When she returned, Amita looked Indu in the eye and said, ‘If you want to do this, I’m with you.’
Indu felt a rush of affection for her sister and hugged her. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. Govind can find another place.’
‘Someone offered their help, you know. I think I should accept the offer.’
‘Really? Who?’
Indu paused before saying, ‘Do you remember my debating teacher?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘One of Mrs Bala’s favourite university students. She recommended him,’ Indu didn’t know why she lied. He had recommended himself. ‘He seems capable, and he is a lawyer.’
Her sister nodded nonchalantly, not looking at her. ‘Good, go ahead. Have you told Rajat about it?’
Indu realized she had still not posted the letter. ‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘I haven’t heard from him yet, but he should be fine with it. He is very busy with his studies, you know. So . . . will you talk to Govind bhai?’
Amita nodded, but looked grave. ‘I will, but he seems really set on Number 7, Indu.’
In the car, Amita stared outside the window, and Indu knew she was thinking. Indu couldn’t help but remember Amita’s wedding picture, for it seemed to her the happiest picture she had ever seen. She wasn’t alone in thinking that, for the picture was greatly reproduced and shown to everyone who might have ever known the Narayans. Look at the bride, they all said, ‘doesn’t the bride look simply radiant?’, ‘see how her face glows’, and ‘how beautiful they look together’. Amita had her head tilted, resting on Govind’s right shoulder, and she smiled her widest smile, her eyes twinkling. Govind stood upright, sincere and radiant; he was tall, with a neat moustache and a round, shiny face. This picture had probably played a part in cementing the idea that Amita and Govind were the perfect couple.
Indu remembered how they had learnt slowly, as each month went by, that everything wasn’t as rosy as it seemed. They had been trying to conceive for a while now. They had gone to doctor after doctor, and each one suggested something different: get this test done, and we will give you a prescription, the latest one from Europe. Parsley and pineapple juice under the full moon, all the women had insisted, that will definitely work. Homoeopathic medicine every day for six months, but for it to work, tea must be given up. Nothing changed, however, and life remained as it was—underwhelming.
As Indu had observed, something else had caught Amita’s fancy along the way, though, an old dream; she wanted to be a doctor again. She had given it up in a hurry for the perfect husband, the perfect family and the perfect life. Amita had realized how quickly that hope had come and gone, how transient that feeling was, and how fragile the threads on which relationships were sustained. She felt that old ambition again, but quickly realized that for others everything had changed. ‘Is this the time for you to try and begin a family or to sit in a college classroom reading books?’ they had asked.
Indu knew that as the months passed and nothing seemed to be right in their lives, Amita caught herself thinking about it again and again, and when she couldn’t contain it any longer, she brought it up again. Her husband wasn’t impressed: he didn’t understand the cause, or the need, for this new obsession, and neither did his parents. They found it unbecoming in a woman to suddenly want to give precedence to an apparently strange dream over her married life. Studying medicine might require her to live elsewhere, spend long hours buried in books and have new priorities.
Yet, Amita couldn’t let the idea go, and despite all the sniping and disapproval, she found a way to study. It was far more difficult to do that than she had predicted while also taking care of the household—there were people to attend to, meals to arrange, elders to take care of. There was household shopping, the garden to maintain, and domestic help to manage, so much so that even stealing a couple of hours in the day was a big feat.
Add to that all the gossip in the community; the Narayans’ older daughter, happily married for three years, instead of seeking solutions for her infertility, was focusing her energy on a distant dream. What was the meaning of this now? How on earth did it make any sense? Of course, the family was too highly respected to be openly questioned about it, but there were private sniggers, hidden jeers and whispered taunts. The same people were now at the wedding, giving the sisters patronizing looks; one, too headstrong, and the other, too naïve.
It wasn’t cool enough yet for an outdoor wedding, and so the ballroom had been chosen. Indu had to concede that Shashi uncle had outdone himself. The expansive chandeliers glittered on the ceiling, shedding hues of golden light on the tables decorated with roses and lilies in extravagant flourishes on table runners. People milled around the hall, where dinner was laid out. Shashi uncle stood by his son up on the stage, his chest puffed out proudly, beaming at all the people that had arrived in their finery.
Indu looked around, knowing it was a while before the bride arrived. The usual groups had formed quickly: her father had gone to lounge around with the other men, her mother had greeted her own friends, with whom Indu had lingered for an appropriate amount of time, allowing them to ask her a little about her life. She had then slinked away to Amita, who also sought out Indu once Govind bhai headed to the bar. Indu needed to speak to her sister.
The sisters greeted people around the room as they circled, briefly stopping for whomever they met along the way: ‘Rajat is well, missing India a little bit but enjoying London immensely,’ Indu would recite the standard answer. ‘No, there’s still time, it’s a full two years, this course.’ With Amita, they would approach with more caution, restricting the questions to how Govind’s business was going and if her mother-in-law was better now. Most of these people had also come to Amita’s wedding. Indu spotted Govind bhai in the distance and turned away.
‘Look at Aggarwal aunty over there,’ Amita said to her sister. ‘When I came in, she asked me if I would now start working at the government hospital. Said the people camped outside the hospital always took up all the parking spots there, so I must put in a word to ensure a smoother parking system.’
‘Typical,’ Indu said, rolling her eyes. ‘If only there were no cobra protecting their lockers and safes thirty feet under their house, they could have donated some of that money to the hospital for the parking she so desires.’
‘Ha ha ha, how did you come up with a cobra?’
‘Didn’t you hear? When the government threatened a crackdown on defaulters some time ago, they panicked and got a cobra and his charmer to sit guard outside their
hoards.’
Amita sniggered, ‘As if the government could touch them anyway. All they need to do is offer them a piece of it.’
‘She’s changing everything, though, how systems work,’ Indu said. ‘I knew it from the start, didi, she’s not one to take things as they are. Have you seen how quickly banks are cropping up now in every town? After nationalization? I mean, I haven’t seen it, of course, but I’ve read about it.’
‘Are you talking about Indira Gandhi?’ Shashi uncle said to the sisters, coming up from behind them with their father, giving them both a one-armed hug.
‘Congratulations again, uncle,’ Indu said, and both she and Amita smiled. ‘Let us know if we can do something to help you tonight.’
‘Of course, my dears, but you don’t have to do anything except be the beautiful girls you are,’ he said, turning to her father. ‘Ajit, your Indira seems to want to follow in the footsteps of Indira Gandhi, eh?’
‘It is in her blood, of course,’ her father said, laughing.
‘What about the Prime Minister, then?’ Shashi uncle asked Indu. ‘What do you think will happen now?’
‘Do you mean with all the trouble going on?’ Indu asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I believe in her,’ Indu said. ‘She’s done more for this country than anyone else. She is the future.’
‘You’ve taught her well, eh, Ajit?’ Shashi uncle said, looking at her father, as Indu
beamed in response. ‘But not even she can predict the future.’
* * *
‘Esha, paani pilao, didi is tired, get her some water,’ Sunita told her daughter, who generally trailed her mother around. Esha immediately ran off to bring water and Indu realized that her mother wasn’t home.
Indu smiled at Sunita and asked, ‘Theek ho? Everything okay?’
‘Bass, it’s okay, same old routine, same old life,’ Sunita answered as Indu nodded distractedly. There was a chill in the air now, and Indu would have to get her winter clothes unpacked soon. She was about to ask Sunita when she could do it when Esha handed her a glass of water and smiled.
The phone rang and Indu walked over to pick it up.
‘Hello?’ she said carefully into the receiver.
‘May I speak to Miss Indu Narayan, please?’
‘You may. Is that Mr Rana?’
‘Yes, I just wanted to hear how you respond to me saying your name.’
‘What?’
‘What?’
‘What do you mean?
‘Nothing. Did I call on time? You said you hoped I wouldn’t be late.’
‘Yes, you did,’ she said, smiling, looking at the clock on the opposite wall. ‘A little early, actually. A couple of minutes earlier and you would have missed me.’
‘Sorry, but I just couldn’t wait.’ Indu found that his voice sounded deeper on the phone.
She forced herself to stop smiling, for she knew that some people could tell over the phone when the other person was smiling. Summoning her strictest voice, she said, ‘Do I have to remind you that the purpose of this phone call was only work and not idle chatter?’
‘I meant the work! That I couldn’t wait to begin work! You’re the one who’s delaying it . . . uff, women.’
‘We can try to work together on this,’ she pressed on, ‘but we have a lot to plan.’
‘I agree. I think we should meet every day till we have some clear idea of how to go about it. Chalk it out, you know.’
‘Yes, but I’ll have to think of where, what all we need . . .’
‘We can meet at my house, if you want.’
‘Of course not,’ Indu said sharply, and heard him laugh.
‘Where, then?’
Indu didn’t have an answer. As inappropriate as it would be to meet at his house, it would be even more so to meet him at Number 7, which remained empty all day long, or even at her own house.
‘Maybe again at Indian Coffee House. Is that okay for you?’
‘As long as you make up your mind about whether or not you want coffee . . .’
This time, Indu couldn’t suppress her laughter. ‘Okay, after lunch? 2.30?’
‘Fine by me,’ he said briskly.
‘Don’t you have classes or anything?’
‘Not too many, and the classes that I have are not very important right now.’
‘Compared with me, you mean?’ Indu asked.
She heard him chuckle before he said, ‘How important is someone feeling today? I didn’t think there was any scope for improvement.’
‘The work that I have, mister. I meant the work.’
‘Ah, just like I meant the work before?’ he asked her, still laughing.
Before she could answer, Indu heard the front door open. She hurriedly told him she would see him later and hung up.
4
‘ . . . it lets her do something with her time, occupies her mind. I don’t know what mischief this girl will get up to if she has free time on her hands,’ her mother was saying.
‘It’s true, but this changes things. I mean, Govind—I don’t know how to explain it to him.’
‘Should we talk to them about it?’
‘I don’t know,’ her father said in contemplation. ‘Govind has his mind absolutely set on it, it will create a problem for Amita . . .’
‘Poor Amita. As if she doesn’t have enough problems . . . but I do want Indu to have something these two years, or everyday will be a new surprise. I don’t know if I could handle it.’
Indu waited until she heard the scrape of the chair and the sound of her father’s footsteps receding.
Sunlight cascaded over the little garden in the front, with its charming perimeter of bushes. Three white chairs sat around a table in the middle of the manicured lawn that morning. Sunita picked up the remnants of last night’s celebrations, singing ‘Mere sapno ki rani kab aayegi tu’ to herself, swaying to the beat, with the end of her sari tied around her waist for easy movement. Indu lounged in one of the chairs, enjoying the sun, which had begun to feel nice as the weather became cooler every day.
She held a notebook on her thigh, the end of the pen in her mouth, thinking. She shut her eyes, for the sun always made her sleepy. Clouds covered the sky as the day progressed, so that by the time afternoon arrived, Indu found the perfect opportunity to wear her new coat, which Rajat had sent her from London. In the car, Natty asked her if they were going to meet the young, handsome man again.
‘You find him very handsome, do you, Natty?’ Indu asked him.
‘How does my opinion matter, madame?’ he replied with a dramatic sigh.
‘For someone who doesn’t think their opinions matter, you sure voice them a lot, Natty.’
Natty acknowledged her reply with a grunt of laughter and honked at the bicycles in front of him.
Rana wasn’t that bad, Indu had decided, and it could be useful to have him around. He was well-spoken and smart enough to get things done, but more importantly, he wanted to do them. He had been pretty honest about why, and Indu would be sure to put in a good word about him if things worked out.
Indu walked inside to the usual din at Indian Coffee House, assuming he would be inside because it was windy. This time, he saw her first and nodded in greeting. Indu raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement, looking away purposely as she walked towards him. He noticed her averted gaze and grinned in response, getting up from his chair when she reached him. She sat down on hers, removed her coat and hung it on the back of her chair, adjusting the dupatta on her shoulder.
He was wearing a round-necked shirt today and his hair stood straight instead of falling neatly on his forehead. He was still unshaven, so when he smiled, his teeth looked whiter against the dark hair on his face.
‘How are you?’ he asked, smiling, his eyes looking straight at hers. He sat down again with his forearms on the table, leaning towards her.
‘Fine,’ Indu said, looking away. ‘But it’s getting cold and I don’t like it.’
‘Good thing you have such a fancy coat, then,’ he said, eyeing it with exasperation. ‘Why do you need this thick thing?’
‘I prefer to wear more than just a thin layer,’ she said, with a glance at his windcheater, and he shrugged. ‘Plus, it was a gift.’
‘For?’
‘It was my birthday yesterday,’ she said to him with narrowed eyes.
‘Really? Why didn’t you invite me?’
She pouted at him. ‘You could wish me, you know, before expecting an invitation like that.’
Instead of replying, he stared at her, grinning even more widely. Indu could not believe the audacity of this man. She looked away, flustered by his scrutiny.
‘What do you want from me, then? For your birthday,’ he asked, and now she had to look straight at him.
‘Just for you to stop talking nonsense,’ she said.
‘Would you prefer it in a poem? I like poetry, you know.’
Indu ignored him and took out a notebook and a pen.
‘Let’s start,’ she said. He steepled his fingers and looked at her with his full attention.
‘Your test begins now. How do you suggest we start?’ she said.
In response, Rana looked at her for a few seconds and then turned to signal to one of the waiters. Indu thought Rana had a lot of nerve when he looked at her cheekily and asked if she wanted coffee. She continued staring at him with her eyebrows raised and when she didn’t reply, he turned to the
waiter and ordered two coffees.
‘Okay, to the basics first, then,’ he said. ‘Where is all the action taking place?’
She noted it down as she spoke, ‘There is a flat that will be used solely for the library.’
‘What is this flat like? May I see it?’
‘In some time, maybe,’ Indu replied.
‘What are the main things you need there?’
Indu slapped her hands on the table and leant forward. ‘I thought I was asking the questions.’
He shook his head. ‘Well, first we need to examine what you want out of this. Only then will we know what we need.’
‘I don’t know how to explain it exactly,’ she said. ‘I want it to be a place where women would be able to read, write, study, the things they want to but which they cannot accomplish at home because of their other responsibilities.’
‘I don’t understand that,’ he said. ‘If someone can take the time out to come here, they could take the same time out at home.’
‘You’re such a man,’ Indu said, shaking her head. ‘Do you live with your mother?’
‘Fawad does like to act like a mother sometimes,’ he replied, pouting as if in contemplation.
‘So you don’t. But think—when you go to visit her, think of her routine in the day, and think of what time she is able to spare for herself.’
‘I don’t know, I guess in the afternoons. After lunch or something.’
‘But then maybe you need something from her. Or there are extra chores to do. A cupboard to be cleaned. Some guests who have come over. Rations to be bought. Do you have any siblings?’
‘Well, yes, two brothers.’
‘There you go. One day, it’s one son, the next day, another one. Household chores, kids to raise, to educate, make sure they aren’t running wild, get them married, grandchildren, neighbours, her husband’s work . . . if there is ever a spare moment, it’s spent recovering from the exhaustion.’
Rana kept staring at her but didn’t say anything, so she went on.
Once Upon a Curfew Page 5