by Nikita Singh
‘Yes— Wait, what?’ Lavanya paused.
‘Yup, bacon isn’t beef; it’s pork. I was just testing you.’
‘Wow. And if I’d said bacon is not beef, that would have meant what? That I’ve eaten it? That’s pure genius,’ she sneered good-naturedly at Shourya.
‘Nah! I know you don’t have the balls to try anything that’s not approved and permitted. I just wanted to freak you out.’
‘You know nothing.’
‘Don’t I? Do you have secrets now?’ Shourya raised one eyebrow.
‘Five minutes in, and you kids are already at each other’s throats.’ Mrs Suryavanshi served hot parathas on the kitchen counter. ‘Eat now, before it gets cold.’
‘He started it,’ Lavanya muttered before sitting down next to Shourya on a tall counter stool. She placed a hot paratha on her plate, plonked a dollop of white butter on top of it and watched it melt away slowly, spreading across the paratha, and eventually seeping out. ‘Just how I like it,’ she grinned at her mother and picked up her fork and knife.
‘What are you doing—?’ Shourya interrupted, aghast, before she could take her first bite. ‘That is not how you eat a paratha!’ He tore a piece of his paratha with his fingers, dipped it in butter and deposited it into his mouth. ‘That’s how it’s done.’
‘It’s bad manners to talk with your mouth full.’ Lavanya continued eating with her fork.
‘Use your hands. Trust me, it’ll taste better that way!’
‘I am eating the exact same thing. The method of eating is not going to affect the taste.’
‘Fine. You’re only ruining it for yourself.’ Shourya knew she was not going to do it his way now, especially because he had asked her to.
‘I am not.’ Lavanya turned to her mother and said, ‘It is delicious, Mom. Have you eaten?’
‘Yes, I ate with your father. He got late for work after all. His car would not start again; it has been giving him so much trouble recently.’
‘Why, what’s wrong?’ Lavanya asked between bites.
‘It is so old. I keep telling him to buy a new one, but he never listens. He takes my car when I am not using it.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me when I was taking your car in the morning? I could have walked,’ Lavanya did not look up from her plate.
‘Oh, he did not want to bother you . . .’
Shourya noticed Lavanya’s lower lip twitch. Her hands stalled next to her plate for a moment, and then it passed. She nodded and resumed eating.
‘Aunty, this really is delicious,’ Shourya said brightly.
‘Take one more, beta,’ Mrs Suryavanshi said, and put another paratha on his plate.
Shourya did not understand what had happened, but the air in the room felt thick with stress. They had shifted from a comfortable, warm atmosphere to a chilly one in a matter of seconds. He tried to get everyone to talk again, but his cheer felt forced.
After breakfast, Shourya got up to leave and Lavanya walked him to the door. He paused at the front steps, the very spot where they had shared so many secrets and worries. It may have been a different time, but he wondered if the ghosts haunting Lavanya were still the same.
As if sensing what he was about to ask, Lavanya murmured, ‘Not now, Shourya.’
He tried to read her expression, but she was making it impossible—looking away from him, her face blank.
‘Are you still—?’ he began to ask, but she cut him off.
‘Give me your phone.’
When he handed it over, she saved her number into his contacts list and placed it back in his palm, holding his hand for a second before pulling away.
‘Call me soon?’ Lavanya asked, looking up at him, a half-smile on her face. Then, without waiting for his response, she turned around and went back inside.
5
‘It’s really not my thing,’ she insisted.
‘It’s every lawyer’s thing,’ the handsome man with the tiny ponytail persisted.
‘Thank you, but not me.’
‘Your call,’ he shrugged. ‘But keep this. Let me know if you change your mind.’
‘I won’t . . .’
But he was already gone. She got off the bar stool, wobbling for a moment on her five-inch heels. She looked over at the table in the corner where her colleagues from PSM were sitting. This was the hub for lawyers, most of them turning to alcohol and cocaine after the end of every week. She was never welcome there.
As she stepped out of the pub, the wind blew her hair away from her face. The napkin with the hastily scrawled phone number was still in her hand. She pocketed it.
Lavanya was having trouble opening her eyes. Her forehead felt all scrunched up, as if it had been like that for hours. She tried to relax her forehead muscles, but failed. She tried to smoothen them out with her fingers but they went back to being a furrow within a matter of seconds.
She fumbled with the comforter, trying to reach her cell phone. The satin of the bed sheet felt cool to her warm fingers before they landed on the hard metallic phone. The digits popping up in front of her New York skyline wallpaper told her it was 1.23 p.m.
She groaned.
Her throat was dry; she had been breathing through her mouth all night, and her nose was blocked. Having lived in New York for the past year, she had arrogantly assumed a fleece sweatshirt would be enough protection against the Delhi cold.
She sat up and lowered her feet to the floor. The tiles were freezing and she quickly pulled her legs up and tucked them under her to warm them. She sat there, trying to make sense of time and place, breathing heavily, too warm under the comforter. When she felt like she could get up without keeling over, she tentatively pulled one foot from under her butt and then another. She managed to stand up, and walk to the window. There was a water bottle on the windowsill. After gulping down some water, she felt her nostrils opening up for air again.
She put on her slippers and walked to the bathroom. She never looked in the mirror any more. Since finding out about her disease, every time she saw her reflection, she imagined some sign or other on her face that would indicate how her condition was getting worse. She would invent lines and spots and blemishes, and would convince herself her health was deteriorating every second. Before long, she would go into full-blown panic mode, and that was never good, especially when she was trying desperately to conquer a fatal condition by refusing to think about it.
She took her time, cleaning her teeth, then her body and her hair, attempting to wash off her disease. At the very least she had hoped it would make her feel cleaner, lighter, but at the end of the hot shower all she felt was a cold shiver and a runny nose. She wrapped herself in her old bathrobe, the one with Dora the Explorer on it that she had had since she was ten; it barely fit her now. She had never seen the cartoon, but begged her mother to buy it; she had been enchanted with Dora’s huge eyes.
‘I thought I heard you move around,’ her mother was at the door, peeking into her bedroom.
‘Morning, Mom,’ Lavanya mumbled, her throat feeling rough and torn.
‘Is everything okay? Why are your eyes so swollen? Have you been crying?’ Mrs Suryavanshi held her daughter by her shoulders and peered into her eyes.
‘No, my migraine’s giving me trouble. And I think I caught a cold. That’s all.’ Lavanya forced her eyes to open wide in an attempt to flatten her forehead again.
‘I told you to wear a hat. You never listen. I thought something was wrong when you did not wake up in the morning, but you were up till late last night, weren’t you? I saw light coming from under your door.’
‘Mom, you worry too much. I’m okay. You don’t have to stay up to see what time I go to sleep,’ Lavanya chuckled.
‘Beta . . .’ Mrs Suryavanshi had a grim expression on her face. She held Lavanya’s arm and prodded her towards the bed. ‘Come, sit with me.’
Lavanya tried to compose her expression. She knew what her mother wanted to talk about; she could see her forehead scrunched up
the same way her own had been when she woke up. She took a slow breath, struggling to remain calm . . . at least on the outside. She sat down next to her mother on the bed, her hands clasped together on her lap, as if drawing support from one another.
‘Lavi, you know that your father and I are very happy that you have come home, don’t you?’
Lavanya felt her cheeks burn. Her mother was looking at her, but Lavanya could not meet her eyes. She was staring pointedly at her hands, the fingers entwined, holding on for dear life. She nodded.
‘When you left . . . the house felt empty. It was empty. The silence was sheer torture. We took a lot of time to adjust to it. I thought I had got used to it . . . but now . . . now that you are here . . .’ Mrs Suryavanshi looked away.
Once she stopped feeling her mother’s gaze piercing her skin, Lavanya felt confident enough to look at her.
‘What I am trying to ask you is . . . is everything okay with you? I do not know what to think any more. I have not seen you in so long, I cannot tell if this is how you are now, or if something is bothering you. Whatever it is, you can always tell me . . .’
This time when her mother’s eyes examined her, Lavanya did not turn away. She knew if she did now, she would give herself away. She had always been a terrible liar and her mother, especially, could see right through her.
‘Relax, Mom. Nothing is wrong. I know you’re probably wondering why I am here . . . I am asking myself that too, trust me. I ask myself that every day. I guess I just missed everyone so much. It had been too long . . .’ Lavanya said.
‘Yes, it had.’ Her mother nodded solemnly.
‘But I am here now. Please don’t be sad. I know I should have come sooner . . . but I did not know how to, I mean, it was not easy for me to do. And I was trying to concentrate on my studies. Harvard Law is no joke. I came so close to giving up so many times.’
‘Oh, you are a brilliant student. I am sure it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.’
Lavanya’s throat choked at the pride in her mother’s voice. ‘It was too much sometimes, Mom. I had to give it everything I had to get through.’
‘I can understand that. I am not blaming you. I only wished that you would call more often. I have missed you.’
Her mother looked old. Under the bright light coming from the window, Lavanya noticed for the first time the brown spots on the mounds of her mother’s cheeks, and how the creases around her eyes and lips had become much more pronounced. Her skin was not as tight and glowing as Lavanya remembered. She felt guilty for leaving her mother to grow old alone.
‘I missed you too, Mom.’ She barely managed to say the words. She could see her mother’s eyes shine with unshed tears. Lavanya ached knowing what she had inadvertently done to her mother by going so far away, for far too long. But she had not had a choice. She just had to get away from this place, and everything that had happened since, however painful, was collateral damage.
Mrs Suryavanshi blinked away the tears from her eyes, and asked, ‘What are your plans, Lavi? How long are you here for? We want you to stay with us for as long as you can, but of course, you have a job and a life to get back to. I would like to be prepared for your departure this time.’
‘I, uh . . . I am here till the end of the month. Till New Year’s. Or maybe till the first week of January? I’m not sure about my plans yet.’
‘Have you taken leave from work?’
Lavanya recalled the nasty exchange she had had with Mr Cather the last time she was at the Paxton-Stark-Meester offices. ‘Sort of.’
‘Okay. I hope your boss lets you extend your leave.’
‘Me too.’
Mrs Suryavanshi opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again, as if deciding against whatever she was planning to say.
‘Please don’t worry so much,’ offered Lavanya, ‘I am perfectly fine.’
Her mother did not look convinced. ‘Why do I feel like you are hiding something?’
‘You always feel that way, but I am not. It has been so long since I was here last. That is why I am a little . . . confused, I guess? You know, this is all a little overwhelming,’ Lavanya gestured to the room in general. There was an old tattoo on her bedpost, barely visible. It looked like some sort of fantastical dragon-like creature. She remembered getting the temporary tattoo free with a stick of gum as a child. She ran her finger over what was left of the tattoo. ‘So many memories.’
Mrs Suryavanshi smiled. ‘You used to put these ghastly tattoos everywhere around the house. And they are so tough to clean! Remember the heated conversations we would have about that?’
‘Why do you want to take them out? They are ugly, but they are cool.’
‘That reminds me, do you want to go through some of your stuff?’
‘What kind of stuff?’
‘We gave away most of your old clothes and shoes, but the rest is all here—your toys, photo albums, books, diaries, CDs, junk jewellery . . . all your things. I think you’ll feel better looking through them.’ Mrs Suryavanshi pulled out the under-bed storage, adding softly, ‘I know I do.’
Lavanya could see her worn-out pink journal and her Titanic DVD in the box her mother opened up. She smiled tentatively. ‘Why not?’
Shourya was having a good day. His mother and sister had agreed on everything so far, minus a few minor conflicts that were resolved without any major hiccups. He had taken Shreela and her fiancé Manav out for dinner, and was happy and relieved to find that they seemed to enjoy each other’s company. Shreela could be very stubborn and unreasonable at times, but Manav seemed like the kind of person who could handle that. Shourya had had reservations about the man his sister was marrying, reservations that had nothing to do with Manav per se. He was sure he would have had the same reservations about any man Shreela chose. But he could see that they adored each other, and his little sister looked ecstatic in Manav’s presence. He sighed with satisfaction. The evening had gone better than he could have hoped for. If anything, it had ended too soon. He checked the time as he parked the car.
‘It’s not even ten!’ he exclaimed.
‘I’m so sorry Manav had to go back early. This almost never happens. It’s just that the project he’s working on is about to end, so it’s getting a bit intense,’ Shreela said, as she attempted to unbuckle her seatbelt.
‘I know. You don’t have to defend him.’
‘I’m just saying.’
‘I only meant that we could go out and do something. This is a waste of a perfectly good night. What are your plans?’
‘To. Get. Out. Of. This. Damn—’ Shreela jerked the seatbelt repeatedly in frustration. ‘Argh! Stupid thing.’
‘You don’t even know how to get out of a stupid seatbelt, how are you supposed to be someone’s wife?’ Shourya unsnapped her belt.
‘So? That makes things all the more easy. Manav will be there to help me with my seatbelt and stuff. Besides, we will get a better car, one with seatbelts that work.’
‘Hey, what’s wrong with this car?’ Shourya asked indignantly, stepping out and observing the red SUV. ‘Mom and Dad love it.’
‘No, they don’t. They only tell you they do because you gifted it to them. What else can they say?’
‘What! I never knew they did not like it. Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve got this replaced.’
‘It doesn’t matter to them what car they are in, as long as it takes them where they want to go. Now, let’s go inside. I’m freezing.’ Shreela tugged at the sleeve of his shirt.
‘Of course you are. It’s the middle of December and you’re wearing just a silk wrap over your dress. What did you think was going to happen?’
‘It’s a scarf. And it’s Hermes. And it was a gift from Manav. I can tolerate a little cold to show it off!’
‘Makes so much sense.’ Shourya rolled his eyes. He put his arm around her and steered her into the elevator.
‘Oh, did you hear from the photographer? I can’t have the wedding if Karan Dhillon i
sn’t the one filming it. I just can’t.’
Shourya had forgotten about the photographer. ‘He hasn’t called me back.’
‘Liar! You were supposed to look up his email address on his Facebook fan page and write to him. You never contacted him, did you?’
‘I did!’
‘You didn’t!’
‘Fine, I didn’t. But I’ll do it right now.’ Shourya pulled out his cell phone and launched Facebook. ‘What’s his name again?’
‘Karan Dhillon.’ Shreela dug for the keys in her giant bag and unlocked the door. ‘He must have a million likes on his Facebook page. He’s amazing! He has filmed so many celebrity weddings. Thankfully, he is my friend’s friend’s cousin, and she has already spoken to him about doing my wedding, otherwise it’s impossible to get him at such short noti— Bhaiya? What’s wrong?’
‘Huh?’ Shourya glanced up from his phone. ‘Noth . . . nothing . . .’ he said distractedly. He turned back to the image open on his screen.
Deepti and Avik.
Engaged.
‘Are you sure? You look like . . . I don’t know. You look weird.’ Shreela peered at him uncertainly.
‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.’ Shourya said in a clipped tone. ‘Listen, why don’t you go on in, and I’ll . . . be back . . . soon?’
‘What happened, Bhaiya, are you okay?’
‘Of course. I forgot something. Be back soon.’ Shourya hurried out of the corridor and into the elevator. He felt stifled. He needed air.
Engaged.
He dashed across the parking lot towards the car. He needed to run, but his legs suddenly felt heavy, restricting his motion. He slammed the door and floored the accelerator, speeding away into the dark.
Shourya drove around the city for over an hour, aimlessly looping around in circles, cursing the vehicles stalled at traffic signals, honking incessantly. He knew he should not be so bothered, that the news should not affect him, but at the very least he had thought Deepti would have the decency to tell him about it rather than let him find out from Facebook. Pictures of the happy couple on a holiday cruise showing off bright smiles and an even brighter diamond—not what he had expected to see when he logged on.