Babyji

by Abha Dawesar

  “I know. There is a huge generation gap,” I said.

  “I can suspend Chakra Dev today,” he said.

  “Sir, he’ll stop short of nothing,” I said, standing extremely straight. I wanted the princi to think I was stating a fact but that I was not scared.

  “All the more reason to suspend him right away.”

  “Can I talk to him? I’ll tell him we know. That you know,” I said.

  “So he can really harm you?”

  “Sir, please trust me. I can get an apology out of him in writing by tomorrow morning,” I said confidently. He was silent. I knew he would think that letting Chakra Dev go scot free would be like getting bullied by him. He was not a weak man. My chances of having my way were very slim.

  “I think I can persuade him to really change his ways,” I added. Then I said, “If I don’t succeed you can always punish him, sir.”

  “Do you realize that you are now taking responsibility not just for your own well-being but for that of your classmates who were involved in the fracas earlier?”

  “Yes, sir. If the bomb had not been aimed at me personally, I wouldn’t even suggest this option,” I replied without batting an eye.

  “He has less than twenty-four hours. I expect him to come up to me at the school assembly with a letter signed by him and his father,” the principal said.

  “Yes, sir, don’t worry,” I assured him.

  When I got back to class, Mrs. T. was talking about the difference between a plateau and a mesa. I had to stand at the door and request permission to enter.

  “Where were you, Anamika?” she asked instead of saying yes.

  “With the princi. There was a problem,” I said.

  “Okay, Beta.”

  As I walked to my desk I noticed Chakra Dev writing with his right hand, but his left hand was in his pant pocket. It was a strange way to sit. I was sure he was fondling himself. Taking out my notebook I noticed Vidur had already filled a sheet with differences between plateaus and mesas. I opened my pencil box and looked at the George Michael pictures for a second before starting to write what Mrs. T. was dictating.

  When the bell rang Mrs. T. said, “I’m going to speak till the next teacher comes in. We have a lot to cover for the syllabus.”

  I decided I would wait till school was over before speaking to Chakra Dev. I was nervous about the talk I was supposed to have and unsure whether to approach him in a soft, decent way or as a figure of authority. Either could backfire easily.

  At the end of the day the bahadur from the school office came to our classroom and handed us cyclostyled sheets of the class list. Sure enough Sheela, Vidur, Chakra Dev, and I were all listed. I decided then that it was better to call him at home, this way I’d have the option of speaking to his father at the same time.

  xvii

  Backward Caste

  When I returned home that day I told Rani about what happened in class. I usually didn’t tell her about my school life, but my mother had told her I was the Head Prefect. I mentioned Chakra Dev. I told her I had to call him. I wanted to ask her how to deal with him.

  “Such people are dark. They don’t change,” she said. “A scorpion is a scorpion.”

  I was sitting on my bed recounting the story when the phone rang. My body was so relaxed I didn’t feel like getting up.

  “Will you answer?” I asked Rani.

  She asked me if I was sure. We had not let her answer calls for us so far. But I didn’t see the harm. Everyone who called could speak Hindi anyway.

  She got up and walked quickly to where the phone was.

  “Haloo,” she said.

  After a few seconds I heard her say in Hindi, “And you?”

  Then she put her hand on the mouthpiece the way my mother and I always did.

  “It’s yesterday’s Colonel Sahib for you,” she announced.

  “You forgot I was going to call,” he said as soon as I greeted him.

  “I have other things on my mind,” I said. I wanted to say something grown-up.

  “You’re going to be difficult, I see,” he returned.

  “You see nothing over these VSNL phone lines.”

  “Well, I’m saying I’d like to be able to see you,” he said.

  I wanted to tease him, play hard to get. It was very different from the kind of immediate and serious feeling I had about India or Rani. I was always eager, serious, and ready to please them. This was lighter, more fun.

  “Why? Because I’m a nubile young maiden?” I asked.

  “What’s the matter, Anamika? You’re not taking me seriously.”

  “Come on, Adit, you’re my friend’s father. What am I supposed to do?” I said. Now I was afraid I was talking too much. Not keeping myself in check.

  “We’re not going to do anything. I just want to meet you,” he said in a soothing voice.

  “You think anyone will understand why we are meeting? My parents won’t. Your son won’t. Your wife certainly won’t. We’ll have to hide it. Anything clandestine is tantamount to an affair.”

  “With your ‘tantamount’ you’re sounding like an Indian Express editorial,” he chuckled.

  “Stop making fun of me.”

  “We need to be secretive because our society is screwed up, but we both know we’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “I’m already conducting three liaisons. That’s more concealment than I can take,” I said. The word “liaisons” rolled off my tongue easily even though I had never used it before. As I said the words I saw myself walk through the gray portal called adolescence and into adulthood.

  I visualized myself in a wedding, but instead of a groom leading me through seven circles around a sacred fire, there was a single chalk line. I crossed it three times. The first time Rani held my hand as I lifted one foot over the line, then the other. The second time India held my hand, and the third time Adit held my hand.

  “I think you need to talk to someone with experience about these things. You could get badly hurt.” Adit’s voice had gotten more serious. “Don’t ask me why or how I suddenly care about you. It has a force of its own,” he continued.

  “How are we going to meet?” I asked.

  “I could meet you after school. I could come to your house,” he suggested.

  “You can’t come to my house. We have a full-time servant,” I said. I enunciated the word “servant” as if it were a whole sentence, a universe.

  “A beautiful one at that,” he said.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  “I’m sure we can give her something to keep her quiet,” he said.

  I couldn’t take it anymore. The charade and double life made me feel unclean.

  “I’m sleeping with her,” I said quietly.

  “You’re what?”

  “You heard me,” I said. He paused for what seemed like a long time.

  “This is just a phase. It will pass,” he said, his voice settling into a plush tone, like he knew more about life than I did. I could see him sink into his sofa while he spoke to me, his face relaxing, a knowledge greater than mine enveloping him.

  “What the hell do you know?” I said, ready to explode.

  “I think everyone goes through this experimental phase,” he said patronizingly.

  “Oh yeah? So how many orderlies have you slept with?”

  “I’m not attracted to men,” he said peacefully, not willing to pick a quarrel.

  “Me neither,” I said harshly.

  “You’ll eventually want the real stuff,” he said with great confidence. I hated him and no longer felt close to him. I didn’t see the point in talking anymore. I didn’t respond.

  Eventually he said, “Call me tomorrow.”

  “You can call me,” I said.

  “I will. And take my number down, too,” he said.

  He gave me his work number, and then we hung up. When I placed the handset down I decided to call Chakra Dev. After having talked to Adit I felt confident of managing a phone call with
him. I went back to my room to get the cyclostyled sheet from my bag. Rani was sitting on the floor by my bed, staring at the alphabet. Without even knowing what was going on, Rani knew everything.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said, looking down at her feet.

  “Tell me, Rani,” I said, my voice changing immediately to the commanding employer’s tone.

  “Babyji, it’s not my business, but I did not like the Sahib that day when he came here. Vidur baba, your friend, is very nice. But you should be careful of Sahib,” she said.

  “Careful in what way?”

  “Just careful.”

  “Tell me the truth. What do you mean?”

  “Just the way he looked at you once or twice.”

  “He did not look at me in any way. He looked at you,” I said.

  “I know these things. You’re still young. Innocent.”

  “You’re only seven years older than me, Rani. You’re innocent, too,” I said, laughing.

  “Yes, Babyji, but where I’m from you learn these things at a very young age.”

  “So you think he desires me?” I said bluntly.

  She looked a little taken aback by my coarse words. My Hindi was limited.

  “Yes. I think he desires you,” she said.

  “I am going to speak to Chakra Dev,” I said.

  “I still say you shouldn’t,” she said.

  “I have to or else he won’t be allowed back to school for three weeks,” I said, retrieving the sheet.

  “I’ll bring you some tea in the phone room. You’ll need it,” she said.

  I had to dial Chakra Dev’s number twice because my finger slipped on the dial the first time.

  “Hello,” he answered. His voice sounded less crude over the phone.

  “It’s Anamika,” I said.

  There was no response. He was waiting for me to make my move.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “It’s none of your business,” he said, sounding entirely displeased at having heard my voice.

  “Listen, we know about the bomb,” I said, getting straight to the point. Further pleasantries seemed pointless.

  No response.

  “By ‘we,’ I mean the principal and I,” I said, mustering all my authority.

  “You can’t prove anything,” he challenged.

  “The princi decided to suspend you. I stopped him,” I said.

  “Oh! How kind of you!” he said sarcastically. He didn’t believe me.

  “Those two boys confessed once the teachers confronted them,” I said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Shut up and listen,” I said. There was silence. “I know you hate me, but I told the principal you wouldn’t do it again. There’s no reason to involve anyone else from the school in your personal hatred for me.”

  “What makes you think you are so important?”

  “The fact that you had someone try to injure me with a bomb,” I said.

  “Just because you are Head Prefect, you think you can boss me around?”

  “I’m not bossing you around. But it’s only because I am Head Prefect that the princi let you go on my request. He agreed to give you twenty-four hours.”

  “What do you want?” he growled.

  “A letter of apology signed by your father,” I said.

  “Fuck off, Miss High and Mighty.”

  “You’ll really get into trouble, and I’m not going to help you again,” I threatened.

  “Who needs your help?”

  “Fine. Be impervious to all warnings. I tried my best,” I said.

  “You and your big words. I liked the sound of the bomb. Shame it didn’t get you. All the other brahmin chutiyas are burning. I want to fuck you burning brahmin chutiyas,” he spat.

  His words cut through me. I knew then that he really meant it. Chakra Dev wanted to be mad for the sake of being mad.

  I hung up on him.

  Rani had placed the tea beside me and was sitting on the floor, sipping from her own cup. I shook my head.

  “I told you not to try,” she said in Hindi. It looked as if she had followed the conversation entirely based on the tone of my voice.

  In the evening I decided to be bold and go to India’s house with my mother’s full knowledge.

  On the way I replayed my conversations with Adit and Chakra Dev. Despite my irritation I wanted to meet Adit, and despite Chakra Dev’s hatred I wished he had wanted to change. India welcomed me so warmly at her door that my heart soared to the heavens, happy, free.

  “I want to talk to you, but naked, in bed,” I said, leading her confidently by the hand. The sensation of having a lover was no longer new.

  “How did you get away?” she asked.

  “I told my mother I had to speak to you about Jeet’s admission,” I said.

  Once in her bedroom I turned off the light. We could see nothing. My heart started thumping. I fumbled with her sari, taking care not to unwind it till I removed the safety pin holding the pleats at the navel. I could no longer remember the things I had wanted to talk about. In a tremendous rush, we made our way to her bed. The round orbs of her fesses fit into my palms, familiar, fleshy, and mine. When we made love the second time I gripped both her feet in my hands and interlocked my fingers with her toes.

  I walked home late, feeling lighter than a helium balloon, realizing only when I rang our bell that I had failed to tell India to call the headmistress next week. My impotency as Head Prefect in the matter of Chakra Dev had stopped bothering me. The principal could suspend him. It would teach the boy a lesson.

  On the news at nine the headlines showed footage of another boy going up in flames. The self-immolations seemed like a forest fire, spreading rapidly and recklessly. I sat in front of the TV and yelled out to my mother to join. The boy had done it in front of news cameras, with the policemen unable to stop him. He had screamed “I’m a brahmin ” over and over again as he burnt. The newsreader said all schools had been closed indefinitely. I let out a hoot of joy and danced around the room. My mother looked at me in shock.

  “It’s such sad news, how can you jump like that?”

  I stopped. I felt stupid. The phone rang.

  “Did you hear?” Sheela said excitedly on the other end.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be alone tomorrow morning. Do you want to come over?” she asked.

  I was excited by her directness. But I didn’t want to show it on the phone to my mother or to Sheela.

  “Let me take your address. I can ride my bike,” I said matter-of-factly in a low voice.

  As soon as I had hung up, the phone rang again. This time it was Vidur.

  “I know school is closed,” I said as soon as I heard his voice.

  “Dad wanted me to ask you if you wanted to come tomorrow afternoon. He’ll teach us.”

  “How will I come there? It’s far.”

  “He said he can pick you up on his way back from work. He needs to use up his casual leave so he is taking half a day off.”

  I agreed and hung up. I couldn’t believe Adit was getting Vidur to do the dirty work. I told my mother I was going to see Sheela and meet Vidur. The phone rang again as I was talking to my mother. This time it was India.

  “I forgot to tell you to call the headmistress, Mrs. Nyaya Singh,” I said.

  “You talked to her about Jeet?”

  “I told her it was a humanitarian issue,” I said.

  “I’m the humanitarian issue,” she said, then added, “I can still feel you in the pit of my stomach. I found your hair on my pillow.”

  I was holding my breath.

  “I want you to fuck me again,” she said. That word, loaded with all the power of Sartre and self-immolation, German porn and Mrs. Pillai.

  “Oh!” I whispered. Desire, acute and powerful, wrenched my guts.

  “It’s unbearable not to be with you, Anamika.”

  “I can come
early tomorrow morning, but then I have to meet classmates,” I said.

  “Come as early as you like,” she said.

  “School’s closed, so I’m free,” I said, the unreasonable urge to dance around the room overtaking me once more, my voice running away to the rhythm of freedom.

  “Do you think we can go away for a few days?” she proposed.

  “Where?”

  “I’ll think of something and ask your mother. I want to sleep and wake up with you.”

  In bed at night with Rani I told her not to worry about Colonel Sahib. I said that Adit was honorable, like a father, though in fact he was not fully honorable.

  “Do you remember the alphabet?” I asked.

  She moved away from me and turned on a lamp. She showed me the copybook where I had written four letters. She had practiced on page after page, her writing getting progressively smaller and more assured. One page had other letters, in running hand. I could barely tell what was written since the handwriting was so wobbly. I made out the words “lonely” and “love” and “pain.”

  “What is this?” I asked.

  Rani smiled flirtatiously and said in Hindi, “You tell me, Babyji.”

  “Where did you see this?” I asked, feeling hot in the face.

  “First tell me what’s written,” she said.

  “Just raat,” I said, using the Hindi word for night.

  “Only that?” she asked.

  “Rani, where did you get this from?” I asked.

  She reached out to my desk and gave me my chemistry register.

  “It was under the sofa,” she said, using the English word “sofa.” I flipped it open to the last page. Sure enough, in circular, very schoolgirlish handwriting, were some fifteen lines about nights with me and those without me, about parts of her body and her mind, about longing for me. I felt progressively hotter and guiltier as I read them. I could see Rani was watching. I wondered if she could tell that the handwriting on the last page was different from that in the front of the book. India’s handwriting was a shock. It seemed like that of someone younger than Vidur and more orderly and morally pure than Sheela. I had promised India not to get too attached to her. I should have asked her to promise me the same.