There's Something About You

by Yashodhara Lal

  ‘Fab, darling. Just fab. Sending you the mail. Hurry with the replies, and don’t start drinking tonight to celebrate before you’re done. Or maybe you should, your answers may come out even better then!’ With her tinkling trademark laugh that always made Trish’s toes curl, Nivedita hung up.

  The sun was setting now and Trish watched the shimmering pink and orange rays splaying out over the ocean in silence. She couldn’t quite believe it. Her impetuous act had actually paid off in a totally unexpected way. She knew that Ba would be watching the sunset from his window, and this made her feel a sense of oneness with him. Maybe – just maybe – things were going to be all right.

  For what felt like the first time in weeks, Trish exhaled.

  8

  Babysitting

  ‘Hey Trish! How goes?’ Akanksha smiled at Trish through the open door as she simultaneously nudged Lisa forward. ‘Go on! Say hello to Trish-masi!’

  Trish-masi? She’d been promoted? Trish tried not to let the surprise register on her face. Akanksha had sounded so desperate on the phone that Trish hadn’t been able to say no. She smiled down at Lisa. ‘Hey. Got your books today?’

  Lisa rolled her eyes and wordlessly held up a stack of four books. Her mother nudged her again. ‘Stop pushing, Mom!’ Lisa said and stomped into the flat past Trish, her thin shoulders drooping.

  ‘Thanks so much for having her over again,’ Akanksha said, backing away from the door.

  Trish began, ‘Okay, no problem, but …’

  Akanksha paused, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, almost dancing with impatience. Trish frowned. What was the hurry? But she had to say her piece.

  ‘Akku, it’s just that … I’ve kind of got some work to focus on now. I’ve got a regular column and—’

  ‘Hey! Congratulations! That’s great news.’ Akanksha trotted over and gave Trish an impetuous hug and then teetered away again on her high heels. ‘And we must talk about it when I pick Lisa up later today, okay?’

  ‘Okay, but …’

  Akanksha gave her a wave just before she disappeared around the corner. Trish could hear the click-clacking of her heels as she trotted off down the stairs.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Trish said. ‘Whatever.’ Then, in unconscious imitation of Lisa, she stalked into the house with drooping shoulders and a scowl.

  The kid wasn’t being so bad today. She was engrossed in reading her Sweet Valley Twins books, her mouth slightly open. Trish thought about commenting that she had only read the Sweet Valley Twin series when she was twelve and maybe Lisa should stick to stuff by Enid Blyton, but she thought the better of it. Kids were different these days, they matured a lot faster – or so she’d heard. She’d better just stick to being friendly Trish-masi. Or even better, Trish-masi who just minded her own business.

  She wasn’t getting much work done. She spent most of the afternoon with Ba. He had announced loudly that he had decided he wasn’t going to take his medicines any more, having developed a strange new conspiracy theory in his head. It took her a while to calm him down and convince him that her mother wasn’t trying to actually poison him.

  ‘But she is trying to finish me off, that woman!’ He pointed an accusing finger at Ma, who bristled with indignation.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Ba, she’s doing nothing of the sort.’ Despite her worrying, Trish had to fight to keep the smile off her face. It was a preposterous accusation, so preposterous that she hoped it was just Ba’s sense of humour making a comeback through the haze. ‘Ba, let’s play chess,’ she suggested in desperation.

  It was the one activity that her father still enjoyed. In a bid to keep him occupied, she had let him teach her the rules of the game, which she privately thought incredibly boring. He hmphed at first but then agreed. So they spent the next hour engrossed at the chessboard, with him half propped up against his pillows so he could see the board clearly. It was always surprising to her how his mental faculties appeared entirely intact when he was playing chess. He concentrated, strategized and beat her easily, complaining as usual that it was no fun playing with Trish because she was no challenge.

  Still, he was evidently pleased with winning three games in a row. He quietly swallowed all his pills in quick succession and then lay down, turned over and drifted into his afternoon nap.

  Trish tucked the light sheet around his shoulders and left the room, feeling relieved yet drained. Ma was sitting in the drawing room, reading the newspaper, opposite Lisa, whose nose was still buried in her book.

  ‘He’s asleep, Ma.’

  Silence.

  ‘He took his medicine.’

  Continued silence. Trish realized that her mother was still hurt about the whole poisoning-to-death accusation from her husband. Who wouldn’t have been? Trish opened her mouth to say something sympathetic. But that wasn’t what came out.

  ‘I hope now you understand what I’ve been trying to tell you.’ Trish was surprised at how much she sounded like Ma right now, but she couldn’t help it. ‘Ba needs to be reassessed – and quickly. His condition is clearly deteriorating and we can’t just let this—’

  Trish’s mother folded the newspaper with such a violent rustle that even Lisa looked up for a millisecond from her book. Ma then got up from the chair and elbowed past Trish to go into the bedroom.

  Trish stared after her. This was a first. Ma walking away from an argument before it even started? And what was with her, Trish herself, talking like that? The one thing she hated more than anything else about her mother was the smug I-told-you-so which she had heard countless times over the years. And here she was, doing the same thing at a time when she knew Ma least needed to hear it from her.

  Feeling sorry but unable to actually do anything about it, Trish turned her attention to her pending work – answering the letters that Nivedita had sent for the day. She sat down at her laptop, noting with relief that Lisa had made no attempt to get near it at all.

  She started to read the first letter. Hmmm. Dear Amy. Trish was amazed at how, within a mere two days, the newspaper had changed the name of the column from AMA to ‘Dear Amy’.

  Dear Amy,

  My mother-in-law has been visiting us over the last month and I am sorry to say this, but she is driving me absolutely crazy. She’s constantly criticizing the way I do things, about not spending enough time in the kitchen, referring to the dishes that I do make as ‘flavourless’ and generally comparing me – unfavorably – to her own daughter, who ‘manages everything beautifully in London without any help – a job, a home, the kids and always ensures a hot, healthful meal is on the table every evening’. My husband is a devoted son (are all Indian men like this?) and when I talk to him about it, he just tells me that I’m overreacting, that his mom is ‘like this only’ and that there’s no point raking up issues with her when she’s only here another two weeks. But I feel really suffocated holding back. What should I do?

  Despairing Daughter-in-law

  Trish bit her lip. Mother-in-law issues weren’t things that she felt qualified to comment upon, but then, that was true for almost all the letters she received. Nivedita had been urging her to weave in a little more sarcasm, but she really didn’t feel like it. Come on, she told herself, it’s just a job. She thought for a couple of minutes and then decided to let her fingers do the thinking. She began to type.

  Dear DD,

  There comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to decide to grow up. That is clearly a missed boat for your darling mom-in-law, but luckily, it doesn’t sound as if it’s too late for you. So here’s what I think: It clearly bothers you a great deal that the mother-in-law appears to compare you unfavourably to the sister-in-law. I don’t have any kids, but I imagine that those who do tend to generally think more highly of them than of other specimens of humanity. So isn’t it natural that she sees the flesh of her flesh through rose-coloured lenses? (Also, doesn’t that conjure up a slightly gross image?)

  Anyway, stop and think: why do you care so much
about this? Maybe this an opportunity to figure yourself out a little better. You know, reflect on your insecurities, dig deeper into your childhood, get some insight, write a journal, meditate and generally sort out your own shit. Seriously, it’s an opportunity.

  And also, talk to your husband about it. Talk his ears off. He doesn’t want to hear criticism about his mommy? Well, he’s not letting you talk to her, is he? Assume for the time being that he’s right: Mom’s not going to change, what’s the point of upsetting her yada yada yada. He should still know how you feel. He signed up to be with you, right?

  It strikes me as strange that Indian husbands don’t seem to realize that their wives are going to be around a lot longer than their mothers (hopefully) and that they should start realigning their loyalties as soon as they can. But then, you have a lifetime to remind him of that fact, don’t you? Either way, I say you keep the focus on yourself and on him. Attempting a heart-to-heart with Maa-ji is probably going to lead to some heartburn all around. And hey, maybe that’s not such a bad idea: a little extra spice may change her opinion about your cooking being flavourless?

  Much love,

  Amy

  Trish read it again and shook her head, frowning with disapproval. Had she managed to inject enough sarcasm into it? Maybe she would come back to this in the end and make a few spiteful remarks about the impossibility of having sex when your mother-in-law had her ear glued to the walls.

  She read the next one and cheered up. This was going to be a piece of cake.

  Dear Amy-ji,

  There is a girl who I am in love since the last 2 year. I think she also love me because we talk in the bus in a friendly manner since the last 1 year. But I have not proposed her because she is college student and I am 36 years. But more and more when I think, I think I want to marry this girl only and am not liking the girls that my parents are trying to arrange with. But how can I ask her? Please advice me.

  Hopeful in the Bus

  Trish started typing almost before she finished reading the letter:

  Dear Hopeful in the Bus,

  Ah, the good old bus romance. Thank goodness for public transport! How else would so many people in our great country find their partners on the bus journey called life? The conductor rattles off the stops one by one, but who’s counting the many starts that are made on these wonderful moving, matchmaking machines?

  Now, to your question. I am afraid language proves to be a bit of a barrier here. Are you asking me how you can possibly ask a girl approximately half your age to marry you? Well, since she’s in college, she’s at least an adult. Stranger matches have been made, especially when the parties involved are a young blonde and a geriatric millionaire. She’s young but probably not blonde; you’re not quite geriatric and if I had to place my bets on it, I’d say you’re no millionaire either.

  So go for it! What do you have to lose but your dignity? Just in case she tells you she’s always thought of you as a friend – or an uncle – it’s a small price to pay. As Nike says, just do it. As long as she’s not doing her BA in English, there’s a small modicum of a chance that she might actually say yes.

  If your question was simply about how you should propose to her, as in, whether you should wait till Valentine’s day or pop a ring just before the bus reaches her stop, don’t worry so much about it. You sound like a guy who’s much more about content than style – or you had better be, anyway. Feel free to be creative! Ask her to meet you outside the bus if you’re feeling really brave, maybe? If budget is an issue, McDonald’s has a great twenty-rupee McAloo tikki burger you can hide the ring in. Ask for the no-pyaaz version.

  All the best, and I’d be highly tickled to hear how this panned out for you, okay?

  Love,

  Amy

  p.s. Do me and all women a favour, including her. In the likely event that she says no to you, please do not stalk her. I’m sure you wouldn’t dream of it because you sound lovely, but thought I’d just put in a word. Remember, there are always other fish in the bus.

  There. That one wasn’t so difficult. Some answers just came more easily to her than others. Of course, most of the time, she felt like a big fraud. The letters that came in were usually about relationship problems, and what did she really know about relationship problems? She had problems, of course, but not in the relationship domain. Largely because she didn’t even have any relationships. She had lived almost three decades successfully managing to keep most people at a distance. She had never been in love, she didn’t have any siblings or even cousins, only a kind of weird, twisted relationship with her parents. No close friends, either to speak of, only …

  As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Trish automatically looked over at Lisa, who continued to stare open-mouthed at her book and quietly turned another page.

  Trish pushed against the arms of the chair to lift her heavy frame up and went over and opened the door. Akanksha stood there, smiling serenely, looking much more relaxed than she had a few hours earlier. In fact, she was glowing and radiant. Trish had resolved a long time back not to envy her friend her gorgeous looks, but this glowing business was getting on her nerves. ‘Whoa, why are you so happy?’ she grunted by way

  of greeting.

  ‘Just.’ Akanksha breezily wafted in past Trish. ‘Isn’t it a wonderful day?’

  ‘Is it?’ Trish peered outside the door, trying to get a glimpse of the weather. Looked like a regular sultry day in Mumbai to her. She shut the door and followed Akanksha inside to the living room.

  ‘Hello, munchkin.’ Akanksha sat down on the arm of the sofa on which Lisa was reading, and gently stroked her daughter’s hair. Lisa ignored her completely, and when Akanksha bent down to kiss her cheek and nuzzle her, she just made a little annoyed sound and shrugged her off. Akanksha didn’t seem to mind, she just sat there, gazing at her fondly, watching her read.

  Trish cleared her throat. ‘So listen. What I was telling you this morning?’

  ‘Oh yes, darling.’ Akanksha turned her big, pretty, kohl-lined eyes to Trish and beamed. ‘Congratulations. I’m so glad you’ve found some work! It must be a big relief.’

  ‘It is,’ Trish admitted, and then added, ‘But the thing is, I really do need time to be able to work at it.’

  Akanksha nodded vigorously, big eyes staring innocently at Trish.

  Trish tried again. ‘Time to myself at home.’

  Another nod. Complete agreement.

  ‘Time alone,’ Trish said, emphasizing the last word, hoping that now Akanksha would get it.

  That asinine pretty-faced nod again. ‘Of course.’

  Trish gave up and rolled her eyes. The words came out in a rush. ‘I won’t be able to babysit all the time like this, Akku.’

  ‘Oh.’ Akanksha looked shocked and a little hurt. ‘Did Lisa bother you today? I told her not to. Lisa?’ Lisa didn’t respond, burying her face deeper into her book, although Trish thought she was only pretending to read now.

  ‘It’s not that,’ Trish said quickly. ‘She was very good today, all she did was read. It’s just … we’ll need to plan things a little better. I need to balance a few things, including Ba’s care, maybe start some therapy for him, and now there’s the writing assignment and the job search.’ She suddenly wished they weren’t having this conversation in front of Lisa, who she was sure was listening. Yes, her ears were perked up. To make amends, she said, ‘Lisa’s welcome to come over, we’ll just have to plan it in advance, unlike today.’

  Akanksha sighed. ‘Of course, darling. You’re right. I shouldn’t have just dumped her here like that without giving you proper notice.’ Trish winced, wishing her friend wouldn’t use the phrase ‘dumped her’ in front of Lisa. Oblivious, Akanksha went on. ‘Well, the good thing is that my father is coming over to stay with us in a couple of weeks. So the last four weeks of summer holidays, he’ll be home with Lisa and should be able to manage her while I’m out.’

  ‘What are you so busy with these days, anyway?’ Trish asked, b
ut Akanksha was already jumping up off the arm of the sofa. She poked at Lisa’s shoulder. ‘Get up, Leez. We’re leaving.’

  ‘Sit, have a cup of tea,’ Trish offered. ‘I’m kind of taking a break right now from the writing, in any case.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Akanksha said, now dragging Lisa to her feet and then pushing her towards the door. ‘We’ve imposed enough. I feel bad about that.’

  ‘Hey, it’s no biggie,’ Trish said. ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel bad …’

  ‘It’s okay, Trish.’ Akanksha smiled at her. ‘I’m glad you told me. Friends should be able to tell each other stuff, right?’

  ‘Right.’ Trish felt a little relieved as she followed them towards the door, but the feeling was still tinged with a sense of unease.

  ‘Bye, Lisa,’ she called after her as the small girl followed her mother, dragging her feet out of the door.

  Lisa whipped around with a scowl on her face that was even darker than usual. ‘You were not babysitting. I’m not a baby!’ she hissed at Trish. And then, after one little stamp of her foot for effect, she ran off to catch up with her mother, leaving Trish open-mouthed with surprise.

  9

  The Contract

  ‘Hold, please. Hold. HOLD.’

  This felt familiar. Trish broke into a clumsy run to try and get to the lift before the doors closed. This time too, no one inside bothered to press the button to wait for her. She skidded to a stop right in front of the closing doors and cursed under her breath. Stupid assholes. She was glad she didn’t work here any more.

  She looked around and saw a tall, bespectacled young man watching her from a few feet away. He averted his eyes when she looked at his face. Another corporate snob, she supposed. Maybe even from her old office, for all she knew, although she didn’t think she had ever seen him before. He was dressed semi-casually, in jeans and a dark green shirt. Good-looking in a lanky sort of way, she noted. They waited together, but when another lift door opened and she got in, he didn’t follow her inside. Maybe he had been waiting to go down to the basement. Or maybe he just didn’t want to share the lift with her. Whatever. She was glad to have the lift to herself. She rode up speedily to the tenth floor, adjusting her plain grey kurti over her faded blue jeans. She could have dressed more formally for the meeting, but she was irritated at having to come back here. Besides, she was just a freelancer now and didn’t need any more corporate bullshit, especially after having been fired from this very company.