Once Upon a Curfew

by Srishti Chaudhary

  A slow clap from the corner of the room was followed by decorous applause, and Indu smiled and bowed. She announced that they would collect the membership forms now, and after a tea break, the movie would begin. People got up to head to the front desk, where Rana sat ready to register, and then towards the room with the drinks and snacks. Indu moved around greeting more people, switching from namaste to shaking hands. ‘Indu, dear,’ someone called out, and Indu turned around to see a woman with a large bindi and a sugary, sweet voice, standing beside a girl who seemed to be her daughter.

  ‘Namaste, namaste, I am Kamla, a friend of your mother. She invited me, and this is my daughter, of course,’ she said to Indu.

  ‘Hi, I’m Enakshi,’ the girl replied, sticking her hand out to Indu. She had a broad forehead and had her hair in a beautiful ponytail. ‘I really want to be a member here! I like to read classics and I’m learning the sitar as well, I would really like to put up a concert for everyone.’

  Indu looked at them, nodding in admiration, and then said that was wonderful, and that they could certainly arrange something like that.

  ‘I really want to go to your college once I finish school,’ Enakshi told Indu breathlessly.

  ‘Then you should meet my teacher there—see that lady? Mrs Bala; go say hi to her,’ Indu said, moving away to other people. Her parents patted her on the back as she approached them, and Rajat’s mother too said something she did not hear. A babble had broken out and suddenly, Indu realized how many people there really were inside. She greeted them, answering questions, constantly looking over her shoulder at Rana, who too was answering questions, laughing and talking.

  After it seemed like most people had enquired about memberships and submitted their forms, Indu asked Fawad to begin the movie. By the time the credits began rolling, most people had settled down. They pulled down the blinds, which made it sufficiently dark to watch the film. She went to the back and watched the stragglers settling down as the voiceover floated through the room. Rana came and stood next to her, his arms folded against his chest, smiling at her. She returned his smile and went to check on Esha, but he followed her.

  ‘It went well!’ he said to her, excited. ‘There are forty-five registrations!’

  ‘What?’ Indu asked, stunned; it was much more than she had expected. ‘That’s crazy!’

  ‘It is. I mean, yeah, it’s free, so everyone will register, it’s not a big deal to fill out a form. But still, it means most women who came here registered, except a few, and that’s great!’

  She felt like jumping, but her sari wouldn’t allow it, so she just gave him the widest possible grin.

  ‘You were very good on the mic,’ he said.

  She nodded and said thanks, telling him he wasn’t too bad either. She looked up at him, and his eyes looked directly into hers as they always did.

  ‘Are you really—was that them?’ he asked her. She knew he was talking about Supriya aunty and Balwant uncle.

  The world seemed to stop. The hundred people inside the flat seemed to disappear. The rest of her life felt like a mirage.

  She nodded quietly, and he lowered his head.

  Even in the dark, she saw his face change; his eyes widened, and his eyebrows were raised.

  ‘What do you mean? Engaged to marry?’

  She nodded with her eyes lowered, but then looked up.

  ‘To whom?’ he asked quizzically.

  ‘I have known him a long time . . . and our families are friends.’

  He stared at her for what felt like a long time, with only Akbar’s voice ringing out from the room outside.

  ‘So . . . there is no—no way, that we can . . .’

  She found it hard to look up at him but did it anyway; it was hard to read him, so she appeared stony too. ‘No.’

  She put her hand on his shoulder lightly and walked out before anything else could be said.

  The movie went on in the other room. Indu found a chair to sit on, Rana’s poem going on in her head. She wondered if she would see him anymore, if he would still like to come to the library. She regretted it, but she knew there wasn’t any other way.

  She didn’t see him come out but heard him talking to Esha in the same affectionate tone he always used. She contained her smile and walked inside to tell them to begin laying out the snacks.

  END OF PART 1

  8

  Six months later

  Breakfast outdoors in the morning sunshine was the only thing Indu looked forward to when it was really cold, as it was in Delhi in January. Her favourite iron chairs and table were spread out in the garden, the sun’s rays casting a glow over the white marble tabletop. Her father had his nose buried in the newspaper and her mother murmured instructions to Sunita, who was serving them.

  ‘Are these the earrings that Supriya gave you?’ her mother asked her, peering at Indu as she served herself some poha.

  ‘Yes, these are Supriya aunty’s,’ Indu replied, touching her earrings.

  Indu noticed her mother’s sharp glance when she said ‘Supriya aunty’. She knew that her mother was both uncomfortable and glad that she didn’t yet consider Rajat’s mother her own.

  Her father shook his head over the newspaper and Indu immediately asked him what was going on.

  ‘Things are starting to get out of hand,’ he mused.

  ‘What is it now?’ Indu asked him.

  ‘Same old thing. Strikes all the time, this bandh, that protest . . . everything is going wrong, it seems.’

  Indu exchanged a look with her mother.

  ‘And does it affect us greatly?’

  ‘The other parties are starting to join hands, even those who would never imagine doing so before now. It can only lead to problems.’

  ‘But how?’

  Indu buttered another slice of bread, sipping her tea before taking a bite.

  ‘They can’t win,’ she said confidently. ‘There is no way.’

  ‘Send Natty to get the lunch at 12.30, it won’t be ready before that,’ her mother said, and Indu nodded without listening.

  ‘Maybe, but you never know. It’s too early to tell. Shashi and I have a meeting this evening.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘How to run the campaigns. How to fund the campaigns, more like.’

  ‘And how is that?’ Indu asked as she wiped her mouth with a tissue napkin.

  ‘Of course, we all have to contribute whatever we can. This time it’s essential, we don’t want to lose our offices. But Shashi depends too much on goons, I can’t stand it.’

  ‘To get the votes, you mean?’

  Her father nodded, glancing at her mother.

  ‘But I thought goons were used more by hardcore right-wingers,’ Indu said.

  Her mother shook her head, calling out to Sunita to clear the table. ‘Goons belong to whoever pays them. Anyway, I expect Amita will come later, she’s still sleeping.’ Living at home with her parents and seeing Govind bhai only on the weekends had been working well for Amita for the past few months. To Indu’s delight, she and Amita generally came back home together in the evening, even though they arrived at Number 7 at different times in the morning. Indu checked the letterbox and found a letter from Rajat in it.

  She said goodbye to her parents, ripping the letter open, and headed to the car, where Natty gave her a cheery good morning.

  ‘What’s making you so happy this morning?’ she asked him, taking a seat.

  ‘Just the thought of serving you, madame. And also, there is a new vada-pav corner down the road.’

  Indu looked, and sure enough, there was a vada-pav stall on the street. It looked quite busy. Their car glided by, leaving behind a cloud of dust.

  ‘Some people started shouting at him when he took up that spot,’ Natty said. ‘But when they tasted his vada-pav, uff, everything was forgotten.’

  ‘Yes, but what does one do?’ Indu said. ‘You can’t let just anyone come in and take over a spot—what is yours is yours, and you have to
protect it.’

  Natty shrugged. ‘I say it doesn’t matter where someone is from, as long as the vada-pav is good.’

  Indu didn’t want to argue with the logic of the vada-pav and chose to read the letter instead. Rajat had written to her with news of the weather, how he was always overloaded with work, and the quiet way of life he had learnt to appreciate. Indu made a mental note to ask him in her next letter how he spent his weekends, realizing that she didn’t know. She wondered if Rana would already be at Number 7 today. He had started off with such a bang, setting everything in order perfectly, but since returning from Lucknow, he had been in and out as he deemed fit. Indu decided that it was obviously not for herself that she wished him to come, but for the sake of the library. The women were used to his idiotic jokes. In that sense, it was better that he turned up some days and remained absent on others, since it created curiosity and excitement. But Indu still felt it would be much better if he were there every day to smooth everything over, since some women had never warmed up to her. Especially Mrs Leela, who took every opportunity to chat with him. Shameless woman, Indu muttered, shaking her head, flirting with a man fifteen years her junior, in front of her daughter, sometimes while her husband waited outside to pick them up!

  Rana was in this morning, arranging the books behind his desk when Indu walked into Number 7. The curtains had been drawn back and sunlight was streaming in, falling on the few plants they had added in the corners and the chest of drawers they had arranged to serve as lockers where personal books could be left. The pinboard at the entrance saw more and more notices added each day as posters of events around the city were put up, most of them brought by Rana.

  He was humming a song as he sat at the desk, and Indu could hear Esha sweeping the floor in the other room.

  ‘Damn,’ said Indu, ‘I would have gotten my earplugs if I knew you were going to be here and in the mood to sing.’

  He chuckled, and Indu saw his bright eyes light up as he walked up to her, leaned close in to her ear, and then suddenly sang out in his deep, booming voice, ‘Zindagi ka safar, hai yeh kaisa safar!’ Indu moved away, covering her ears.

  ‘Esha, did you do the drawing room already?’ Indu called out and heard the young girl reply, ‘Yes, didi’. Indu walked around the house, setting things right, getting into the endless cycle of putting things back in their place. She heard Rana go to the music room and set up the recorder. He put on one of his classical records, which Indu had earlier been completely unfamiliar with, but could now hum along to.

  He scanned the shelves, replacing some books that were out of place and still humming. She hoped he would engage her in conversation, but he seemed absorbed in the task, so she moved on to counting the issue cards. There was one less than there had been yesterday, and she jotted down the number in the pad. When she looked up, she saw that Rana was flipping through a book. She was about to ask him what he was reading when she glanced at the door and found a head peeking inside.

  ‘What do you want now?’ she said roughly to the little Sardar boy peeking through the door. She wouldn’t be fooled again by his wide eyes and innocent face. She had found him staring inside multiple times.

  The little boy scampered off along the corridor, his joodi bouncing on top of his head, as Indu shut the door loudly and then opened it again to make sure that he had left. Now she could feel Rana’s attention on her.

  ‘What is up with that?’

  ‘This stupid, little Sardar,’ she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, looking to see if his eyes followed her actions, feeling a twinge of disappointment when he continued to stare at the door confusedly. ‘He’s always trying to spy, have a look at the girls.’

  Rana raised his eyebrows in response, his mouth forming the upside-down U of surprise that was so characteristic of him. ‘He’s a neighbour?’

  ‘Yeah, they live on the other side of the corridor. No control over the kids, pathetic. Twelve years old and staring at girls all day long!’

  ‘Well, with a girl like you in here . . .’ Rana blinked and gave a small shrug, ‘he must be slightly blind.’ Indu threw the wiping cloth in her hands at him, which he caught with ease and walked away, laughing.

  Once everything seemed more settled, Indu took her usual seat near the balcony, which had a small table by the side. Esha would generally hang around there, running from there to the front desk, where Rana sat now, his books spread out around him. Indu took out the inventory book and asked Esha to total up everything. Like other days, nobody came in for the first hour or so, but later, there was more activity. A couple of women from the sixth floor walked in to return their books and had a chat with both Rana and Indu. They could talk loudly, since nobody else was there.

  Amita was late, but when she finally arrived, she looked happy to see Rana as well. He told her he had had some classes and other appointments that he could not miss. ‘He’s been very irregular, didi,’ Indu told her sister.

  ‘You missed me that much?’ he asked her, sticking his lower lip out, and Indu gave a disparaging laugh, going back to her seat. Esha asked Amita if she wanted tea, while Rana went over to the pile of recently returned books, taking out a title that Amita had asked for a while ago.

  More women began filing in and greeted Rana in delight. Indu’s favourite member of the library, Divina, all of sixteen years old, with wide eyes and dreams of being a famous surgeon, almost squealed in mirth at the sight of Rana. She always rooted for the two of them to be together, to which Indu loved to reply that it would happen if only Rana’s kismet shone golden one day.

  ‘What did you learn today?’ Rana asked her. Divina’s parents had told her they would allow her to spend time at the library only if she learnt to cook one new thing every day.

  ‘Chana masala,’ Divina said, yawning, ‘but that is the easiest thing to make.’

  ‘We wouldn’t mind tasting some of it, would we?’ Rana asked Indu rhetorically, and Divina smiled radiantly.

  After lunch, it filled up a little more. Mrs Leela walked in and straightaway went to Rana, her daughter trotting behind her. Indu watched them with narrowed eyes as Rana stood up while he spoke, his hands in his pockets, leaning forward slightly, running his hand through his stubborn hair. A few minutes later, they all looked over at her, and Indu looked away quickly. When she could still feel them staring, she looked up, and they signalled for her to join them there.

  ‘Yes?’ she asked them purposefully, as if disturbed during a very important meeting.

  ‘Mrs Leela wants to conduct a needlework course here,’ Rana said.

  ‘Needlework?’

  ‘Yes, and some embroidery,’ Mrs Leela answered. ‘I was taught from a very young age and I would hate not to pass on the skill. All girls should know it. I taught my daughter when she was seven.’

  Indu looked at Rana, who stared back at her.

  ‘It’s an essential skill for anybody,’ Indu said, after a pause. ‘And yes, why not? Sounds like a good activity. Do you also want to charge for it?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Okay, why don’t you give the proposal to us in a letter? We’ll try to arrange it. Right, Rana?’

  ‘Anything for Mrs Leela,’ he said, grinning. Mrs Leela looked so flattered that Indu looked away. Once she had walked away with her daughter, Indu turned to Rana indignantly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Could you maybe not flirt with someone old enough to be your mother?’

  ‘She likes it. I’m doing us a favour; she wants to spend more time here only because of me.’

  ‘What a generous soul you are,’ Indu hissed at him. ‘You might also want to think about her daughter.’

  ‘What? She’ll pick up some good tips?’

  When Indu continued glaring at him, he said that at least he wasn’t like Fawad, who was always looking for chances to talk to Sangeeta. ‘Women come to me, not the other way around,’ Rana said.

  Indu glowered at him for a few seconds more, hoping th
at he’d take back what he had just said. When he didn’t, Indu went on, ‘Listen, mister, if you intend to abuse your position at the library and treat it like—oh hello, Kittu!’

  Kittu had the most beautiful hair, and it swayed behind her as she walked into the library every afternoon. Both Indu and Rana would ogle at her luscious curls. She had told them that she was growing it out for her wedding next year. She lived close by as well, and her parents had been only too happy to send Kittu to a girls’ library every evening on the neighbour’s recommendation, instead of having her strolling in the gardens and attracting unruly boys. Kittu had been delighted to find an array of fashion books there. As it wasn’t considered a respectable enough professional field to pursue seriously, and she had no other chance to indulge her interest, she gazed at these books whenever she came in.

  ‘Hello!’ she exclaimed, hugging Indu and Rana both. She then looked at Rana and asked, ‘So you are back, hun?’

  ‘Yes, Kittuji,’ Rana said, giving a guilty smile and scratching his head. She was one of the few people he called ji, despite her being only as old as Indu.

  Indu then took Kittu to show her the new books they had procured over the weekend, which a friend of Amita had sent—glossy black-and-white hardcover collections of the fashion of yesteryears—which made Kittu exclaim in glee. ‘I will try to sketch all these designs,’ she said to Indu, ‘and actually, I was thinking, I also want to sketch you.’

  ‘Me?’ Indu asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes. One day, when I have my exhibition, I would like your portrait there.’

  ‘Why?’ Rana asked, walking up from behind them. ‘We don’t want to scare people now, do we—ow!’

  He massaged his ribs where Indu had elbowed him.