No Time for Goodbyes

by Andaleeb Wajid

  The car moves along and I watch him change gears gracefully and I know that at this moment, I want to go back home instantly but also stay here suspended forever.

  ‘Age is just a number,’ I repeat a phrase that I’ve read about often. It has never made as much sense to me until now.

  ‘What?’ he sounds surprised.

  I’m overcome by emotion and unable to think clearly. ‘Find me in 2012, please?’ I say, my lips quivering.

  He doesn’t say anything so I hazard a look at him and he shuts his eyes briefly before opening them again and taking a deep breath, he speaks slowly. ‘The reason I’m not in 2012 could be because, maybe I’m dead by then.’

  I shake my head, refusing to believe that.

  ‘Face it, Tamanna. It’s probably why you don’t know who I am,’ he says.

  Although my throat is thick with tears, I still shake my head. It can’t be. It just can’t be.

  Twenty-eight

  WE REACH AJJI’S HOUSE in complete silence after that and when Manoj stops the car, Ajji stirs and wakes up everyone else. They all get out of the car stretching and yawning and Ajji herds everyone into the house. It’s not that late. Just 11 pm probably but it feels like 3 am, because the roads are completely empty and the atmosphere extremely quiet.

  I’m the last to go inside the house because I’m lingering near the door, watching Manoj as he backs the car and leaves with Mr Prakash. He doesn’t turn to look at me.

  The girls are all sleepy but they change and tumble into their mattresses while I’m wide awake even till much later. If this were 2012 and a boy I really liked had kissed me, I’d probably be texting about it with my friends. But then, to be honest I’ve never made friends that easily which just doesn’t explain why I’ve clicked so well with Manoj. Because I want to text him, ask him why he did it and what he feels for me.

  Since none of this is possible, I shut my eyes and try to think how I can explain this to Raina because slob or not, she’s the closest I have to a friend. She’d be horrified naturally. I turn on my side and spot Suma as she sleeps with her arm flung upon her face and think of what my mother would say. I cannot even imagine it.

  I pull out my phone from my pocket because I’m sleeping in my jeans. I don’t know why. It just seems important that I stick to what I know as normal for now. I twirl it around in my hand and sigh, wondering what Manoj is doing. I wish the battery wasn’t completely dead because although I can’t make any calls, I’d have liked to see my family in the photo album.

  Strange how you never really give much importance to them while they’re there and yet, when you’re away from them you miss them so much. I’m torn between two worlds and although I know which is mine, I wish things were different. On a whim, I gently slide open the drawer beside the bed and pull out the photo that caused all this to happen.

  I squint at it under the weak bed light and then swinging my feet over the bed, I get up and walk over to the window to see it better in the street light. The four of them are there, just as they’d been last week. But I feel a kind of tightness in my chest when I realise that the shadowy figure is no longer there. What does that mean? I clutch the photo tighter, deciding that I want to see Manoj again. What if I disappear during the night? What if I never see him again?

  I walk outside quietly and nervously, and head towards the front door. It’s going to be really cold outside and I wrap Ajji’s shawl around me when a light goes on in the hall and I stop short. It’s Ajji.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asks me, her voice stern. How do I explain it to her? That we’re not star-crossed lovers from different continents. We’re star-crossed lovers from different generations.

  ‘I have to go back to Australia soon,’ I lie to her, looking down at my feet.

  ‘So?’ she asks, sitting down in a chair.

  ‘I had a fight with Manoj and I want to see him,’ I mumble to my feet.

  ‘And you’re going to go out in the middle of the night?’ she asks me, a little incredulous. I nod.

  ‘Not a chance,’ she says and I look at her, feeling impatient.

  ‘It’s important,’ I tell her, wishing she’d understand.

  ‘Fine, call him then. Ask him to come here,’ she says. My eyes grow wide in confusion.

  ‘But …’

  ‘I’ll leave you two alone to talk. But I’m not letting you go to a boy’s house in the middle of the night. Even if he’s Manoj,’ she says, pointing towards the phone.

  She’s serious. I walk towards the phone hesitantly. It’s not really how I imagined things would be. I’d thought that I’d run to his house, ring his door bell and probably fling myself into his arms when he opened the door. But that scenario has been completely ruled out.

  Manoj sounds sleepy and tired and I feel bad about waking him up. But for some reason, after noticing that the shadowy spectre is no longer in the picture it’s become imperative that I see him again. He seems startled when he hears my voice and when I ask him to come over.

  ‘What happened?’ he asks.

  ‘Just come over please?’ I tell him.

  ‘Fine,’ and he hangs up. I sit down in the hall with Ajji to wait for him. When he turns up ten minutes later, I open the door and smile at him automatically. He’s wearing a pullover and he doesn’t look amused.

  ‘What is it?’ he asks.

  ‘Manoj, I …’

  ‘Call him inside or he’ll freeze,’ Ajji instructs crisply and Manoj’s eyes widen. I shrug and let him inside.

  ‘Sit down. I’ll make something to drink for the two of you,’ Ajji says and without any further explanation, gets up from the chair and heads towards the kitchen.

  ‘What’s happening Tamanna?’ Manoj asks me after sitting down and I look down at my lap. Vidya had left The Goblet of Fire on the chair. I hold on to it as if that will help me make sense of what is happening.

  ‘The shadow is no longer there in the photo,’ I tell him and explain what I’ve seen. His mouth tightens.

  ‘Then things should be fine soon,’ he says, in a matter of fact way which annoys and upsets me.

  ‘Do something!’ I urge him, leaning forward and holding his hand. His eyes widen in surprise but I sense a change in his defensive stance although his words don’t reassure me.

  ‘What? I can’t do anything! I have to ask my grandfather what it means. He was mumbling about having made some modifications in the camera but he fell asleep the moment we reached home,’ he says, turning my hand over in his.

  I’m silent. The only sound in the house is that of Ajji rattling around in the kitchen at this hour. If I focus, I can hear the faint sounds of snores from the girls’ room. Manoj is still holding my hand, as though reluctant to let go. In this silence, Manoj’s grandfather stumbles inside the house and although I try to pull away my hand from him, Manoj just holds it tighter.

  ‘I found out how to send you back!’ Mr Prakash says, his eyes glittering.

  ‘What?’ Manoj and I both ask together. I’m a little scared and excited as well.

  ‘When? How?’ Manoj asks trying to move forward but I don’t let go of his hand.

  Mr Prakash smiles. ‘You thought I was growing old, no? Let me prove it to you,’ he says and he lifts his camera. I hadn’t noticed it earlier. What is he doing?

  ‘Manoj is he …’ A flash of light blinds us momentarily.

  ‘Ow!’ I shout trying to cover my eyes with my arm and then realise that Manoj is still holding my hand. The Goblet of Fire is in my other hand and I somehow don’t let go of it.

  ‘Tamanna,’ Manoj says quietly and I open my eyes. Everything sounds the same to me. The same stillness and the gentle breathing. But I instinctively realise something is different.

  Manoj tries to let go of my hand but I don’t. ‘No wait!’ I look around and we’re no longer in Ajji’s house. We’re not in my attic. Or my house. Or 1982.

  Twenty-nine

  ‘WHERE ARE WE?’ MANOJ whispers.

  ‘I�
��ve no idea,’ I whisper back. I am not sure what it was that made us speak so softly. There’s a window with Venetian blinds. It’s so quiet that I know it must be night. I’m still holding on to Manoj’s hand and I grip it tightly.

  There’s a small night light hanging from one corner of the room and there’s a bed as well.

  ‘This looks like some kind of hotel room,’ I murmur. ‘We need to find out where we are, Manoj.’ Somehow I’m not scared because he’s here with me. I imagine I’d have been terrified otherwise.

  ‘But why are we here?’ he asks, and I can sense that he’s scared and excited as well.

  I shrug. That’s when I realise that this is not a hotel room, but a hospital room. The bed is narrow and the décor is austere.

  ‘This is a hospital room,’ I tell Manoj who nods.

  ‘I’d noticed already,’ he says pointing to the bedside table with strips of medicines kept on it.

  ‘Okay, maybe once we figure out which hospital, we can get back …’ I stop talking when I see Manoj’s expression. He’s shaking his head.

  ‘I have to go back, Tamanna. I don’t belong here,’ he says simply.

  ‘But … I stayed with you for a week,’ I protest.

  ‘A week that has changed my life,’ he speaks quickly as though he really is running out of time. ‘But I can’t return the favour.’

  ‘But how will you go back?’ I ask him. We don’t have the picture that his grandfather took and you need the camera to go back, right? How exactly did it work?

  ‘The old man’s developed a reverse photograph probably. Like how you got sucked into an old photo, he’s sucked us in and pushed us into the future,’ Manoj says, his eyes shining.

  I’m terrified suddenly. ‘Manoj, what if this isn’t 2012? What if we’ve gone way into the future? How will we get back?’

  ‘Let’s look for any clues that might tell us what the date is,’ he suggests. I nod and then remember my phone. Just as I look around, I stop short and stare at a plug point from which a phone charger is hanging out.

  I quickly pull out my phone and fix it to the charger.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Manoj asks, fascinated.

  ‘Charging my phone,’ I inform him, switching it on. It lights up with the usual pinging sound and I smile.

  ‘You look like someone returned your favourite toy to you,’ he remarks and I nod.

  ‘I don’t know how I managed without it for a whole week!’ I shake the phone impatiently, hoping to see the date soon.

  It finally lights up and I read out the date quickly.

  ‘It’s 2012,’ I confirm happily, although I note that it’s a week since I’ve left the attic. It’s apparently late Saturday or early Sunday morning.

  My phone starts buzzing and Manoj looks startled.

  ‘What is happening?’ he asks, looking at the phone in shock.

  ‘All the messages and missed calls I got over the past week,’ I explain to him.

  ‘Missed calls?’ he asks, as though unable to understand the concept.

  I quickly try to explain it to him. ‘See, if I call you, and you don’t answer, my phone number pops up in your caller list as a missed call.’

  I see that Manoj is trying to absorb all this information but he looks troubled. He walks towards one of the windows and lifts the edge of the Venetian blind to see what’s outside.

  ‘So who sent you messages?’ he asks.

  ‘Wait,’ I say and start scrolling down.

  I don’t understand the messages and the sheer number of people who have messaged me this past week. Just what is going on?

  ‘Get well soon?’ I read out and Manoj turns around to look at me, as though understanding something.

  ‘Tamanna, this is your hospital room. You’ve been sick this past week!’ he says with a kind of quick urgency in his voice.

  ‘Sick? No! I’ve been with you!’ I tell him. I blink a couple of times. Is it my eyesight or is Manoj getting blurry around the edges?

  ‘What?’ he asks and then looks down at himself. It wasn’t my imagination or eyesight but he’s fading away before my eyes.

  Manoj looks up, his eyes widened in panic. ‘What’s happening?’ he whispers. I shake my head because I’m never the person with the answers. At least not when it comes to time travel. He is still standing next to the window and I take a step towards him when we hear sounds outside the room.

  That’s my mother’s voice! She’s talking to someone on the phone and we hear the sound of the door being opened.

  ‘I know you’re right. I’m trying not to worry but …’ her voice catches and I realise she’s crying. Oh god, what is it? What has happened to me?

  Manoj shakes his head and just as mom opens the door and steps inside he evaporates completely, right before my eyes.

  Mom looks at me as though disbelieving and she runs to me and holds me, touches my face, checks my pulse at the base of my neck, and pulls me to her, hugging me tightly.

  ‘Tamanna!’ she breathes, stepping back and still touching my face. ‘You’re awake.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask her although my voice is clogged with tears. Manoj has disappeared. What if he never found his way back to 1982? Is that why he’s not in my present?

  ‘You don’t remember what happened?’ mom asks me, shaking my arm lightly. ‘And why aren’t you in bed?’

  ‘I was just charging my phone,’ I mumble trying to make sense.

  ‘Seriously? You wake up from some kind of weird state which is neither sleep nor coma after a week and your first thought is your phone?’ she asks me. I’ve been asleep? Or in a coma? The words don’t make sense to me.

  I want to sit down and mom notices that and feels bad for not having made me sit down earlier. She takes me towards the hospital bed and I let her help me lie down.

  ‘When did you get up and where did you think you were going, all dressed up?’ she scolds me mildly. ‘Couldn’t you have rung the bell? I just stepped out for some coffee and you wake up after a week!’

  None of this makes sense to me. I curl to one side and let her brush the hair away from my forehead and close my eyes. All that was a dream? How? Why? I don’t know when I fall asleep but the next time I open my eyes, it’s day time and the room is quite bright. I’ve forgotten that it’s 2012 and I roll over hoping to see Suma and the girls sleeping on the mattresses below and I’m thinking of Manoj’s kiss and what I will tell him when I meet him that day.

  I open my eyes and stare back into my father’s eyes.

  ‘Dad! When did you come from Singapore?’ I ask him, realising my voice sounds a bit hollow.

  ‘Last Sunday. How are you?’ he asks and I smile at him. It’s good to see him.

  ‘I’m okay,’ I say, trying to sit up but I feel dizzy. What is it about a hospital that makes an invalid out of you?

  ‘Easy, easy Tams,’ he says and my eyes fill up with tears. I’d thought I’d never hear that nickname again.

  ‘You sure know how to get attention,’ a voice from behind him makes me smile a little. Raina.

  ‘Shut up!’ I say weakly. ‘Where’s mom? Someone tell me what happened. Why am I here?’

  ‘You don’t remember any of it?’ Raina asks eagerly. I shake my head.

  ‘Well you were in the upstairs store room and when you came down, you slipped on a couple of stairs, fell right down to the bottom in a heap with a bad concussion. Since then you’ve been unconscious or in some kind of sleep. Like Sleeping Beauty. Only there was no prince who kissed you awake. Or was there?’ she asks slyly.

  This is all too hard to digest. I obviously look too confused so dad shoos Raina away and smiles at me again.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what we all did while you were asleep?’ Raina persists like an annoying insect.

  I wonder what you’d say if you knew what I did, I think. Wasn’t any of that real? Was I there or here? None of it makes sense to me.

  ‘And why are you dressed in jeans?’ she asks me.
‘Got tired of your bland hospital clothes?’

  My head starts aching and I shut my eyes, but trying to shut out her irritating voice is too tough.

  It’s now two days since I’ve returned from 1982/deep sleep/ coma and I’m back home now. I’m still trying to make sense of what happened. Did I or did I not go back to the past? I’ve learnt so much from that week in 1982 that it just can’t be some kind of chemical ka locha, a la Munnabhai who saw Gandhi, right?

  Mom and Raina are taking good care of me while still grumbling about my OCD and how I insist they keep my room clean and neat even though all I’m doing is sleep. Just as Raina is about to leave the room, I ask her to get a book for me and she looks at me annoyed.

  ‘Here. Read this,’ she says picking up a Harry Potter book and thrusting it into my hand.

  Raina leaves me with the fat Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire in my hands and goes downstairs muttering that she doesn’t want me to call out to her again.

  The Goblet of Fire was lying next to my hospital bed when I returned from 1982. I remember I was holding it in one hand when Manoj’s grandfather had taken the photograph that sent me back. I turn the pages slowly and then my heart stops when I see a piece of newspaper in it. Last Saturday evening Vidya tore out a piece of the newspaper and used it as a bookmark. The paper is yellowed and when I look at the date on the top, it says 21st December, 1982.

  That’s when I remember that I had taken a photo of Manoj on my phone. I pick up the phone and quickly open the Gallery to see if his picture is there. The last picture in the Gallery doesn’t open up. Instead the ‘File Corrupted’ message flashes on the screen. I’m disappointed. I may not have Manoj’s photo but I do know that it was all real.

  When mom comes upstairs later and sits down beside me, I wonder if I should ask her about Manoj. Of course I should.

  ‘Mom, when you were young, did you know anyone called Manoj?’

  Mom’s face becomes white. ‘What?’ she whispers. ‘How do you know about Manoj?’

  I’m relieved. This means that last week was real. He was real. Is real.