Victims for Sale

by Nish Amarnath

  ‘Dr Who?’ Shailaja asked. Ashok was shaking his head.

  ‘You know what I’m talking about,’ I said.

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Shailaja shot back at me. ‘Asha never did become pregnant. Sunil has always been Jyoti’s son. I never spoke to Dr Tessie or whoever it is. No one from our family has ever been associated with rape, pregnancy, an illicit affair or an illegitimate child.’

  ‘We don’t know where you’re getting all your wild theories from,’ Ashok retorted.

  I felt like every gust of wind had been whipped out of my sails. I was trying my best to make them see some sense in all my actions and they were just flatly denying it all!

  Shailaja took advantage of my momentary speechlessness. She rose decisively from her seat and clapped her hands for everyone’s attention. ‘We’ve had enough of you and all your crazy histrionics. Get out of the house, Sandhya.’

  My blood froze. ‘Wh-what?’

  ‘Get out of my house,’ Ashok repeated firmly. ‘We don’t want you here any longer. We don’t want you to keep in touch with Nirmal, Asha or anyone in this household ever again, under any circumstances whatsoever.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to be in touch with Nimmy either,’ I shot back. ‘He hit me last week.’

  ‘Not another word from you!’ Ashok thundered. ‘You’ve made a fine nuisance of yourself when we’ve been trying to lead upright lives.’

  ‘Isn’t there at least is a one-month notice!’

  Ashok stormed over to me and shoved me against the wall. ‘None of the rules meant for sane people apply to you, Ms Raman,’ he snarled. Then he looked over his shoulder and bawled at Jyoti to get my things from upstairs. Jyoti hitched up the skirts of her sari and compliantly flitted upstairs to my room.

  ‘You wouldn’t be evicting me if I’d signed an official agreement with you,’ I yelled.

  ‘Sandhya, this was a word-of-mouth arrangement made by your brother. There are no written agreements for such informal arrangements,’ Shailaja said in a tone that would have you think she had always been extremely fair, just, and reasonable.

  ‘Could you give me a week, please?’ I begged.

  ‘No. It’s come to a point of no return,’ Ashok said.

  ‘Can I stay here just tonight then? I’ll visit the LSE accommodation office first thing tomorrow and move out in a day or two.’

  Pandy, who had woken up, wagged his tail and ran over to me. ‘Don’t go near her!’ Shailaja yelled at the dog.

  Nidhi quickly darted over to the alcove under the banister, fetched a leash and led Pandy away to chain him somewhere near the lawn garden. Pandy didn’t put up much of a resistance, though he did bark ferociously.

  ‘I’m sorry, we just can’t have you here any longer,’ Shailaja stated with finality.

  I sobbed into my shirtsleeve. Jyoti returned downstairs with some of my bags. Ashok was right behind her. He carried one of my heavier suitcases and flung it all the way down the stairs. The suitcase burst open as it landed with a reverberating thump. Some of my contents, which they had haphazardly shoved inside, spilled out on to the floor. I blushed furiously as I glimpsed a box of sanitary pads on the floor. From somewhere under the heap of things in my suitcase, the sharp edge of my laptop peeked out through a slit in the torn zip. I lurched forward, knelt down and turned my laptop this way and that, praying that it hadn’t been damaged.

  ‘Where is its case?’ I shouted desperately. ‘That laptop cost me a bomb and it has all my data!’

  ‘Keeping you here has cost us a bomb, too,’ Shailaja spat out unfeelingly.

  Ashok reappeared on the stairway with my other suitcase and tossed it towards the door at the end of the stairwell. I jumped aside with a shriek. The suitcase missed my shoulder by inches and landed on the floor with an earth-shattering thud. This one was zipped up fully though.

  I sat on my heels on the floor and began organising my things into a manageable mess. My ideals had now been striped down to an amorphous state where my life hinged on the basics.

  ‘Where will I sleep tonight?’ I yelled.

  ‘In the streets for all we care,’ Shailaja said.

  ‘Can I … can I see Asha? Say goodbye to her?’ I sounded pathetic, but I didn’t care.

  ‘Do you want me to call the police?’Ashok warned.

  Jyoti hurried over to me and placed a comforting arm on my shoulder. ‘Baby, it’s really best you take your leave now,’ she whispered in Hindi. ‘I’ll call a cab for you. See if you can stay with a friend for a few nights.’

  ‘You have all your things. What’re you waiting for? Get out now!’ Ashok bellowed.

  ‘Can I take my coat?’ I croaked pathetically. Nidhi retrieved my coat from the rack under the banister. Shailaja grabbed it from her and flung it at me. I quickly shrugged it on and shoved my feet into my sandals, which lay invitingly below the shoe rack in the foyer. Jyoti scuttled to a landline phone in the foyer and called a cab as discreetly as she could. Then she turned to one side, reached into the depths of her blouse and pulled out a wad of cash. Balling the notes up in the palm of her hand, she walked over to me and pressed them into my hand. ‘The cab will be here in ten minutes,’ she whispered as inconspicuously as possible in everyone’s presence.

  ‘Let go of that rascal!’ Shailaja screeched. ‘I hope you haven’t given her any money!’

  ‘Of course not,’ Jyoti lied. ‘I was returning a bobby-pin she left in the kitchen.’

  ‘Th-thanks,’ I stuttered, touched that Jyoti was doing what she could to protect me from the irate Sawants.

  ‘Now get off our property!’ Ashok hounded. ‘Don’t hang around in our porch if you’re waiting for one of your boyfriends to fetch you from here.’

  Flaps of wind screeched gleefully in my ears as I dragged a suitcase out into the freezing night. A topcoat over a nightshirt and pyjamas did little to keep me warm. A streak of lightning rent the sky like a wildcat. An ominous clap of thunder followed. An unforgiving downpour began as I hobbled back and forth to pick up my other suitcase and all my bags.

  The door slammed on my face. The last words I heard were Shailaja’s.

  ‘Don’t ever come back again.’

  11

  Eating Humble Pie

  ‘Where to, Miss?’ The cabbie inquired, revving up the engine of his Fairway.

  ‘I’m trying to figure that out,’ I said ruefully. ‘Would you, uh, have some water with you?’ The bottle of water I always carried with me on the go was back at the Sawant residence.

  ‘’Fraid not,’ the cabbie said. ‘We’ll find you something in one of those stores next to the station.’

  ‘Okay. I’m, uh, making some calls. I’ll let you know where to go in a few minutes.’

  ‘There’s a whole lot of turns on Westway, Miss. So, I’d better know right fast.’

  His tone became less brusque when I began weeping. ‘Hey, you all right, Miss?’

  ‘I just got thrown out of the house. Right now, I have nowhere to go.’

  ‘There, there.’ He handed me a box of Kleenex from the glove compartment. ‘When we long for life without difficulties, we must remind ourselves that oaks grow strong in harsh, contrary winds. If you think about it that way, it’ll be easier to get by such situations.’ He pulled up near the Rayner’s Lane station and pointed to an adjacent Asian produce store. ‘Here we are.’

  The store bustled with cheerful customers, mostly middle-aged Indian women and men in salwar suits and pyjama-kurtas under sweaters or jackets. A family was noisily carting around a trolley brimming with plantain chips, potato crisps and bags of fresh vegetables. Oh, what wouldn’t I give to be part of such a sane, happy and homely scene.

  Memories flooded me. Eating temple food and playing with the neighbours’ children during my last few days with Appa in Tanjore … my delight in having Sri join us from Pune after he had taken a few days off work, just to be with us before I left for London … Our visit to the Tirupati, where Appa had arranged a special darshan
for me, the weekend before I was due to fly out … Swarms of people gathered around the temple, where Appa worked, to bid me an earnest farewell, the evening before I left.

  I picked up a bottle of water, a loaf of bread and a packet of biscuits. As I waited to have my items billed, I wondered if my move to London had been a good idea after all. I had put up a fight with Appa and Sri to get here. But, when I had joined ABP News in Mumbai two years ago, I had their blessings right away.

  A glissade of images from Mumbai resurged on my mind. ABP News’ offices with its colourful backdrops and walls filled with newspapers … the cheerful face of my boss, who had wanted me to stay on with the team when I announced my resignation … the refreshing sweetness of fresh mango juice that I used to slurp up from a tall glass amidst throngs of people outside the Haji Ali Juice Centre … the shimmer of lights along the mouth of the queen’s necklace whenever I strolled down Marine Drive after watching a Bollywood masala movie at the Inox theatre …

  Tears eclipsed my vision. In Mumbai, I had shed the garb of a small-town girl from Tanjore. And my coverage of those gruesome train blasts had made me a poster girl for reporting on terrorism. In London, I was a dispossessed soul riding an unknown carriage to an unknown destination.

  After I hopped back into the cab, I considered calling Nimmy and howling. But my more rational self warned me to first arrange a place where I could stay the night.

  As I fiddled with my phone, I realised that I hadn’t interacted with my classmates that often. I had been too embroiled with the Streetsmart crew. Ritchie and a few LooSE TV members were all I had really hung out with at LSE.

  I hesitantly dialed Megan’s cell number. Her phone was switched off. I remembered that she had been working late since Charlotte’s car crash. When I tried her work number, a voicemail said she was out of office for a few days.

  Next, I phoned Mark Leatherby from LooSE TV. Another dispassionate voicemail walloped me. I couldn’t marshal the courage to leave a message.

  I remembered how considerate Joey Clayworth had been during our Barbican filming expedition. I rang him next, hoping he would understand my situation now.

  ‘Yo, what’s up?’ Joey sounded puzzled that I had called him out of the blue on a weekday night.

  ‘Joey, I …’ My voice caught in my throat.

  ‘You sound like you’ve been crying!’ Joey interjected. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Joey … I … could I stay over at your place tonight?’ I winced as I said it.

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. The thing is I just got evicted. I’m hoping for a temporary arrangement, y’know … a day or two, until I figure something out.’

  ‘Isn’t there usually a one-month notice? Or at least two weeks? How can …?’

  ‘My host family decided things weren’t working out and threw me out.’

  ‘Gosh, I’m sorry, San. Just like that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You need to report them to the police.’

  ‘I didn’t sign any agreement with them when I moved in.’

  ‘Sweet Jesus, you’re a big fool, San. How can you move in anywhere without signing a lease?’

  ‘Staying with the Sawants was my family’s suggestion. I couldn’t have come to London if I hadn’t agreed to it.’

  Joey sighed. ‘I wish I could help you. But my roommate’s girlfriend came over from Paris just this afternoon. She’s, uh, campin’ out here for a few days. We had to dish out an extra mattress. I personally wouldn’t mind at all. But with my roommate …’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Why don’t you approach the LSE accommodation office?’ Joey began, but I cut him off.

  ‘I’m doing that tomorrow. The question was where I would stay tonight. I just got thrown out into the street – lock, stock and barrel. Thanks, anyway. Goodnight!’

  ‘Any luck, Miss?’ The cabbie asked. ‘I’m approaching South Harrow now. I need to know before we hit the A40.’

  ‘I’m still trying.’

  It’s time to call Ritch and Lan, I told myself. I was too embarrassed to make Ritchie my first choice for getting me out of another scrape. I dialed Lanong. Before my call went through, I heard an overbearing warning that I had exceeded my airtime credit limit.

  ‘I’m pulling an all-nighter in the library, Sandy,’ Lanong groaned when he heard my voice. ‘My roomie just turned in his last coursework paper today. He’s now waltzing up a storm out there. He’s invited practically everyone from Butler’s Wharf for the party. They’re crawling all over the kitchen and our room. And I have a shitty paper due tomorrow.’

  I hated to say it, especially when Lanong sounded so stressed, but I couldn’t help myself.

  ‘Lan, I’m in trouble.’

  ‘Good grief! What happened?’

  I explained my situation.

  ‘Christ, San! Several months ago, I told you to get the hell outta there. You didn’t listen.’

  ‘Please, Lan,’ I begged. ‘I’m so knackered I’m pretty sure I’d sleep through all the noise in your place.’

  ‘I’m sorry, San. I tried to guide you before but I can’t help you, right now. Hope you’ll get this sorted.’ I heard a click, followed by the buzz of the dial tone.

  ‘I’m already on the A40,’ the cabbie announced.

  ‘Just a few more minutes, please,’ I pleaded, dialing Ritchie’s number.

  My call to Ritchie didn’t go through. I sat dazed for a minute. Murphy’s law, I cursed to myself.

  A dull ache in the pit of my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten. I tore open a loaf of bread from my grocery bag and chomped on it like a hungry deer as I dialed the number the message told me to contact to get rid of the bar on my calls. My call went through to Carphone Warehouse, where I had signed my contract with T-Mobile.

  A female customer service representative answered my call after a five-minute wait. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘My number is 079 859 125 84,’ I slurred between munches. ‘I need to make an emergency call. My outgoing calls have been barred. Can I have it lifted please?’

  ‘You’ve exceeded your credit limit by 150 pounds, Ms Raman,’ she informed. ‘You’ll need to clear that amount before your bar can be lifted. That works out to 321 pounds.’

  ‘Why didn’t I get a warning message earlier?’ I demanded tearfully.

  ‘I’m afraid we cannot answer that, Ms Raman.’

  ‘I’m homeless as of today and I can’t pony up right now!’ I shouted. ‘I need to get through to a friend!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ms Raman. You need to clear that amount before the bar can be lifted.’

  ‘What the hell!’ I protested. ‘That’s a rip-off.’

  ‘Look here, Miss,’ the cabbie interrupted from the front. ‘I’m entering Westway soon. Where the hell do I go? Addison Lee always records its customers’ destinations in advance. I cut you some slack. Now, I’m afraid there’ll be a double charge if I don’t know where I’m going. And if you ain’t paying up, I’ll drop you right here.’

  ‘Please hold on,’ I said on the phone before turning to the cabdriver, harried, distressed and confused. ‘Can you, uh, head to the London School of Economics library, please? On Holborn. Uh, Houghton Street. Actually, I think the Holborn station will do – the underpass …’

  ‘Got it,’ the cabbie grunted.

  I went back to the phone.

  ‘We can raise your credit limit and lift your bar, Ms Raman,’ the agent offered.

  That would do so long as I didn’t have to pay up right away. ‘Yeah, uh, okay.’

  ‘How much would you like to increase it to? Three hundred?’

  I couldn’t think clearly. ‘Three hundred pounds?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I snapped.

  I heard a few clicks before the agent piped up, ‘All done.’

  ‘Is that bar off now?’

  ‘It’ll take between two and twenty-four hours.’
/>   ‘Please activate my calls now!’ I shrieked. ‘This is an emergency. Make a special request!’

  ‘The system automatically places a bar on your number when you exceed your credit limit. It isn’t amenable to new data. I’ll do what I can.’

  ‘Do it!’ I hung up, fuming.

  A jagged wheeze scaled the walls of my throat, feeding an indistinct sense of disconnect between my body, mind and reality. I sniveled into my inhaler and drifted into an unsettling sleep until a warble of music trilled into my eardrums.

  I rubbed my eyes blearily. A tube sign flitted into my line of sight as we sped by. We had reached Baker Street. There was that incessant buzz again. I think I was getting a call. I answered the phone with a weak hello.

  ‘Sandy, is that you?’ Ritchie’s voice demanded.

  ‘R-Ritch?’

  ‘Sandy, I’ve b’in trying to call you for ages!’ Ritchie said angrily. ‘Your line was constantly engaged. You sound like shit. What’s goin’ on?’

  Despite how angry it sounded, that proverbial baritone was a familiar strand in the vast sea of nothingness engulfing me now. Before I knew it, I was blubbering, coughing and sniffling into the sleeve of my coat.

  ‘Whoa! I’m sorry if I said anything,’ Ritchie exclaimed. ‘Hell, I …’

  ‘No, no,’ I wailed. ‘I’m, uh …’

  ‘I hear horns blaring. Where the hell are you?’

  ‘I … don’t … know,’ I sobbed.

  ‘What in Pete’s name do you mean?’

  There were a few moments of silence as I continued weeping. From the corner of my eye, I spotted the contours of a spiked gate enclosing Regent’s Park.

  ‘San, are you safe?’

  ‘I … don’t … know,’ I panted amidst gut-wrenching sobs. ‘I’m … in a cab … I guess … you …’ I broke out, sniffling into the sleeve of my coat. ‘… huh-huh … you see, I got … I got … huh … kicked out … huh-huh, of the … huh … house tonight. Huh-huh …’

  ‘I can’t understand what you’re saying. Are you in a cab?’

  ‘Huh-huh.’

  ‘Where are you going?’