But Ira Said

by Shreya Mathur

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Ashok Amroliwallah?’ Aisha spits out.

  ‘What?’ I force myself to laugh, trying to brush off the situation, but Ma has already begun to look suspicious.

  ‘Yes, Amroliwallah,’ Aisha repeats. ‘Ira knows him very well, don’t you, Ira?’

  ‘Amroliwallah?’ Ma looks totally confused now. ‘Ira, Aisha, what’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing!’ I say quickly. ‘Aisha, I don’t know any Amroliwallah. What’s wrong with you?’

  Before Aisha can reply, I cut in, ‘Aisha, I know you’re upset about not getting into NALSAR and whatever, but I don’t know why you’re speaking all this rubbish. Why don’t you go home? I’ll call you later.’

  ‘No,’ Aisha snaps. ‘I’m not going home. Ira, don’t you feel ashamed of yourself, lying so blatantly in front of your mother?’

  I’ve already thought of ten good replies for Aisha. But I don’t say a word. What have I become? I am lying so audaciously in front of my mother. I can’t do it.

  Aisha seizes the opportunity. She turns to Ma and says, ‘Aunty, I just thought you should know that your daughter has been working with Ashok Amroliwallah to illegally prepare question papers. She predicts them for him.’

  ‘What?’ Ma asks. She starts laughing in disbelief. ‘Ira could do nothing of the sort.’ Her voice is less jovial as she turns to me and says, ‘Ira, you said this whole prediction phase of yours was over!’

  ‘It is!’ I cry. ‘There’s nothing going on, Ma! Aisha’s gone mad!’

  ‘Ira!’ Ma exclaims, shocked.

  ‘I’ve not gone mad. You’re the one who has. Ira, if you have any self-dignity and respect for your parents, tell them what’s been going on!’

  With that, Aisha gets up and runs out of the house. Ma and I hurry behind her, stunned to see her bang the door shut.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ Ma asks, flabbergasted.

  I rack my brain for some explanation.

  ‘I don’t know. She seems really upset,’ I answer somehow. I feel horrible. Aisha is right. My parents don’t deserve me.

  Ma’s lips are pursed. She asks me in a neutral tone, ‘Why are you two fighting? What are you hiding, Ira? I know Aisha’s not mad. What’s going on with this Amroliwallah?’

  I turn my back towards my mother and walk to her room. As much as I hate admitting this, I love being in my parents’ room. Not because the room is bigger or because it has a better view. I feel safe there. I love snuggling into Ma’s pillow and talking to my parents.

  During exams, when I was extra tense, I always studied in their room.

  I sit down on their bed. Ma looks worried. And scared as hell.

  14

  Even Papa knows. Someone in his office called him to ask whether Ira the ‘teen oracle’ was really his daughter. He comes home early, which is probably a good thing since Ma almost collapsed after I told her everything.

  She and Papa are in shock and I hate myself. It has been so horrible. Ma laughed in this maniacal way when I began my explanation. Her laughter became weaker and weaker as I progressed with my story and finally died when she realized I was serious. Then she huddled up in a corner and just sat silent for hours, listening to me with a wary expression on her face. She didn’t believe me.

  It was the same with Papa. He refused to believe any part of my story. He and Ma were convinced that the AIPMT topper had gone bonkers and was unnecessarily dragging my name into something preposterous.

  Finally I show them copies of the papers I’ve made. Their eyes widen when I show them the ticks I’ve made next to the expected questions. They finally begin to believe me when they read the e-mail attachments of the papers I saved in my drafts inbox as backup. I had saved them all on the eve of the corresponding examinations.

  Finally, Ma asks the question I’ve been dreading. ‘Why? Why did you do this?’

  And then the real tale comes out. A tale of insecurity, selfishness and blackmail. I tell them everything from the prelims, the meeting with Amroliwallah to the party and everything else.

  ‘Ira beta, do you really think your friends won’t talk to you if you refuse to make the papers?’ Papa asks in a worried voice. Both my parents are sitting on the bed, holding their heads in their hands. ‘And we explained everything to you, this whole prediction thing is rubbish. You can’t predict anything!’

  God, they are in such denial.

  I don’t blame them for not believing me. Had it been Rika instead of me, her mother would have fainted and packed Rika off to a boarding school before she even reached the end of her story.

  ‘So what? Ira, if they do that, it proves that they aren’t your real friends!’ Ma exclaims in response to my affirmative reply to Papa.

  I realize that I have to tell them everything about Kanpur. My parents have believed all this while that it was Adhyaru sir’s fault. How could someone blame me for overhearing? It was all an accident.

  By the time I finish telling them the truth, my lips have begun to quiver and tears threaten to roll down my cheeks.

  They look even more dazed. I have never supplied my parents with the details of my last two months in Kanpur. They knew I was unhappy and that Aditi and I weren’t friends any longer, but they didn’t know that I roamed alone in the grounds during break.

  ‘Ma, when they all came to know, I had to do it,’ I whimper as the last part of my explanation.

  ‘We told you before, Ira! Don’t tell anyone,’ Ma cries out, frustrated. ‘Had you kept quiet, nothing of this sort would have happened! Listen to us sometimes. First of all, it was your fault for believing that something like this can happen. And your friends are equally stupid, believing every word of what you said. Oh my god, it’s going to be Kanpur all over again.’ She glares at me with pronounced anger and shakes me forcefully. ‘Don’t you learn from your mistakes, Ira? You had to go and open your mouth! You can’t live without all the attention, can you? And how dare you lie to us and roam around behind our backs? We trusted you and you’ve broken our trust.’

  ‘Ira,’ Papa says in a vacant voice, ‘why? Why? Why couldn’t you tell us?’

  ‘I thought you’d get angry,’ I answer, hiccupping. ‘And you would have stopped me.’

  ‘Of course we would have stopped you!’ Papa says furiously. ‘Have you gone mad? Going around and meeting people behind our backs like this?’ Their disbelief has turned into a ferocious temper and for the next hour I stand in a corner, listening to their speeches that shuttle between anger at and disappointment in their daughter.

  ‘Ira, we would’ve helped you,’ Papa says weakly. ‘We would have ensured that you didn’t get involved in this mess.’

  I keep quiet. Do they think I am dumb enough to have wanted to get involved in this mess?

  ‘And Karthik, think of that man. That Amroliwallah,’ Ma says frantically. ‘Is he crazy? Ira is still a child. How can he get her involved in all this?’

  ‘We can put him in jail for this,’ Papa replies. ‘Does he know you hadn’t told us?’

  I look up in surprise when I hear Papa asking me a question civilly. It has been a long evening of nothing but anger and admonishing.

  I hesitate. ‘Well, I never plainly stated it to him but I think he knew.’

  ‘How can that man do this?’ Ma exclaims. ‘We have to go and meet him.’

  Ma’s last statement shakes me up a bit.

  If the situation weren’t so worrisome, I would have thoroughly enjoyed a Ma and Ass-hok meeting.

  I have a feeling they would have liked each other …

  ‘Baby, pata chal gaya?’ Tanu bai asks me, her eyes wide with anxiety.

  I snap shut the laptop. A spurt of articles on me have popped up on various internet news sites and like a masochistic nonentity, I have been reading them religiously.

  I give her a confused nod. How does she know? I look at the door to my parents’ room. Papa and Ma have managed to wrangle Ass-hok’s cell number from me. For the past hour and a half they
have been trying to call him unsuccessfully. The loser has switched off his cell phone and I don’t have any other contact number.

  ‘Ma told you?’ I ask her suspiciously. When did Ma tell her? I think hard. She and Papa are holed up in their room, probably devising innovative ways to murder Amroliwallah, while I have been banished to have my dinner.

  My eyes catch sight of the evening papers, lying on the dining chair next to mine, an article about me facing up. But Tanu bai never reads the main papers. Ma has only taught her how to read the Bombay Times.

  ‘I had doubt,’ she sighs. ‘Iss umar mein you know everything.’ She is tut-tutting at me and shaking her head. She begins to mutter in Hindi at her best speed. I catch words like ‘umar’ and ‘naadaan’ repeatedly.

  ‘Durrani ki maid told me. They are showing it on Marathi channel,’ she finally deigns to inform me.

  I snort. The stupid regional channels are worse than the national so-called-news channels which take perverse pleasure in promoting themselves as ‘India’s number one channel!’ and consider Rakhi Sawant’s latest statement ‘Breaking News!’

  ‘Why are you taking fayda of your blessings?’ she asks me in an agitated voice.

  I ignore her and sulkily chomp on my food.

  Why does everyone have to talk of misuse now?

  ‘See, baby, if you do all this naatak, it will go,’ Tanu bai says spookily.

  I jump up in panic. For some reason, I thought she said ‘I will go’. A complete disaster if it were to happen. And Ma would never forgive me.

  ‘But why will you go?’ I whine.

  Tanu bai lets out an impatient sound. ‘When did I say I will go?’

  ‘Oh. OK. So what will go?’ I ask her, my curiosity peaked.

  She rolls her eyes at me and trudges off to clean the cooking vessels. ‘Gift.’

  Trying to deal with the sudden restlessness I am feeling, I ask cautiously, ‘Why?’

  She lets out a big sigh and, rubbing an icky soiled kadhai with awe-inspiring vigour, she says, ‘See, your gift is only phor your need. Not for that Amroli’s. Goddess Saraswati gave this to you phor your need.’

  With that, she sets aside the kadhai and picks up a spoon. In stark contrast to her treatment of the kadhai, she rubs the spoon with firm actions but no crazy energy.

  ‘Only need. Not greed,’ she says, throwing the spoon aside.

  Papa and Ma couldn’t get through to him. They’re going to his office tomorrow. I’ve been trying to explain in a very twisted way, using cleverly disguised language, that Ass-hok will definitely point out that their daughter had absolutely no problem with the plan. She had come on her own.

  Or, knowing him, he will probably complain that the AIPMT topper didn’t tell the press about Amroli’s eight hours a day special revision strategy.

  And that’s not all. An extremely sad excuse for a human being, Vatsal Ajmera, posted a link to the article on Amroli’s Facebook page. Now a bunch of fools on my friends list have start posting that link on my wall, which is already flooded with ridiculous messages from my mentally unhinged friends.

  (Thanks, Alvira, I am pleased to hear that you felt the need to ROFL and LMAO after reading the article. And Punit? No I don’t charge for my services.)

  Rika calls at night. She advises me to chill. She says no one will believe the article. Studying 24/7 has destroyed Vatsal Ajmera’s normal functioning.

  ‘Ira, it sounds absolutely, unbelievably ridiculous! You really think any sane soul is going to believe it? A girl who can predict question papers?’ she tells me in her most confident voice.

  Somehow her scepticism cheers me up. No one will really notice. We’ll all think of it as a good joke.

  ‘Yeah, fortunately that’s there,’ I respond.

  ‘But listen, who is this mysterious source?’ Rika asks. ‘The one who’s all about capitalizing on the gift and vast monetary compensation. It has to be someone who doesn’t approve of the whole business. Do you have any idea?’

  ‘Actually, I do,’ I begin. The moment I read the article, two names had immediately popped into my mind.

  ‘Harsh and Aisha?’ Rika asks dubiously. ‘Harsh, I don’t know. How did they contact him? But Ira, I don’t think it’s Aisha. Can you imagine her doing it?’

  ‘Rika, it isn’t exactly murder and I can’t imagine her not doing it,’ I snap. I am still hurting from my encounter with Aisha in the afternoon. ‘In fact, I met her today. She is really pissed off with me.’

  ‘Aisha? I find it really hard to imagine her pissed off. Especially with you. She adores you.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t,’ I retort. ‘She is angry with me because she thinks she didn’t get into her stupid law colleges because of me.’

  ‘Law?’ Rika says, baffled. ‘I didn’t know she wanted to do law. I always thought she wanted to do management and start a business or something …’

  ‘Really?’ What was Aisha’s problem then? She got what she wanted, didn’t she? That too because of me, I might add.

  ‘So, Ira,’ Rika’s voice shifts gears, ‘have you made the IBSE papers?’

  The feeling of relief that had swooped over me when Rika told me about Aisha’s true desires dissipates.

  ‘God, Rika! I’m going through a lot right now. Are your exam papers the only thing you can think about?’ I say, infuriated. ‘Anyway, you really think my parents are going to let me do it?’

  ‘Noo. You didn’t get a shouting, did you?’

  ‘I did. A big one,’ I say morosely. ‘I’ve never been scolded like this before.’

  Rika makes sympathetic noises and I sink into gloom and misery once again.

  For the other exams, there was always Ass-hok Amroliwallah dropping subtle hints that got me running helter-skelter preparing the papers.

  Even if he isn’t there this time, there’s Shantanu, Rika, Lavisha and the others.

  Ass-hok is just a supervisor. They are the reason I agreed.

  15

  Just as Ma and Papa are preparing to barge into Asshok’s office and murder him brutally, we receive a call from the school principal.

  The poor driver is so startled by Papa’s sharp order to maaro his life’s quickest U-turn that he chokes on the paan he has safely deposited in his cheeks. He has understood that this is a matter of life and death. Since the moment we stepped into the car on our death mission, he has delightfully skidded past surprised vehicles and harassed traffic policemen, happy with his new freedom.

  It isn’t pretty. The call from the principal, that is. Understandably, he isn’t very pleased with all the press coverage on me and my god-given gifts. The intensity of his reaction surprises me, though. It has hardly been a day or two. And I am not exactly a solitaire on Kareena Kapoor’s finger that everyone will be gung-ho about me. He can’t possibly have Google Alerts to keep tabs on all his students’ dirty deeds. Fortunately, he doesn’t believe a word of it. He criticizes the media for their collective efforts to increase students’ blood pressures and waxes eloquent on today’s shoddy journalism. He doesn’t give us a clean chit, though. Ma has to endure a long, contemptuous speech about the harmful effects and worthlessness of coaching classes. Ma hears his entire speech with the guiltiest look on her face. At frequent intervals she butts in to say, ‘Absolute rubbish, I agree. No, no, we have no idea how it originated! Ridiculous rumours.’

  We don’t have the heart or the spirit to fight Ass-hok Amroliwallah after this. I even have to go to school tomorrow. Plus it is late, but then Ass-hok always boasted about not leaving his office before midnight. Papa’s order to go back home is the final nail on our unspoken agreement.

  Not that Ass-hok should thank his stars or pray to the XXL poster in his office for saving his ass. Ma is just going to turn up tomorrow with the smartest gaalis and the most caustic tongue she can acquire.

  Staring is rude. Not to mention potentially hazardous. People should know that. Especially if you’re in a chemistry lab holding a tube filled with hissing blue a
cid.

  I made the front papers today. Like the bottom half of the front paper where they usually write about Antilia’s electricity bill being one lakh per month. Of course, the fact that it is a national daily and not a city tabloid changes the headline to ‘Students claim knowing the paper before exam’ and only a slight reference is made to rumours of paper leaking by a girl.

  Why is it always paper leaking? This is the second time. My poor mother has been roaming around the house looking like a zombie. Yesterday still hasn’t sunk into her and she and Papa refuse to talk to me. However, they won’t stop talking about me and I can constantly feel their disappointed eyes on me.

  I’ve been banned from venturing within a five-mile radius of Amroli’s and my cell phone has been taken away. I am not even allowed to access the internet without Ma supervising.

  Handing over my paper to the lab assistant, I walk out of the room with a stoic face. The second my foot touched the stone steps of our heritage (read dilapidated) school building this morning, Anamika greeted me with a super-friendly super-fake, ‘Wow, Ira, this is soooo cool. How do you do it? Anyway, you’ll do stuff for us friends also, na?’

  What a hypocrite.

  The only pleasing consequence of this event is that everyone in my Amroli’s batch loves me. These articles have confirmed their month-old suspicion.

  Sadly, that doesn’t stop them coming over to me and loudly inquiring whether I can really do it. And how can I do it? How often do I do it? Where do I do it? It sounds rather obscene after a while.

  Accompanied by Rika, I dodge the open mouths, awed stares and disbelieving faces of my classmates.

  ‘Why didn’t the rest of them come?’ I ask Rika when we (she, Lavisha and I) sit down for lunch. Our chemistry teacher passes us and does a double take on seeing me. The reaction is predictable. Like all the other teachers I have encountered since morning, his eyes squint and his dimaag ki ghanti rings as he realizes this is the girl who can predict papers. He marches off with a frown.

  Rika answers, ‘I dunno. Most probably all of them are bunking like Nihar.’ Noticing our chemistry teacher, she asks me, ‘Did the teachers say anything?’