Mission Mumbai

by Mahtab Narsimhan

  “Any chance of stopping for a breather?” I asked, pumping away, the camera swinging like a heavy pendulum from my neck.

  The road snaked between banyan trees, their long, brown roots hanging from the branches. I was already tempted to get off and take a short break under their cool canopies but I also wanted to get to the top of the hill for an aerial shot of Lolly-land.

  “Keep going. We’ll stop at a farm along the way,” said Rohit. “We can buy freshly picked grapes—good on a scorcher like today.”

  “Cool!”

  Whitewashed houses flashed by between trees bearing bright-red flowers. They looked like drops of blood on the green leaves, their sweet smell perfuming the air. Gulmohar, Rohit informed me when I insisted we stop so I could take a couple of pictures. They looked fantastic against the blue sky.

  A cow ambled across the road just as we continued on our way. I rang the bell but she didn’t look up. I stopped.

  “Don’t you dare!” said Rohit. “Even if you think no one’s watching, someone is. And this time we don’t have Ma to save us.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” I said. “Honest.” Not true. I’d been planning to charge it, just to see how fast it would run to get out of the way.

  “Yeah, right,” said Rohit with a snort. “I know you, Dylan Moore.”

  “You’re wrong,” I replied, though we both knew he wasn’t.

  We turned off the main road after about half an hour. I was panting and melting, in no particular order. I expected to turn into a puddle at any second. A long and dusty road undulated before us, green fields on either side dotted with houses and barns. Not a soul in sight.

  “Burning up, bro. Gotta take a break,” I gasped, then hopped off the bike and wheeled it to a shady spot under a tree.

  “You look like a cooked lobster, Dylan,” Rohit said. “You okay? You’re not planning on dying on me, are you?” He pushed his glasses up and stared at me.

  “Water,” I gasped.

  “How about cold lemonade?” he asked.

  I nodded. My tongue seemed swollen and my throat was parched and scratchy. Mrs. Lal had insisted Rohit carry a thermos in his backpack and now I was glad. I accepted a cupful and chugged it. Rohit gulped a cupful, too.

  “Better?” he said.

  “Please, sir, I want some more.”

  Rohit chuckled, and poured me half a cup. He screwed the lid back on. “That’s all you’re getting for now. We better ration it because we’re going to need it when we get to the top.” He reached out a hand to pull me up and just for a moment I glimpsed my old friend: nerdy and serious, but with a ready smile and a generous heart. “Let’s go,” he said. “Or we’ll never make it back in time and Ma’s going to have a cow.”

  “A mother having a mother,” I said. “Interesting.”

  Rohit punched me in the arm. I punched him back and immediately grabbed him before he toppled over. All was well. For now.

  We got onto our bikes and started pedaling. A bunch of cute girls in shorts and T-shirts cycled past us. I smiled at them and they smiled back.

  “Where are those girls coming from? This place looks deserted,” I said, trying to balance and look behind me.

  “Barnes,” said Rohit.

  I almost cycled into a ditch. “You mean those girls were raised in a barn? Let’s go check it out. Has to be way cooler than a grape farm!”

  Rohit laughed so hard his bike wobbled precariously. “Barnes, with an e, is the local co-ed boarding school. I almost went there but Ma decided I was better off in a private school in Mumbai.”

  “Let’s go back and invite them for a cool lassi … and samosa. I guess.”

  “This place isn’t so backward. There’s Coke and pizza here, too,” said Rohit. The edge was back in his voice. “And no, we’re not going back. You wanted to see the sights, not meet girls.”

  “Joking, Ro. Lighten up.” He’d become ultrasensitive, always taking my comments as a slight on his previous home even when they weren’t. Come on! This was my best bud and I shouldn’t have to choose my words carefully every time I spoke to him.

  “Whatever,” he said, picking up speed.

  “Wait! We have to go back. We’ve lost something really important!”

  “What?” Rohit slowed and looked back over his shoulder.

  “Your sense of humor.”

  “Ha-ha,” he said and sped away.

  And just like that my best friend from a few minutes ago vanished and a grumpy doppelganger took his place. I almost wished we were back in New York. There, I could text my driver to pick me up and go home. Out here we were stuck together whether we liked it or not. And right now I didn’t.

  The road sloped uphill and Rohit took the lead. I caught up to him and then we were pumping hard, each wanting to reach the top first. My lungs were on fire and the rest of me ached like I had the flu. It felt like someone had tied chains to my legs and was pulling me down. Rohit panted hard, his glasses ready to dive off his nose. He didn’t stop even to push them up.

  When we finally reached the top of Canyon Hill, neck and neck, my heart was ready to burst out of my chest. My pulse drumming in my ear, I looked back at the steep incline. I was amazed I’d made it this far without dying. And it felt good! I surveyed the landscape as intently as the cool Legolas in The Fellowship of the Ring, when they’d been in hot pursuit of the Orcs to rescue the hobbits. I’d seen the movie so often, I could hear the soundtrack during this particular scene in my mind.

  “This is awesome,” I wheezed.

  “Yup,” said Rohit, lying flat on his back, breathing hard.

  I wanted to lie down and rest, too, but the light was just right and I didn’t want to waste a good photo op. I started clicking.

  “Can you stop with the manic photography session for a few minutes?” asked Rohit, sitting up. He unpacked his backpack and took out slices of chocolate cake and the lemonade. “Other than that canyon there are no pictures for your friendship theme up here.”

  “Nope,” I said, focusing the lens on a bee resting inside a bright-yellow flower. Not really what I was looking for but it was too good a picture to pass up. “You’re the one who suggested iStock for extra cash. These pictures are for my portfolio so shut up and let me focus.”

  “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t only about the competition? You’re hiding something from me, dude.”

  “And I told you, Dad thinks I’m wasting his money on this silly yet expensive hobby. He wants to see results on every dime he spends. So, I have to win something.”

  Rohit flicked his glasses up. “He has a point.”

  “What?” I said, lowering the camera. “You agree that any activity should be pursued only if there’s something to gain? You’re as nuts as he is.”

  “Look what happens when you’re not rich or when you’re financially dependent on someone,” he said bitterly. “They think they can dictate your life.”

  “Like Boa,” I said.

  “Like Boa,” he echoed, staring into the distance. “If Dad succumbs to her bullying like he normally does, my life’s over. She’s a human bulldozer when it comes to handling objections. I hate her!”

  I sat down next to him and helped myself to cake. “So we fight it using strategy, not tantrums. Don’t forget—your mom’s tough and she loves you even if you’ve been acting like an idiot lately. Any suggestions?”

  Rohit gave me a dirty look. “Tell Ma and Papa you want to go home, ASAP. And tell them you refuse to travel alone. We all have to go with you.”

  “That’s seriously stupid, bro!” I said. “I’m not doing it.”

  “After all I’ve done for you, you can’t tell a little lie for me?” he snapped. “Some best friend!”

  “Shut up! Even if I insist I want to go home tonight, do you really think she’ll drop everything and go? After all the money you guys have spent on the tickets, do you think she’d want to waste—” I stopped, seeing Rohit’s murderous expression.

  “Go on,” h
e taunted. “Finish what you were saying. You meant when we’re so poor.”

  “You’re not poor!” I said. “You have everything you need to make you happy.”

  My wealth had never bothered him back home and now suddenly he kept throwing it in my face. “And stop using my money as an excuse to behave like a spaz. Maybe if you stopped whining so much, your mom wouldn’t consider leaving you behind, which I know for a fact she’s thinking about right now.” I knew I’d gone too far but I was really mad at him.

  Rohit stood there twitching like a puppet on a sugar high. “You’re pathetic, Dylan. I wish I’d never invited you here.”

  “Ha! And you think you’re a good friend? All the mean tricks you’ve been playing since we got to Mumbai? The mood swings? They’re seriously lame and so are you. I came here to have a good time, to escape my parents who’re always complaining about how I should do better. I know I’m not perfect but at least I’m not a whiny baby like you.”

  “You’re nothing but a rich, spoiled doofus,” he said in a tight, low voice. “Rich. Spoiled. Doofus.” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word as if I’d missed it the first time.

  It felt as if I were having a heart attack. I remembered all the mean things bullies had shouted at me over the years. But I’d never expected to hear them from my best friend. My Frodo. A zinger teetered at the tip of my tongue. I stopped. Would we stop being friends if I said it aloud? But what kind of a person would I be if I couldn’t be honest when I had to?

  I took a deep breath. “I’m not ashamed of being rich. But I hate when you keep reminding me about it. You know what your problem is? You’re shallow. If you had any brains, you’d realize you’re really lucky and stop envying me. Mean. Shallow. Wimp. That’s what you are.” Even as I spat out the words, I knew I’d said too much. But now that they were out, there was no taking them back. By either of us.

  “Thank you for reminding me of my shortcomings,” he said coldly. “I tend to forget when I’m with a friend.” His face was white and for once he was absolutely still, which was even scarier than all the twitching. “Let’s head back.”

  “I’m sorry, Ro,” I blurted out, instantly ashamed I’d lost my temper and hurt him, even though he’d done the same to me. After all, I was a guest in his home and his country, and I had to be the bigger person. “You know I didn’t mean it like that … it just slipped out. You’re my best bud. I love you like the brother I never had. Haven’t I always watched your back?”

  “Right,” sneered Rohit. “You’re just like all the other snobs at school. I should have known I was just an assignment to you. You’re too self-centered to be a real friend and you have the nerve to blame it on me. You know what? If you were the last person on earth, I wouldn’t want you as a friend.”

  It’s as if the Ringwraith at the watchtower of Amon Sûl pierced me instead of Frodo with a Morgul-blade. “I know the curveball Boa threw wasn’t what we’d expected on vacation but we could have solved this together. We still can if you stop being so pigheaded.”

  “Just forget it!” said Rohit, his voice shaking. “You’re too selfish to think of anything but getting pictures and entering that dumb photography contest. The rest of the time you stuff your face and suck up to my family. What kind of a friend does that?” He turned away, his spine ramrod straight, his fists clenched at his sides.

  I was so tempted to push him off the hill. “I was doing it to be polite, not to show you up. And there’s nothing wrong with appreciating good food. You think you have it bad? Try living my life for a change. Then we’ll compare notes.”

  “I would love to!” he said, glaring at me. “Must be so hard to live in such luxury, a million servants at your beck and call, and never having to worry about money.”

  My spacious house flashed through my mind. It had six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a gym, game room, pool, terrace, and home theater. And of course there was the cooking-show-quality kitchen filled with the latest and most expensive appliances. But it was cold and mostly empty. Often, Rohit had asked me if he could come over. I’d agreed a couple of times when Mom and Dad were away on business trips and only the housekeeper, gardener, and driver were around. Most of the time I went to his tiny apartment, where his room—though smaller than our broom closet—felt more like home than mine ever did. This guy was richer than I was and he was too dumb to know it. But he wouldn’t listen to me now and I wasn’t going to show him how much his words had hurt me. Somehow I burst out laughing, though I really wanted to cry.

  Something snapped inside Rohit. He shoved me so hard I sat down on the grass, winded. For a minute I could only look at him in utter shock. Rohit, who’d rescue an ant from the sidewalk so it wouldn’t get stepped on, had pushed me. I jumped to my feet and shoved him back. And this time I didn’t bother to grab him. His glasses flew off his nose as he fell backward, landing on his bony butt with a thump.

  “That hurt!” he said, his voice trembling. “You’re such a loser.”

  “Ditto, bud,” I said, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. Our long-awaited talk had spiraled totally out of control and there was nothing I could do to stop or reverse it. “You’re right about one thing—this trip was a mistake. I can’t wait to get home.”

  Just the thought of home made me sick. But this made me want to barf. I’d had arguments with Rohit before but none had been this bad.

  Rohit was on all fours groping around for his glasses. I knew he was blind as a bat without them. For a moment I watched him but he stubbornly refused to ask for help. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. I picked up his glasses and jammed them onto his nose. He adjusted them and stood up without a word.

  “Shall we head back?” he said in an excruciatingly polite voice, as if he were talking to a stranger.

  “Yes, please,” I replied, equally polite.

  We mounted our bikes and coasted downhill. When I glanced back at the horizon, dark rain clouds had gathered, blotting out the sun.

  AS SOON AS WE WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR, Mrs. Lal’s face lit up like the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. A twinge of jealousy stirred in my heart. I couldn’t remember the last time Mom or Dad had been around when I’d walked through the door, let alone looked excited to see me.

  “Had a good time, boys?” she asked, switching off the radio, silencing what sounded exactly like Minnie Mouse being tortured.

  “Yes, Mrs. L,” I said, trying to muster a smile. “It was great.”

  “Yes, Ma,” Rohit answered. “What’s for lunch?”

  “Chicken biryani,” she said. “Your favorite, Rohit. And I know you love it, too, Dylan.”

  So that was the fantastic scent perfuming the air. After all that exercise I knew I could eat to my heart’s content.

  “Go wash up. We’ll eat, rest for a bit, and then head to the station,” she said. “Why the long faces? Is everything okay?”

  I knew she’d notice and I just wasn’t up to a barrage of questions. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” I mumbled and hurried off. This time there wasn’t a peep out of Rohit about the stolen toilet. I actually missed his stupid joke.

  Mrs. Lal was having a whispered conversation with Rohit that stopped as soon as I stepped out of the bathroom to wash my hands in the sink located outside. I scrubbed away. The silence stretched. When I couldn’t delay any longer, I joined them at the table. A pot of chicken cooked in yogurt and spices and mixed with rice sat in the center of the table, steaming gently. There was also some raita with fresh mint leaves to cut the spice of the biryani.

  “So, where did you go?” asked Mrs. Lal as she ladled out generous portions of the rice and chicken onto our plates and topped them with a dollop of the yogurt raita. I couldn’t wait to dig in.

  “Canyon Hill,” I answered and took a huge bite of food so I’d have an excuse to keep my mouth shut.

  “It used to be one of Rohit’s favorite places,” she said. “Did you like going back?”

  “It was okay,” said Rohit, his eyes glued to
his plate, his voice subdued.

  “What about you, Dylan?”

  What was it with all these questions? Too much attention could get pretty annoying and Mrs. Lal’s antenna was up twenty-four seven. Rohit and I mumbled answers in turn. I wished she’d just stop with the grilling and let us eat in peace.

  Finally Mrs. Lal got the hint and started eating. She mixed the rice and chicken with her fingers and popped a morsel into her mouth. I watched as she ate, with barely a grain of rice falling out between her fingertips. If I knew how, I’d have liked to have tried it, too. But I was too hungry to fiddle around with my food.

  Rohit pushed the biryani around on his plate with a fork, occasionally shooting dark looks at his mom as she ate with her fingers. He ignored me completely. I polished off the first helping and took seconds.

  “Eat, Beta,” Mrs. Lal cajoled Rohit. “You’re too thin as it is. Finish what’s on your plate.”

  “I’m not hungry, Ma.”

  “I worked all morning to make your favorite dish, Rohit, but hungry or not, you will finish what’s on your plate. There are too many starving children in the world. No one is wasting food in my house.”

  And that was that. We ate the remainder of the meal in silence. I felt Mrs. Lal’s eyes study us from time to time but thankfully she didn’t ask any more questions.

  The food hit the spot, but I wasn’t any happier than when I’d sat down. My friend was still not talking to me and I was afraid it would be a very long time before things went back to normal. If they ever did.

  The station thronged with people and the din was deafening. Even in the searing afternoon heat, porters ran to and fro carrying luggage and sweating so much, their shirts were glued to their backs. I could barely stumble along in the heat and even the thought of carrying a book to read while we waited made me break out in buckets of sweat. My respect for porters and working-class Indians skyrocketed. They lived such a harsh life and yet they soldiered on without complaining. They never gave up or admitted defeat. If I could be half as persevering, no one would be able to stop me from following my dream. Not even Dad.