bradstreet
Chapter Thirty
Tim’s soft lips felt like sweet honey and fire. I shivered with pleasure.
“Happy birthday, cutie,” he said, looking into my eyes, his arms encircling my waist. I was standing on tiptoe, leaning against his broad chest, melting like butter. I reached up half-nervously, half-excitedly, searching for another kiss.
Mrs. Rao was having a late supper by herself in the dining room above us. She’d been a little distracted lately. I’d noticed recently the letters from the West End Collection Agency came in more frequently. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but the unanswered phone calls had become even more incessant.
I’d cooked dinner exactly as Mrs. Rao had asked. That night, she’d wanted curry and something “sweet and alcoholy” for dessert. So I’d cooked up a Thai red curry and served it with steamed Jasmin rice sprinkled with black mustard and scallion. On the side buffet, I’d left a white ramekin of caramel pudding spiced with cloves and cardamom, and a glass of blood-red port. She was going to be happy with her supper, I was sure.
Like every evening for the past year and a half, I knew exactly what Mrs. Rao was up to in the dining room. Every time I brought dinner up, Mr. Raj Kapur would hop onto a free chair next to her. A slight wag of the tail and a well-timed big-brown-eyed look was all he needed to persuade her to hand-feed him bits of food, despite the vet’s advice. He was as overweight as his owner, but Mrs. Rao didn’t care. Even if she did, she’d be too preoccupied to notice him licking her plate.
As usual, I’d turned on the giant flat-screen TV on the dining room wall to the Bollywood satellite channel. I’d discovered it on my third day at Mrs. Rao’s house, when I’d come up an hour after serving her meal only to find a half-eaten plate and Mrs. Rao sobbing into her napkin. I’d glanced at the screen. Two star-crossed lovers were being separated by warring families, each forcefully held back by parents, siblings, and who-knew-what relatives in a remote village somewhere in Bollywoodland. Threats of murder, plunder, and suicide rang out with passion from the surround-sound system—the typical hyper-drama I remembered my mother loved to watch.
Seeing me, Mrs. Rao had quickly dabbed her eyes with her napkin and scowled. She had not been pleased at my intrusion. From then on, I left her alone after dinner and cleaned up first thing in the morning instead. I made sure to leave a box of tissues next to the dining table every night.
Since Bollywood made the longest movies in the world, Mrs. Rao would be fixated on the screen for at least three hours every evening, twice that, if she decided to watch a second movie. This meant suppertime was the best time for Tim to visit.
Tim caressed my neck and removed a strand of hair from my cheek. His chocolate-brown eyes melted into mine. My heart skipped a beat. Kissing Tim was heaven, sweeter than licking a pineapple ice pop because of the way it made my heart beat wildly and my legs go squishy. With his dreamy eyes and buff body, I knew the other girls thought him cute, which made me feel lucky he’d even said hello to me.
When I’d walked into school the first day, no one talked to me. No one even noticed me. But I was accustomed to this now. I’d always been the invisible black sheep everywhere I went, and after having lived in almost a dozen countries, I was used to being the one everyone ignored and kept their distance from. This didn’t mean it was easy. I cried on the first day of school, every time, and this school was no exception.
So, I was surprised Tim had even looked at me, let alone sat next to me in the school cafeteria on the second day. Then, I learned it was his second day as well.
Tim’s true name was Tsing Tong Hank. He got his first name from his Chinese mother and his last name from his German father, a mix that gave him the best looks from both continents. At his old school in Seattle, his classmates had laughed hysterically every time the teacher called his name during roll call. That was a slight improvement from grade school, where the other kids had followed him around singing “Ding Dong.” So the day he started high school in Toronto, where his parents had moved to take care of Tim’s grandfather, he changed his name.
We’d been dating officially for one whole month now, and we spent lunch hour together, and every spare moment we could find. Hanging out with Tim was an escape from the weird world at Mrs. Rao’s house. I had a calendar in my basement room, on which I counted the months, weeks, and days till I’d leave this place. But when I was with Tim, all those troubles melted away, and I lived, just lived, even if my heart knew it wouldn’t be forever.
We’d been in my basement room fooling around, forgetting time. It was close to nine at night, and time for my first high school party, a party my new friend Katy had organized for my sixteenth birthday. I’d stopped celebrating my birthday since I was twelve, since it coincided with my parents’ funeral. Now, four years later, all I wanted was to spend this day with people I cared about, even if it was people I was only beginning to know.
“Hey, can I have one before we go?” Tim said, eyeing the cake tray on the bedside table. “I’m starved.”
“Sure, if you can’t wait for the party,” I said. I’d made twenty-four raspberry cheese cupcakes, each one with a red raspberry crown and brushed with edible snow-white glaze from Mrs. Rao’s pantry.
With Tim in my life now, the world was bright, and everything was possible. I’d stayed up the night before, after my chores were done, and had skipped across the kitchen floor, trying not to make too much noise and wake up Mrs. Rao or Mr. Raj Kapur. I’d hummed softly as I’d measured ingredients, mixed batter, and swirled the icing into the wee hours of the night, fantasizing about kissing Tim again the next day. It was not only flour, honey, and milk I added to the cakes. I’d also poured in boundless cups of teenage puppy love.
“Yum,” Tim said, picking the biggest cake and downing it in two bites. His arm snaked behind me toward the tray. “Can I have another one?”
“No, Tim,” I said, gently slapping his hand away. “These are for the party, remember?”
“Hey, I’ve got something for the celebration too.” He pulled a square bottle from his pocket. “Look what I got,” he said, grinning. I took the bottle and turned it in my hand.
“Jamaican rum,” I said, reading the label. I remembered my father used to drink the occasional glass of rum after work. Unlike whiskey, with its bitter, smoky smell, rum smelled sweet. I’d always wanted to try it, but he’d never let me.
“Have you had rum before?” Tim asked.
I shook my head.
“I’m gonna mix this with Coke for ya. You’ll like it, I promise.” He lowered his voice. “It’ll be your get-out-of-jail drink.”
“But I’m not supposed to….”
“Hey, you need to learn to have fun.”
I removed myself from his embrace and opened the wardrobe to find a top for the party. “I don’t know anyone who’s coming. I’m really happy Katy’s putting this on for me, but I feel like everyone knows everyone at school, except me.”
Six months had passed since I’d started school, and though I was slowly being accepted, I still felt like an outsider because I couldn’t really hang out with anyone after school, couldn’t use the phone, and couldn’t go to any of the parties. Other than Tim and Katy, not many said hello.
“Don’t I count?” Tim gave me a mock insulted look. “I’m new too, remember? Besides, Katy’s fun, and she puts on amazing parties. You should’ve been there last Saturday. It was awesome.”
A tiny jealous pang went through me. Tim and Katy got along well and he’d been to her house parties many times before. I shook my head, trying to get rid of my green feelings, but it wasn’t easy. Katy was not only the school’s most popular party maker, she was also drop-dead gorgeous.
If it hadn’t been for her upturned freckled nose, she’d have been selected by the teen model company that visited our school la
st month. Katy was as tall as I was short. Bouncy red curls framed her freckled face and fell gently on her shoulders, and her green eyes looked like those of a beautiful, exotic kitten. She wore cute miniskirts to show off her long legs, but what every girl in school envied the most, and what I coveted too, were her pretty red heels. She always had on a shiny pair of two-inch red heels, and she seemed to have one of every kind, with bows, sashes, buckles, and even shiny fake stones.
The red sandals I’d loved so much were worn now, held together by staples and Sellotape. They no longer fit and made me feel like I was still a schoolgirl back in Africa, back in that musty school library surrounded by books. Katy was surrounded by cool friends everywhere she went. All the boys wanted to be with her and all the girls wanted to be her, and I wanted nothing more than a pair of sexy red heels just like hers.
Like Tanya, Bethany, and Shanti, the cool girls at the international school in Dar es Salaam, I’d expected Katy to snub me, but she always had a friendly smile on her pink lips.
In East Africa, buxom was beautiful. In North America, skinny was in style. I remembered Mrs. Ngozi pinching my cheeks and saying to my mother, “This girl’s skin and bones. How will she ever find a good husband one day? You need to feed her more of those cakes of yours, I tell you.” I was glad to finally be the size everyone else craved to be.
I still spoke with a funny accent and everyone still asked me where I was from, but then, everyone here came from somewhere else or many places, all at once. The best thing about this new school was there was no über-strict school monitor watching my every move. This meant, I was free to let my hair down and dress as I wished. I wore the hand-me-down jeans and faded T-shirts I found in my closet at Mrs. Rao’s. They didn’t fit, but they were not much different from what everyone else wore to school.
Katy was the only one in our class to have a real job, a company van and a shiny shirt badge that said “Assistant Manager.” Every afternoon after school, she drove her old van to the Next Day Catering Company downtown. Compared to her, my work at Mrs. Rao’s home didn’t sound like a real job. I had no title or badge or company car, and I was on call twenty-four hours a day.
Every evening, Mrs. Rao immersed herself in smelly bath salts and gooey gels of all kinds in her tub, surrounded by candles. That meant, every morning before school, I had to scrub and remove the candle wax and leftover gel stuck to the tub, and return the bathroom to its glory before cleaning up the dining table from the night before. That day, I’d woken up at four thirty to clean the bathtub, do the laundry, and make Mrs. Rao’s breakfast. After school, I’d vacuumed, mopped, and made dinner. My muscles ached just thinking about everything I’d done that day.
But now, I had to get ready for the party. My party. I changed into a clean T-shirt and fastened on the ankle bracelet Preeti had given me. I removed it only when I was cleaning the house, but otherwise wore it all the time, even to bed. It was my only link back to Preeti, back to my family, and to Goa. It jingled pleasantly as I moved.
“Mrs. Rao’s going to throw a fit, if she ever finds out I’m gone tonight,” I said.
“She’s not your mother,” Tim said.
“She’s my aunt,” I said, looking away. It was a lie, but an essential one. I hoped he didn’t notice.
“Doesn’t mean she can dictate your life, Cinderella,” Tim said. “It’s time I saved you from your wicked step-aunt.”
I laughed. Tim made me feel giddy, like I was the most special girl in the world. It was one reason I was risking a lot by going out this evening. I ran a brush through my hair and put on the dangly earrings I’d bought at a street stall in Goa in my previous life. “Okay, I’m ready,” I said, checking myself one more time in the bedroom mirror.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Tim said, admiring me from the bed. “Can I kiss you now?” He pulled me close. I cuddled up to him.
Buzzzzzz!
We sprang apart like we’d been shocked by an electric prod.
Chapter Thirty-one
“What the heck was that?” Tim said, stunned.
“The buzzer!” I jumped on the bed to reach it. Mrs. Rao had told me to always answer without delay. Being asleep or being in the washroom were no excuses. I glanced at Tim and put a finger to my lips. He nodded with a dazed look on his face. I pushed the white button.
“Asha?” Mrs. Rao’s deep voice came through the intercom. I could hear Mr. Raj Kapur chomping loudly on something, leftover fish on her plate, most probably.
“Yes, Mrs. Rao.”
“I don’t want you leaving your room tonight. It is the full moon. Do you understand?”
“Oh? Ah—”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, Mrs. Rao. I mean, yes, Mrs. Rao.”
“Good. I will see you at seven in the morning, then. Please have my breakfast ready, as usual.”
“As usual, Mrs. Rao,” I said and lifted my finger from the button.
“Oh no. I totally forgot,” I said, sinking into the bed, feeling like a deflated balloon. “I’m not allowed to leave my room tonight.” I wasn’t normally allowed out any other night either, but during full moon night, it was a specific house rule.
“Why the heck not?” Tim asked. “It’s your birthday!”
“Because it’s a full moon.”
He gave me a look that said, Are you mad?
“I mean, it’s a bad night to go out…” I added in a lame voice.
“Are you gonna turn into a werewolf or something?”
“Of course not.”
“Is Mrs. Rao gonna turn into a werewolf tonight?”
“Tim.…”
“You can’t just not show up to your own party. Katy’s gonna be pissed!”
I sighed loudly. This was not just my first birthday party since my parents died, it was also my first real going-out-together date with Tim, and a chance to get to know Katy and maybe even make some new friends. I couldn’t bear the thought of missing all this.
“It’s my job.” I gave Tim a doleful look.
“Your job?” He gave me a puzzled frown.
I looked at the floor. Where do I even begin to explain?
“She sounds like a nutcase.”
“It’s a house rule,” I said. “Whenever there’s a full moon, I’m not supposed to leave my room. And I completely forgot tonight’s a full moon.”
“That’s crazy shit. This is not normal. Doesn’t she know it’s your birthday?”
I sighed again. Of course, Mrs. Rao didn’t know. She couldn’t care less.
“That’s it,” Tim said, picking up his jacket and putting it on. “You’ve been cooped up way too long. Your aunt’s totally batty and you’re going nuts too. We’re leaving now and I’m gonna bring you back by two a.m. By then, she’ll be snoring away.” He stood near the window, motioning me to follow him out with the other hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”
My room was in the sunken basement at the back of the house. Mrs. Rao slept two floors up in the master bedroom. The windows in my room were at ground level, so it was easy to sneak in and out using the bedside table as a giant stepping stool. After that, all you had to do was climb over the back steel fence, which had bars at just the right height. That was how Tim had got in that evening, and every evening before that. I could just as easily follow him out. No one would hear me coming in later, not even Mr. Raj Kapur. His yappy barking could wake up the world, but he had slept through every time Tim had sneaked in the basement window.
I hesitated, my heart beating a tad faster at the thought of disobeying a major house rule. I knew what Mrs. Rao’s wrath could be like. “What if she buzzes and finds out I’m gone?”
“Does she buzz you during full moon nights?”
I shook my head. “Never. Not even for a glass of water.”
“So, she’ll never know you’re gone then.”
“Yes, but…” I stammered.
“I can’t believe how shitty she treats you,” he said. “She’s a slave
driver.”
“I’m not a slave,” I said, feeling slightly offended that he’d think I’d stooped that low. “She pays me for my work. Well, not me exactly. It goes into my account in India.”
“What?”
“It’s to help my aunty who’s sick and my cousin who needs to go to school back in—”
“She’s lying,” Tim said with a snort. “You’re a slave.”
“I’ve got a contract to prove….” I stopped, realizing how much I’ve been sharing.
“A contract? You have a contract with your own aunt? What a weird woman. How can you stand her?”
“Things are good for me here. Plus I get to go to school.”
That was true. I had a safe place to live and even my own private bathroom. I had barely enough space to move in it, but after sharing a dirty communal toilet with twenty other women for two years, it was heaven. I even had a small desk for books in my room. Best of all, I got to go to school. Though they didn’t have a martial arts program like at my international schools in East Africa, they didn’t have strict dress codes or a school monitor like in Goa either. They also didn’t have a mind-boggling hierarchy of middle students, senior students, junior teachers, and superior teachers, all of whom reminded you of your place.
What I liked best about my new school was there was less memorizing and more real learning. My new teachers encouraged questions and ideas, and gave me points for participating, unlike in India where good school girls sat quietly in the back and got points for obeying orders and staying silent. I finally enjoyed going to school. Even with my backbreaking work schedule, I’d never felt freer.
I only had eight more months to go, before returning to India. I dreamed of making enough money that I could first fly to Tanzania to visit my parents’ graves, then fly back to Goa and buy a house as big as Mrs. Rao’s, where Preeti and Aunty Shilpa and Grandma could live with me. I’d already written to Franky about it.
