‘Are you sure? Ask your mother once.’
All eyes were focused on me. ‘She is shaking her head “no”.’
‘Okay,’ he said, sounding disappointed.
‘But if you want,’ I added quickly, ‘you can get it.’
‘No, that’s fine. I’ll be home in an hour.’
‘Okay.’ When I hung up, I looked at Ishaan. ‘I’ll book a cab.’
‘Where were you today?’ Mom asked him. ‘I called your office.’
‘I was out with clients for dinner,’ he said. His eyes, unflinching, unmoving, were fixated on me as he said that. I, of course, wasn’t interested in bringing up his secret life, especially now that he was the reason we were out of this place.
‘When will you come home?’
‘I’ll be late. I have some unfinished business I need to take care of. Don’t wait for me.’
‘Don’t be too late,’ she said, patting his shoulder.
Ishaan waited till we were inside the cab, then drove off into the night.
CHAPTER 10
‘W
earing the same dress to the fashion show and the farewell wasn’t an option,’ Saloni muttered. We were inside the house now. Most of the car ride home was quiet, my sister staring absently out the window, lost in thought. My mother only spoke to her when we entered the familiar silence and solitude of our building, asking my sister why she stole, and a quarrel ensued.
‘What’s the problem?’ my mother asked, putting down her bag on a chair. ‘You get everything you need, then you want more. You buy dresses you will wear once and you want to splurge. I don’t understand kids your age.’
‘That’s the problem, Aai,’ my sister said, her voice small, wounded. ‘You won’t understand.’
‘Well, I don’t have to. It’s you who needs to understand the situation,’ she argued. ‘We had to pull Ishaan out from his work to help you out. That poor boy works more than any of us. Do you know how many hours he has to slog to earn the money he spent on rescuing you today? That’s one month of food for us!’
‘I said I’m sorry,’ Saloni snapped at last, her voice breaking. ‘This won’t happen again. How many times do I have to apologize?’ She stomped towards the room.
‘Is this the way to talk after all that ordeal we had to go through for you? How can she—’
Saloni zoomed past me and I raised my palm to my mother, asking her to let it go for the time being. We’d all just got out of it. She was as affected by it as any of us. Mom threw her hands up, then marched into the kitchen. Saloni began to shut the door but I blocked it with a hand. ‘Leave me alone, please,’ she begged, not meeting my eyes. Her voice trembled, on the verge of crying.
‘I’m not going to lecture you,’ I said softly. She met my eyes, let her hands drop to her side, then turned and moved to sit on the bed. I followed her in and closed the door behind us.
For a long minute, there was no sound but that of her crying. I sat by her side, rubbed her back. When she had exhausted her tears, I said, ‘Well, I haven’t had a chance to see the inside of a police station before. Now I can be more authentic while writing a story.’
A laugh bubbled up in her and she brushed her running nose on her sleeve. ‘I can’t believe I got arrested.’
‘I can’t believe you felt the need to steal.’
A pause. In barely a whisper, she said, ‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘You didn’t mean to, what?’ I asked, still friendly, urging her to open up. ‘Get caught or shoplift?’
She paused to think and I had my answer, much to my dismay. The little girl had to learn a lot.
‘Both, I suppose?’
‘Well,’ I leaned back on my arms, ‘I heard everybody’s version of this story but yours.’ I stretched my legs on the bed. They had been aching with all the running I had been doing since the afternoon. ‘I want to hear it from you. And,’ I took her hand in mine, ‘don’t worry. I have done some pretty messed up things too, which I will tell you if you spill the truth, as ugly and deformed as it is.’
She stared at our intertwined hands. ‘Where do I begin?’
‘Maybe the time when you asked Baba for some money during Ishaan’s birthday dinner,’ I offered and she looked up at me. ‘What was that for?’
‘For the fashion show,’ she mumbled. I waited for her to continue. She wiped her tears, pulled up her feet and hugged her knees. ‘The farewell is a big thing in my school and the anticipation of it buzzes all through the year. But to me and my best friend, Bani, the function didn’t matter. We thought we’d just pay the contribution price, turn up at the event, hang out by ourselves and leave. We had a plan of being completely uninvolved this year and in all the events that would follow.’
She put her chin on one knee, her eyes transfixed to the ground. ‘Ninth standard kids have to put up a small show for the seniors—like a drama or a dance number. It is compulsory to participate. My friend and I didn’t want to be a part of anything, but we had to be. So we thought we would audition for the Romeo and Juliet parody, thought we could be like a tree or something in the background.
‘But then something happened that neither of us had imagined.’ Her gaze raised to meet mine. ‘I was selected to play Juliet.’
‘What?’ That probably came as a shock, more than the fact that she was arrested. I asked her, genuinely confused, ‘Can you act?’
She scoffed, then lifted her hunched shoulders to shrug. ‘I didn’t know that either. I was just… being me. And it just happened really quickly. I was on stage, getting mad at this person for forgetting his lines and I… they liked how naturally dramatic I was, even though I was getting angry for real. They selected me and I got into this group of people who had always done theatre in school. The drama club kids are, like, the most popular kids of our school. Really good looking, always hanging out together, celebrating friendship. I had muted all their Facebook pages because I couldn’t stand to look at how amazing their life was.’
I wanted to interrupt her, but this was one of those rare moments when she was spilling out everything so fast, so uninhibitedly, that I didn’t want to hyphenate it with my judgement or philosophy. That would have to wait.
‘But then, since the last three months, I have been a part of that group and as pathetic as it sounds, I was enjoying their company. I mean, yes, they are bratty, bullies, show-offs, but they go to places I have only heard about. I don’t always feel I belong, but it gets compensated for all the perks I get by being one of them.
‘This Sunday, they all wanted to go to this fashion show and since I’m a part of it, they asked me to tag along. I cancel most of their parties because the contribution is too much. But this time, we all had a free entry because Gitanjali’s mother is one of the designers. I really wanted to go, see if it’s exactly the way they show on TV.
‘But even if the show was free, the clothes weren’t. Everyone was buying a new dress and I was the one who didn’t have anything worth wearing to the show. They went shopping last week and I didn’t go with them. I asked Baba for money, but at the store, it costed so much more than that.’
She put her head between her knees. ‘And I thought, I really thought, I could get away with it. I was going to return the dress to the store after the show. I had the plan to sneak it back on their shelf just as I had sneaked it out. I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble for everyone. I can’t even face myself right now. I guess I just wanted to fit in.’
She finally glanced up at me, waiting for my reaction, looking scared.
‘I still can’t believe they cast you as Juliet,’ I said finally, breaking the tension in the room. That took away some of the fear in her eyes and she gave me a small smile.
I loped an arm around her shoulder. ‘You know,’ I added, ‘the fact that you felt the need to lie to your new friends to fit in is just as worrisome as you committing the crime. Trying to be someone you’re not and shredding pieces of yourself—like your principles and values—to fit in a
nd please others is a one-way ticket to the land of misery.’
She pursed her lips. ‘I don’t know what to do now.’
‘To start with,’ I said, ‘apologize to Aai. And second, wear something else to the fashion show. You have more clothes than Ishaan and I combined.’
‘I’m not going,’ she mumbled. ‘Not after what happened. Baba will hate me for life.’
‘First,’ I interrupted, ‘Baba might quit talking to you for a while, but he can never hate you, even if you murder someone. Now, that’s not to say you can. I’m kidding.’ I added quickly when her forehead creased, a look that said she didn’t quite like the joke. ‘But knowing how our father is, he won’t say much to you, he’ll only feel bad that you felt the need to do this.’
‘I don’t want him to feel that,’ she said, her voice small.
‘Well, he might forgive you if you tell the truth. And if you go to the party being yourself.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t deserve to go—’
‘Nobody but you gets to decide what you deserve,’ I cut in. ‘You’re going and I’ll come to drop you off.’
She blinked. ‘What?’
I nodded. ‘You’ll wear a dress that I pick out for you. That’s your punishment.’ Genuine horror flashed on her face.
‘Can’t I just not go to the show at all?’ she begged.
‘Going to the show,’ I insisted, ‘is your punishment. Wear a dress that you have, without being ashamed of your choice and where you come from. Incidentally, you have good clothes. So it shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘Those are not…’ she sighed, realizing it was useless trying to convince me. ‘I don’t have a choice, do I?’
‘You always have choices in life, Saloni,’ I said. ‘You just have to be careful what you pick because consequences are non-transferable.’
‘And going to the fashion show is… a consequence?’
I patted her head, her hair smelling like sandalwood. ‘You’re a fast learner.’
After our conversation, she went to wash her face. Kohl had settled under her eyes like looming dark clouds. Finally, she trekked to the kitchen where I could hear my mother banging the utensils as she worked. Saloni approached her slowly, gauging the mood. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but by the end of it, Saloni came out looking more relaxed.
‘What did she say?’ I asked, turning down the volume of the television.
Saloni came over and sat next to me, then dropped her head back and closed her eyes. ‘A lot of things,’ she said, her voice husky as if she’d been crying. ‘But she is calmer now. I asked her if I could speak to Baba about what happened. I don’t want him to hear any other version before mine.’
‘I think that’s a very wise thing to do,’ I said, then turned to the television show. Two guys were reviewing three latest laptops in the market, comparing the specifications and prices, giving a detailed view of how only a few thousand rupees can solve most of your problems.
If only it was all that easy.
Before turning up the volume, I turned to my sister. ‘And, Saloni?’
Her eyes were still closed. ‘Hmm?’
‘A crime is a crime, whether it is reported or not.’
When Dad came home, he listened to the entire story while sitting on the floor baithak after dinner (Mom thought it was best to have dinner first before any of us broached the topic), and as promised, Mom didn’t interrupt while Saloni narrated the incident.
At the end of her narration, she produced two neatly folded notes of 500 from her pyjama pocket and held it out to him. Dad’s face was stern. It seemed he barely even breathed. His eyes were fixated on the ground and he refused to look at her. His gaze finally moved to look down at the notes.
‘I know this is the worst thing I could have done,’ my sister confessed, ‘but if it’s any relief to you, I promise I will never do it again.’
Slowly, as if it took all of his muscular strength, he reached out and took them back. Tucking the money in his pocket, he got up from the seat and limped towards his room, slower than he usually did. Mom followed him. Saloni, her face fallen, stared at nothing in particular. Then, she swallowed and her eyes filled up.
‘Hey,’ I said, pulling her into a side hug. I rubbed her arm reassuringly while she sobbed softly in my shoulder. ‘An experience doesn’t go waste if you learn from it, right? Don’t worry. He’ll come around.’
I stayed awake that night waiting for Ishaan to get home. It was rare that we came face to face. And knowing where he usually hung out when he wasn’t in the office, I wanted to stay out of his way as much as possible.
But what he did today warranted a conversation.
Ishaan returned at two in the night, as usual, when everyone had gone off to sleep. I would have dozed off if not for the novel I was typing on my phone to keep me awake. I was 690 words short of my daily goal of 1,000, but that was as fast as I knew I could write today. Instead, I opened the previous chapters and combed through them to better the syntax and language.
Ishaan navigated his way into the house using the little beam of light from his phone. That was considerate of him. I flicked on the bulb over my head and he whirled to stare at me like a deer caught in headlights. ‘Hey,’ I mumbled.
He sighed. ‘What are you still doing up?’
‘Waiting for you,’ I answered, then watched his face carefully. ‘You okay?’ Instead of answering, he pocketed his phone and headed towards the room. I added hastily, ‘About what happened today—’
‘If you are awake to argue about what you saw, go back to sleep. I am not in the mood.’
‘I don’t want to have an argument.’
‘A conversation, then?’ he asked, his feet pointed towards his room, as if he’d sprint out of sight any second. ‘I’m not interested in that either.’
‘It’s nothing like that,’ I told him. ‘I’m just trying to say thank you. For whatever you did. That was pretty brave. It’s weird I’d say this, but with just your actions, you showed me how to deal with an unexpected situation and bring it under control. You thought on your feet, you solved the issue at hand and I don’t think I’d have handled it as well as you did. This was the first time I’d been—’
‘I did,’ he cut me short, ‘what a family does. Nothing great about that.’
His attitude was getting on my nerves. Things rarely did.
‘Why is your problem? Why can’t you just—’ He shut the door in my face and I had a déjà vu moment. I paused, pulled in a breath that calmed me instantly.
For some reason, despite his outburst which I was getting used to, my new-found respect for him didn’t wane. I gave a weak smile to the wooden door, hand painted by Baba and Ishaan when he was thirteen. I had wanted to join in then, but I was told to stay away because I was ‘too young to handle latex paint and colouring’.
Ishaan’s room didn’t really qualify as a bedroom. It was a seven-by-ten foot storeroom with a single bed, a table that doubled as his wardrobe, dressing and storage rack, with a tiny mirror on the wall. With these two elements, very little space remained for anything else. Even then, Ishaan had recently bought himself a standard fan because the one in there didn’t work.
The whitewash on the door was chipping off the lower right corner. Termites had left a hollowed patch near the rusted brass hinges. What had stayed was the tiny pen sketch of a flowerpot Saloni had drawn when she was three and the door lock that I had broken when I was eleven, with the fling of a cricket ball. No matter how many times he slammed the door on us, forcing us to stay out of his life, there would always be traces of us wherever he’d go.
CHAPTER 11
S
omething was wrong with Nyra. She was half an hour late to the office. Her eyes were red, puffy and her hair was tied up in a messy ponytail that seemed like it hadn’t received much of her attention in the morning. But the dead giveaway was her creased white shirt under the blazer. Nyra never wore non-ironed office wear.
&n
bsp; She was also unnaturally silent and somewhat distracted, the way a person appears when she can’t stop her mind’s chatter. Of course, it was all my speculation. I was probably just reading too much into it. During lunchtime, I found her staring absently outside the window, a picture half edited on her computer screen. She had been working on that image since the time she walked in.
‘Aren’t you coming for lunch?’ I asked, carrying the plates and bowls to the lunch room. Her shoulders jerked a little.
‘No,’ she said, straightening in her seat. ‘You go ahead. I’m not hungry.’ That was unlikely, especially for someone who munched on nothing all day long. I debated whether to ask her if she was fine, the words almost rising to the tip of my tongue, but before I could, she added, ‘I had a really heavy breakfast.’
I didn’t buy that. But she gave me a small, withdrawn smile, as if asking to be left alone.
I nodded and headed to the lunch room, but my eyes kept darting towards her. She was hunched over her computer. Once in a while, she glanced at her phone, unlocked it, stared at the screen and turned it off again.
‘It’s kind of weird,’ Gayatri, the operations manager was saying, ‘He ordered ten issues at once.’
‘Who are we talking about?’ Abhishek asked, walking in with his plate full of aloo parathas. The aroma of that food tantalized my senses and I craved a bite. Turned out, everyone did because as soon as he set it down, three hands attacked it.
‘About this customer who keeps ordering copies and cancels them,’ Gayatri explained as I diverted my attention from Nyra—who was staring out the window again—to the parathas. I took a bite and it was soft, generously stuffed and tongue-burning hot. ‘He must have done that three times now. Finally, he subscribed to our mag yesterday. He hasn’t cancelled it yet.’
‘Who is this person?’ Abhishek butted in, placing one paratha on a separate plate and passing that around, warding us off from the rest.
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