‘There you go. Anyway, life’s best gifts are free,’ she said and pulled her hair back to tie them with a rubber band.
I nodded. Ok, enough is enough, my inner Mr Logical told me. Time to study.
I opened the books. She asked the dreaded question. ‘So how come you called?’
‘I told you,’ I mumbled.
‘Did you really miss me?’ she said and put her palm on my hand.
I pulled it back in reflex. She looked surprised.
‘I am sorry, Vidya. I shouldn’t. I have my business to focus on and this is really not my thing, but…,’ I said and turned away. I couldn’t talk when I looked at her. Or rather, I couldn’t talk when she looked at me.
‘It’s ok, you don’t have to be sorry,’ she said.
‘It’s not ok. I don’t have time for emotions,’ I said in a firm voice, ‘and this is not the place anyway. My best friend’s sister? What the fuck … oops, sorry.’
She giggled.
‘Be serious, Vidya. This is not right. I am your teacher, your brother trusts me as a friend, I have responsibilities – loans, business and a mother. You are not even eighteen.’
‘Two months,’ she wiggled two fingers. ‘Two months and I will turn eighteen. Time to bring me another nice gift. Anyway, please continue.’
‘Well, whatever. The point is, significant reasons exist for me not to indulge in illogical emotions. And I want…’
She stood up and came to my side. She sat on the flimsy armrest of my plastic chair.
She put her finger on my mouth. She cupped my face in her palms.
‘You don’t shave that often eh? Ew,’ she said. She threw a tiny spit ball in the air.
‘What?’ I said and looked at her.
‘I think a mosquito kissed me,’ she said and spit again, ‘is it still there in my mouth?’
She opened her mouth and brought it close. Her lips were eight millimetres apart from mine.
Soon the gap reduced to zero. I don’t know if I came towards her or she came towards me. The tiny distance made it difficult to ascertain who took the initiative. I felt something warm on my lips and realised that we have come too close, or maybe too far.
We kissed again. The mosquitoes on our respective heads rejoined.
I’d love to say I saw stars and heard sweet music during my first kiss. But the dominating background sounds were (a) Vidya’s mom’s pressure cooker whistle from downstairs in the kitchen, (b) the campaign sounds from the autos of various parties for the upcoming elections and (c) the constant buzz of the mozzies. But when you are in the middle of a kiss, sound and sight get muted. I checked once to see if the other terraces were empty. Then I closed my eyes.
‘Vidya, what are we doing,’ I said, not letting her go. I couldn’t stop. Probability, algebra, trigonometry and calculus – the passion held back in all those classes came blazing out.
‘It’s fine, it’s fine,’ she kept reassuring me and kissing me.
We broke away from each other because even passionate people need oxygen. She looked at me with a big grin.
I packed my pens and books. No maths tonight.
‘Why aren’t you making eye contact?’ She remarked, mischief in her voice.
I kept silent.
‘You are older than me and a hundred times better than me in maths. But, in some ways, I am way more mature than you.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ I challenged weakly, collecting the textbooks.
She pulled my chin up.
‘I am turning eighteen. I can do whatever I want,’ she said. The loudspeaker of a campaign auto continued in the background. ‘I can vote in that election,’ she continued, ‘I can have a bank account, I can marry, I can…’
‘Study. You can also try to get into a good college,’ I interrupted her.
She laughed. We stood up and walked over to the watertank on the terrace. We leaned against the tank and saw the sunset. We talked about everything other than maths. I told her about the academy, the dinner with Fred, the blue Australian sky and the foamy water on Bondi beach.
She listened in excitement. She said she wished she could have a home on the beach and how she would colour the walls inside pink and yellow. It is amazing how specific girls can get about hypothetical scenarios.
‘Want coffee?’ she said.
‘You’ll have to go down?’ I said as I held her hand on instinct. A voice in me still protested, but now that voice had no volume.
‘No, I have a secret stash under the water tank. Come,’ she said and pulled at my hand.
The five feet cubical cement water tank was raised from the ground on reinforced concrete pillars. Between the tank and the ground, there was a gap of four feet. We could sit on the ground under the tank.
‘This is my favourite place since I was a kid,’ she said.
I bent on my knees and slid inside, following her. She pulled out a picnic basket. It had a thermos flask, red plastic cups and Marie biscuits.
‘Welcome to Vidya’s rooftop café sir,’ she said and passed me a cup.
I looked at her. She is too beautiful to study maths. Maths is for losers like me.
I took a sip. My lips still felt the sensation of her lips. I rested on my elbow but the concrete surface hurt.
‘I’ll get cushions next time,’ she said.
‘It’s fine,’ I said.
We finished our coffee and came out. We switched on the terrace bulb. I flipped through the textbook to forget the kisses and coffee. The symbols of integration looked dull for the first time in my life. At one level, maths does suck.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘For what?’ she said.
‘For the coffee and the … you know.’
She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. ‘Thanks for the gift, the gift of true close friendship.’
True-close-friendship, another hyphenated tag. It meant progress.
I came down the steps passed through the living room on the way out.
‘What a good, responsible boy. Ish hasn’t learnt anything from him,’ Vidya’s father was saying to his wife as I shut the door behind.
I could have done my accounts much faster if I didn’t have the parallel SMS conversation. My phone beeped a fifth time.
‘Who the hell are you SMSing?’ Omi asked from the counter.
It was six in the evening, almost time to shut the shop. Ish had gone to one of the KVs and Omi had to leave soon for the evening aarti. Two dozen invoices, notebooks, pens and a calculator surrounded me.
‘Nothing, I am bargaining with a supplier,’ I said. I turned the phone to silent mode.
‘Call him,’ Omi said.
‘I’ll look desperate. I’d rather he calls first.’
‘Do the accounts first, Govind. So many unpaid orders, it is a complete mess,’ Omi said, popping a candy from the jar into his mouth. I let it pass. Anything to get his mind off the SMSs.
My phone flashed again.
itz my bday.
i celebr8 my way.
u’ll get cake or not??
I had saved Vidya’s number as ‘Supplier Vidyanath’ in my phone, in case anyone picked it up. Also, I deleted her messages as soon as I read them.
‘I hope you are staying away from Ish’s sister?’ Omi said. My hands froze as I manipulated the messages. I told myself, It is a coincidence. Omi doesn’t know who I am messaging to. Be cool.
I replied to the SMS.
Ok, u win. will get a small 1.
now let me work. you study 2. ☺
I kept the phone aside. Smiley faces had entered my life.
‘I teach her, Omi. Just a few months for her entrance exams,’ I said. I dug myself deep into the paperwork.
‘Does she…,’ Omi began.
‘Can I do the accounts or should we gossip about my students?’ I glared at Omi.
Mama came running to our shop. ‘Switch on the TV fast.’
‘Two planes crashed into the World Trade Center Twin Towers located in New
York,’ the BBC news channel reader said. The live visual was incredible even by sci-fi movie standards. The hundredstorey tall twin towers had deep incisions in the middle, like someone had cut through loaves of bread.
‘Two planes in a row suggest a planned terrorist attack,’ a military intelligence expert said on the TV. ‘The world will never be the same again,’ the Israeli prime minister said.
We half-closed the shutters. Everyone in the temple gathered around TV sets where the towers crumbled down again and again in replay. Smoke, soot and concrete dust filled the streets of New York. Reports said thousands may be dead.
‘What the…,’ Ish said as he returned to the shop.
‘Muslim terrorists, I guarantee you,’ Mama said as his phone rang. He saw the number and stood in attention.
‘Parekh-ji?’ Mama said, his voice subservient.
I couldn’t hear Parekh-ji’s words.
‘I am watching it,’ Mama said, ‘They are turning into a menace. Yes, yes sir we are ready for the elections Parekh-ji, yes,’ Mama said, wiping sweat off his chest, ‘Belrampur is not a problem … yes, other neighbourhoods need work but you know Hasmukh-ji. He doesn’t spend as much time…’
Bittoo Mama stepped away from us. Parekh-ji gave him tips on the elections next week.
Later at night, pictures of the first suspects were released. Four Muslim boys had joined a flying school a few months back. They had hijacked the plane using office box cutter knives and caused one of the most spectacular man-made disasters of the world. A stick-thin old man called Bin Laden released an amateur video, claiming it was all his big idea.
‘What’s up?’ Omi asked Mama as he ended his call.
‘Hasmukh-ji takes everything for granted. He doesn’t pound the streets of his constituency.’
‘Parekh-ji is not happy?’ Omi said.
‘He is fine with me. He isn’t too worried. The bye-election is only for two seats in Gujarat. The real elections are next year.’
‘Mama, so next year,’ Omi said and patted Mama’s back, ‘we will have an MLA in the family.’
The temple bells rang to signify time for the final aarti. Omi and Mama stood up to leave.
‘I have to show Parekh-ji I deserve it. Winning this seat will help,’ Mama said.
‘You need any more help?’ Omi asked. ‘You already did so much,’ Mama said and kissed Omi, ‘but we must put extra effort next week. Parekh-ji said these attacks could work in our favour. Let’s tell everyone at the puja.’ They left the shop and went inside the temple.
‘Your phone flashed. Is it on silent?’ Ish said. He collected all the invoices scattered on the ground. We were closing the shop for the night.
‘Oh, must be by mistake,’ I said and picked it up, ‘a supplier is sending me messages’.
I opened supplier Vidyanath’s message.
when I study, I think kisses
u and only u, v misses
I put the phone in my pocket.
‘What? Trying to sell you something?’ Ish said.
‘Yes, wooing me, hard,’ I said as I locked the cashbox.
‘I knew it, that old man wouldn’t listen,’ Mama said.
His mood alternated between anger and tears. It was hard for a tough, grown-up man like him to cry. However, it was even harder to work for months and lose an election. We stood outside the counting booths. Electoral officers were still tallying the last few votes, though the secular party had already started rolling drumbeats outside.
‘Look at the Belrampur votes,’ Mama pointed to the ballot boxes. ‘Clean sweep for the Hindu party. That’s my area. The two other neighbourhoods given to me, we won majority votes there, too.’
His group of a dozen twenty-something supporters held their heads down.
‘And look what happened in the other neighbourhoods. That Muslim professor has nothing to do all day. He even met the old ladies. But Hasmukh-ji? Huh, chip on shoulder about being upper caste. Cannot walk the lanes and feels he can win elections by waving from the car. And look, he ran away two hours into the counting.’
Mama wiped his face with his hands and continued. ‘Am I not from a priest’s family? Did I not go to the sewer-infested lanes of the Muslim pols? Aren’t there Hindu voters there? Why didn’t he go?’
The secular party workers jeered at Mama’s team. Tempers rose as a few of Mama’s team members heckled the drum player.
‘It’s going to get ugly,’ I told Omi in his ear, ‘let’s get out of here.’
‘I can’t go. Mama needs me,’ Omi said.
A white Mercedes drove up infront of the vote-counting station. A jeep of bodyguards came alongside. The guards surrounded the area as the Mercedes’ door opened. Parekh-ji stepped outside.
Mama ran to Parekh-ji. He lay down on the ground and touched Parekh-ji’s feet.
‘I am your guilty man. Punish me,’ Mama said, his voice heavy.
Parekh-ji placed both his hands on Mama’s head. ‘Get up, Bittoo.’
‘No, no. I want to die here. I let the greatest man down,’ Mama continued to bawl.
Parekh-ji gave the youngsters a firm glance. Everyone backed off. Parekh-ji lifted Mama up by the shoulders, ‘Come, let’s go for dinner to Vishala. We need to talk.’
Mama walked towards Parekh-ji’s car, his head still down.
‘Come son,’ Parekh-ji said to Omi. Ish and I looked at each other. Maybe it was time for Ish and me to vanish.
‘Can Ish and Govind come along? They came to Gandhinagar,’ Omi said. I guess he wanted us to have a treat at Vishala, normally unaffordable for us.
Parekh-ji looked at us and tried to place us. I don’t know if he could.
‘Hop into the jeep,’ he said.
The Vishala Village Restaurant and Utensils Museum is located at the outskirts of Ahmedabad, in the village of Sarkhej. Along with a craft museum and village courtyards, there is an ethnic restaurant that serves authentic Gujarati cuisine.
We took a semi-private room with seating on the clay floor. Parekh-ji’s security staff sat outside, near the puppet show for kids. Their guns made the guest’s importance known to the waiters and ensured us good service. Within minutes, we had two dozen dishes in front of us.
‘Eat, and don’t get so sentimental about politics. Emotional speeches are fine, but in your mind always think straight,’ Parekh-ji lectured Mama.
We gorged on the dhokla, khandvi, ghugra, gota, dalwada and several other Gujarati snacks. I felt full even before the main course arrived.
‘Now, listen,’ Parekh-ji said as he finished his glass of mint chaas, ‘things are not as they seem. Hasmukh-ji’s defeat has a back story. We expected it.’
‘What?’ Mama said while Omi, Ish and I made valiant inroads into the food.
‘Hasmukh-ji’s seniority in the party earned him a ticket. But he is part of the old school. The same school as the current chief minister. Our high command in Delhi is not happy with them.’
‘They are not?’ Mama echoed stupidly.
‘No. We might be a Hindu party, but it doesn’t mean we preach religion all day and do no work. Gujarat is a place of business, it is not a lazy place. The high command did not like the way the administration handled the earthquake. People lost a lot in that. I know you boys did too,’ he turned to us.
We nodded. The mention of the earthquake still hurt.
‘The by-elections for these seats came as a boon. The old school put their candidate. We knew they were weak. Of course, hardworking people like Bittoo tried their best. But, a dud candidate is a dud candidate. So we lost both the seats. With the main elections in twelve months, the entire party machinery is shaken up. And the high command finally gets a chance to make a change.’
‘What change?’ Mama said.
‘They are replacing the chief minister.’
‘What? For losing two seats?’ Mama said, ‘the total number of seats is…’
‘A hundred and eighty plus,’ Parekh-ji said as he broke his bajra roti, ‘but
like I said, it gave a reason to change. And Gujarat is vital to our party. We can’t afford to lose it.’
‘Who is the new chief minister?’ Mama said.
‘They’ll announce the name in a few days. He is an old friend of mine. He is tough, determined and honest. With him I feel confident about going to the elections next year.’
‘We’ll do whatever it takes, Parekh-ji. My life is yours,’ Mama said as the servers replenished our daal and kadhi for the third time.
‘I like you, Bittoo,’ Parekh-ji said, looking at us.
‘Parekh-ji, could I get a ticket for the elections next year? You know my commitment,’ Mama said.
Parekh-ji’s face turned firm.
‘I am sorry if I overstepped,’ Mama said.
Parekh-ji broke into a grin. ‘No, we need ambitious people like you in the party. But Bittoo, there are only so many tickets. And we have tens of thousands of workers. You are good, committed and I want to help you. But…’
‘But what, Parekh-ji? Guide me.’
‘To break into the top rank, you need to not only do work, but do work that gets you noticed. Understand?’
Mama nodded slowly.
‘I am not criticising you. I am giving you advice to get to the next level as you have the potential. Don’t just follow, take initiative. That makes a leader, right?’
‘I will take young people to Ayodhya on organised trips every month. We’ll guide them on our heritage and increase our support base.’
‘Good, keep doing that. Come with me to meet the high command when you have done more. And then I will give you an extra push. Deal?’
Parekh-ji put his hand forward to shake hands. Mama took his hand straight to Parekh-ji’s feet, the preferred body-part for interaction with one’s superiors in politics.
‘No dessert here or what?’ Parekh-ji said as there was a delay after the main courses were cleared.
‘Who will get the aamras for the sahib?’ Mama screamed at the waiters.
Sixteen
‘Where’s your smallest chocolate cake?’ I was at Navrangpura’s Ten, the best cake shop in Ahmedabad.
Vidya turned eighteen on 19 November 2001. She could now officially make her own decisions. Unofficially, she had done that since birth.
The 3 Mistakes of My Life Page 17
