Babyji

by Abha Dawesar

“Is that why you’re calling?”

  “India wanted me to invite you to a party on Saturday. Can you please convince Vidur?”

  “Ah! India, the sexy woman I could have an affair with if you continue to refuse me.”

  “Exactly,” I said. I couldn’t take all his jokes too personally.

  “Let me come and see you,” he said.

  “You can’t. I’m in turmoil,” I said.

  “Turmoil makes for hot bedfellows,” he joked.

  “No! I got caught today,” I said, getting exasperated.

  “Did your parents see you with the servant?” he said lightly.

  “No, it was India,” I said, hanging up. I hadn’t explicitly told him about India, but I was pretty sure he knew. He was sitting on top of so much information about me, he could land me in a lot of trouble.

  I made a cup of tea for myself instead of asking Rani. I felt guilty about how I had been treating her. I sat with a large sheet of paper and decided to list my problems. In the past twenty-four hours I had lost a best friend and hurt Rani—indeed, I continued to hurt Rani. I had almost been caught by my parents, and I had discovered that Sheela thought of our activities as some kind of experiment. My school life, which earlier had no connection to my home life, was now deeply implicated in it. India’s dawat could be a grand confrontation; once I got through it I wouldn’t have to worry about all my lives colliding. On the other hand, things were definitely coming to a head. I wanted to escape before there was a giant explosion.

  I drew a line down the middle of the sheet with a ruler. There was something to be said about Mrs. Thaityallam’s method of comparing things point by point, pro for con. I wrote America in one column and Delhi in another. In the America column I wrote freedom, money, independence, no social control, and washing dirty plates and bathrooms. In the Delhi column I wrote being dependent on my parents, going to sagais and social receptions, worrying what people would think, and being at the mercy of a backward society and its judgments. I could imagine Mrs. Thaityallam looking at the columns and objecting, “But Beta, America is a country, and Delhi is just a city.” If I left Delhi and went to Benares or Powaii or Kharagpur to study at IIT, I could join a hostel and have more freedom. But even there I would have to follow rules, and I would be subjected to the tyranny of a hostel warden.

  These were the wrong reasons for leaving my country, but the promise of escaping was incredibly tempting. I thought about my future career choices in India—engineering and law—and wondered about the abundance of options in the West. I searched for Deepak’s card and found it in my desk drawer. I called his office. I felt as if I might be disturbing him, but he reassured me.

  “I have all the time in the world for you,” he said warmly.

  “I have to go to the U.S. as soon as possible,” I said.

  “Let’s go to USEFI to get the forms you need.”

  “That would be great,” I said.

  “I have a slow day in the office today. I can take you,” he offered.

  I debated calling my mother and telling her. If she put her foot down, what would I do? I didn’t want to risk it. I told Rani that Deepak was taking me for some important work and that I would be back soon.

  “Did you marry Arni because she was the best person you ever met? Is she better than your Polish girlfriend?” I asked Deepak in the car. It had been playing on my mind since our discussion in Kasauli about marriage.

  “The best person? Come on, Anamika, you know better. Life is not like school with its grades and rankings.”

  It was and it wasn’t. What I had meant was that the best person would always do the best things. The best person would be like India without the drugs or Adit without his constant passes at me.

  “Do you love her more than anyone else?” I asked.

  “Love is just raw material. To create something from it is what marriage is about. Arni is committed to making our marriage work. Agatha and I loved each other in a different way. As soon as our careers or futures were at stake we chose ourselves over the relationship. Our relationship didn’t outlive its convenience.”

  “Is Arni the one who makes all the sacrifices in your marriage?” I asked.

  “Do I look like such a typical male chauvinist pig to you?” Deepak asked, laughing.

  “No, but she’s the one who stopped working after marriage.”

  “When I came back to India I really wanted to get a job in Bombay. But Arni wanted to stay in Delhi because her parents are here, as are mine. I took another job, one I wanted less.”

  We had reached the USEFI building. Deepak craned his neck to look for a parking spot.

  “There, to the left,” I said, pointing to a free space.

  As Deepak steered his car to squeeze it in, I said, “I hate compromises.”

  “At your age you should. This is the time for you to do something for yourself. Once you’ve achieved your goals you’ll want other things. You’ll want to live for other people. A family, maybe.”

  At USEFI the guard directed us to the second floor. A large number of people were sitting in the room, filling out forms. I went to the receptionist, who told me I had to fill out a preliminary questionnaire. I sat down and started filling it out. Deepak walked around, looking at books they had on a shelf. He seemed happy to be there, nostalgic as he leafed through college literature. He chuckled every now and then.

  The questionnaire was five pages long and asked for my contact information, my parents’ income, my marks on the last board exam, class rank, extracurricular activities, and when I intended to take the SAT. In the section that asked about my future study plans, I checked off physics. I asked Deepak where I should study. One could check up to five states.

  “California, for sure,” he said. I checked it off.

  “New York, Massachusetts, Illinois,” he said. I checked them all off. Then he stared at the others. I was sure they were all the same. I pointed to Wyoming. He shook his head. Texas. He shook his head again. Florida. He frowned slightly, undecided.

  “Why not? It’s warm,” he finally said.

  I signed the form and handed it back to the receptionist. She looked at a big register in front of her and told me when the counselor had a free slot for an appointment.

  “Take these bulletins and read them,” she said, handing some booklets to me. When we walked out Deepak handed me some things he had picked up from another section. They were about individual colleges and were glossier than what the lady had given me.

  On the drive back I worried because I’d written my phone number on the form. If the USEFI called me at home, my parents would find out I had gone there. I asked Deepak his opinion.

  “Let me talk to your parents. Are they coming to Aunty’s party on Saturday?”

  “Yes, we’ll be there. But I am not sure they will listen to you,” I said.

  “Don’t worry. It’s normal for parents to be anxious about their kids leaving home. On top of it you are rather young, and you are a girl. They will feel reassured talking to someone who has been through the experience.”

  When we got home I invited Deepak in and asked him to eat lunch with us. Rani busied herself with lunch, happy that we had an unexpected guest. She made hot chapatis for him and insisted he eat a couple of extra ones. After lunch I went to wash my hands. I returned to find them in the middle of a conversation.

  “We were all so worried, we had no idea where she had gone,” Rani was saying.

  “Is she talking about this morning?” I asked casually.

  “Yes. No wonder your parents are worried about letting you go. You just leave the house, door wide open,” he said.

  “Not wide open. Just unlocked,” I said.

  “And all that for chemistry,” he said with a chuckle, pointing to India’s books, which my father had placed on the coffee table.

  “Chemistry makes the world go round, even in your R & R world,” I said, unable to resist.

  “That’s a different kind of chemistry.
You are so studious, I’d be lucky if I had a daughter like you,” Deepak said.

  “You don’t know what you’d be in for,” I said.

  He rose to leave. He thanked Rani for lunch. She smiled at him. She didn’t seem shy at all. She had emerged from her servant mode in a way I had never seen. I suddenly felt close to her again.

  “Rani, I am sorry for the way I’ve behaved. I had to go away at night. My studies were driving me crazy,” I said.

  “You are free to go and come as you like, Babyji. I’ll never stop you,” she said.

  “Please forgive me,” I said, pulling her hand and taking her into my room. We lay on my bed and chatted.

  “Deepak Sahib is different,” she said.

  “In what way?”

  “I don’t know. He treated me like you treat me. Not like a servant.”

  “He lived in America,” I said.

  “In Amreeka?” she asked.

  “Yes. They don’t have servants there,” I said.

  “They don’t?”

  “No. Everyone is equal. There is no caste, either. Of course some people are rich and others are poor, but that’s everywhere,” I said.

  “He told me you wanted to go away. Do you want to go to Amreeka?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “But why, Babyji? You are a brahmin. You have it good here. Why would you like to be less, an equal?”

  “I want to be free. I don’t want society telling me what to do all the time,” I said.

  We fell asleep. After I woke up I spent the rest of the day cooped up in my bedroom, taking the few abbreviated sample tests in the bulletin and reading every word in every brochure. The nightmare that had nearly brought me to ruin faded away. Large libraries with Doric columns and cornices inscribed with names like Herodotus and Socrates, Plato, Homer, Emerson, and Galileo beckoned me to sample their wares.

  xxiv

  Back to School Special

  The morning news said that schools were likely to open in the next day or two if there were no further incidents. I dreaded the idea of going back. I had always enjoyed school, but nonetheless in the mornings I would often have a lingering feeling that I had not done my homework, a foreboding that I was going to be caught and punished for an omission or transgression I could not recall. I felt it strongest on the first day of school after the summer holidays. But I also felt it on Mondays and after long weekends and holidays. It had started in kindergarten as the dread of leaving my mother. Over the years it had come to exist seemingly without context or reason.

  Could one have other feelings like this? Vestigial feelings that once had a cause but lingered on long after the cause was gone, a love without a basis? My mind told me there was a reason for everything, just as India’s mind told her that everything was chemically induced and Sheela’s that fate conceived our futures. Every now and then an editorial in the newspaper argued that money or economics was the reason for everything. It all seemed equally absurd.

  Often when I thought about abstract things I would feel invincible. It was a little like the Star Trek trailer that showed the world first only from as far as the moon but then from Pluto and eventually from another galaxy. I felt as if I were at a great distance from daily life but still able to see clearly, nothing blurring my vision, everything just small.

  “Rani made puris for you today. Will you come to breakfast?” my mother asked.

  “Yes,” I said, getting up.

  My father was already at the table eating his toast and marmalade.

  “I don’t want to go to school tomorrow,” I whined.

  “You’ve had a big break. You need to start focusing on the IIT exams,” my father said.

  “Deepak suggested I study in America. I was thinking of finding out more.”

  “It’s very costly,” my mother said.

  “Mom, I can get a scholarship. If I get a scholarship, will you let me go?”

  “Depends on Papa,” she said.

  “The IITs are as good as anything in the world,” my father said.

  “You can go abroad after graduation. You’re too young to go now,” my mother said.

  “Mom, it’ll be too late after college. I will already have chosen a specialization.”

  “On the contrary, it’s better. You’ll know exactly what you want to do,” my father said.

  If I stayed in India I’d have to make a decision within the next year and be bound by it for the rest of my life. I didn’t know about law or engineering or architecture or economics, and if I made the wrong choice I would suffer it with no escape. It was precisely because I needed help in deciding that I needed to go now. But I knew neither of them would buy this. The only way to convince my parents was to say I wanted to do something for which the facilities of the West were very important, something like computer science. This was going to be difficult because in school I had already chosen biology over computer science or mechanical drawing.

  “The future is in computer science. And because I didn’t take it after tenth, the only way I can do it in college is by going abroad because they don’t require you to have studied it before.”

  “We’ll see,” my father said, putting an end to the discussion.

  During the day I went to Sheela’s house. I invited her to India’s party. Both of us were very calm and didn’t speak about Vidur. The afternoon news confirmed that schools would start the next day. I came home and packed my schoolbag. I called Adit at his office and told him about my decision to go abroad.

  “I miss you already,” he said.

  “I may not get in,” I said anxiously.

  “You will, relax,” he said.

  “Can you come to India’s party? Did Vidur agree?”

  “We’ll come. I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to meet her after all I’ve heard,” he said.

  “I invited Sheela, too.”

  “Your rape victim,” he said. He had put two and two together. I was afraid he knew too much.

  “My friend. Vidur’s friend,” I said.

  “Can I meet you before that?”

  “No.”

  “You should be kinder to this old man,” he said.

  At dinner I told my parents India had invited us to the party. They both seemed happy and said we would go. It occurred to me that if India and Adit and Deepak all talked about studying in America, it would help my case. I would ask them to talk about it. That way my parents would see that other people thought it was a good idea, too.

  At school the next morning, when I stood onstage during assembly, everything seemed silly and like a game. The real thing was going abroad. I couldn’t take my life seriously anymore. I was sure I would meet kindred souls in college, people who had read the books I had read. Not eager to break out of my pleasant and faraway mood, I decided to head back directly to my classroom after assembly instead of joining my class line. Only Chakra Dev was in the classroom when I got there. I felt electrocuted at the sight of him. Did he go through people’s schoolbags when no one else was there?

  I sat down and pulled out a textbook, ignoring him. I behaved as if we hadn’t talked about his suspension. He got up from his seat and came over to me.

  “You don’t have a crush on me anymore, huh?” he said, gloating.

  I shrugged.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry for calling you a bitch that day. And for the bomb,” he said. From the way his mouth turned up at the corner I could tell that he relished saying “bitch” again. I was sure he was imagining the firecracker sending my skirt up in flames. I felt my pulse rise. I had been insane to ask the princi to forgive him. I had to tell the princi I had failed to elicit an apology from him.

  “Why do you study so much?” he asked, looking derisively at my book and coming closer to my desk.

  I shrugged again.

  “So, are you arranging Sheela for me?”

  My body recoiled when he took her name.

  “Does she like me?” he asked, moving even closer.

  �
�Why should I tell you?” I said.

  “Stop being such a bitch,” he said, moving yet closer. I could feel his breath on my face. I wished I had not come back to class alone. Where was everyone?

  “Move back,” I demanded, not making direct eye contact. I felt he was going to hit me any second. He was too close for comfort.

  “Mooov back, mooov back,” he driveled, moving closer.

  I moved a few inches back in my seat and stood up. He was towering over me. As quickly and with as much force as possible I slapped his face. As he reeled backward, I got out from Vidur’s side of the desk and made my way to the door. I heard him laugh.

  “Why are you running away?” he called after me.

  I turned back to look at him.

  “You can slap me again if you like,” he said, his hand moving toward his zip.

  I went to the watercooler to have a drink and calm down. I reentered the classroom only after other students had arrived. When I walked in I caught Sheela’s eye. She smiled at me. Then I took my seat next to Vidur, the air between us heavier than a Dostoevsky novel.

  Just before Mrs. T. walked in I said to Vidur, “Listen, I have to talk to you urgently. Can we go out in the break together?” He agreed.

  I had no idea what I was going to say to him, but I couldn’t go on the way things had become. I would talk to the princi about Chakra Dev after school ended; my friendship with Vidur was much more important.

  The rest of the morning was awful. Paranoid, I couldn’t help turning to look behind me. Each time Chakra Dev looked at me as if we had a big secret. His left hand was lodged in his pocket. I remembered the way the cheapad on the bus had been stroking himself. Vidur didn’t seem to notice. I considered telling him about the incident but decided against it. I didn’t want him to think I was always turning to him in my hour of need but ditching him when he needed me. He already thought that.

  After Mrs. T. we had two classes with Mrs. Pillai. She was wearing a pale yellow sari with small flowers embroidered on the border. I was transfixed by the glide of her neck and the movement of the hollow space at the center of her collarbone when she spoke. Every time she said “probability,” it looked as if a river were cascading along the inner surface of her neck.