by Vani Mahesh
‘End the stretch and go to the crossed leg position.’ The instructor spoke looking begrudingly at Anu. As if Anu inspired the others to cheat on her. Nobody can stay stretched forever—even a rubberband would snap!
The girl handed Anu a tissue paper to wipe off the sweat. Anu mouthed a thank you, eliciting another glare from the instructor. Then the class resumed. Just when Anu had started feeling like a cooked tomato with the skin half peeled, the class ended. The teacher, glancing at Anu frequently, gave a short speech. ‘I hope you enjoyed the class. Those of you taking this as a trial today, please do sign up outside for regular classes. See you all on Friday, same time. Hari Om.’ Of course, the yoga instructors had to end with a spiritual salutation. But Supriyaji just said bye. Anu liked that because she could also just say bye. She could never say something like Hari Om back naturally.
Anu got up along with the girl. When they walked out, the girl asked. ‘Are you signing up?’
Anu laughed. ‘Are you serious? I will sit in an oven instead!’
The girl burst into peels of laughter. Just the way youngsters do. ‘I am not coming back either. My mother has already paid I think but she can think of it as a charity.’
Anu walked with the girl until she got on her cycle. Anu recognized the brand, it was a Tata Stryder 7 Speed. Sameer had bought one last year. When Anu said it was too expensive for a cycle, he hadn’t stopped defending it for months. Now it was collecting dust in his driveway just like Anu’s ordinary BSA cycle did in hers.
When the girl bid goodbye, Anu thought of asking for her number but didn’t. What if the girl thought Anu was a stalker?
The girl peddled away but then stopped and looked back at Anu. ‘Aunty, do you play every day?’ She pointed at Anu’s racquet.
Aunty! Anu had to get used to getting addressed thus by teens. She shook her head. ‘Started only today. So I don’t know yet how long I will last! Do you?’
The girl now stopped and started pushing the cycle next to Anu. ‘I learnt for a couple of years. Then I gave up. It was too competitive, so it was no fun.’
‘What do you do?’ The girl asked after a pause.
Anu smiled. ‘As of now, trying to get used to this place. We just moved here. How about you? I am Anu, by the way.’
The girl shrugged. ‘I am Pooja. I finished my twelfth. Waiting for my results. We are quite new here too. Moved in only last month.’
That explained why a teenager was striking up a conversation with Anu! She had no friends yet. ‘Enjoy the holidays. Join me for tennis if you want.’ But Anu quickly explained to her that it was not a great playing situation.
The girl laughed. ‘So I will be playing with fourth-graders? That will help me look hep.’
Anu smiled. ‘You will also be playing with a middle-aged woman and an older man. You will be the most sought after girl in your circles once you get spotted with us.’
‘I will think about it. I will see you if I see you!’ When the girl peddled away, Anu hoped that she would join them. She liked that kid.
18
Anu missed Vicky terribly whenever he was away. Sneaking in some free time was a lot sweeter than having all the time on hand. But he sounded happy shuttling between the two grandparents’ houses. They were entertaining him non-stop as if competing with each other (which they were not, Anu’s mother said firmly). If Sanju’s parents took him to the Bannerghatta zoo, Anu’s took him to the planetarium. If Sanju’s mom made him Gulab Jamuns, Anu’s mom made him Onion Bajjis. Good for the boy! He was the Archie between Betty and Veronica, except here Betty and Ronnie were sixty.
The next morning Anu called Sumitra aunty to enquire if anything had happened with the materials. After a bit of hesitation, Sumitra aunty spoke, ‘Anu, the seller called a couple of days back and said someone from our school was trying to play games with him. He said the call was coming from “Anu DewDrops”.’
‘Oh, no. Aunty, I was only trying to create a scarcity for that kit. I forgot that TrueCaller now gives away everyone’s identities.’ Anu felt and sounded miserable. ‘Everything I do seems to backfire.’
Anu tried to forget that incident. She would think of something else to solve the issue later. Now she had to get the school checked out for Vicky. Anu texted Shwetha if she was free to go with her and then for lunch. Shwetha texted back immediately. ‘Yes and yes! Have to see your paradise too. See you at ten.’
Shwetha would be impressed with Verdant Green, Anu had no doubt. That girl loved luxury. Well, Anu did too but not at the cost of an empty bank account. Talking about money, she had lied to Sanju about how much she paid Rathnamma. She had to figure out a way to absorb that extra money she was shelling out. She had also lied about what she paid the gardener. The property manager had politely asked her to get the lawn mowed. He hadn’t mentioned the consequences if she didn’t, but Anu knew it would be dire. Could even be something as grave as Meena announcing it on a bullhorn.
‘Oh, my God! Anuuu!! This place is better than most high-end resorts. What were you mopey about, you stupid one!’
Shwetha stood out in her all-red outfit. She had been going to the gym and had developed some really good calf and arm muscles. Many, including Anu, thought she looked like Bipasha Basu but somehow Shwetha didn’t like it. Can I look like someone younger than me? Not a yesteryear star, please—was her gripe. That made sense.
‘Look at you, Shweth! You look fabulous. I want you to punch Meena the Meanie with your newly toned arms.’ Over the daily conversations, Shwetha was up-to-date with Anu’s woes.
‘Let us find her.’ Shwetha did some ridiculous looking kicks and punches in her tight dress. Anu smiled. She missed Shwetha and the fact that she could not meet her at an hour’s notice anymore.
Anu drove to the school Sumitra had suggested, with Shwetha taking over the navigation. Despite the Google Maps, Anu got lost wherever she went the first time and the second. But by the third time, she always nailed the place. Shwetha had an equally bad sense of direction.
‘Head left in twenty metres onto first crossroad.’ That was the Google lady.
‘Is it this left?’ Anu asked panicking. What were twenty metres anyway?
‘Maybe not … oh, wait. That was it. The map has now gone into a tizzy and says it is redirecting us.’
Anu put the car into reverse and started moving back with every vehicle behind her blaring their horns. It was a one-way street. As long as you manoeuvred very slowly, you could move any way in Bangalore.
A police officer knocked on her window just when she turned left and asked her to pull over. ‘Sir, please sir. Job interview. Already late, sir.’ Anu pleaded very helplessly.
‘You girls have no traffic sense. Go. Leaving you only because you said interview.’
Anu grinned at Shwetha. ‘He called me a girl.’
Shwetha sighed. ‘He has eye-sight issues.’
‘Now, Miss Direction. Tell me where to go now.’ Anu grinned at Shwetha. ‘Accept it. It was a good pun.’
After getting lost another five or six times, they landed before a building that looked like an old house. The address matched but that place looked nothing like a school.
‘Are you sure this is not a job interview for a housekeeper?’ asked Shwetha.
‘We will decide once we see the owner. If it is Brad Pitt, I will do the housekeeping.’ Anu walked inside but a guard stopped her and made her sign the guest register.
The house was like a mysterious mansion. They walked into a foyer and an attendant idling on a stool looked at them quizzically. Anu asked to meet the principal, and the attendant directed them to a woman almost the same age as Anu. She walked them to the principal’s chamber. So easy! No marketing, no trying to sell the school to her, no smooth-talking associates in matching sarees. Nobody was in a uniform—neither the staff nor the kids. Anu was already falling in love with the place.
Walking on, Anu peeked into the rooms. Children were sprawled on the floor or sitting around large desks wo
rking on things. Some were younger but most seemed to be Vicky’s age. This is how it was in Sumitra aunty’s school. Though Sanju did not believe in that type of free learning, Vicky had fun. He need not learn anything at four, does he? His fulltime job must be to run around and laugh.
‘I love it here.’ Anu gushed to Shwetha who shushed her.
‘Happy hormones cloud your thoughts. Stop feeling good.’ Shwetha thought just like Sanju most of the time.
Anu instantly liked Principal Janaki and the assured way in which she spoke. Vicky would love it here! And, the fee was in thousands, not in lakhs.
‘But, there is no bus facility. You have to drop and pick your son up.’ The principal concluded. ‘Sumitra told me you were teaching in her school. Currently, I have no vacancy but I will keep you in mind.’
That was a bit deflating. Coming all the way to only drop Vicky. It was a good seven kilometres in some horrifying traffic. But Anu nodded chirpily and added. ‘That is okay. Kids here look happy and Vivikth will be happy here too.’
Janaki smiled. ‘We try not to control them too much. I can’t say they are happy all the time, but for the most part, we let them be themselves.’
Anu saw Shwetha knit her brows. ‘How so? What if a kid is not happy doing maths?’
‘Then he can leave the class and do what he likes.’ The principal smiled with ease.
Anu wished she was in a school of that sort. No, she wished she was in a life of that sort. ‘I am yet to get his TC. I will get him over as soon as we do.’ Anu visibly beamed.
On the way out, Anu was on cloud nine and Shwetha was highly unimpressed. ‘Anu, what will Vicky learn there? To string beads and pour rice from tumbler to tumbler? I don’t think Sanju will approve.’
Anu said with finality. ‘I am quite certain of two things. Vicky will love it here and Sanju will hate it. But Vicky, at four, should not be sad. So he is coming here.’
Shwetha quickly clicked a few pictures of the building. ‘Show these to Sanju and ask him what he thinks. You should put Vicky in a proper school.’
19
‘Sanju, the school that Sumitra aunty suggested is nice. Vicky will like it there,’ Anu broached the topic tactfully when they were in the middle of a good pasta dinner. Rathnamma’s daughter, Geetha, was Master Chef calibre.
Sanju, obviously pleased with the food, looked at Anu and smiled. ‘If Vicky is going to like it, then it cannot be good.’
In a way, Sanju was right. But he and his family were the kinds who expected kids to know tables till ten by the time they turned two. Well, Vicky, on his good days, could count till ten.
‘Anu, please put him where all the kids here are going. If it is six lakhs per year, so be it. Education is important.’ Sanju said firmly. ‘No more mom-and-pop school for Vicky.’
Anu glared at him. ‘Don’t insult Sumitra aunty’s school. Also, I am not a genius in maths, Sanju. But even I can count that it comes to fifty thousand a month. Have we come into some hidden gold suddenly? Till last month, you objected to buying even things like Twinings teabags!’ Then she remembered to add. ‘There is nothing wrong with Sumitra aunty’s school. I taught there too. Now, don’t say case in point.’
‘You said it. I didn’t! And, Twinings tea tastes like water and is double the price of Tetley!’ Sanju put his fork down in irritation. ‘Why is everything about money now, Anu? You spend so much on bags and shoes and teas but when it comes to important things, you become stingy.’
Anu was stung. True that she bought an occasional (well, once in three months at best) Hidesign or a Caprese. But was that any comparison to the expenses Sanju was talking here?
After a pause, she nodded her agreement. She didn’t want to drag on the fight and make Sanju quit dinner. The credit card bill would do that anyway. ‘Fine. I will put him in Indigo International. Let him become an unhappy Einstein!’
Sanju smiled. ‘Say Jeff Bezos or Nadella. Einstein is long dead.’
Anu smiled too, as the cloud between them began to lift slowly. ‘Sanju, how much is your actual take-home salary? After the taxes, retirement and other hidden expenses?’
Sanju didn’t like to reveal the numbers. She never knew how much he made. He got up and ruffled her hair. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t make you spend your inheritance.’
‘I will need your debit card to pay the first instalment of fees.’
Worry flashed on Sanju’s face momentarily. She was sure he hadn’t thought of actually having to pay!
Pooja hadn’t shown up at the tennis court. That was a bit disappointing for Anu, but on the bright side, Pete had said she was now looking like a below-average player after two days of practice. That was a great improvement from pathetic.
On Friday morning, Anu decided to beg Pete to go with her for admissions. His grandkids were in the same school. Also, white people received a good reception in India.
‘Why do you want me to go with you? You are the native here! I am the foreigner.’ Pete protested when Anu called him and asked him to go along with her to the school.
‘Pete, trust me. In this part of Bangalore, you are the native and I am the foreigner. I will buy you coffee at Shree Darshini. Please go with me.’ Pete had told her how he loved the coffee in Darshini that was close to Verdant Green, but given how crowded the place was, he could never get in.
‘Fine,’ Pete agreed. ‘Add two Vadas to the coffee. Both for me. Pick me up at nine then.’
‘Yes, My Lord.’ Anu hung up the phone. She was not like Shwetha who could go anywhere or do anything by herself. Anu needed someone by her side. But she was blessed that she always found someone right to be by her side. She had ‘good people karma’.
Once the money was paid, the admission process was smooth. Everyone was friendly to her and super friendly to Pete. The principal even ordered some fresh juice for them in her chamber. She asked Pete repeatedly how they were in comparison with the schools in the US. Pete, being the diplomatic talker that he was, simply said the kids loved it there and loved it here.
‘Time for me to pay your debt, Mr Pete.’ Anu grinned as she drove.
Settling Pete on the stone culvert under an old banyan tree in front of the Darshini, Anu handed him a plate of piping hot Vada dipped in Sambar. ‘You are my hero.’ Pete smiled at her gratefully. ‘But you didn’t need me today.’
‘Well, you were my trophy friend. I liked showing you off.’ Anu bit into her Vada.
Pete shrugged. ‘Fair enough, then.’
That was when Anu spotted Pooja walking on the road with her earphones plugged in. Torn jeans and a T-shirt—she looked too plain. Not at all like the designer kid she had met the other day.
‘Pooja,’ Anu shouted instinctively but then, realizing she had the earphone on, rushed to her and tapped her on the shoulder.
‘Oh, aunty,’ Pooja took off her earphone, but she did not look too pleased to see Anu grinning ear to ear in glee.
‘Want to join us for a coffee?’ Anu felt a little deflated looking at Pooja’s lack of enthusiasm.
‘No aunty, another time.’ Pooja smiled curtly. She seemed to be in a hurry to go somewhere.
‘Okay, call me sometime.’ Anu wrote her phone number on the back of some receipt. ‘Any time.’ Pooja smiled, stuck the paper in her jeans and walked on.
‘So, did you sufficiently embarrass the girl?’ Pete asked as Anu sat down next to him.
‘I think so. But where was she going on foot? This is a good two kilometres from Verdant Green. If she was going for a walk, she could have done so within the property.’
‘Let her be. Don’t go all sleuthing on her now.’ Pete already knew Anu too well.
‘I will try not to. But no promises. She seemed nothing like the girl I met the other day.’
20
That afternoon Pooja showed up at the tennis court. But she was not dressed to play, nor had a racquet with her. Anu waved to her from the court. Pooja settled on a chair and looked at her phone (with the earphones, of co
urse) the entire fifteen minutes Anu lobbed the ball back and forth with Pete.
Panting and wiping off the sweat, Anu sat down next to Pooja. ‘Glad you came.’
Pooja looked at her and smiled. An actual smile, not the fake one she had flashed earlier. ‘Well, you looked very worried about me. So I came by to tell you that I am all right.’
Pete didn’t approach them. Instead, he went to coach the kids. ‘I was worried because you looked a little hassled,’ said Anu still panting. ‘And you were walking on a busy street. People in Verdant Green will ostracize you for such acts.’
Pooja laughed. ‘I was hassled about something but nothing to worry about. You go on and play. I will see you around.’
When she got up to leave, Anu stopped her. ‘Why don’t you play? You are anyway wearing tennis shoes.’
‘… and jeans shorts! I can’t possibly play in these!’
Anu thrust the racquet into Pooja’s hands. ‘Go on. Show me what you got. Don’t try to be better than me.’
Pooja had no comeback. The girl didn’t talk much at all. Anu walked Pooja into the court and called Pete. ‘Pete, the kid wants to play.’
Pete smiled at Pooja. ‘Come on over.’
Pooja was good. So good Pete played a game with her. Anu watched them and sipped her Pepsi contentedly. She was glad Pete had another disciple. He had killed her with training on the previous day.
Friday evening came rather quickly but did not exactly turn out how Anu intended it to be. Her mother-in-law called her to say Padma aunty was back from her travel and she was going to join them for dinner. To give a bit of a story, Padma aunty was Sanju’s father’s widowed sister and she lived with Sanju’s parents. She was like a second mother to Sanju and a mother-in-law in the true sense to Anu; she thoroughly disliked Anu and expressed it freely.