A white-faced Boa glanced around her as people started to pay attention to what was happening. I knew she was dying to spit out some venomous words at the Lals but fear for her reputation kept her silent.
“Rohit, are you all right?” Mrs. Lal said.
He nodded weakly.
All eyes were on Boa, who was jiggling and shaking. Two blobs of vomit fell on the carpet and the crowd moved back, screwing up their noses. I surreptitiously took a couple of pictures of Boa covered in vomit. These would look great online.
Mrs. Lal grabbed a napkin from a guest and started to wipe the barf off Boa but only succeeded in smearing it more thoroughly into her clothes. “You brought this on yourself, Anjali,” she said quietly.
“Leave me alone,” Boa muttered. “Has anyone seen my phone?”
Mrs. Lal dropped the napkin and went over to Rohit. “Do you need a doctor, Beta? Was it something you ate?”
“I-I can’t remember,” he said.
Someone got a chair and a glass of water and made him sit down. There was a lot of fussing going on and Rohit seemed to be calming down, though he still looked pale and sweaty. Boa was completely forgotten.
Someone dragged me aside. “What did he eat, Dylan, and don’t even think of lying to me.” I stared into the determined face of Mrs. Lal.
“I-I can’t remember,” I said, echoing Rohit from a few moments ago.
“Tell me,” said Mrs. Lal. “Now, Dylan.”
I glanced over at my idiot of a friend. Why hadn’t he thought this through instead of reacting? And what if all that chutney in his system was doing something weird to him right this minute? I’d heard of people dying from peanut allergies. If I didn’t tell his mom the truth and Rohit died from a chutney allergy, I’d never forgive myself. But if I did, Rohit would think I’d betrayed him. I’d have to do this quickly and quietly.
“He drank a bowl of chutney, Mrs. L,” I whispered. “The red and green ones mixed together.”
“Chutney always makes him vomit,” exclaimed Mrs. Lal.
“So, this was deliberate,” said Boa quietly. “Mother and son conspired to embarrass me in public.” The snake had slithered in quietly and eavesdropped on our conversation. Crap! There was nothing I could do about it. Or was there?
While Boa berated her sister-in-law in sibilant whispers, I switched on my camera and started recording a video clip. Boa picked up steam when she realized she could play the victim angle and get the crowd’s sympathy so they would forget she was still covered in barf and stank.
“Whoever heard of an Indian with a chutney allergy?” bellowed Boa. “He did this to embarrass me. I’m so glad my brother isn’t here to witness how badly behaved his child is. You’ve done a terrible job, Priya. Shame on you!”
“Shut up!” snapped Rohit. “Don’t you dare insult Ma.”
Mrs. Lal slapped Rohit. “I’ve had just about enough of you and your disrespectful ways.”
The slap echoed in the silent room. I felt so bad for Rohit. No matter how mad Mom might be at me, she’d never embarrass me in public like this or hit me. Rohit’s eyes were burning as he looked at his mom and then at Boa.
“Rohit, you will come here and apologize right now,” said Boa. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you need a strong hand to guide you, so you’re definitely not going back to America. That is final.”
In a million years I couldn’t see Rohit obeying her. I was shocked when he walked up to Boa and stared her in the face. Then he leaned forward and barfed the rest of his dinner all over her gold satin slippers.
A SCORCHING DAY DAWNED AND THE TEMPERATURE hovered at 104 degrees. I was too hot to do anything but lie on the cool tiled floor and watch TV. Mrs. Lal brought us tall glasses of watermelon juice. I gulped mine down, wondering if she would balk if I asked for a bucket of it with a straw.
Mother and son had barely exchanged any words since the barfing episode. Boa had been surprisingly silent, though I’d seen Mrs. Lal start every time the phone rang. Mr. Lal had called once to speak to his wife and she’d seemed quite calm after she hung up. But I couldn’t stop wondering what evil stuff Boa might have said to Mr. Lal. I guessed we’d have to wait to find out.
Rohit alternated between angry and sulky. Somehow I was included in the I’m-not-talking-to-you category. He blamed me for the play-nice plan backfiring (which was totally unfair) when his get-out-of-India plan would have worked better. He also said I should have kept my mouth shut at the party and stayed out of it. I had tried to explain that it was because I was worried about him that I’d told his mom the truth about his barfing. I couldn’t lie to Mrs. Lal even if he could. It made no difference and an uneasy silence descended on the flat. Even looking through my collection of pictures was no fun. I missed Ro peering over my shoulder, giving me his mostly useless suggestions.
Note to Self: I did what I had to do. Rohit will just have to live with it. The problem was—so would I.
“Deolali is the answer,” Mrs. Lal announced after an hour of gloomy silence. “I’m not even sure we should attend the wedding after this fiasco. Bua is sure to throw her money in our faces again.” She sighed deeply.
I stared at her, wondering where and what in the world a Deo-lolly was. An edible deodorant stick? I didn’t like the sound of it. At all.
“Will we be able to manage if she … Bua acts on her threat?” asked Rohit in a small voice.
I knew exactly what he meant. It struck me then, money was so important when you didn’t have much. I’d taken it for granted—the food I ate, the house I lived in, and all the luxuries I enjoyed, without thinking about where it was coming from.
“That is for your father and me to worry about, Rohit. Not you,” said Mrs. Lal. But from her tone it was evident that she had already started.
“Why don’t we just go back home and sort it out?” said Rohit. “I don’t want to go to Deolali.”
“Because your father would like to see his family even if you don’t want to see them. He’s worked hard these past few months and needs a break, too. Are you too selfish to see that?”
Rohit looked ashamed as he fiddled with the TV remote. “I’m sorry, Ma,” he whispered. “But you should have told me about Bua’s threat the day she mentioned it. Instead I had to rely on Dylan to tell me. And you slapped me in front of everyone.” His voice wobbled. “How could you embarrass me like that?”
After the Barfing Incident, we’d all come clean. Me about eavesdropping, Mrs. Lal about Bua’s threat, and Rohit about deliberately wanting to embarrass Bua so she would leave him alone.
“I’m sorry about that, Rohit, but you did precisely what I asked you not to.” Mrs. Lal rubbed her temples wearily. “We’re leaving for Deolali tomorrow morning. I’ll ask your father to join us there. Then we’ll decide what to do about Bua. I don’t want to talk about it now.” Dark shadows under her eyes were a dead giveaway that she hadn’t been sleeping well. I guess this trip wasn’t turning out the way any of us had expected.
“Er, Mrs. L,” I said. “What’s this Deo-lolly?”
Since he was alternating between sarcasm and silence, I knew Rohit wouldn’t give me the time of day, let alone answer my question.
Mrs. Lal had started to walk away but stopped and turned around. “It’s a small town in the Nashik district. We bought a flat there years ago as a vacation home. We barely go there anymore and we’re planning on selling it. I think this may be the last time we’ll be visiting.”
“Sounds neat, Mrs. L!” I said, relieved that at least she was speaking to me. “I can’t wait to explore.”
Mrs. Lal looked at me absently, pinching her lower lip. “I hope nothing’s been stolen. It’s been so long since we visited. Thieves cannot resist an empty flat and ours is vacant most of the time.”
“Do you have anything valuable there?” I asked.
“Not really. It’s quite small and rustic,” she said, looking straight at me. “None of the luxuries you’re used to back home, Dylan. Not even the a
menities you see in this flat. Rohit will fill you in.”
“I don’t mind at all, Mrs. L. I’m a tough guy, not your average American. How bad can it be?” I asked, glancing at Rohit.
Rohit gave me the Gollum smile. “Not too bad at all, my precious.”
That should have been my clue, the red flag, to dig a little deeper and ask if everything we needed was available there.
The next morning a screaming alarm clock woke us up at 5 a.m. Mrs. Lal gave us cups of cold milk and urged us to get dressed quickly. I did everything on autopilot, hoping I’d remembered to put on all the important bits of clothing.
The air was warm and sticky when we stepped out of the flat with a backpack each. Mrs. Lal carried a small cooler with snacks and drinks. My camera was slung around my neck, though my eyes were way too blurry to focus enough to take a decent picture. Mrs. Lal had warned us to travel light and wear comfortable clothes. Rohit and I were in shorts and T-shirts but I was already sweaty and in desperate need of a second shower.
We walked to the main road and hailed a cab. “So, are we going to the airport to catch a domestic flight to Lolly?” I asked, yawning behind my hand.
Rohit sniggered. “It’s Deolali. And if you want to fly there I suggest a large bowl of kidney beans.”
“Rohit!” said Mrs. Lal. “There is no need to be so disgusting.”
I laughed. “That was a good one. Definitely worth looking into as a future source of energy.”
Mrs. Lal gave me the eye and I shut up. While she never really scolded me the way she did Rohit, I knew I couldn’t test her patience indefinitely.
“We’re going by train and it won’t be fun,” said Rohit glumly.
“VT station,” Mrs. Lal said to the cabdriver. “Open up your dicky, please.”
I stared at her in horror. Neither Rohit nor the driver looked fazed. The driver stepped out of the cab. I squinched my eyes shut as I tried to figure out the link between this odd request and a drive to the station. There was a sharp jab in my ribs.
“Dylan?” said Rohit. “Fallen asleep on your feet or what?”
I opened my eyes. The trunk of the cab was open. Rohit’s and Mrs. Lal’s backpacks were already in there alongside the cooler.
“This is the … dicky,” I said, hoping Rohit wouldn’t guess what I was really thinking about and tell his mom. That would be way too embarrassing.
“Bravo,” said Rohit as he studied my face. “Can you hurry up?”
I threw my backpack in, thankful I hadn’t blurted out a dumb question. Back home, asking a cabbie to show me his dicky would have gotten me into major trouble.
We zoomed through the streets of the city as it stirred to life. In front of dilapidated huts, made entirely of recyclable material, stoves were already lit, heating up steaming pots of food. Women squatted on sidewalks, totally at home in this open-air kitchen. I was amazed at how comfortable they looked, living on the street. Sufficiently awake by now, I started clicking away on my Nikon, pausing every few seconds to wipe my sweaty hands on my shorts.
Shortly after, we arrived at Victoria Terminus. It was the equivalent of Grand Central Station in New York City, but it couldn’t have been more different. Nothing had prepared me for the explosion of sight, sound, and color. Even at 6:45 the place was packed. People jostled us, calling out to one another as they hurried toward the dusty white-and-blue carriages waiting patiently along the length of the station. Sweating porters with unimaginably heavy loads balanced on their heads loped by. They were followed by families probably on their way to the country for vacations. The pungent smells of samosas, fresh ink, and pee lingered in the air. I stood there and gaped, enveloped in a frenzy of human activity unlike anything I’d seen before. There also lingered a twinge of panic. If I got lost here, how would I find my way back home? Why had I refused to carry the cell phone Mom had offered? I wrestled my panic into a box and locked it.
“Come along, Dylan,” said Mrs. Lal. “You can take pictures once we have found our seats.” She expertly navigated through the dense crowds. I was elbowed, shoved, and pinched as we made our way to the very end of the train. By the time we reached our compartment ten minutes later, I was exhausted, sweaty, and ravenous.
“Stinking crowds,” Rohit muttered under his breath. He clutched his backpack to his chest, blinking furiously. “This is why I hate traveling by train out here.”
“It’s like Grand Central on steroids,” I replied, feeling like a lone deer in a herd of migrating wildebeests. I hoped this trip would clear up the air so things could go back to normal between us.
We boarded the Panchvati Express, a superfast train that connected Mumbai and Nashik, and stepped into its vibrating bowels, which smelled of hot metal and sweat. We passed by the bathroom, and even though the door was closed, I wrinkled my nose involuntarily.
Mrs. Lal saw my expression and patted me on the back. “Don’t worry, Beta. It’s just a three-hour journey. Hopefully you won’t have to use the toilet at all.”
“I hope so, too,” I replied and meant it. I was prepared to steal a diaper before I had to use a bathroom that reeked so badly at the beginning of the journey. I prayed someone would come by to clean it soon.
“Told you it wasn’t a fun ride,” said Rohit, looking equally pained. “Never liked train bathrooms.”
“Only if we have to go,” I said. “I’m going to hold on till we reach Lolly.”
A mysterious smile from Rohit again and I knew he was hiding something. Something that had to do with me. I got that he was worried about Boa, and was mad at me, but I wasn’t entirely to blame for what was happening. He didn’t have to be so mean.
“We gotta talk, Ro,” I said softly, following Mrs. Lal down the narrow corridor as she searched for our seats. “You can’t keep behaving like a jerk for the rest of the trip. I prefer Frodo to Draco Malfoy.”
He gave me a brief glance sans smile. “Save your breath, traitor. I know what you’re going to say and it won’t help.”
I stared at the back of his head, at the mug-handle ears and the scrawny neck. I was angry, and sorry we were missing out on having fun because of that one incident. But fighting wasn’t going to solve anything. If only we could talk, I was sure we’d be able to work this out and save the rest of the trip.
Maybe telling him about my situation would make him realize that I was going through a tough time, too. But every time I decided to come clean, a golf ball would materialize in my throat, choking off the words.
We finally found our “seats,” which were actually hard wooden benches with no cushions. I grabbed one by the window. With bars across them, it felt like I was in a cage. Rohit took the window seat opposite me and Mrs. Lal settled herself next to him. She explained that even though seat numbers were assigned, no one really bothered with them as long as you were in the right compartment. It was a first-come, first-grab situation. Overhead a grimy fan whirred, emitting more noise than cool air. I braced myself for a journey that was sure to be interesting.
As soon as hawkers saw my pale face peering out the window, they converged on me. Plastic swords, fake watches, umbrellas, hot tea, and samosas were shoved at me. It got hotter as the compartment started to fill up. My thighs were slick against the wooden bench. I fanned myself with a tattered copy of The Lord of the Rings, willing the train to move before the flesh melted off my bones.
“Sorry, Dylan,” said Mrs. Lal. “This is a short trip and I saw no reason to waste money on an air-conditioned compartment. I hope you do not mind too much?” She’d turned a little pink. I immediately put the book away. I could melt a little to avoid making her feel guilty. Money was going to be tight for them in the next few months and I didn’t want to make things worse.
“We’re cool, Mrs. L. I’m sure it’ll get better when the train starts moving. Right?”
Rohit snorted and I resisted the urge to smack him. Mrs. Lal sighed and looked out the window.
Finally, after an unintelligible squawk of an announce
ment, the train rumbled to life and slid out of the station. A faint breeze wafted into the compartment, bringing with it the scent of dust, diesel, and boiled rice. I peered through the bars, eager to see more of the legendary Mumbai.
“Ro, look! There’s a cat chasing a dog! Never seen that in New York. Have you?”
“Whatever,” said Rohit. He stuck in earbuds and leaned back, closing his eyes. “Wake me up when we get there.”
And just like that, he’d switched off.
“He’s not a morning person,” said Mrs. Lal. “Just let him be.”
From the way he’d behaved in the last couple of days, he didn’t seem to be an afternoon, evening, or night person either but I decided not to bring it up. I was sure I’d find a way to get Rohit alone and really talk things over with him. I had to convince him that Sam was on Frodo’s side and always had been. He seemed to have forgotten.
Mumbai slid by in slow motion: shanties built entirely of cardboard boxes and plastic, a jungle of TV antennas pointing steel fingers at the sky, dull gray smoke rising from cooking fires, and rivers of dirty water running between the huts. The slums stood out starkly against a backdrop of high-rises, their windows glinting in the morning sun. I snapped furiously, trying to capture the moment in all its beauty and squalor.
“So what do you think of Mumbai so far?” asked Mrs. Lal. She tucked her feet under herself and poured a cup of tea from the thermos. “Would you like some?” she asked, holding it out to me. She seemed more relaxed the farther we sped from the city and I hoped it would be the same for Rohit.
“More people than I’d ever imagined,” I said, my eyes roving through the packed compartment. “And no tea for me, thanks.” The thought of having to use the disgusting bathroom kept me from having anything to eat or drink even though my stomach rumbled ominously.
Mrs. Lal smiled. “Yes, India’s population is currently over a billion. The average Indian goes through a lot just to survive out here. In the West people take their comfortable lives for granted and complain a lot. If they had to spend a month in India during the summer, they’d realize just how lucky they are. One should always appreciate what one has because it could be gone in a moment.”
Mission Mumbai Page 7