A Long Way Home

by Mitali Meelan

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘He became … weird about the whole thing. The relationship, I mean. It was as if he was afraid I’d leave him again. Have you ever felt suffocated being with someone? Like … like, having a snake coiled around your neck?’

  I wondered what that felt like. ‘No.’

  ‘Well, that’s how it was. I just finally said I’d had enough and left.’ Her eyes met mine, a strange sort of vulnerability in them, which made me want to reach over and hold her. ‘But I feel awful now.’

  ‘If it makes you feel any better,’ I said, ‘I had a break-up recently too. The only thing is, she wasn’t my girlfriend.’

  Nyra tilted her head. ‘Sounds complicated.’

  I grunted. ‘It usually is when only one person is in the relationship.’ I gave her a short account of what had happened between Arvi and me, including the times when I was mean or insensitive towards her and likewise on her part.

  Nyra puckered her lips at the end, pondering over it. ‘She lost a good lover.’

  I laughed. ‘And what do you base that on?’

  ‘The writing you sent me last night.’

  I paused, tried to smile. ‘I don’t blame her for all of it though. I was wrong too, somewhere.’

  The server brought our order. Nyra picked up her mug and blew into it, smelled it, before testing its temperature and then finally taking a long sip. I did the same. It was bitter and disappointing.

  ‘Do you blog your writing?’ she asked, resuming the conversation.

  I swivelled the dark liquid in my mug, not meeting her eyes. ‘No.’

  ‘You should. I’d love to read it.’

  I gave her a tight-lipped smile, then peeked at my wristwatch, wondering how much time she had left. I didn’t want this chance hang-out to end just yet.

  ‘But this makes me wonder sometimes,’ she said, a faraway look in her eyes as she traced her finger over the rim of her mug. I had a déjà vu moment. ‘What qualifies as real love? I see my parents, on one hand, who never make verbal declarations of their affection. They argue a lot, but Mom will make sure he’s reached safely at the site before going to sleep. The other night, Dad brought her an Aloe Vera eye mask because her eyes had been sore from all the computer work she’d been doing. And then there’s someone like Veer.’

  His name turned down the corners of her mouth, her eyes lowered to the table. That’s when I remembered—the NGO artist who shared the same name; the guy Gayatri had been talking about. ‘He says everything I’d ever want to hear,’ she continued, ‘keeps statuses for me, takes me on rides, gives me everything but some space to breathe, especially when that’s the only thing I ever asked from him. And I know he loves me. I don’t deny it. But I don’t know which kind of love is the real one.’

  ‘I think the feeling at its core is the same,’ I offered, ‘which is wanting only the best for the person you love. But with so many personalities of people, the way of expressing it or dealing with it gets customized.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she mumbled. ‘Are you completely over Arvi?’

  ‘I like to believe that,’ I said. ‘She was special, she taught me a lot and I have nothing to complain. Besides, she gave me a lot of fodder for my book, so it’s not like it was a complete waste of—’ I only realized what I’d said when I saw her eyes widen. She straightened in her seat, leaned across the table.

  ‘You’re writing a book?’

  That’s the downside of getting too comfortable with someone’s company. You blurt out things you don’t want to.

  I took a big sip of my drink, punishing my tongue with the bitterness. ‘I didn’t mean to say that.’

  ‘It’s okay. Your secret is safe with me.’ She gave a pat to her heart, and I realized I really did believe her. She propped her chin on her hand. ‘What’s the book about?’

  I didn’t expect her to be so interested, but I was glad she didn’t seem as mellow as she did some time ago. That ought to count for something.

  ‘Well,’ I hesitated. ‘This book I’m working on, or trying to rather, is a fantasy-cum-dystopian fiction,’ I said and assuming she would be like Arvi, who needed a break-down of every book-related conversation I had with her, I added, ‘Dystopian means—’

  ‘An imperfect society,’ Nyra provided. ‘I know what that means.’ I raised an eyebrow at her and she crossed her arms on the table indignantly. ‘Come on, now. I don’t read, doesn’t mean I’m not informed.’

  Fair enough. So I continued, ‘So in my story, in this post-apocalyptic world, there are two belief systems who have always been enemies since the days of yore. They have only ever attacked and tried to overpower and demean each other. All government attempts to keep the peace failed a long time ago when a war broke out in 2075, which was a century ago for them.’ I watched her and knew that I had her complete, undivided attention. ‘The war split the land into two, the north-west and south-east sides. No one was allowed to cross the border. And the highest crime one could commit was marry someone from the other system.

  ‘But what is a human society without a few rebels? Our protagonists are basically these two kids who have no idea who they are. On the surface, one is the daughter of the town’s professor and a hospital nurse. The boy, on the other hand, is the son of a grocery store’s owners.

  ‘What the girl and the boy don’t know is that their parents belong to two different systems, but have kept that a secret. Now they aren’t the only two couples who’d done that. Most couples who do this die. Those who succeed live in hiding.’

  ‘Is it like honour killing?’ she asked, wincing as if it were real.

  I nodded. ‘The vast majority of cross-belief couples get killed and the lucky ones exiled, while some die in the jungles alone. Only the ones who have married in secrecy, one of them converting their belief and faking his or her death in their own land, are fortunate enough to see their kids grow up. Not many people get that far. But our protagonists are lucky in that sense. Their parents played it smart and kept it hidden, even from their own children and family.’

  I stopped when the waiter returned to take away our mugs of coffee and while I waited for him to leave, Nyra didn’t take her gaze off mine.

  Once he had cleared everything off, I continued, ‘Now, these two kids don’t know each other all that well. Their parents have never crossed paths. All they have done is make eye contact or smiled whenever the girl bought something in his store. But they have a lot more in common than they know.’

  ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘So they live in the same town?’

  I nodded.

  ‘When do they find out about their parents then?’ Nyra asked, ignoring the phone silently calling for attention on her side.

  ‘The girl does,’ I answered. ‘But she finds out the hard way.’

  Nyra pulled in a breath, only a little bit, which brought a smile to my face. ‘How?’

  This was the first time I was ever talking about my story to anyone. It gave me an adrenalin rush, an odd sense of nervous excitement.

  ‘How she finds out is a long story. But that’s not what she finds out first.’

  Nyra’s brows pulled together. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That’s another thing kept hidden in this society. When two people from these two belief systems, distanced by miles and miles of ocean, come together and have a child, that child is born with elemental magic.’

  Her mouth was slightly agape. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It means the child can do some things out of the ordinary using one of the seven elements of nature: water, air, fire, wood, thunder, wind or metal.’

  ‘And what’s the power of this girl?’ she asked, inching closer to the table.

  ‘I think that’s something I’d have to tell you some other time because your phone is buzzing again.’ As if just realizing this, she glanced at it. Sighing, she smiled apologetically at me and picked it up.

  ‘Hey … I’m at Rise & Shine … yeah, give me a minute … no,
I’m done. Shreya, can you tell me where we are going?’ She paused. ‘But I’m not sure if I’m dressed well for … oh, you have a dress … Yeah, okay. I’ll be right there.’

  When she hung up, she turned to me. ‘They are here,’ she said, almost sadly.

  ‘I gathered.’ I said and picked up my backpack. She took out her purse to pay. ‘It’s okay. I got that.’

  She frowned at me. ‘Don’t be silly. You waited because of me. I can at least do this.’

  I didn’t argue any further because frankly, it was a relief. The server stood patiently a few feet away while she counted change. Once she was done, she motioned forward and gave me a sidelong hug. ‘Thank you.’

  I smelled some sort of essential oil in her hair and when she pulled back, I couldn’t be sure if she had suddenly become more beautiful or if I was starting to see her in a different light. ‘Next time we meet, don’t tell me the story. I want to read the book.’

  I smiled and watched her hop away to her friends. Three people were waiting outside the cab and when she joined them, they hugged her, one by one. She looked visibly a lot better than she did an hour ago.

  I hope the party isn’t too bad. Happy Birthday.

  I sent that to Nyra at twelve in the night, sitting at my desk in front of my roommate’s laptop, the lonely crescent moon shining in the sky through the half-open window. The house was surprisingly quiet.

  It’s not, she sent at 12.27. Thank you. And not just for wishing me.

  I began to say something, but her online turned to ‘typing’ and I paused. Her text dropped in after what seemed like forever.

  I needed someone to listen to me, someone who wasn’t involved in the entire fiasco and someone who could look at my side of the story like an outsider, dispassionately. I have had it bottled up for quite some time now.

  Happy to help, I typed back.

  I wanted to keep the conversation going, but she exited the chat and I figured now wasn’t the time to talk, with her friends probably asking her to cut the cake or click more pictures. So I went to my story.

  Creating a fantasy world out of nothing was just as tiring a job as it was exciting. I had the basic map of my two rival kingdoms down, the names of all characters and places listed, along with the kinds of magic each one would possess, the outline of the story and some major scenes that would propel the plot forward. I had also written some bits and pieces of dialogues between characters that came to me while writing the synopsis. I made it a point to write a thousand words every day.

  So far, in the two months I had spent in the ideation and plotting of the book, I had written eight chapters, five of which narrated the story from the girl’s perspective, her childhood experiences that shaped her personality, and the weird things that happened to her, owing to the magic she didn’t yet know she possessed, and three chapters from the guy’s standpoint.

  Right now, I was at the point where my main lead, for the first time, discovers her parents were rebels. I wrote down a few more paragraphs when Nyra messaged me again. It was a picture of the nightclub she was at, with twenty cupcakes on the table in front of her.

  ‘Rumours Night’, she’d written at the bottom of the picture.

  ‘I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m actually enjoying a lot more than I thought I would. The best part is, despite having common friends in this circle, Veer isn’t here, which is something I was dreading. But I guess they all know by now and nobody here is talking about my past or the why, where, how and when. All we are doing is drinking to our youth, carefree lives and friendship.’

  This was the first time she’d sent me something as long as that.

  Well, friendship has always lasted longer than love. I wrote back. It never makes tall claims or empty promises. All it does is be there when love isn’t.

  Nyra: You’re right.

  Which is why I want to ask you if you’d like to be my friend.

  I leaned forward in my seat, the drapes billowing softly in the wind, and tried not to smile too wide as I typed back:

  I would love to.

  CHAPTER 13

  T

  he mall was a little too crowded. The parking lot was stuffed with vehicles, more were piling in, honking impatiently, the kind only a Saturday night could inspire. The sky was dark; the sun, a palm-sized ball of fire rolled behind the horizon. It took me a couple of hours to reach the Palladium after office, but I found what I was looking for pretty quickly. Paula Wears store was right in the front.

  All I remembered of Saloni’s dress was that it was off-shoulder, knee length and some lighter shade of blue. But when I entered the store, an entire section racked dresses in blue. Just looking at it gave me a headache.

  ‘Hello, sir. May I help you?’

  This store was packed too. With its wide-open doors, I could hear the clatter of footsteps outside the store.

  ‘Ah yes, please,’ I told the salesgirl. I could definitely use some help. Or a lot of it. ‘I am looking for a dress I can gift my sister and she loves blue colour. Do you have something she can … er, wear for her birthday party? Something like an off-shoulder would do.’

  She nodded, gesturing me to follow her. ‘How old would she be?’

  I glanced at the girl, not sure if she was the one who reported Saloni to the police, or whether she was here while it panned out. Not wanting her to suspect anything, I said, ‘She’s in college. About an inch shorter than you.’

  ‘We have a few that fit your description,’ she said, sliding one, then two dresses on the rack. She took out the third one and held it up to me. Not an off-shoulder, but it had cut-out sleeves on both arms. ‘I think this is something I’m sure she’d like. It’s from our latest summer collection and a style that is in.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ I muttered, then looked through them myself with whatever I could remember of that piece. Even if it wasn’t clear in my mind, I knew I could recognize it if I saw it. I told her I’d look through the space myself. Everything was ridiculously priced.

  When I neared the end of the second aisle, I finally found what I was looking for. It had a belt while Saloni’s dress didn’t, but otherwise, it seemed exactly the same.

  I turned the label over in my hand.

  Eight thousand freaking rupees for this piece of shit. My entire cupboard of clothes would fit into that amount. But I pulled it off the hanger anyway, then turned to make my way towards the counter when I heard a familiar voice.

  ‘How long will you take? We’re getting late!’ I turned, followed the voice and found Ishaan standing outside a changing room, the curtain pulled shut. His hands were crossed across his chest as he looked down at the floor, tapping his finger lightly, impatiently.

  ‘Bhau?’ I called, approaching him and he glanced up. When his eyes found mine, they narrowed. He turned to face me fully and the changing room drapes pulled apart.

  ‘How’s this?’ The girl I’d met at the bar asked, adjusting something on her waist. ‘It’s a little tight around the hip, but I think it’ll make do. It’s too pretty to be—’ she stopped, her mouth dropping open when she saw me, then looked back and forth at us. Finally, she raised her hand for a meek, unenthusiastic wave. ‘Hey,’ she said, her voice deep and gruff. ‘Arihant, right?’

  I pressed my lips into a thin line, not sure if I wanted to be associated with her. I glanced at my brother. ‘So, what brings you here?’

  ‘You know, just trying to find the right place to plant a bomb,’ he said with a sort of seriousness that, to an outsider, could either sound alarming or comical. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You can never answer properly.’

  ‘Am I obliged?’

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ the girl said.

  ‘Why do you always try to vanish? Let me see your dress,’ he said to her and held her arm. His eyes ran down the length of her body. ‘It’s nice. Do you want it?’

  ‘I mean, I like it. It’s too pricey though.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ he
said and gently nudged her back into the changing room. They both smiled at each other and I frowned.

  ‘What are you trying to prove to me?’ I asked finally, not able to deal with his attitude any longer.

  Without looking at me, he answered, ‘Why would I want to prove anything to you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, crossing my arms. ‘But you’re not half as nice to any of us.’ When he didn’t say anything, I sighed. ‘I’m no one to tell you what to do with your time—’

  ‘Good,’ he cut in. ‘So don’t.’

  I looked at him for a second, his office clothes creased and tie loosened up. It was about time he told me what was wrong. It was as if he had a problem with my existence.

  ‘What is your problem?’

  He pulled out his phone, turned and motioned towards the chair, typing something. I followed him.

  ‘I just asked you something. You know, I wish I was staying home instead of you,’ I spit out. ‘At least that way the house wouldn’t perpetually be drowned in sad miserable energy. Even when someone is a little happy, you have a way of bringing them down.’

  ‘Did I ask you to move out?’ he snapped, attracting the attention of a few people around us, including the salesgirl who had offered to help me. ‘If you regret it so much, then go home and do something for the rest of them. Leave me alone.’

  My eyes darkened, jaw set tight. I held out the dress I had got for Saloni. ‘I’m here to get this for our sister. This piece of cloth is a third of my salary, but I don’t mind spending it on her because I know she has learned her lesson and no person should have to go through what she did at her age. I care about her, clearly more than you do. So don’t you dare tell me ever again that I don’t do anything for my family. I do more than you ever will.’

  Ishaan’s expression didn’t change. ‘Good,’ he said, devoid of any emotions. ‘Now go home and be the better person.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I will.’

  I heard her voice, loud and clear, reciting long unpunctuated dialogues before I stepped onto the rooftop.