She Will Build Him a City

by Raj Kamal Jha

  ‘I have sent you a business-class ticket, Ma,’ says Younger Son. ‘If you want to rest, you can adjust the seat to make it flat. My driver will wait at the airport, he has a cellphone, I will message you his number.’

  ‘You didn’t have to spend so much,’ she says. ‘I could have taken the train.’

  ‘You don’t sound happy, Ma.’

  ‘Of course I am happy, I can’t wait to see all of you,’ she says.

  ~

  Elder Son lives with his mother, he is five years older than Younger Son, he didn’t do as well in school or college, he works as a medical representative, pushing new drugs to old doctors.

  ‘How selfish of him to just call and order you around. And what a silly time to choose for the flight, 7 p.m., that’s peak office hour,’ he says that night. ‘I will drop you off at the airport.’

  ‘If it’s trouble, forget it,’ says Mrs Chopra. ‘I will take a taxi.’

  ‘I will drop you off.’

  ‘I will be away out only for a few days until their nanny is back. I can cook something for you, leave it in the fridge.’

  ‘Ma, I can take care of myself, don’t you worry.’

  ~

  That night, she packs her suitcase in the living room. There’s only one bedroom in her house which she has given up to Elder Son. She spreads a sheet on the floor in the living room in the clearing between chairs. When she lies down and switches the lights off, she likes to look at the sky through the small window in the wall, turn her head until she can catch a star.

  Elder Son works very hard, he leaves at 9 a.m. and is back only by 11 p.m., six days a week, going from hospital to hospital, doctor to doctor. This is his fifth job in as many years, he doesn’t make much beyond the commissions and so if sales are down, that adds up to hardly anything. She has told him, money isn’t a problem, we have my salary too. All along the windowsill in the living room, he has lined up gifts he gets to distribute to doctors: little rubber toys, decorative pen-holders, paperclips in the shape of frogs and alligators, paperweights that tell the time of day, the temperature in the room.

  Elder Son was married once but that lasted barely six months, he moved back in when his wife left him. With him around, Mrs Chopra likes to wake up every morning because he has given a sense of purpose to her day. She likes watching the sun rise over the park across the street; she likes boiling two cups of water for two cups of tea, one for Elder Son, one for herself; she likes getting his breakfast ready. They have tea together as he flips through the morning newspaper that sits between them like a third member of the family. She asks him where he is going that day and he gives her answers vague and uninterested. She packs his lunchbox and it’s only when he’s left for work she cleans his room, makes the bed, dusts the sheets, gets his laundry done, then takes the Metro to Little House.

  On her return, she cooks dinner, watches TV as she waits for him, for the doorbell to ring, arranges and rearranges his room. He is back when most of the lights in the building are out, some nights she smells drink on him but she never mentions it, although it feels as if someone, with very cold hands, has grabbed her heart. His father drank himself to death and she wonders whether he still lives in a corner of his son’s head. She says, you get ready, wash, I will give you chapatis, fresh off the gas, he has dinner and then he says he has to get up early, so he goes to bed.

  She stays up an hour or so and only when he is asleep does she turn in for the night – looking at the star in the night sky framed by the window.

  ~

  ‘Mrs Chopra, we are about to land.’ The stewardess wakes her up, her hand on her shoulder. ‘You didn’t even have dinner, you must be tired, can I get you something? Tea?’

  ‘No,’ she smiles. ‘I don’t need anything.’

  At the airport, Younger Son waits in the lounge with a uniformed driver. On the way, he tells her about the TV and DVD player in the car’s back seat, how Baby loves it, keeps staring at it. He tells her about airbags and why he needs them because with Baby now the car needs to be safer. He shows her Baby’s car seat.

  ‘In America, this is compulsory,’ he says, ‘it keeps Baby safe. Also, Lata doesn’t have to keep holding the baby, she can do her own thing.’

  ~

  It’s 8 a.m., Younger Son and Lata are leaving for work and Mrs Chopra is in the living room with Baby in her lap.

  ‘Ma, we are very actively looking for a nanny, we have three or four candidates and will decide very soon,’ says Lata. ‘It’s just for a week or so and you can ask Deepa to help you with whatever you need. I know you need to get back soon.’

  ‘You don’t worry,’ she says, ‘I am here until you find someone.’

  ~

  There is nothing to do the entire day, Mrs Chopra walks from room to room. She’s happy that Younger Son has all this. She’s happy that he has a car seat so that Baby is safe, she’s happy that he has the kind of house she only sees on TV, its glass walls washed so clean it seems they aren’t even there, its kitchen as big as her two rooms put together, with equipment she has never seen: a giant oven with yellow light inside and numbers flashing on the counter, gas stove with six burners, fridge that spreads across one entire wall.

  ‘This is the best kitchen in the building,’ says Deepa, who navigates all this with an ease so familiar that Mrs Chopra finds it odd, even surprising.

  ‘Didi is very nice,’ Deepa continues, ‘she takes very good care of me. She works for fourteen hours a day but when she comes home, never once does she lose her temper or shout at me.’

  Most of the time during the day, Baby sleeps, but when he wakes up, they take turns holding him.

  Mrs Chopra keeps checking her cellphone but Elder Son hasn’t called.

  Where is he? Has he had lunch? What did he eat when he left home today? Is he waiting in the lobby of some hospital?

  ~

  They sit down for dinner. Baby has gone to sleep.

  ‘I can’t get through to your brother,’ she tells Younger Son, ‘will you please check.’

  ‘I did try to call him twice today but both times it says his phone is switched off. I have sent him an SMS, too,’ he says. ‘Ma, how’s his work going?’

  ‘Fine, he works very hard.’

  ‘Is the money he makes sufficient?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You know, Ma, he can always ask me if he needs anything, he can call me anytime.’

  ‘I have told him that but you be careful with your money now that Baby is here. You didn’t have to buy me business-class tickets.’

  ‘Ma, that was just so that you could be comfortable on the plane.’

  ‘I slept the whole way.’

  ‘You must have slept very comfortably then.’

  ‘Of course I liked the way I could push the seat back until it almost becomes a bed. I didn’t know how to do it, there was a woman in the seat next to me and she showed me how.’

  There is not much to talk about.

  She sits at the table as Lata and her husband talk about work, about things she doesn’t understand, words that don’t mean anything as they float over the table, hover over the precious china that Deepa took out today, before they get sucked away by the cool draught from the air-conditioning ducts concealed behind the false ceiling. Mrs Chopra waits for them to finish, the food dries on her fingers.

  She looks around the table, at all that will go back into the fridge. There’s fish in the bowl, just the kind Elder Son likes, steamed. Has he had dinner? Is he still outside some doctor’s office? Or is he drinking with his friends? Why didn’t he call? Didn’t he check his phone? Has his SIM card run out?

  Baby wakes up.

  Mrs Chopra is glad he does, it lets her get up and leave. ‘You go on with your dinner,’ she tells Lata. ‘I will check on the child.’

  She goes into the guest bathroom to wash her hands and she hears Younger Son from the dining table. ‘Don’t worry, Ma,’ he says, ‘I will call him right after dinner, he must ha
ve returned home.’

  But the call doesn’t get through.

  ~

  That night she cannot sleep. She looks at the alien Mumbai sky through the glass wall in the guest room and assures herself that it’s the same sky, with the same moon and the same stars, that drapes her other son in another city, that will guard him until her return. She wants to be able to somehow speak to the night and the sky, maybe ask them to send her child a message. That she misses him, that she will soon be on her way back. That she hopes he is fine.

  She turns on her side and tries to sleep again, this time falling back on a device she has used many times in the past, thinking of the children in Little House, and going down the list of their names, counting them in her head, by name.

  It works and by the time she reaches Orphan, just when she begins thinking where he could be, is he alive or is he dead, who took him away that night, where did he go through that broken wall, she falls into sleep.

  WOMAN

  Drinking Water

  No one wants me to go, no one will let me go because I am a woman and I have no place at the cremation ground, they say, because there will be wood, there will be fire, there will be smoke, because all the rituals will be performed by men, that’s the way it is, where’s the need for you to be there? You do not have a son, so your husband’s cousin who lives in the city has been called to light the pyre, they tell me. But I am not giving in, I will not let them remove your father’s body unless they let me sit next to him in the truck they have hired to take him away.

  The priest is livid. Who does she think she is, he mutters under his breath, a mutter clearly meant for my ears too. This hasn’t happened in all the years I have lived in this city, he says, in the hundreds of funerals I have taken care of, can someone please make her understand? That’s what happens to these city women, he says, especially those who work: they forget what needs to be done, they don’t care about what should be done.

  The sun has set, the ice has melted, the truck has arrived.

  One by one, teachers from my school leave for home. Sister Agnes is still there, standing in a corner. She walks up to me, tells me to let your father’s body go but when I say, no, she says she understands. I have no idea why they don’t let you go, she says, let me speak with them.

  Your father’s colleagues from college are there, too, but they only stand there, in loose clusters of grief. They are waiting for the body to be loaded onto the truck, they will go to the crematorium with him. Your father’s students have taken charge. I don’t have to do anything, they make all arrangements. From getting the priest to arranging for the death certificate, booking a slot at the crematorium, buying the countless items they need for the funeral: cloth, wood, incense sticks, camphor, rice, sandalwood paste, earthen pots, tulsi leaves, flowers, ghee, a coconut.

  ~

  The stand-off continues until he arrives. He, your father’s student, the one I have told you about. He walks up to the priest and asks him, why is the body still lying in the house? The priest points at me and says, ask her, she is the one who says we cannot take him unless she comes with us too.

  So? he asks, and in a voice so loud that everyone can hear, he says, ma’am will go. If she wishes to go, she will go, nobody should and nobody can stop her. I will ensure that she goes. She is his wife. There is silence in the room, everyone’s looking at him and at me. Everyone fidgets, uncomfortable, but there is no denying the wave of relief that’s suddenly come crashing into the room. Someone has spoken, the deadlock broken.

  He walks up to me, holds my hand and says, let’s go.

  You must be thirsty, he says, then goes inside, he knows where the kitchen is, he has been here so many weekends for your father’s classes, he pours a glass of water for me. Drink this, he says, if you want I will get you another glass, I am sure you haven’t had water since you came back from school. I met your daughter on my way here, he says, she is with Krishna, she has had dinner and she has gone to sleep.

  When I raise the glass to my lips, my legs give way, I slide along the wall to the floor, he holds me by the arm and he helps lift me up.

  ~

  I hear something in the room, do you?

  Isn’t it exactly like the noise your father makes when he returns home from college? The same sound of the door closing behind him, the chair being dragged along the floor for him to sit in as he takes his shoes off.

  Is he here? Maybe he knows you are here and he has come visiting.

  I hear him walk into the kitchen, I hear water being poured into a glass. I think he has come to listen to me because until now I have never said any of these things to anyone, about what happened to me and you after his death.

  The curtains move.

  I feel him sit on the sofa I am sitting on but when I put my hand out into the space next to me where I think he is, there is nothing except the humid air and the night. He gets up, I see the sofa cover, stretched taut over the seat, move as he perhaps brushes the dust off before he walks away. Has he gone, up the stairs to check on you?

  MAN

  Breaking News

  ‘CHILD RAPED, KILLED, MOTHER SEVERELY ASSAULTED, BODY FOUND NEAR AIIMS’, he reads it the second time it crawls at the bottom of the TV screen on the dashboard of his car, he wants to press Pause, realises he cannot, needs to wait for the ticker to complete its cycle, there it is again, ‘CHILD RAPED, KILLED, MOTHER SEVERELY ASSAULTED, BODY FOUND NEAR AIIMS’, did Driver see him read this? Doesn’t look like he did, Driver’s eyes are fixed straight ahead, they have left India Gate and are now driving down Shanti Path, a ribbon of black laid out on the green, embassies on either side. No, this news cannot be about Balloon Girl and her mother, he dropped them off safely, he remembers the blue light on her face, the smell of soap in her hair, how they stared into the aircraft, dead children do not watch penguins, he closes his eyes but there’s no escaping the ticker, ‘CHILD RAPED, KILLED, MOTHER SEVERELY ASSAULTED, BODY FOUND NEAR AIIMS’, it cannot be, his heart races, they have got it wrong, he wants to call the station, ask for the TV reporter, the one whose spasm he wants to hear on his home theatre, he wants to tell her how to get her facts straight, not put out such falsehood, ‘CHILD RAPED, KILLED, MOTHER SEVERELY ASSAULTED, BODY FOUND NEAR AIIMS’, maybe they are speaking of another child, another mother, there are so many of them near AIIMS, in the evenings when he is stuck in traffic there, he sees them, children and their mothers standing outside shops selling household appliances, TV, fridge, microwave, blender, utensils, non-stick, what if a husband or father has done it, his heart slows, he breathes deep, it’s so cold inside the car that he gets gooseflesh on his arms, on his back under the shirt, he is hard again, he turns to adjust himself in the seat, his eyes are open under the dark glasses, Driver keeps driving, neither looking left nor right, there is an ad on TV, for some kind of cement that doesn’t crack in the heat, the ticker keeps crawling, ‘CHILD RAPED, KILLED, MOTHER SEVERELY ASSAULTED, BODY FOUND NEAR AIIMS’, he switches the TV off, closes his eyes, tells Driver, let’s go to AIIMS. If Balloon Girl is dead, raped and killed, shouldn’t she be in the AIIMS mortuary? He needs to check on Balloon Girl and her mother.

  These days, you cannot believe what you read in the papers or watch on TV, he needs to find out for himself.

  CHILD

  The Mall

  From the website of The Mall, the largest mall in India:

  The Mall is an apogee of lifestyle distinction, it offers not only unprecedented scale in terms of its size but also an experience of unparalleled retail mix combined with entertainment and leisure attractions that have changed the concept of shopping mall experience. With the best location, a flat ‘0’ km from south Delhi and a 16-lane approach on the national express highway. The Mall offers a wide range of facilities including premium international and domestic retail brands, anchor stores, hypermarket, seven-screen multiplex cinema, restaurants and coffee shops, food court, car showroom, fitness and meditation centre, beer garden, bowling all
ey, ice-skating rink, simulated golf course, kids’ play zone and recreational zone.

  The Mall is the largest operational shopping mall in India, with 1 kilometre of shopping experience on every floor.

  ~

  One kilometre of shopping experience on every floor translates into 208 stores. Their break-up by type and number:

  Anchor stores (one brand name but selling several kinds of goods including Debenhams, Next, Big Bazaar, Reliance, Timeout, Marks & Spencer): 11

  Books, Toys, Cards and Gifts: 7

  Entertainment and Services/Speciality Stores: 16

  Footwear/Leather/Luggage: 18

  Kids’ Wear and Infant Care: 3

  Men’s Apparel and Accessories: 19

  Spa and Salon: 4

  Sunglasses and Optician: 2

  Women’s Apparel and Accessories: 21

  Apparel Unisex: 33

  Electronics: 12

  Food, Grocery and Confectionery: 26

  Home Furnishing and Accessories: 12

  Lingerie/Inner Wear: 1

  Personal Care: 6

  Sports Wear: 6

  Watches and Jewellery: 11

  ~

  With state-of-the-art facilities for shopping, entertainment, food, fitness and luxury-brand shopping, it is a true Destination Mall that remains open for most of the day and night.

  With three basement levels, The Mall has more than 2,500 car-parking spaces and offers amenities such as wide atrium spaces, high-speed elevators and escalators, multiple entry/exits.

  ~

  It is through one of these multiple entry/exits that they will slip into The Mall tonight. Men, women and children from under the highway. They will enter a few hours after the last movie show, after all the bars and the restaurants have shut, lights and escalators are switched off except the emergency lights, of course, and when most of the security guards have gone to sleep. Exactly how many of them no one knows but there will be Aunty with her fake-blood Bandaged Baby, Uncle without his arms and legs, there will be Bhow’s kith and kin, dogs big and small, quick and slow, dogs who know how to squeeze themselves through narrow openings in the door, babies who can walk through glass. There will be street vendors, adept at using their ten fingers to display at least twenty items, there will be Windshield Wiper Boy and the Cartwheel Dancer Girl, he with his mop, she with bright red ribbons in her hair.