We that are young

by Preti Taneja

  Now Bapuji presses his hand on her forehead. Tender and firm, as if to hold her down and take her temperature. She goes limp, as a trusting child. Convinced for a moment she is actually suffering a fever. Next to the bench is a female torso, its belly low and round; it has no naabhi, Radha realises, none of these torsos do. The rest of your life will be spent kneeling here, Radha, under Bapuji’s hand.

  Now she tells him she knows he must be so tired. That Gargi is not ambitious, just conscientious. That she is not too independent – she wants to do her best. That maybe the Tuesday Parties were getting too much, that Gargi herself could not cope.

  —She can go to hell, Bapuji says.

  —Ah, no, Bapuji, you are so very tired. Naturally you feel you want to keep working but now is the time to rest. Go back to Delhi, Radha says. Take Gargi some Amritsari sweets. Mitha is her favourite thing. Tell her sorry.

  Now Radha slides off the bench and kneels, feeling the bandage dress catch, hoping it will not unravel; Ranjit Uncle over there nodding and smiling, and Nanu eating her orange – Bubu, with only one dotty sock on, pouring Jivan a drink at the bar – is her father’s tone all in her head? He gets off the bench and he kneels with her – facing her – as if he wants to play clap-hand like schoolgirls in the yard. Now stand up, Radha, yes, that’s what she’ll do – so she does, then realises her mistake.

  Now Bapuji leans forward to touch her feet. In his best English accent he says,

  —Dear daughter, yes I am going spare. I beg, give me room here with you. Only you can feed me and give me my clothes. At least – he grips her ankles – you could offer me one drink.

  Now he looks up, his eyes hard, his lips pucker as if to blow a dry kiss to her knees. She clamps them together and takes a breath, swallowing air, she sits on the bench with him there on the floor. She kisses his head.

  —Daddy, she says in her softest voice. Family bond bhi toh hai. Please. Don’t play the clown. Go back to the Farm, to Gargi.

  Now she could pinch his nose, maybe make him smile. Lean and kiss him, yes? No, say the statues around them. Stay still to survive. Bubu and Jivan are somewhere behind her, not moving. The sky has a reddish tinge. There is sand in the air, she can taste it.

  —Gargi has cut the Tuesday Parties, says Bapuji. The one thing that brought me some joy. My legacy, my reputation, my learning and name. Passed down through them. What: you think that is nothing? Gargi wants to take everything.

  Everything? Right down to your entire collection of saffron underpants?

  Now, as if he has read her mind, Bapuji’s face clouds, he yanks her arms, pulls her up to standing – then he shakes her fists at the sky.

  —I ask Lord Vishnu to snap her bones and play sticks with them! he cries.

  —Devraj, Bubu says. Let her go.

  Now finally! Bubu is here, he pulls Radha from Bapuji. She stands, rubbing poor wristos: they hurt. Knees and ankles, shoulders – to be treated like this is harder than sitting and whistling all day, under the sun’s glare. Still, she wants to be good; being good means doing well. Am I doing well? No answer, from any of the beings, men or stone, here.

  —Daddy, your words will kill me, I swear, she says. She puts out her arms, she tries to embrace him.

  Now Bapuji catches her, holds her face to his shoulder; his body feels damp, her mouth fills with cloth. The world around her goes dark.

  —Chup, beti. Nahin, don’t cry. I will never say these things about you. He takes her chin and tilts her head up to his.

  —You have my eyes, he says. You see with my vision and would never stop me from having my fun. Above all you know how to respect your elders. You at least understand that half of my share of the Devraj Company is now yours. Tell me, don’t be shy. Who locked up my man outside? Come now, tell your Bapuji.

  Now a birdcall sounds and then exactly again, again. Bapuji lets Radha go. She turns, with Bapuji, and Bubu. They all turn to see Uppal stepping onto the terrace, holding up his hands. His mobile flashes, chirping like some deranged sparrow, as if it is morning, not night.

  Now Bapuji grips Radha’s shoulder. One of Nanu’s pips hits Radha’s arm as if spat from the window of a car.

  —Get lost! Bapuji shouts. Radha, this bhenchod should have been beaten for the way he talked to me. Just because that woman Gargi has forgotten her duties – just because she turns to him for every little thing – he thinks he is the puppet master.

  —No, he doesn’t, sir, Uppal says.

  Now, a movement behind him. Shit. Gargi. She emerges from the suite; she’s in a shot-silk sapphire salwar kameez. She’s cut her hair off. She looks fifteen years younger. Shit.

  Now Bapuji starts; a lock of white hair falls over one eye. Radha thinks of Popeye, Stop. Gargi looks so determined, like Olive when she’s mad. Stop! She is smiling, she says something to Uppal. Look, how he just retreats back inside.

  —Hey Radha. Hey Bubu. And dear Ranjit Uncle. Then, her voice – a shade warmer? – says,

  —Hey Jivan.

  Now Gargi is waiting, now Bapuji is waiting, now Bubu is pulling at Radha again, pinching an instruction into her arm. Bubu has a twisting pinch, practised on his sister when he was young, perfected on Radha in the first years of their marriage. She knows what he is telling Radha-baby to do: it is what she herself wants to do.

  —Radha! Stay! says Bapuji.

  Now she means only to give the lightest of air kisses. But the smell of her sister is always the same: sweat, laced with old-fashioned Company jasmine. Radha wants to press herself into Gargi’s body, she never wants to come out.

  —Love your hair, Sis. You should have sent me a snap, she says. Gargi slumps, just the tiniest slump. What did I say? Radha stays beside her sister, holding hands.

  —Jesus Christ, Bapuji says. Come, Radha, tame this Queen Cobra, show her what respect is. Gargi, sharam nahin aati kya?

  —Why shouldn’t Raddy kiss me hello? She leans forward, squeezing Radha’s hand. She keeps squeezing. It hurts, her rings are hurting. Then Gargi, her face pointed at Bapuji, says,

  —Just because you’re old does not mean you automatically get my respect.

  The night seems to clench every muscle. Radha can see red tinge the sky. Bapuji’s eyes widen; he’s going to have a heart attack, Radha thinks, right here on this terrace, before the Srinagar opening. Shit – he can’t speak. Shit – he’s actually going to cry. Radha Devraj Kumari Balraj – you are about to have your first major PR disaster.

  —Sir, Bubu says. If you want to know who locked up your man, I did it. He’s lucky I didn’t do worse.

  Now Bapuji makes a sound. You?

  Now Radha must go between them. She lets go of Gargi, cross the ten paces, count them down Radha, she must try one more time to calm Daddy down. Nanu claps again as she passes, she is onto her second orange, scattering the peel around her and kicking it under the bench.

  Now the others just watch, even Ranjit Uncle, who is staring at Gargi’s haircut as if it just spit on his shoes.

  —Daddy, Radha says. Curl your voice, volumise your hair. You know you aren’t as strong as you think you are. Here is Gargi, she is sorry, she has come to take you home.

  Now Bubu is nodding – yes, good idea. Gargi is shaking her head – no.

  —Phir wohi baat? Bapuji says. No. I will not set one foot in her territory. I will take my cap and go begging in the street rather than spend any time with her. I’ll go like a dog, make friends with the rag pickers and rats. After this, my Radha tells me to go back with her?

  Now Gargi’s hands are on her hips – her look is hard – Bapuji tries to glare back at her but he cannot hold it. He falters. He actually turns away. Radha looks around – Jivan’s eyebrows are raised, even Bubu seems surprised. Nanu is eating her orange, Gargi has not moved. Ranjit Uncle almost gets up but Bapuji halts him.

  —No, he says. I’ll go beg in the street for some khaana, one anna. Go back with this one? He gestures to Gargi. I’d rather tag behind, and keep the chappals of this Upp
al from getting in the mud.

  —Up to you, Ji.

  Now Gargi actually shrugs. This is Big Sis, her life is Bapuji’s pleasure. This same Gargi, who never even looked at a boy before she got married, is smiling at Jivan. He is giving her a thumbs-up. And Bapuji is going on,

  —Chup, beta. Don’t trouble yourself to understand me, and I won’t trouble you. We won’t meet anymore, so what?

  Now he waits. Radha watches. Gargi keeps silent. How can she not speak? Radha opens her mouth – she must say something – then Bapuji says,

  —Magar tum mera hi khoon ho, mera hi hissa ho. I have to own up to that. I can’t cut you out. You are me: a disease in my veins. Ab aage jo bhi hoga, woh tumhare upar hai. Shame will come in its own time. I will stay with my Radha, and we will hold our Tuesday Parties wherever she is.

  Now. It goes like this. Why didn’t Radha listen to Bubu, or see for herself what Gargi was doing? Hasn’t Bapuji always warned that Gargi only works for herself? Now she, Radha will be forced to play grandma to her own elders. She waits for someone, Nanu or Bubu, even Ranjit Uncle, to remind Gargi of her duty. She waits. She waits.

  —Daddy, you know the Srinagar hotel isn’t ready yet. There is still so much to do. How can I look after you here? All is fully booked for months. There is no space for your boys; they would have to stay outside.

  —Were you there when your husband locked up my man, Radha? Yes. I know you were. Everything you have, I have given. All.

  Now his voice is so flat – as if everything was nothing but something to say thank you for.

  Now Radha thinks of Bubu, working with only a salary as his reward. Marrying her on a promise of more. She knows he never listens to her. Does not see her, walking in circles, talking to the walls. The games she has had to play with him, morning, noon and night, almost for ten years, the God help her Donald Duck sex.

  Now everyone is waiting for Radha again. What a night! What an audience. What did Gargi tell her to say, what should she say, what was it?

  —Well (it comes out), you made us wait long enough.

  There is a pause, then,

  —Ungrateful little chut! Bapuji says.

  Cunt. It bubbles up in Radha’s mouth. Say Cunt, Daddy. That’s the English way. Maybe Radha will adopt this as her brand. Cunt. What would be the slogan? She swallows both a laugh and a sob.

  —I have put you in charge of the Company, invested so much in you – and all I ask is that I can still keep the Devraj Hundred. And now you are telling me twenty-five? Is that what you are saying? You think this is the moment to show weakness by cutting numbers? You don’t understand the first thing about business. You disgust me, Radha. You make your sister look good. Chalo— (He looks at Gargi.) We will go back to Delhi with half the party.

  —You know what we could do? Gargi says. We could set up a satellite link. You could give the podium without even having the party. It could be wonderful, like an exclusive TED talk. We could run it on a loop in the hotel TVs. Others have been doing this for some time. Radha, why we are not already doing this? And Twitter, Daddy, Twitter. You could gain fifty thousand followers! Maybe fifty million! You should see this one account even I have heard of, all the younger staff love it – a guy called MrGee – it’s about business life, so funny, so clever. You could do better than that…

  Now Gargi’s face; alight. Nanu laughs, and Bubu and Jivan are smiling – at Gargi talking Twitter, and telling them about MrGee – no one knows Radha started it, that it’s her inside the egg – if Bapuji likes this idea, will anyone believe it after this? Not fair. No.

  —Bapuji? she says. Searches for her phone, to show him, to tell him. But look at Bapuji’s face. He does not like it. There will be no tweeting here. Who needs to drink? Not Radha, now – for nothing is funnier than his face, and Gargi’s and Bubu’s all frozen as if someone shouted, STATUES!

  —Is this all of me? Bapuji gestures to his chin.

  Now Radha thinks, Yes, Daddy, that is all you are, your own chin.

  —Am I only a voice, a head on a screen that can be turned up, turned down, turned off at will? By any and all of the masses? No. Once upon a time we had a good strong form of government here, working to industrialise so each would have enough. You girls have no culture, no history, you do not remember these things; those were the times when each man and each woman knew their place.

  —Daddy, don’t start this good-old-days nonsense, says Gargi. We do know, because now we have to deal with those cards that you played.

  —Gargi means that we are building the best on what you left, Bapuji, Bubu says.

  Bubu defending Gargi? Now Radha wants to laugh.

  Now Gargi widens her eyes at Bubu: her shut up, asshole face. Ha! Big Sis is great. No one ever looks at Bubu like that. He retreats to the bar.

  —I only want to produce the effective way forward for all of us. TED is wonderful, Gargi says. You don’t need to be so exclusive, after all, Devraj – let everyone see you and hear your wisdom, why not?

  —Devraj? says Bapuji. Need? Look at you, Gargi, a fountain run dry. You cannot serve a man’s needs. Radha, as for you? So fine, so fine. My God, as if fine cloth can cover your true nature. You girls are like two diseased owls, unnaturally taloned, freakishly beaked with your make up so much and your nails all painted. These things you think so beautiful do not cover your stink. Nari nari bohut hogaya, Sarkar mat bano.

  Now Bapuji takes three paces, he pulls at Radha’s yellow shawl; she must spin around, or choke and be left in her bandage dress: waving head, cleavage, arms and legs: the missing parts of the statues, living, breathing.

  —Dear God, Bapuji says. He wrings the shawl in his hands. I am full of sadness that my life has come to this. If you are punishing me through these daughters then also give me the strength to bear their disrespect. Let me be fair, and if I am angry, let me be justified. But don’t allow me to cry, like this girl here, who cries on demand. Yes, Radha, I know you. Both of you. You— he points at Gargi —Radha has told me you refuse to bear children to this family.

  —What? Gargi says.

  —And you, he points at Radha. Gargi has told me that all day long, you fill your body with food from the gutter.

  —What? Radha says.

  —And both of you, I know you tattoo yourselves like two low-born Naphs on all those parts of your unseen flesh, buttocks, thighs who knows where else, what for?

  —That’s Sita! Gargi cries, and claps her hands over her mouth.

  —Chup! Inside women is a long-tongued demon, just waiting to come out. Look at this one, bandaged here. Under your wraps is a body covered in open lips, the lips you hide between your legs, waiting to suck a man dry. If we engage with those lips we are stuck to you, and we cannot escape. Down! I will not submit to this. Down you kama, rajas and tamas! Tamas, the very nature of prakriti, women infecting all men. One day you will wish, as I do, that you had never been born.

  Stop, Radha wants to beg him, please, Bapuji, stop. He will not stop. Pacing, shouting, arms now waving; casting back and forwards. He goes from Gargi to Radha, to Bubu, to Gargi. Ranjit Uncle and Nanu on the bench, Jivan at the bar. Dispensing drinks.

  —You treat me as if I am going senile, watch and your wish will come true. Don’t you cry, that’s my role but I will not play it, not for you, not now, not here.

  Nanu has finished her oranges. When Bapuji falls silent, she claps, sings—

  Me shogun,

  Me bigwig.

  Me the chief’s son.

  I make the rules here.

  It’s a load of crap.

  (Ha ha that is your word—)

  Laughing, skipping,

  Tumbling, they’re all

  Headed for Deathville.

  In the blink

  Of an eye,

  The king will be

  Separated from his kingdom.

  —Chup chup shh, Bapuji says. He puts an arm around Nanu. He grits his teeth and helps her rise.

  —Mama.

&n
bsp; Now this is his last word. Radha watches them walk through the garden, the ferns bow to them, the sky is red, it tastes of dust. Where are they going? Ranjit Uncle follows, does not look back. Bubu has replaced Jivan at the bar. Jivan is kissing Gargi hello: one cheek, two cheeks, three cheeks, four! Why not five, or six?

  Radha is standing on her own.

  Now what should she do?

  One by one, they go inside. The wind has picked up, small whirls of sand caress the windows. They move away from each other, finding the corners, the other rooms. There are doors to shut. Locks to turn and taps to run. Radha snakes around, wishing for a smoke. She follows Gargi to the bathroom; she waits outside. What is the price of water when it comes from a golden tap? Leave it running, Gargi. Radha goes back to the sofa: here she sat with Miles the South African. That first night in Amritsar, when she tried to convince him there were ways in which life could be different. Around this very glass table, held up by a sculpted stand of formless silver. She watches Jivan standing at the door to the terrace. Bubu himself brings a tray from the terrace bar, cut crystal glasses, fingers of whisky, ice.

  Jivan takes it from him. He brings it to the table, places it down. He sits on the sofa next to Radha, hands looped over his knees. He has such long fingers, such buffed nails.

  —Where is Ranjit? says Gargi. Her suit a little too tight, her make up slipping off her face. She sits alone in the single armchair.

  —I’m here, he says from the interior door. I went to see if could calm your Bapuji, but he is so very upset. He refused all help. I have never seen him like this.

  Ranjit clutches his cane; he wipes his forehead with his free hand. He looks small, a bit apart.

  —Don’t get troubled, Ranjit. You know he will be fine, says Bubu. Right guys? He drains his whisky. He gestures to Jivan to pour him another.