Across the Line

by Nayanika Mahtani

  Winging It

  New Delhi, India

  ‘Jai! Hey, Jai!’ shouted Rustom, as Jai walked to the bus stop after school. ‘Oi, look at this.’ He ran up to Jai, his eyes shining.

  ‘What’s up, Rusty?’ said Jai. ‘Have you won the lottery or something?’

  ‘Just look at this,’ repeated Rustom, pointing to his phone.

  ‘New phone?’

  Rustom threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘Not the phone, Jai. The message—read it.’

  Jai took Rustom’s phone lackadaisically and read the message aloud:

  ‘Dear Rustom Tyebji,

  Your entry for the Caption This Photo Contest has been judged the winner by this year’s jury. You have won a Nikon Coolpix P80 digital camera, which has been couriered to your address along with your certificate.

  Sincerely,

  The DigitalPix Team.’

  As if to back up his claim, Rustom held up the camera and certificate for Jai to see.

  ‘Wow, Rusty. This is brilliant. I had no idea you were into photography.’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing. I’m not,’ said Rustom. ‘Do you remember that photo you’d taken, of a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, for our science project?’

  Jai nodded.

  ‘Well, I kind of borrowed that one,’ he said sheepishly and then rushed on to explain, his words tumbling out over each other, ‘My mom was putting so much pressure on me to enter this competition, and I really couldn’t be bothered to photograph stuff. I was meaning to ask you if I could use the photograph that you had taken, but then it slipped my mind. I’m really sorry, Jai. What I came to tell you is that this camera and certificate belong to you.’

  Rustom handed the certificate and camera to Jai, who just stared at them blankly, trying to process what he was hearing.

  ‘That photograph won this Nikon camera!’ repeated Jai, barely able to believe it. ‘But hold on, this certificate talks about some prize for “caption photography”.’

  Rustom thrust a copy of the photograph towards Jai. Jai read out the caption: ‘Do caterpillars know that they are going to be butterflies? Or do they just wing it?’

  Jai raised an appreciative eyebrow. ‘Impressive stuff, Rusty. Is this caption original or did you “borrow” this as well?’

  ‘What matters is that you are now the proud owner of a Nikon,’ said Rustom, deftly evading the question.

  ‘That doesn’t sound fair—you did all the work . . . ’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll keep the certificate to show my mom,’ Rustom replied, retrieving the certificate from Jai. ‘That’s all she cares about anyway. It’ll earn me some brownie points.’

  ‘Are you sure I should keep the camera?’

  Rustom nodded emphatically, ‘Send me photos of your London trip. And please, not just of food, huh?’

  ‘What can be better than food, Rusty?’ countered Jai. Rustom chuckled and fell into step with his friend.

  ‘Hey, so you’re coming for the drama auditions later today, right?’

  ‘Nah. I’m not interested in this year’s play,’ said Jai, trying to sound dismissive.

  ‘What? But you’re so good at drama . . . ’ began Rustom and then realization dawned. ‘It’s because of what Ansh and gang did at the last auditions, isn’t it?’

  Jai kept his eyes on the ground and continued walking.

  ‘Look, I’ll be there with you, as will all the others—they won’t be able to try any funny business . . . ’

  ‘I told you, I’m not interested, Rusty.’

  ‘Who aren’t you interested in, lover boy?’ asked a familiar voice. ‘In good old Rusty?’

  Jai stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. Walking behind them were Ansh and his three cronies, who had just finished football practice and were on their way to the bus stop too.

  ‘Rusty’s such a handsome fellow. How can you not be interested? You’ll break his heart,’ said Ansh.

  Dev touched Rustom’s face and pretended to swoon. The foursome fell about howling with mirth. Rustom clenched his fists and would have taken a swing at them if Jai hadn’t done what he did first.

  ‘You obviously haven’t received the memo, have you, Ansh?’ said Jai.

  Ansh was momentarily taken aback. ‘What memo?’

  ‘The memo from Mr Lobo.’

  Ansh and his sidekicks looked at each other in confusion.

  ‘The memo to our parents,’ said Jai. ‘About how there’s going to be an anonymous Anti-Bullying Squad chosen from the senior batch. They will be Lobo’s eyes and ears. And any bullying reported by them will result in expulsion.’

  There was pin-drop silence.

  ‘There was no such memo. I’m pretty sure,’ said Dev finally.

  ‘Well, why don’t you go and ask Lobo if you don’t believe me?’ suggested Jai.

  That seemed to stump Dev. Just then, a bus arrived at the stop.

  ‘Come on, guys,’ said Ansh. ‘Let’s not waste any more time here.’

  Ansh and his cronies gathered their bruised egos and clambered on to the bus, with considerably less swagger than before.

  Rustom, who had been watching intently as this whole scene played out, turned to Jai, ‘I had no clue about this, Jai. When was this memo sent out?’

  ‘There was no memo.’

  Rustom’s eyes popped.

  ‘What? They’ll make chutney out of us when they find out!’

  ‘Find out from whom, Rusty? They’re hardly likely to check with Lobo.’

  ‘But what if they check with their parents about the memo?’

  ‘That’s even less likely, Rusty. They’d be opening a can of worms. What are they going to say? “Hey mom, dad. By the way, did you get a memo from Lobo that said it was wrong to bully? Just asking randomly, you know. Not that we’re actually bullying anyone or anything.”’

  Rustom took a long, hard look at his friend.

  ‘You are an evil genius, Jai,’ he said. ‘Good stuff . . . thanks!’

  ‘Don’t thank me. Thank Tarlok,’ said Jai mysteriously.

  ‘Dude, you’re so not making sense today.’

  The Unspoken Code

  Rawalpindi, Pakistan

  Inaya, Zain and Saba were perched on the sprawling branches of the huge mango tree in Inaya’s garden, eating raw mangoes. Saba had brought a bowl containing a mix of salt and red chilli powder and the three of them were taking turns, dipping the mangoes in it.

  ‘I can’t believe that you’re actually going, Inaya,’ said Saba.

  ‘To be honest, I can’t either,’ said Inaya, biting into the mango and winking involuntarily as the tangy sourness assaulted her taste buds.

  ‘Sorry, but Curry Cruisers sounds like a really dumb name for a cricket team, even by tape-ball standards,’ said Zain.

  ‘Oh, stop being such a snobbish party pooper, Zain,’ said Saba. ‘How does it matter what the team is called? What’s important is that our Inaya will be playing in an international league match.’

  ‘This must be your lovely Nabeel Said’s way of secretly marketing her restaurant, while pretending to promote sport for girls,’ said Zain.

  ‘Wow. You really are so much fun to hang out with, Zain. So full of positive vibes. Always seeing the good in people,’ said Saba.

  Zain took a mock bow, wobbling on his perch, ‘Always happy to be of service.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Saba nudged Inaya. ‘Why so quiet, suddenly?’

  Inaya sighed. ‘I’m going to miss the two of you. I won’t know anyone at all over there. Fariha was selected but her parents aren’t letting her go. So, I’m the only one from Rawalpindi.’

  ‘I’m sure this league of yours will have lots of interesting spice girls from all over Pakistan,’ said Zain. ‘The Biryani Blasters, the Kofta Challengers . . . ’

  ‘Your jokes are so pathetic, Zain,’ said Saba.

  ‘So, what are the European teams called?’ continued Zain. ‘The Fish and Chippers?’

  He found thi
s so funny that he almost fell off the tree laughing. Saba shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  ‘Uff . . . Just ignore him, Inaya.’

  ‘Inaya Haider, you don’t have to pay any attention to me, but do pay attention to all the cricketing tips you’ve picked up over the years from me . . . ’ began Zain.

  ‘ . . . from your cricket coaching sessions, you mean,’ interrupted Inaya.

  ‘Well, at least those sessions were of use to one of us,’ grinned Zain. ‘Now go, smash it out of the ballpark. Show the world what Pindi is capable of.’

  Zain held out his fist and both Inaya and Saba bumped fists with him.

  ‘I still think Curry Cruisers is a seriously crappy name,’ said Zain.

  Saba and Inaya looked at each other and then, as if by some unspoken code, they simultaneously reached out, plucked the mangoes nearest to them and took aim at Zain.

  Mind the Gap

  London, United Kingdom

  The train journey from London’s Heathrow airport to Paddington was fairly short, but it felt interminable to Inaya. Because no one spoke. The silence was deafening, especially after the cacophony of voices, laughter and general mayhem back home. Here, everyone studiously avoided each other’s eyes and buried their noses in their books or newspapers.

  Inaya sat beside her grandmother; her grandfather sat in the seat across the aisle, clearing his throat at regular intervals, the sound of which resonated throughout the hushed compartment.

  ‘Does Adeela know we’re coming today?’ Habib asked his wife, leaning across the aisle between them.

  ‘Yes, of course she does,’ Humaira replied.

  ‘I hope she’s remembered to prepare some hot lunch for us, unlike the last time, when she fed us those frozen leftovers that broke my tooth and fractured my jaw.’

  ‘How you exaggerate, Habib!’ chided Humaira, while Inaya giggled. ‘And while we’re here, please don’t make life difficult for my sister. Please just adjust. Adeela is vegan now, so please don’t demand lamb curries and such.’

  ‘Your delightful sister breathes fire and cracks walnuts with her bare hands. What choice does one have but to adjust?’ said Habib.

  The gentleman sitting beside him looked up from his newspaper. ‘I feel your pain. I’m originally from Karachi, and I couldn’t help but overhear,’ he said, by way of explanation for gatecrashing this family conversation. ‘Just in case you’re looking for a good curry place, there’s a lovely little one right by Paddington station. Nabeel’s Kitchen, it’s called.’

  ‘Much appreciated, thank you. I think I will be in dire need of some such alternatives to save my remaining teeth,’ said Habib.

  Humaira harrumphed loudly, indicating that she had had enough of this topic and she didn’t need random strangers to now start weighing in on this public takedown of her sister. Almost fifty years of marriage had taught Habib to interpret these harrumphs. He held his peace for the rest of the journey.

  Meanwhile, Inaya’s mind continued to flit between the excitement of playing her first ever tape-ball league match and the trepidation of what if it all went horribly wrong. She unconsciously began to drum her foot against the seat in front of her to release her pent-up nervousness.

  Jai looked through the viewfinder of the camera that Rusty had given him, in the hope of getting a decent shot of the London skyline, but all he could see was a grey blur, as the Heathrow Express shot past the scenery. Sighing, he put the camera away and turned his attention to his grandmother seated beside him.

  ‘Why didn’t Ma come to the airport to fetch us, Badi Ma?’

  ‘Arathi’s at work, Jai,’ explained Toshi patiently. ‘She offered to take the day off, but I told her we would manage. It’s just a straightforward train ride to Paddington, and once we’ve left our bags at her apartment, she said she would meet us for lunch.’

  ‘Okay. Where will we eat lunch?’

  ‘She mentioned some place—it’s very close to the station.’

  Just then, a girl sitting behind Jai started to drum her foot against the seat rather annoyingly. Jai wished he had it in him to turn around and ask her to stop. But that would mean confrontation, and that was the last thing Jai wanted in this very quiet train, with everyone listening. He glanced back to see if he could discreetly catch her eye and politely request her to refrain from kicking his seat. As he did so, she caught him looking at her.

  ‘Do you have a problem?’ she asked, sharply.

  Jai’s ears turned red and he quickly turned away without mentioning to her that, yes, he did have a problem. That of her kicking his seat. And then behaving like he was the problem.

  What a pesky girl, he thought to himself.

  What a weird specimen, thought Inaya to herself.

  Dragon Breath

  Adeela Noorani stood by the window of her maisonette in Marylebone, waiting for her sister and her family to arrive.

  ‘Oh, there she is, Humaira,’ said Habib, as their taxi pulled into the driveway. As an aside to Inaya, he whispered, ‘Can you see the window glass fogging up with her fiery dragon breath?’

  Inaya tried to suppress her laughter, which then resulted in some fitful snorting. Humaira, displaying dignified disdain, paid no heed to any of this. She busied herself instead, with straining to catch a glimpse of her beloved younger sister.

  Even an hour later, the two sisters’ joyous reunion was still in full swing.

  ‘Remember the time we played truant and snuck out from school to have falooda at Gawalmandi, Humaira Aapa?’ asked Adeela. This seemed to spark some long-lost memory that both sisters were completely consumed by. An avalanche of anecdotal download ensued with both talking over each other in their excitement.

  ‘I think we may have to sneak off to get some lunch,’ muttered Habib to Inaya, cupping his hand over his mouth. ‘What say you?’

  Inaya nodded, grinning. Habib stood up and patted his tummy. ‘The airline food doesn’t seem to have suited me and I foolishly forgot to pack my antacids,’ he announced.

  ‘Tsk, I told you a million times to check that you have packed all your medicines, Habib . . . ’ began his wife.

  ‘I could look to see if I have some around, although I have turned to alternative medicine mostly. Would you like to try some of my natural remedies?’ offered Adeela. ‘Some crushed asafoetida . . . ’

  ‘Just say hing, Adeela,’ interjected Humaira. ‘Since when do we call it asafoetida?’

  ‘Er, don’t worry,’ said Habib quickly, ‘I’ll just go down to the chemist around the corner and pick up something. Inaya, would you like to come for a little walk?’

  ‘Leave the poor child with us,’ said Adeela. ‘She’s had a long journey.’

  ‘It’s, er, fine, Adeela Khaala,’ said Inaya. ‘I’ll go with Daada.’

  ‘Come back soon. I’ve made some kale and courgette patties for lunch,’ Adeela called after them; words that seemed to propel Habib and Inaya out of the door even faster.

  Nabeel’s Kitchen

  Fifteen minutes later, Habib and Inaya arrived at Nabeel’s Kitchen. There seemed to be a long queue to get a table.

  ‘Should we go elsewhere, Daada?’ said Inaya. ‘It’s going to take us ages here and it’s not like we can’t eat this food back home.’

  ‘It’s going to be the same everywhere, Inaya. Let’s just wait for our turn.’

  Inaya sighed and glanced out of the window, watching passers-by to pass her time.

  Meanwhile, Jai and Toshi were walking towards the café where Arathi was to meet them.

  ‘Oh, there it is—Nabeel’s Kitchen,’ said Jai, quickening his step as he neared it. He had wanted to eat here for ages—which was why Arathi had decided it would be the first place she would take them to for a meal.

  As Jai walked past the café’s window, he suddenly heard a loud shriek. He looked up to see flailing arms, and attached to them was a familiar body, which launched itself at Jai and enveloped him in a bear hug.

  ‘I’ve missed you so
much, my Jai,’ said Arathi, as she covered her son’s face with loving kisses.

  ‘Er, hi Ma,’ said Jai, mortified by this public display of affection and desperately trying to extricate himself from the maternal smother. His mother, meanwhile, seemed wholly oblivious to his plight.

  Luckily for him, Arathi spotted Toshi walk up just then. She let go of Jai and bent down to touch her mother-in-law’s feet. ‘How are you, Ma? Was the flight okay?’

  ‘The flight was very comfortable, beta—’ Toshi was interrupted by a loud sneeze from Jai.

  ‘Are you cold, Jai? Why didn’t you pack a jacket? The weather here can be very temperamental,’ scolded Arathi. She whipped her stole off and wrapped it around him, ignoring his protests.

  Swathed in a floral lilac stole, Jai glanced up and caught sight of someone standing inside the café, watching him through the bay window. He had seen her before somewhere.

  ‘It couldn’t be—oh no, it is—that Pesky Girl from the train. Great. Just what I needed,’ he thought in dismay, quickly disentangling himself from the stole.

  ‘I really don’t need this, Ma. I’m quite hot, actually.’

  His mother had moved on to other interrogations, still ruffling his hair and being overly exuberant in general.

  ‘Was it difficult lugging the suitcases on to the train? Did you find the house easily? Did you get a SIM card at the airport? You’ve lost so much weight, Jai!’

  ‘No. Yes. Hmm, yes . . . er . . . ’ he said, unable to keep pace with the battery of questions.

  ‘I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you both,’ said Arathi, looking like she might relapse into another bout of public humiliation for him, in full view of the Pesky Girl.

  ‘Same,’ said Jai, almost running into the café, so that his mother couldn’t latch on to him again, especially while Pesky Girl was probably still watching.

  The bad news was that there was a long queue to get a table. And standing in front of them in the queue was Miss Pesky Girl.

  ‘Should we just go somewhere else?’ asked Toshi.