Mission Mumbai

by Mahtab Narsimhan

  I snapped the laptop shut, resisting the urge to fling it across the room. As if telling me they loved me could make up for the fact that from this point on we were three people, not one family. I lay on the hot mattress staring at a fat lizard chasing mosquitoes. Nothing had worked, not the hijda’s blessing or the wish on the shooting star. I was doomed.

  All I had left now was Rohit and I was willing to do anything to make sure he came back with me.

  The most unexpected sound woke me the next morning. I sat up, confused. The fan whirred noisily and I knew it wasn’t what had jolted me awake. Then I heard it again: cock-a-doodle-doo. I’d only read about a rooster’s crow and here was a real live one! I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. The sun was just coming up and there sat a red rooster on the roof of the adjacent building, its chest puffed out, trying in earnest to wake the world.

  A cool breeze fanned my face. I hurried out of the tiny bedroom and made a beeline for the balcony. The door was already open and an incredible sunrise greeted me. My heart felt lighter in spite of the email from Mom that had weighed on my chest like a fat cat till I’d fallen asleep. Mesmerized, I watched the fiery ball turn everything it touched to gold, climbing higher into the pale-pink sky. This was the second sunrise I’d seen in two days. Mornings in New York were made to rush-order. There was no time to stand still or gaze out the window. At the summer camps I’d been to, I’d dawdled so much the counselors had given up on trying to get me out of the cabin early enough to see the sunrise.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” someone said softly.

  Startled, I whirled around. Mrs. Lal stepped onto the balcony holding out a steaming mug of hot chocolate. She’d brought tea for herself.

  “Thank you, Mrs. L,” I said and took the mug from her. I wrapped my hands around it, feeling the warmth seep through my chilly fingers. It had been scorching when I’d hit the bed last night but toward morning it had cooled down and I’d finally managed to fall asleep.

  We sipped from our mugs in silence. Sunlight turned the dewdrops on the foliage around us into liquid gold. I wanted to rush in and get my camera, but didn’t want to miss a moment of this perfect morning. Maybe tomorrow I could take some pictures. “This place is so peaceful,” I said. “It’s like being in another world.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Lal said. “You have to learn to stand still to really appreciate it. Back in New York one never gets the time. That is why I like coming here whenever possible. In Deolali you can slow down and savor life, if only for a few days. Mr. Lal loves it here, too. It gives him a chance to recharge.”

  Mom and Dad were always rushing around like crazy. Even at a party, they were busy circulating, making contacts, and working the room from end to end. And now they had rushed right out of each other’s lives. Before I could reply, the silence was rudely shattered.

  “Hey, Dylan, Ma … Where are you guys?”

  “You gotta see this, Ro,” I called. “Come to the balcony.”

  Rohit stepped out a few moments later, yawning loudly.

  “Morning.”

  “Good morning, Beta. Sleep well?” Mrs. Lal asked.

  “Stupid mosquitoes kept me up half the night,” he grumbled.

  “Didn’t you put on that Odomos cream your mom gave us?” I said.

  Rohit glared at me, scratching at the tiny red welts covering his bare arms. It was obvious he hadn’t. The cream smelled disgusting. I’d gotten used to it after a few minutes but the mosquitoes hadn’t. I didn’t have a single bite on me.

  “I’ll get breakfast started,” Mrs. Lal said and went back inside.

  “Why did you call me here?” Rohit asked as he rubbed his arms and looked around.

  “There in front of you,” I said, waving at the gold-flecked sky and green fields.

  He stared at it for a moment. “S’okay,” he said. “Hey, you’re the photographer, not me, so don’t expect me to gush.”

  “Listen,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I talked to your mom yesterday.”

  “And?” Rohit said, suddenly alert.

  “She’s going to discuss this whole mess with your dad when he gets here. But till then you gotta stay cool, Ro. I mean it. You’re playing right into Boa’s hands by acting like a jerk.”

  Rohit frowned. “If we’d stayed in New York, none of this would be happening. I wish I hadn’t let you convince me to go on this trip.”

  “If only you hadn’t barfed on Boa and screwed up the plan we talked about, your mom wouldn’t even consider the insane option of leaving you here.”

  Rohit glared at me. “Stop lecturing me! I already have Ma for that.”

  Sunlight bathed his scrunched-up face. I took a deep breath. We were having a fight every waking minute and it was really lame. I needed his support just as much as he needed mine, even though he didn’t know it yet.

  “We’re going exploring today, and we’re going to talk. Okay?”

  “Yeah, we’ll talk,” he said, staring into the distance. “Though I don’t know how that’s going to help.”

  As I watched him I thought of the video I’d taken of Boa threatening Mrs. L at the reception. It was my trump card but I’d let them work things out on their own before I interfered. And given how mean Rohit had been lately, he deserved to stew a bit.

  “Breakfast is ready,” Mrs. Lal called out. “Wash up and come to the dining table.”

  Rohit and I raced to brush our teeth. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My short blond hair, blue eyes, and athletic build were a stark contrast to Rohit’s tall, thin frame, curly black hair, and black eyes. I’d been teased a lot about how weird we looked together, but that had never mattered to me. Now I was beginning to wonder if what was on the inside was more different than I realized.

  Breakfast was toast, butter, and strawberry jam with a choice of hot chocolate or tea. Mrs. Lal had laid it all out on the dining table. From where we sat, we could look out the open balcony door. I buttered a slice of toast and munched it, gazing at the lush green treetops swaying in the breeze. The dosas and idlis from yesterday were a distant memory and I was ravenous.

  “Can’t we have bacon and eggs?” asked Rohit.

  “You know I didn’t have time to shop yesterday,” said Mrs. Lal, an edge to her voice. “This is what I carried from Mumbai. If you don’t like it, don’t eat it.”

  Careful, Ro, I wanted to warn him. I sipped my hot chocolate instead, knowing it wouldn’t help if I spoke up.

  Rohit took a slice of toast, spread it liberally with jam, and nibbled on it. There were still some cold vibes between them and I was caught in the middle. I had no clue how this would turn out except that his moodiness was getting on my nerves, ruining our vacation, and affecting our friendship. It was also the last thing either of us needed right now.

  The sun climbed higher in the sky and so did the temperature. The cool tile floor was already warming up under my bare feet. Today was going to be another scorcher.

  “What are you boys planning this morning?”

  “I’d like to go biking,” I said. “Rohit can show me around. Yeah?”

  “Good idea,” said Mrs. Lal. “I’ll get some groceries and meet you back at the flat for lunch. Rohit, we have to meet your father at the station at three. Make sure you’re back by noon.”

  “Do I have to go biking?” he said, not meeting my eye. “I’d rather stay here and read.”

  “Dylan is your guest and you will show him around,” Mrs. Lal said. “I want no further discussion on this.”

  “Yes, Ma!” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Come on, Ro,” I said when we were alone. “Lolly-land can’t be that bad.”

  “Wait till you see the rest of this place. In some ways it’s worse than Mumbai.”

  His expression was one of anger mixed with resignation. I promised myself: Today we were going to have that talk. I was going to knock some sense into my friend or knock him senseless, depending on how things went.

  WE GOT DR
ESSED AT WARP SPEED FOR A QUICK getaway, but still couldn’t escape the head-splitting barrage of instructions from Rohit’s mom. My ears were ringing as we fled downstairs. Mom rarely bothered to give me instructions when I was leaving except to remind me to call if I was going to be late, and to text our driver as soon as I was ready to be picked up. I really missed Mom’s laid-back style, especially with Mrs. Lal in overdrive, treating us like little kids.

  “Stay together and don’t go too far. Remember, don’t talk to strangers.”

  Rohit and I had bolted out the door while she was still talking. As soon as we emerged from the building, she continued from the balcony.

  “Are you carrying your cell phone, Rohit?”

  “Yes, Ma!”

  “The cell phone coverage is very bad around here, so try and check in whenever you can, especially if you see a missed call from me. Do you remember our address?”

  “Ma, it’s all in my phone. We’re twelve and you’re treating us like babies,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “Yes, Beta,” Mrs. Lal said, “but many roads have been renamed since we last came here and this is the first time you’re going off exploring without your father or me. The landmarks you used to know are gone. Just … be careful. Come back by noon!”

  “Okaaay, Ma!” “Yes, Mrs. Lal!” we said in unison and galloped down the street, out of earshot.

  “Shall we hold hands?” I said, sidling up to him.

  Rohit immediately swerved away from me. “Are you nuts? People will laugh at us.”

  “Well, your mom did ask us to stay together,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “Come on, you can’t disobey her.”

  “You touch me and I’ll punch you,” he huffed. “What’s wrong with you?” A drop of sweat slid down his temple and dangled at his jaw. He swiped at it and continued walking.

  “You punch me and I’ll sit on you. You’ll be flatter than a chapati!”

  We stared at each other for a second and burst out laughing. It wasn’t like old times but it was a start.

  “There’s a bike shop just down this street,” said Rohit. “We can rent bikes there.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said, dabbing my forehead with my sleeve. It was only ten in the morning and I was already wilting. I kept reminding myself that the heat and exercise would help me become a lean, mean machine. I shouldn’t complain too much.

  A three-wheeler roared past and on its side was that same weird lady with the six arms we’d seen on Khan’s scootie. The snack was there, too—lemons and chilies hanging on a thread and powdered with soot. I wouldn’t touch it if it was the last bit of food left in India.

  “That lady sure is popular with a lot of guys. And what’s with the seasonings near the exhaust pipe?”

  Rohit laughed. “That’s Kali Ma, a Hindu goddess. She’s supposed to protect her worshipers from harm. The lemon-chilies combo is to ward off the evil eye.”

  “Odd,” I said, “but I guess whatever floats their boat …”

  “In India, no one messes with tradition, dude, even if it makes no sense at all.”

  “If you say so.”

  We turned the corner and there was the shop with gleaming bicycles lined up on the sidewalk in a neat row, padlocked to a post by a rusty chain woven through them. MANU’S CYCLE SHOP the sign above the store declared.

  “Here we are,” said Rohit.

  “Hello, darlings,” the owner said, sauntering toward us. Manu was a short guy in tight white jeans, a white shirt, and a pink handkerchief that was tied around his neck. Somehow he smelled of jalebis and I felt hungry even though we’d just eaten breakfast.

  “We’ll take two bikes,” said Rohit. “Till noon.”

  Manu unlocked the chain and wheeled out two shiny bikes. “That’ll be two hundred rupees for the morning.” Red juice trickled down the side of his mouth, which was constantly moving like a cow chewing its cud. He wiped the mess away with a grubby handkerchief.

  “No way,” said Rohit, staring at Manu from the top of his glasses. “I’ll pay you a hundred or we’re going to—”

  “Tanu’s Bikes,” I piped in, pointing to a rival’s shop across the street.

  Manu glared at me. Another trickle of red liquid oozed from the corner of his mouth. Up came the grubby hankie. It was gross and I looked away.

  “Okay, darlings,” said Manu. “For you, special price. You pay me hundred and fifty rupees.”

  After a bit more haggling, Rohit gave him a hundred and twenty-five rupees. Manu winked and pocketed it.

  “How much is that in USD?” I asked as we wheeled the bikes along the sidewalk.

  “About two bucks,” said Rohit. He adjusted the height of the seat and went over his bike more thoroughly than Harry Potter examining the Marauder’s Map for Snape’s whereabouts.

  “Wow! If my family lived here, we’d be gazillionaires.”

  “You already are,” said Rohit as he started to pedal away. “No need to rub my nose in it.”

  I jumped onto my bike and caught up with him. “Can you stop that?” I yelled over the din of traffic.

  “Stop what?” asked Rohit, not looking at me.

  “This flip-flopping,” I said. “One minute you’re laughing and the next, you’re punking me and biting my head off. Jekyll and Hyde were more consistent. You have a pretty decent life here in India and a great family. Do you know how lucky you are?”

  “I’m lucky?” said Rohit. “What about you? You’re a trust-fund baby. You’ll never have to worry about money! If we had a hundredth of what you have, we wouldn’t be at Bua’s mercy all the time.”

  “Oh, shut up!” I snapped. “You’re not the only one with problems. Once in a while, take your head out of the sand and look around. You might be surprised to see that the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

  “What d’you mean?” he said. “If you have a problem, spit it out.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  “Then why bring it up?” he said, giving me an odd look. “You’ve been acting weird since we got to Mumbai.”

  “Me?” I shot back. “You could win the world championship for whacko!”

  We continued in silence. I was seriously pissed. I thought I knew Rohit but I’d really known only one avatar of his—the sensitive and loyal one back home, desperately trying to fit in, just like I was.

  It was an unspoken rule that every newb had to obey the class bullies for a day. If they asked him to climb a tree, he did it. If they asked him to run across the street in traffic, he had to do that, too. Those who didn’t listen were picked on for the rest of the year. I overheard which day the bullies had picked for Rohit and I warned him to stay home sick.

  When I saw him in class the next day I was mad at him and grudgingly proud. This guy had guts, which I mostly lacked. Rohit did get picked on to do the most ridiculous things, and when he refused, they ganged up on him after school. I felt like I had to jump in and help out. In the end we all got detention for fighting.

  I expected the bullying to continue but they’d worked out another plan to make us squirm. Everyone in class had been warned to ignore Ro and me, or else. I was used to being a loner but at least once in a while I’d get a smile or a “Hey there.” I was pretty much invisible at home and now it was like I didn’t exist at school, either. It felt worse than being beaten up.

  Lunchtime was torture. No matter where I sat, my classmates would get up, leaving me to eat by myself.

  Rohit normally avoided the cafeteria by bringing a packed lunch and finding a little nook to eat and read in.

  A couple of days after the boycotting, he turned up and started sitting with me. That was when I knew we had each other’s backs.

  Our fellowship had worked out really well. Till now. Just like the One Ring had changed Frodo, Mumbai and Boa were changing Ro into a stranger. I had to stop it somehow.

  “We have to go back,” I said suddenly. “We forgot the rest of the gear.”

 
“What gear?” said Rohit, continuing to pedal and dodge pedestrians.

  “Helmet, shin pads, wrist guards, you know … all the safety stuff.”

  Rohit looked back briefly, frowning. “Look around, Dylan. See anyone here wearing that stuff?”

  He was right. People zipped past in both directions carrying ungainly merchandise—stuff that should have been in a pickup truck or a van was artfully secured on their bikes. There were large aluminum milk cans, dozens of bags filled with empty bottles, even an entire family. But there wasn’t a single helmet in sight, and definitely no wrist guards.

  “Dylan, even if you had a helmet, I wouldn’t let you wear it,” said Rohit. “You already stand out like a sore thumb. Remember that crazy old guy at Sagar? It’s better not to draw any more attention to yourself.”

  “Point taken,” I said, thankful he was still watching my back in spite of his miserable mood swings.

  We headed out of the congested downtown area toward the residential streets. Cycling was hard, but I welcomed the opportunity to burn a few extra calories. Maybe Dad would notice. Mom, too. I ignored the dull ache in my chest at the thought of them and focused on the road so I wouldn’t get run over.

  This was so much better than walking and I was starting to get good at avoiding the numerous obstacles, man and beast. The one road rule that prevailed was simple: The strong had right-of-way and the weak ran for their lives.

  Soon we’d left the traffic behind and were cycling along a tree-lined street dappled with sunshine. The gas fumes and food smells were thinning and I could suck in a lungful of relatively clean air.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, enjoying the cool breeze on my face. It was a relief not to have to dodge oncoming traffic as we cycled along at a good speed.

  “Canyon Hill. It’s a steep ride to the top but the view isn’t bad,” said Rohit. “I used to like going there as a kid. You can photograph the abandoned canyon from up there.”