by Abha Dawesar
“This is Colonel Divan,” Vidur’s father said, introducing his tennis partner to me.
“I have to run,” Colonel Divan said, even as he shook my hand.
Colonel Mathur took off his baseball cap. His hair was short and clung to his scalp.
“Give me a second,” he said, letting his duffel bag slip off his shoulder. He pulled out another T-shirt and ripped off the one he was wearing, turning away from me. His muscular back was smooth and glistening with sweat just like his face and head. I looked up at a tree and whistled. It wasn’t decent to look at a man’s bare back like this. I felt my ears turn red.
“All right, let’s go,” he said, turning back around. He was instantly friendly. There was no need to explain why I was there. Walking out of the club with Vidur and his father felt very natural, as if I had done it many times before.
“I think schools will soon be shut down. There were two more self-immolations, and there’s a big rally planned for tomorrow, so there may be unrest,” he said.
We walked on quietly for a while. Then Colonel Mathur patted my shoulder and said, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Anamika.”
“Same here,” I said.
At home the orderly took the duffel bag from Colonel Mathur. He and I sat on two sofas in the living room while Vidur disappeared to change. I wished I weren’t wearing my childish school skirt. I felt more comfortable in pants and boys’ shirts.
“I’m glad you dropped by today,” he said. His words came out easily, comfortably. I doubted that Vidur had ever brought any other girl home after class.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you, sir,” I said.
“Oh, no! Not ‘sir’ again!”
“What should I call you?” I asked. It was bold to talk like that without introducing a term of respect in the sentence.
“Call me Adit. That’s my name.”
“Adit?” I said tentatively, afraid that I was going to be reprimanded for disrespecting an elder. And thrilled that this moment of adulthood had finally arrived. I didn’t even call India by her name.
Vidur came back in a polo shirt, looking much better than he did in his school uniform.
“Hey, Vidur, your dad said I should call him by his name,” I said. It was best he be warned before I launched into a conversation where I’d say Vidur-Adit-Adit-Vidur.
“Didn’t I tell you he was the best?” Vidur said, running his hand through his dad’s hair. I’d not seen that sort of camaraderie between a father and son before.
The table was set. “Shall we?” Adit said. We all got up.
Over roti and sabzi Vidur said, “Anamika is having a crisis. She’s under stress.”
Adit looked at me and asked, “What crisis are you having, Anamika?” He sounded like Dr. Iyer inquiring about symptoms whenever I was sick and my mother took me to him.
I immediately tore off some roti and put it in my mouth. The way Vidur had spoken about me made me feel silly. Both Adit and Vidur were looking at me, waiting for me to speak. I felt embarrassed and wished I could chew on the roti forever. I reached out for a glass of water as soon as I had swallowed the last of the roti.
“Anamika, try explaining all that to my father,” Vidur said impatiently.
“I don’t have the patience to wait while my life unravels. I need to know now what’s wrong and what’s right. I need to know what I should truly want.” I had spoken in a great rush.
“You mean in terms of your career? Whether to become a doctor or an engineer?” Adit asked.
“Or whether to simply pursue my feelings, wherever they might take me,” I said.
“Where might they take you?” he asked. Vidur helped himself to more sabzi.
“To the moon, to hell, to suicide, to prison,” I said dramatically, unable to control myself.
“Calm down,” he said.
“Sorry, Adit.”
He smiled at the mention of his name. His face was clean shaven, and his teeth were white. He reached out for more sabzi. His forearms were strong, their veins prominent. He had very little hair on his arms, and his hands were long. The phone rang.
Vidur got up from the table and shuffled to the phone in the passage leading from the dining room to the bedrooms.
“Hello,” we heard him say.
“I can’t believe you’re his age,” Adit said, lowering his voice.
“I can’t believe I’m sitting here telling you I’ve taken on more than I can chew,” I said.
“Are you having an affair?” he asked bluntly.
“Several. I have a roving eye,” I said. How could I say this to a stranger, I wondered. We were both speaking softly, furtively. At that moment it felt as if nothing in the world stood between him and me.
“Adit, I need someone to talk to. I feel as if I’ve never expressed my inner feelings before, and they are suddenly gushing out. I’m losing my mind,” I said.
“Everything will be all right, my Lolita,” he said soothingly.
“Who is Lolita?”
“You don’t know the book?” he asked, chuckling.
“No.”
“I’ll lend it to you.”
“Have you ever been in love?” I asked.
“Not recently.”
I could hear Vidur’s voice on the phone in the other room. The call had been for him. He was talking about cricket. His voice was excited. He seemed to have forgotten about us.
“Are you true to yourself?” I asked.
“More or less.”
“Do you touch your heart every day and ask what it wants? And do as it says?”
“No. That would make life impossible,” he said.
“Why?”
He touched his left hand to his heart and turned his head up to the ceiling, his eyes closed. Then he said, “I hear what it says.”
“What does it say?”
“It says, Adit, watch out or you’ll fall for this kid,” he said, looking down from the ceiling and straight into my eyes. I felt a bolt of lightning strike the middle of my chest. I felt my face go red. I was embarrassed not to have a quick comeback.
He suddenly looked unsure of himself. “Are you all right? I’m sorry,” he said.
“That’s all right. I’m glad you said it if it came to your head,” I said, recovering.
“My heart,” he corrected.
“Even more important,” I said.
“You remind me of my youth. Something I can never again have.”
Hearing Vidur hang up on his friend, we both fell silent. He came back to the room all smiles and announced, “The Pakistanis were bowled out. It looks like India will win the series!”
“That’s good news,” Adit said, looking as happy as his son. I was astonished that intelligent men liked watching games. We finished our lunch without Vidur bringing up my problems again. Every time there was a lull in the conversation because we were all chewing, I could feel my heart thumping.
After we were done with lunch, Adit put on a record. They had a fancy music system with very large speakers. The clear and loud beat of the music amplified the uneasiness in my stomach that had been building up since Adit’s comment. I excused myself to go to the toilet.
In the bathroom I washed my face and looked at myself in the mirror. My Prefect’s tie was still knotted tightly. I loosened it and undid my collar button. I ran my hands through my hair and adjusted my glasses. I sat on the pot and focused for a minute on Vidur, on what would happen to him if I ever had an affair with his father. There was no question of having an affair with Adit. I stood up to look in the mirror and nodded at my decision. I felt more in control. No affair that involved me could happen without my participation.
I came back out and sat on the sofa.
“Some tea, kids?” Adit asked, looking at Vidur. Then he gave me a look that discounted his having called me a kid. We both nodded. He went to the kitchen.
“Tell me more about this India friend of yours,” Vidur said when Adit was out of earshot.
&nb
sp; “She’s your father’s age,” I said, then added, “and really sexy.” Vidur didn’t respond.
His father came back to us carrying a tray with three mugs. He was still in his tennis shorts. Since I was sitting and he was standing I could look at his legs without seeming to stare. His thighs were muscular and had an even brown color with very light brown hair visible only from up close. His knees were scarred from years of knocking about. As he handed me my tea I looked up and asked, “Did you ever fight in a war?”
“Indo-Pak. 1971,” he said.
“He was injured,” Vidur said proudly.
“Did you get a medal?” I asked.
“True kshatriya. Vir Chakra,” Vidur said in response. He worshipped his father.
“Dad, tell her the story,” Vidur said, his eyes shining.
“There’s no story, really,” Adit said with a lopsided smile.
“Come on, Adit,” I said.
“My battalion was posted at the border. I was in artillery and got shot in the shoulder. It was so cold that it was a few minutes before I realized what had happened. In fact it was someone else who first saw the blood that had seeped through my uniform.”
“Do you have a scar?”
“He does. Show it, Dad,” Vidur said.
“Do you want to see it?” Adit asked.
I nodded. He stood up and stripped off his polo shirt. I had missed the scar at the tennis court because I’d looked away. He bent his body toward me and brought his right shoulder in front of my eye. The skin there had bunched up. I raised my index finger to touch it and looked at him. He nodded. I gingerly patted the scar.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he said. I noticed that his few chest hairs were standing. His eyes looked unflinchingly at me. I stared back and then removed my hand. I had forgotten about Vidur for a second. So had Adit.
“Is that why you want to join the army?” I asked Vidur.
“Yes.”
“We’ll see about that,” Adit said, putting his shirt back on.
“You don’t want him to join?” I asked.
“He can if he wants to. It has its pros and cons,” Adit said. I nodded.
“I’m not sure what I want to do,” I said, changing the subject. It was clear they weren’t agreed on Vidur’s career. The atmosphere in the room had become tense.
“Vidur says you are so smart you could do anything,” Adit said. Vidur seemed to suffer from this notion that I was a lot more intelligent and talented than I really was. I felt awkward and looked at my wristwatch. Time had flown. It was already four thirty.
“I told Anamika we would drive her home,” Vidur said.
“Of course,” Adit said. Then he looked at me and asked, “When do you have to go?”
“Now,” I said.
“I’m going to wear something else. It’s too hot for these pants,” Vidur said and got up. I felt terribly stupid sitting in my Prefect’s tie and box-pleated skirt next to a sexy athlete who’d been in a war. When the door to Vidur’s bedroom shut, Adit asked me in a low voice, “So, what do you want to do with your life, little lady?”
The phrase “little lady” upset me. I wished I were India with her sophistication and low-cut sari blouses. Adit would have spoken differently to her.
“I want to be a professional playboy, Adit,” I said as sweetly as I could.
“That failing?” he asked.
“Failing that I’ll join the army. They take women now,” I said, feeling querulous.
“Why? You know they don’t let women go to war,” he said.
“I know. I would do it just to go to the Academy. To exercise and have a great body,” I said.
“You have a stupendous body,” he said.
“I mean a rough and tough body like yours,” I said, deciding to ignore his comment.
“So you like mine, too,” he said with a smirk. He was not going to let me ignore him.
We were both sitting on the couch, our backs resting on its backrest. He moved forward till he was leaning with his elbows on his thighs. Then he grabbed my hand in his and held my thumb in between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a hard, almost painful squeeze before letting go.
My heart started beating fast, and in my nervousness I blurted, “There’s a woman you’ll like.”
“Huh?” His “huh” sounded exactly like his son’s.
“She’s closer to your age than mine. A freelance designer. Very sexy.”
“I’m not looking for an affair with someone else,” he whispered.
“I’m not suggesting one. I call her India,” I whispered. Talking about my life to Adit made me less nervous about him. I felt he was my friend.
“India,” he repeated, nodding his head.
We heard Vidur’s door open. Adit slid back on the couch, increasing the distance between us. Vidur came out in shorts and sandals and a T-shirt. His legs were covered in black hair obviously inherited from his mother’s side.
“Are you ready, lion?” Adit asked his son.
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Why don’t you leave a note for Mom,” Adit suggested.
“Oh, yes!” Vidur said. He went out of the living room to the passageway where the phone was kept. The house was so quiet I could hear the sound of pencil on paper.
“My wife comes home around six. She works at American Express,” Adit said.
I felt blood rush to my face when I heard him say “my wife.” My mouth felt dry. I was sure Adit could read my face. I called out to Vidur in an unnaturally high voice as if he were far away.
“Yes?” he said. I ran in his direction and stood next to him.
“My mother wanted you to have chai with us,” I said.
“After tea,” he added on his note. I looked at the scrap of white notepaper. I could distinguish Vidur’s handwriting from thousands. I’d sat next to him in class for years. But we wrote with a ballpoint pen in our ruled notebooks. The lead pencil on blank white paper was like a sketch. It looked like it had sounded—hurried, artistic. It was like a Band-Aid on my chest. I was relieved he was there.
We came back to the living room. Vidur put the note on the dining table under the fruit bowl with a few overripe bananas and some chickoos .
“Ready, kids?” Adit asked in a neutral voice. He didn’t look at me. We trooped out of the house and onto the driveway.
Vidur’s father backed the car out as Vidur and I opened the gate.
“You know, my mother thinks I have a crush on you,” Vidur said.
“Do you?” I asked, looking Vidur in the face.
“No! You’re my best friend!” Vidur said.
“I was just teasing, Vidur,” I said. It felt great to have a best friend. I knew he wasn’t one to use the term lightly.
Vidur opened the car door for me and slid into the backseat himself. I was embarrassed about Vidur and Adit coming to my house. Our sofas with their patterned upholstery and shiny wooden finish were very different from Adit’s living room with its music system. Vidur’s father was modern, and while my parents were probably from the same income bracket, his life had exposed him to travel and war. Military life was glamorous compared to the lives of civil servants.
My mother was already home when we arrived. To my surprise she held out her hand to greet Adit. I had never seen her shake hands with a man before. She’d usually fold her hands and say “ namaste” to my father’s colleagues.
Vidur shook her hand, too, and said, “Hello, ma’am.”
We all sat in the living room. Adit was sitting in the same spot where India had sat.
“Would you like some chai or coffee, Colonel Sahib ?” my mother asked.
Adit beamed. It was obvious he liked to be called that.
“We’ll have what you’re having,” he said.
I was painfully aware of his thick muscular legs and his khaki shorts. He seemed indecently exposed. What if my mother noticed? I wanted to cover him.
“Mom, I’ll take care of it,” I said in order to escape.
“Rani’s in the kitchen. Be nice to her. She was crying when I got here.”
“Why?” I was concerned something had happened.
“She was worried to death about you.”
I went to the kitchen. Rani had heard us come in. She was already setting a tray with cups and saucers. I grabbed her waist from behind and squeezed it. She smiled at me.
“I’m sorry you were worried,” I said.
“It’s all right. I am glad you are fine.”
“Why were you so upset?”
“I thought something had happened to you. I remembered what had happened the last time you took the bus,” she said, her eyes opened wide.
“I’m here,” I whispered in her ear.
“When you bring chai and biscuits for everyone, bring some for yourself, too. I want you to meet my friend Vidur and his father.”
“What will I say to big people?” she asked. She widened her eyes again, this time flirtatiously.
“You’ll talk like you did last night with the lady,” I said, leaving the kitchen.
Rani followed me out a few minutes later carrying a large steel tray with four cups and saucers, a teapot, milk, sugar, and a plate of biscuits. She hadn’t got any tea for herself. Through the tight half sleeves of her sari blouse I could see her arms straining and bulging. Her arms were lean. Her biceps looked like little mice. Her pallu was drawn over her head and covered a little of her face. But seven inches of flat flesh showed between her sari and her blouse. Her belly button was visible. As she bent down to place the tray on a side table, her pallu slid down, exposing her tight sari blouse. She quickly pulled it back on her shoulder. Adit stared at her for a second before lifting his eyes. I was glad Adit had noticed Rani, her beauty. I wanted to show her off even if he didn’t know she was mine.
I said to her loudly in Hindi, “Why don’t you place it down and bring your chai?”
My mother noticed Rani and broke her conversation to look at her.
“Yes, Rani, why don’t you join us?” she said, smiling.
Adit looked at Rani again. She was so beautiful it was impossible not to feel direct and intense pleasure looking at her. After putting our trays down she went out of the room. Her sari pallu blew in the air behind her as she disappeared through the door.