Something I'm Waiting to Tell You

by Shravya Bhinder

  ‘I will show you something.’ The moment the words slipped out of my mouth I knew that I was doing something really stupid; it was all so premature. But I have a foot-in-mouth problem and I couldn’t not go ahead with what I had started. So I picked up the bracelet from the top of my bedside table and dangled it in front of the screen. ‘This suits you,’ I said, not looking her in the eye. I was worried that maybe I had taken the concern in her voice for something else.

  ‘Oh my God! How did you get it?’ She asked me, wide-eyed. Was she not aware that her mother had thrown it at my face one day when I had visited her at the hospital and told me never to come close to Adira ever again? Maybe not; what person would describe such a cruel act to their child even if it was done to protect them.

  ‘Your mother had it, it was handed over to her by the doctors when you were in the hospital,’ I informed her carefully, editing the details of how exactly the scene unfolded.

  ‘I thought that it was lost during . . . you know the . . . ac . . . accident but it survived.’ Her eyes pooled in the corners and I hated the sight. Whether she was crying tears of sorrow or joy didn’t matter, they were tears nevertheless.

  ‘Barely, this barely survived. It was broken at the clasp and charms were missing.’ It was broken just like our . . . I wanted to add.

  ‘I got it repaired for you but never had the guts to bring it along. It would have opened wounds,’ I confessed, playing with the charms on the bracelet.

  ‘Why? I want it back. It belongs to me and neither Mummy nor you have the right to keep it away from me,’ she said, pouting like a stubborn child. She was still looking at the bracelet in awe with her furrowed eyebrows. I had almost forgotten how big her eyes were and how dreamy they looked at night. I could think of every possibility swimming in those eyes; they could make me do things I would regret, say things that were not appropriate. So, I focused on the bracelet instead.

  ‘Bring it along when you come here,’ she instructed, breaking the spell.

  ‘Yes I will, you sleep now,’ I told her half-heartedly as I knew that she needed rest to recover and also because I didn’t want to say and feel things that I had no right to. I was under her spell, and she knew it.

  ‘Mmm . . . I will sleep. Where is Samba?’ She kept asking me questions, making me fall deeper into her world.

  She wanted to know everything now—how was I planning to move to Chandigarh while the lockdown was in place, did I get the work-from-home approvals, what would be my living arrangements while in the city, did I want to stay close to her to keep an eye on her? Was Samba to come along, too, at the same time? How was my sister doing? When was the second baby due? How was the app coming along? And a million other things.

  So, our call lasted till the early hours of the morning. I was not complaining, not at all. I was happy to be talking to her like nothing had happened between us, but the reality was that a lot had transpired and we were not a couple any more. While she didn’t have any other man in her life, I knew that I would be in a mess emotionally if we kept talking the way we were. But I still couldn’t just disconnect the call. I didn’t dare do so. I couldn’t break my own heart, which was again weaving dreams of a life with her.

  Life is so fulfilling when you accept that you can never control anything. It is a free fall and all you can do before your time is up is to enjoy the journey. The fall is beautiful, exhilarating, but out of our control.

  Ronnie

  Time and again I have been made aware by life that I am not a superhero. My wishes are not above the law or nature. No matter what plans I make, they seldom become a reality. While I had abruptly planned that I was going to move my base to Chandigarh, would magically find a place to stay within my budget during the pandemic, and thus would get to meet Adira every day, my life had other plans. After more than a dozen calls to people who had time and again boasted of their magical skills of getting work done, I realized that it was not child’s play to firstly get an exception to move across state borders during the twenty-one-day lockdown. All the promises of ‘Bhai, tere liye kuch bhi’ (Anything for you, brother) failed the test of time.

  So I was stuck in Delhi with only my companion who loved to snore underneath my bed. My sister had a son during the same time and I became an uncle once again. It was a little embarrassing to tell Adira further details on the move mainly because her mother gloated right next to her. I could feel my ears burning every time she made sure she asked me where I was on my plans to move.

  ‘I am trying, Aunty,’ I said on every occasion and she looked as if she was genuinely worried for me, for my being alone in Delhi. Piyush, too, kept on checking with me every other day despite his busy life. His phone calls were now also regular as we were approaching the end of the initial phase of our start-up, TeachMee. Tamanna was now fully involved and kept pestering me to ask Adira to get on board as she was amazing with client management and soon we would need a client manager. We were funding the project out of our own pockets and it was a very ambitious one. Getting a resource from outside was out of the question. I too wanted Adira on board but I did not want her to overwork and coming to us in the initial phase meant a lot of work and no pay. But I did promise Tamanna that I would ask her, I would ask her as soon as I felt the time was right. On the subject of the app, let me tell you how it all began:

  The App

  Right before the pandemic struck, we had a school get-together. While we had invited our entire batch, only seven boys and three girls turned up. It is the story of most get-togethers, I guess. With very few in attendance, we soon ran out of topics from our present life and started revisiting the past. The most obvious topics were our teachers. My best friend from school, Nimit, still lived in his old house which was right behind the school campus. As soon as he shared the information, it was unanimously decided that we should visit his house and try and sneak into the old building. The only two girls in attendance—Archana and Priyanka—immediately called their respective spouses and left. They didn’t want to get caught sneaking into the building and thought we had all lost our minds.

  We didn’t grieve over the loss of two of our soldiers and continued with our plan. After all, it was not the first time we would be sneaking into the building without permission, but who was to tell those girls and scare the living daylights out of them? They were frontbenchers who knew nothing about the world of backbenchers. As responsible grown men, we stayed with the two women until their partners arrived, keeping them entertained with silly jokes and old memories. Memories are magical things. While time keeps moving forward and you think that nothing can be the same again, memories can prove you wrong in a second. The moment we all started revisiting the old times, it felt as if time had stood still and we could see through the window of memories and relive our childhood once again.

  After around half an hour of non-stop chatter, the girls left our company and all the boys decided that it was time to visit the old school. Our first stop was Nimit’s house. His parents welcomed us initially but as soon as they realized that we were all at least two beers down each, they asked Nimit to kick us out. It was just like the old times! After school, we used to crash at Nimit’s home as both his parents were working. It was all fun and frolic until his mother came back from work and then we were kicked out in no time on account of creating unnecessary ruckus.

  As we had nowhere to go, we picked up some more beer and headed towards our next destination—our school. The lights of the school building were on and there was someone in the guard room. I clearly remember that there was no guard there after four in the evening, all through the time we studied there. This was a new development which could have meant that we were going back home or anywhere else but not inside the school. Then, much to our surprise, we didn’t have to find a way to break in.

  While the timing for the guard had changed, the guard in the guard room was still the same, Sachin Bhaiya. His name was Sachin Tyagi but we always referred to him as Sachin Bhaiya. He recogniz
ed us after a few references were given to him. ‘Achcha! I know who you guys are!’ he said, baring his tobacco-stained teeth. I did not believe him. I think he just knew that Nimit was a neighbour and was being kind to us. We hugged him one by one because even if he didn’t remember who we were, he was a part of our childhood that we were there to revisit. He let us in without any question and opened all the doors for us.

  ‘You come along too please, Sachin Bhaiya, we have beer,’ said Rohit Banga. Sachin Bhaiya, who now had a teenage son, put his son in charge of the guard cabin and tagged along. Once inside, we spoke non-stop, sometimes even all together at once. There were so many memories—this was where we used to hide during morning assembly. Look at the staff room, nothing has changed! The principal’s office was where no one wanted to go. Remember the time when we used to be standing out for all the periods? We never did our homework. And the chemistry lab blast? No one knows that Sakshi was behind it! This tree was for lovers only. This was our lunch spot and so on and so forth!

  We spent hours roaming around the school and revisiting memories, or maybe it was just one hour. I was a little high and keeping time was difficult. We had met each other at five in the evening and it was dark outside by the time we walked into the building. Soon, the fit men that we were, we started feeling a heaviness in our steps. We were all tired, so Sachin Bhaiya opened the doors of the auditorium for us. This space was built after we had left school and was new for us; there were no memories. We just slumped on the seats and looked around in wonder. But eight drunk men, alone inside a big building, cannot keep quiet. Thus it began, we started discussing the teaching staff.

  Nimit knew the whereabouts of most of them and so did Sachin Bhaiya for obvious reasons. 80 per cent of our teachers were still teaching at the school while the rest had retired. Our maths teacher, Makhija Sir, had passed away a few years ago. He was a nice man who had lived a fulfilling life. We recalled how he used to pester us and make us solve problems in front of the whole class on the blackboard. I was neither an exceptionally bright nor a dumb student as far as academics went.

  ‘Sunita Ma’am had the worst fate,’ Sachin Bhaiya said, taking a big chug out of his bottle and we all looked at him. Sunita Ma’am was our chemistry teacher and was great at what she taught. Her examples made the thickest brain remember and understand chemistry equations. He took his own time, savouring the liquid before he continued, ‘She retired and took tuitions for several years before losing her sight. The tuitions stopped and her son and daughter-in-law threw her out on the streets to beg. Someone found her and took her to the hospital. Some students’ families footed the bill, but she had no place to go after she recovered. Then they set up a small fund for her. Her vision was so poor that she was unable to cook or take care of herself. Soon she died.’ He took another sip and we all looked at each other.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ I asked Nimit in wonder. We had all been in touch with each other via social media and even though none of us was very rich, we earned enough to have been able to support her had we known. Nimit shrugged and said he didn’t know anything about it either.

  I was not completely sloshed by the beer but was shaken by the news. That was when I decided I had to do something to help our teachers. I did not know how or what had to be done, but I could not just let it be a piece of news and move on in life. Soon the topic changed to other things and I lost track mainly because my mind kept wandering back to Sunita Ma’am.

  Once home, I called Adira. She was awake and reading a book. She knew that I was going out with my classmates so naturally she asked me how it went. I could not resist telling her about Sunita Ma’am. ‘What do you want to do? Set up a fund?’ she asked me and I started thinking if that was the best thing to do. ‘I do not think many teachers would like to opt for charity. They have a lot of self-respect and moreover, it is not easy to make people donate for causes that easily.’

  ‘Then create a source of income for them, similar to a royalty payment,’ she said and we wondered together what could be done to ensure a lifelong income for these teachers. I didn’t want her to stay up till very late, so I insisted that we brainstorm the next day.

  While I lay awake in bed that night, I came up with an idea. Some of the teachers are so good that new teachers could learn from them, from the way they could make tricky topics accessible. So, what if the teachers had an option of recording their teachings like a YouTube video, which would be available via an app? This video could be paid for and we could pay out royalty. The royalty amount would depend on the number of views a video received. These learning videos could be played for an entire classroom, an individual student, new teachers, etc. Thinking of how and what, I dozed off.

  In the morning when I woke up, thankfully, I still had my idea intact in my head. I sent a text to Piyush and he called me within a few hours. His wife was also on board now. Adira came up with the name TeachMee and Tamanna was happy to help with resources. And just like that, within a few hours, TeachMee was born.

  Ronnie

  Coming back to the present . . .

  The only thing that came true from the initial plan was my wish to see Adira every day. Nowadays, she video-called me every night, sometimes after her mother went off to bed and we talked about everything under the sun for long hours. If her mother was around, we spoke less and our conversation was limited to her day and my day, nothing beyond that. When we could speak to each other without the older woman present, Adira giggled at my lame jokes and I enjoyed seeing her, but mostly I missed looking at her in person. When I went back to working in mid-2019, Rajbir was senior manager and had moved out of my department. I was assigned to a new team and a new manager. He was a very understanding man and did not mind my frequent visits to Chandigarh as long as I was available to finish the jobs assigned to me. When COVID-19 was declared a pandemic, my colleagues and I were informed by my new manager that all the employees were expected to work remotely. Despite the announcement that the lockdown would be lifted soon, I had no plans as to how I would move to Chandigarh. I had called more than a few realtors who had listed properties on OLX but none was in my budget. My salary allowed me only enough money to fulfil my responsibilities towards my parents. Since I had started working, I had never asked anyone for money and I didn’t want to start then either. I had to find a solution that was within my means. So I called Piyush for help.

  ‘I need to find someone who can keep me as a paying guest as I do not think that I can manage to take up a whole house on rent. Houses in Chandigarh are too expensive,’ I told him.

  ‘For how long?’ he asked me, trying to pacify the wailing baby in his arms at the same time. Baby Adira sure was in possession of very healthy lungs. She was screaming the house down and her father sounded too cool. If I had not known already, it was easy to assume that she had her father’s blood.

  ‘I will see what I can do but I cannot promise anything at this stage,’ he told me before his daughter went into full-blown screaming for something that the new father had yet to figure out. ‘Do you want this?’ he said over the phone; the question was not for me, one did not need to be a genius to figure that. ‘Tamannaaaaa,’ he screamed and that was my cue.

  ‘I will call tomorrow,’ I told him and immediately hung up the call.

  Surprisingly, within minutes, my phone rang and Piyush’s number flashed across the screen. I was in the middle of changing my clothes so I quickly threw a T-shirt on and answered the call.

  ‘So listen,’ he began and told me that Tamanna’s new boss Mr Sharma’s parents lived very close to Adira’s mother’s house. She had casually mentioned that to him once. Just before the lockdown was imposed, he had moved there to live with his ageing parents as he was their only child. Though they were pretty sure they were not in need of a paying guest, Tamanna had asked her boss if he could help out and he offered an accommodation to me at no cost for two weeks. This was to be on the condition that I move into my own space by the end of two weeks. So
metimes when you think that there is no hope and you cannot control a situation, the universe surprises you. I offered a silent prayer to the universe.

  ‘Do they know that I will have a dog with me?’ I asked Piyush.

  ‘Are you seriously planning to make Samba travel? He is old now and he need not run around the world with you. Leave him with the neighbours. I do not think that Tamanna’s boss will be able to accommodate two dogs in the house for two weeks,’ he told me laughing, naturally hinting that I was one of the dogs that he was referring to. Ignoring his remark, I informed him that Samba was indeed travelling with me and so was my car. If Mr Sharma did not like dogs, then Samba would have to live with Adira’s mom but I could not burden the neighbours with his responsibility. Nor could I leave him with a stranger or a friend as he was indeed an aged dog who liked doing things as per his whims and fancies. Now that Nani was gone, he was my responsibility, and I would place him with someone who loved him as much as Nani did. Only Adira fit that bill. So I called her and asked if she was okay with him living with her until I found a place for both of us to settle in.

  Adira was on her terrace when I called her. Her new friend Sid had been paying a visit to her house every day. ‘He is a decent chap and he is just looking for someone his age to talk to. He is also Mum’s friend’s son. We are like family friends now,’ she told me. Ya, right! Someone his age was spending some quality time with a girl who was not just fascinating and beautiful but charming beyond compare. I could not tell her how much I wanted to kill this guy, so much so that I had more than ten ideas on how to effectively murder him swimming in my head every time she mentioned that he was there to visit her or had called late at night.

  ‘I have found a family that is happy to give me some space in their house for the first fourteen days, but I do not wish to burden them with Samba’s presence too. You know how he thinks of himself as royalty; he likes to make people run around for him and do all his chores,’ I told her, petting the one I was talking about. He made a gruff noise in agreement.