The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3

by Smita Bhattacharya

  ‘What happened? Did I say something wrong?’ she asked, her eyes darting from one to another.

  ‘What new man?’ Filip asked.

  Why's he being so weird today?

  ‘I thought... I saw the servant's room in the backyard... I thought...’

  ‘Why did you go there?’ he asked.

  ‘I had to wash my feet,’ Darya explained.

  After a moment's silence, Filip said, ‘Those are my things. We have too many things inside the house, so we are moving some to the servant's lodge. Nothing to worry yourself about.’

  ‘Too many things in the house,’ Zabel agreed. Parrot-like.

  ‘Okay,’ Darya muttered, discomfited by what looked like a performance for her benefit. But why?

  ‘When did you get a laptop?’

  They stared at her. Neither answered.

  ‘There's a laptop inside the room,’ Darya explained. ‘A Samsung with a strange logo.’

  A sharp intake of breath. Exchange of glances.

  ‘That belongs to a friend. I borrowed it,’ Filip said.

  ‘Mr. Pereira's laptop,’ Zabel mumbled. ‘Filip borrowed it.’

  ‘You should go pick it up before someone steals it. This place is not like it used to be,’ Darya said curtly, miffed at the cold treatment being meted out to her. Then, without another word, she sprinted down the stairs, crossed the hallway, and reached the front door, with Filip following closely behind. As soon as she stepped outside, she heard the click of the latch behind her. Filip had locked the door.

  Her meeting with Francis was a distant memory as Darya walked out of the garden and into the lane. She realized things were about to get much worse when she saw Aaron leaning over the fence of his house. She walked past, determined to ignore him but he seemed to have other ideas.

  ‘Strange people, eh?’ he muttered.

  ‘They're usually all right,’ she said stiffly, not breaking her stride.

  ‘The old man is so jumpy. Is he sick?’ Aaron said.

  She was tempted to ignore him and walk on, but she did want to talk about what had just happened.

  So, she stopped.

  ‘Did you say something to them?’ she asked. ‘They're usually not that way.’

  He shrugged. ‘I brought them some chocolates and a bottle of wine. I was there for about ten minutes before you showed up. It wasn't me.’

  ‘Filip was acting very oddly,’ Darya said. ‘But he hasn't been well since the day of Zabel’s attack.’

  Did she punch him in the head? She chuckled guiltily in her head at the thought.

  ‘Did he say anything about me?’ Aaron asked.

  ‘About you?’ she looked at him, bemused. He didn't seem like the kind who cared about what people thought of him. Perhaps he was trying to make a good impression on his neighbours.

  Better start with me, mister.

  ‘I... well...’ Darya wondered if she should tell him they talked about his parents' accident... that she knew about what happened to them. But she'd never been very good with showing sympathy. She felt the pain all right, but the words... they never came out right. And she wasn't sure whether she would even manage to say anything to Aaron. Especially him. Which would make it worse.

  Sorry, I know your parents died. Uncle Filip and I talked about it. He did seem a bit weird before like he was choking. But he's generally being very weird these days anyway. He remembered the accident from the newspapers. But I already knew of it because Francis had told me.

  And then... silence.

  Not happening.

  ‘He said nothing,’ she muttered. ‘Just that you were a very good man and umm... I should consider to umm... take you out.’ In spite of herself, she blushed. But it was the lesser evil; a less painful fact to cover for a more painful one.

  The import of her few words struck him after a few seconds, and he spluttered in surprise.

  ‘Like on a date?’ he said.

  Was that a blush creeping up his neck?

  Darya nodded, arranging her face in an expression she hoped indicated let it go.

  Then relaxing her shoulders, ‘It was nice of you to visit them,’ she said. ‘You being here only a few days and all.’

  ‘Francis is taking care of the bookstore until I settle in, and I thought I could use this time to know the neighbours,’ he said.

  ‘You know me,’ she said, giving him a smile. ‘How are you liking the place?’

  ‘Good to be so close to the sea,’ he said. ‘I like taking a walk on the beach at night... it's calming.’

  ‘You do know how the residents of your house died, right?’ Darya asked, wryly.

  He laughed. It was a sound so unexpected that Darya stammered, ‘Why did you do that?’

  Just then they were distracted by a commotion outside the Castelino house.

  Filip came hurrying into the garden. He opened the latch of the front gate with one hand, while simultaneously trying to balance a heavy plastic bag in the other. Spotting the two of them, he pressed four of his fingers together and gave a clumsy wave. Then without waiting for a response, rushed to his car, shoved the bag in the back seat, sat in the front and sped away.

  After a shake of her head at the spectacle, Darya walked over to latch Primavera's front gate.

  When back, she murmured, ‘He drove like he was going to meet a member of the mafia.’

  ‘He does look unwell,’ Aaron commented.

  ‘But tell me,’ Darya turned to him. ‘What was so funny in what I said?’

  The half-smile was back on his lips. In her head, Darya termed it, baby-gonna-burp.

  ‘You really want to know?’ he asked. Eyebrows up. Lips turned.

  There. That's why she found him so frustrating.

  Because while he looked like a Lord straight out of a Georgette Heyer novel: handsome, rich, cynical, burnt in love but aching to love again, he was impassable as hell. It appeared to her like he was evaluating everything and everyone around him all the time, including her, but he gave nothing away about himself. That made her wary.

  What was a man if he wasn't open and trustworthy? Easy and laid-back?

  Like Francis.

  ‘You seem to have me all figured out,’ she said bitingly.

  ‘I think I do,’ he said.

  ‘Fat chance,’ she replied.

  The smile... half-a-centimetre-wider. A rock back on his heels.

  Then silence.

  Darya wanted to walk off but bit her tongue and stayed put.

  She'd promised to give him a chance...

  ‘Okay, let me describe what you are like. Tell me if I'm wrong,’ he suggested.

  ‘Why? Why would I want to do it?’ she asked.

  ‘Give me five minutes,’ he said.

  ‘Go on,’ Darya said, feigning disinterest.

  He set his feet apart and looked her in the eye.

  If that was an imitation of a face reader, it was a bad one, Darya thought to herself. It popped at the back of her mind that perhaps he was trying to impress her. Mortified, she crushed the thought.

  Then with a deep breath—‘Here goes,’ he said. ‘I think largely... you are a private person, with a rich internal world. You prefer making deep connections. You're intense about the odd one or two things in your life, but expect a lot in return,’ he said.

  ‘You done?’ she asked in a rather petulant tone.

  But he didn't hear her. The words came out of his mouth, as if by rote.

  ‘You're impulsive. Speak your mind. You share a deep bond with your parents but prefer to keep them away from what's meaningful in your life. To avoid hurting them or you want to keep them from what's shoddy in your life, not sure which. You love deeply and lose yourself in it. It's either zero or one there. But you haven't been very successful in it, because most people cannot love back that way, so now you have trust issues...’

  Darya glared at him. ‘That description might fit half of the world right now,’ she said, but her heartbeat had quickened.
r />   ‘The question is, does it fit you?’ he asked.

  Grudgingly, she nodded.

  ‘Quite accurately,’ she said. ‘Made me realize, I'm not so unique after all.’

  ‘Another thing you want to be,’ Aaron said smiling. ‘Unique. Worthy. You struggle with it every day.’

  ‘Is this a hobby?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘People reading? Or are you trying to impress me with banalities?’

  He didn't take offense. ‘I'm told I'm quite good at it.’

  Strangely, this unflattering description of her calmed her down. He had spoken as if it were a doctor's diagnosis. Her therapist hadn't done half the job he had.

  ‘Is that your jeep?’ he asked, pointing to the Djinn.

  ‘No, that belongs to my uncle. Vidisha told you, remember?’ she said. ‘I'm driving it around for now.’ She waited for the admiration to pour in, but he gave a nod as if it were a routine occurrence.

  ‘Has your uncle driven it a lot?’ he asked. ‘What was his name again?’

  ‘Paritosh Nandkarni,’ she said. ‘And no, not really.’

  The truth was she didn't know. Her father said he used the jeep sparingly and only in the initial years of its purchase. She'd noticed its condition was pretty good too.

  ‘Do you want to drive it sometime? It's a mean vehicle,’ she offered, feeling suddenly magnanimous.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. And the magnanimity didn't go unnoticed because he said next—‘You want to come in?’ pointing to the house.

  ‘Well...’ Darya pursed her lips

  ‘I was thinking we could chat for a bit. I could make you some tea,’ he said. ‘Since we're going to be neighbours, might make sense to know each other better.’

  ‘No more diagnosis,’ Darya said smiling.

  ‘No more,’ he agreed.

  ‘Short visit then,’ she said, stepping into the garden.

  He led her inside. ‘How long are you in Goa for?’ he asked.

  ‘I'm leaving in about two weeks,’ she said. ‘By the twentieth or twenty-first of this month.’

  ‘What are your plans until then?’ he asked.

  He was not that bad a guy, Darya thought to herself. She could be friends with him.

  She was going to try.

  ‘My father had a heart attack after my uncle died. So, I came to sort his things,’ she told him.

  ‘Ah, the folders,’ he said and opened the door. Darya grimaced behind him.

  He might just make going through with her good intentions really, really hard.

  Nothing much had changed inside from the time Darya had visited last. Amongst what looked like Aaron's belongings were a few cartons in one corner of the hall, three new framed photographs on the mantelpiece and a blue shirt on the floor. Darya took a quick look at the photographs as she moved past; Aaron with a group of men in green worker uniforms; Aaron standing beside a beautiful, older woman; Aaron with a smiling Dalai Lama.

  He asked her if she wanted anything to eat or drink. She declined. She didn't fancy tea right then and, in any case, wasn't planning on staying long.

  They settled on high back cane chairs.

  ‘Tell me about your uncle,’ he said.

  She looked at him. ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘Just curious about the people who lived here at Heliconia Lane. I know Vidisha and Gaurav already.’

  She frowned, wondering if she'd heard right. But that was not what...

  ‘You've met Gaurav?’ she asked.

  He seemed taken aback by her question. ‘Yes, once or twice. Outside the bookstore.’

  ‘He's stocky, tall and looks rough,’ she described to make sure he had the right guy, watching him carefully.

  He nodded.

  ‘Yeah, sounds like him. He was with Vidisha,’ he said.

  ‘Vidisha and Gaurav were together?’ Darya asked. Why had Vidisha lied to her?

  Aaron was staring at her now, concerned.

  ‘I thought they are siblings,’ he said, looking confused. ‘Aren't they?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ she was at a loss for words. Why would Vidisha lie to her? Why would she say Gaurav hadn't been answering her calls, she hadn't met him in a while and then... if they'd been meeting and talking and were on good terms, accusing him of their parent's murder?

  It didn't make sense.

  But she didn't want to explain all this to Aaron. He was an outsider. The lesser he knew the better.

  ‘I didn't know he was in town,’ Darya said finally. ‘When did you see him last?’

  ‘A month ago. I think,’ he said.

  ‘How did they seem? Were they talking to each other?’ Darya asked. When he looked at her questioningly, she hastened to add, ‘They haven't been on talking terms... sibling issues.’

  He shrugged. ‘No idea. I'd seen them a couple of times on the street outside. They're hard to miss, Vidisha in particular. But the last time, she introduced herself and her brother.’

  ‘What? Just like that?’

  ‘No, she asked about a book,’ he said. ‘She asked Francis actually, I think.’ He scrunched up his eyes, trying to remember.

  ‘Which book?’ Darya asked.

  ‘I don't recall,’ he said. Leaning back, he rested his elbows on the sides of his chair. ‘So many questions. Why?’

  Darya stared at him, wondering what to tell him.

  ‘I haven't seen Gaurav in a while,’ she said finally. ‘So was just curious.’

  He looked at her like he didn't quite believe her, but luckily for her, let it go.

  To distract him, she launched into a description of Paritosh's life, the salient parts summed in about twenty sentences. She did not mention Veronica or Joseph.

  ‘You did not know him very well,’ was his conclusion at the end of it.

  ‘He became a recluse after his wife died,’ she said. ‘Stopped living fully.’

  He nodded. ‘I know what it's like,’ he said.

  ‘Aaron,’ she started. Hesitated. Time to veer the conversation towards him, she thought. And... she really did want to know more. ‘What did you do before you came to Goa?’ she asked.

  ‘How much has Francis told you?’ Aaron asked.

  She was careful to keep her voice neutral when she said, ‘Not much.’

  A smile.

  ‘Not true, is it?’ he said.

  Darya shrugged.

  ‘Very well. I'll tell you all the same.’ A pause. Then, ‘I completed my M.B.B.S... my medical degree seven years ago. Worked in a hospital for a while... a government one, no less. But then I quit to start my own company,’ he said.

  ‘What was it called?’ Darya asked. ‘Your company?’

  ‘Aurelia Medicals. It manufactures medical gloves and aprons. It was bought over by a big pharmaceutical.’

  ‘Why did you leave?’ Darya asked. ‘Didn't the company do well?’

  He laughed. Like the last time, she got goosebumps.

  ‘On the contrary, it did unexpectedly well,’ he said. ‘I sold it off and made a tidy profit.’

  ‘Then you moved to spiritualism,’ Darya commented, pointing to the picture of Dalai Lama. ‘Because all that money obviously was too much to handle.’

  ‘A smart guess but not quite true,’ he said. ‘My family was Buddhist. That photo was taken when I still hadn't sold.’

  ‘So, why did you?’ Darya asked.

  ‘To try something else. I started the bookstore in Goa. I love books and I love Goa. I thought I should spend a few years here to figure out my life.’

  Like she was trying to do.

  With one difference though: she never did anything; things happened to her. She could never take a risk as he had, and she had tried. At least she had thought about trying, once or twice. But each time her throat clammed up, her palms grew sweaty and the walls threatened to close in on her. It was the fear of this panic rather than defeat itself that made her stick to the comfort of the familiar: loving toxic people; working in jobs she was ill-equipped to do; living in the same
apartment infested with leaks, cracks, and lizards year after year.

  Then just like that, it flashed in front of her eyes... the night she almost gave up... when she tore across the hospital corridor, breathing heavily, her hair loose, the hospital's white gown flapping behind her. She had tried to hurl herself out of a window. Then realizing it was shut, tried to unclasp it. It wouldn't open, so she shattered it with her elbows. Then stood back to marvel at how easy it had been.

  Absently, she scratched the scars in her hand. She had been in such a frenzy that they had needed two male orderlies to pull her back. Luckily for her, Veda's boyfriend was a well-known obstetrician in the same hospital and had managed to hush the whole thing up. No criminal case, no report to her parents. Darya had begged and begged and later blamed the medicines for impairing her judgement.

  She swallowed hard.

  She couldn't let him know what she was thinking... what she was feeling inside.

  ‘Okay,’ she mumbled, feeling the beads of sweat on her brows. She didn't want to reach out to wipe them off.

  But they didn't go unnoticed.

  ‘What is it?’ Aaron asked, leaning towards her.

  Their eyes met.

  She was warming up to him. He was interested in knowing about her. He was listening.

  ‘Just some stuff,’ she told him, but not too impolitely. ‘Things haven't been too well lately.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asked. ‘Is it about your uncle?’

  She looked at him. Then thought, perhaps he could answer the question she was wondering about a lot these days—

  ‘Aaron. How do you stop missing the people you once loved?’

  He gave her a soft, sad smile.

  ‘You can never forget the people you loved,’ he said. ‘You get used to them not being there, that's all. You make peace with it.’

  ‘But it's painful.’

  ‘It is,’ he said. ‘But the pain comes and goes, right? It's not permanent. So, the next time it comes, feel it, accept it and then tell yourself, you're going to be happy again soon.’

  ‘But the pain’s gonna be back,’ she said, hearing the childlike tone in her voice but surprised to also note she was not ashamed of it.

  He nodded. ‘Make it your friend. Don't fear it. Accept it like you would happiness.’

  They sat in silence, lost in thought.