‘Depends,’ I say. I take a breath. ‘Can you keep a secret?’
ALIA
The room is packed, heaving with overexcited volunteers and party members, thrilled at the prospect of being in the same room as so many senior MPs, chests swollen with pride over the fact that they’ve been invited to the annual conference. It’s all a big song and dance, a show we put on to get the volunteers energized before an election, passing on irrelevant titbits of information here and there, letting them believe they’re privy to the party’s campaign policy while holding the real strategy close to the chest, to be revealed at the most opportune time to just the right person.
I feel a flicker of irritation as I move through the crowd. Arjun was supposed to accompany me tonight, but he cancelled at the last minute without so much as an explanation, though if I were to guess, I’d say it had something to do with the photos of the dinner with John that had turned up online. There had been a minor scandal when Arjun won the tender for supplying solar panels to the Commonwealth Games Village in 2009 – his first big break. Even though I was a newly elected junior minister at the time, and Arjun and I hadn’t been married then, our relationship had irked his competitors and the entire project had been clouded by rumours of political corruption. Entirely unsubstantiated claims, which disappeared as soon as they had emerged, but just the whiff of a scandal was enough to damage a young company. It had taken years for Arjun to repair the damage. Over the past few weeks, some of those rumours had started cropping up again, courtesy, no doubt, of Saeed, and once again it had put Arjun on edge.
I spot the party president standing at the front of the room, surrounded by a group of reporters, party workers and other MPs. I weave my way through. I’d met with him less than two weeks ago, talking him through the constituency’s vote share and reminding him of all the work I’d done over this last term. I’d rattled off statistics – employment, education, crime; the numbers were better than ever before and though the nomination list wasn’t due to be publicly released for several weeks, I’d left happy, confident that I’d get the unofficial nod from his office within the next few days. That had been before I made the mistake of supporting Faraz’s bid for party presidency. Before I publicly supported the DU rape victim. Before Saeed’s son was arrested and the rumours about Faraz dissolving the alliance started doing the rounds.
I am halfway across the room when I notice the woman making her way towards me. As I catch glimpses of her face through the crowd, I feel myself contract. I want to turn away, pretend I haven’t seen her, but my legs refuse to move and before I know it, she’s there, standing in front of me. Sabah.
The crowd that was irritating me just a few minutes ago seems to disappear as I stare at her, startled to see that fifteen years have not left any mark on her whatsoever. Her face is slimmer, her features sharper but she has none of the fine lines that seem to have cropped up on my face almost overnight. Her hair is just as glossy as it was in school, her eyes still as bright as they were when I first met her.
It seems impossible, but she is as beautiful as ever.
A few moments pass as I try to match the features of the woman in front of me to the girl I once revered, whose actions had dictated my choices over that one short, fateful year.
The memories that I’ve been keeping boxed away tug at me, demanding to be let out. That year should have been the best one of our lives. It should have been three sixteen-year-old girls falling in love, having their hearts broken, making mistakes and laughing them off.
It should have been three girls having fun.
Instead we lied, we schemed, we cheated.
We hurt and got hurt, and in the end, we ruined each other.
It’s been fifteen years since that night. To anyone looking, I have moved on. I have travelled, I have built a life for myself, but in all the ways that matter, I am still there, listening to the fireworks sizzle through the stillness of the Delhi winter. I am still there, breathing, talking, laughing, looking the other way while fifty feet from me my best friend’s life spins out of control.
As my eyes finally meet hers, I realize that she is still there too. She nods, slowly, imperceptibly, and even though I have been expecting this encounter, waiting for it almost, I take a step back, startled by the strength of the thing that binds us together.
It hangs between us, like a dead weight, and in an instant, all my worries about Arjun, about the election, about Faraz evaporate. I’m drawn back to what we did.
To her.
To Noor.
ALIA
Fifteen years ago
Noor wasn’t suspended – her father’s position on the school board made that eventuality impossible – but she did get pulled off the shortlist for the Student Council, which all but guaranteed Sabah’s stake on Head Girl.
Even though things seemed to have gone relatively well, Noor was upset. I could sense an outburst coming but I could never have predicted what happened next.
Within a fortnight of the argument, Sabah and Vineet broke up. The halls were abuzz with what had gone on, but with both Vineet and Sabah refusing to talk about it, we were all left to speculate. Half the school thought Noor and Vineet were secretly dating, the other half thought he was still hankering after Sabah and using Noor to make her jealous.
‘Sabah’s so frigid, can you blame him?’ Addi spoke into the phone. ‘To be honest, I was surprised when Vineet and Sabah got together in the first place. She’s way too much of a goody-goody for him.’
‘That’s not what I’ve heard,’ I say, thinking back to one of my midnight conversations with Noor.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, nothing. I guess I just don’t get what the appeal is? He’s cute but there’s something about him that gives me the creeps.’
‘You say that about pretty much every guy in school,’ Addi laughed. ‘Anyway, I’m staying out of it. At this rate, one of them is going to self-destruct.’
With Sabah out of the equation and Addi and Saloni hedging their bets, I planted myself firmly by Noor’s side.
Bit by bit I moulded myself, adapting my personality to fit around Noor, to be who she needed me to be, not quite Noor but an almost perfect mirror image, the eager-to-please understudy. I spent most afternoons and all weekends at her house, preferring the chaos and drama of her world to the emptiness of mine. I had been lonely for so long that my friendship with Noor and the position it bought me within her family became my anchor and my lifeline. It was a friendship that swallowed me, that made the days so busy, our secret world so consuming, there was little room for anything else to exist.
It was a friendship that helped me forget who I was and focus on who I could be.
But it was a friendship that wasn’t without its secrets. Noor was skittish, irritable. She’d be her usual, chirpy self one day, and withdrawn and restless the next. There were moments when I could see her retreating into herself, her face vacant. She stopped sketching altogether. She spent ages on her phone, but every time I asked her who she was texting, she clammed up.
I could sense that something had happened with her parents. I could feel it every time I went over to her place. Her parents were gracious towards me, but their dynamic with Noor had changed. There was a wariness there, which I hadn’t noticed before, and the intimacy that had made me feel jealous earlier seemed to have disappeared altogether. More than once, they asked if Sabah would be joining us, which of course only got Noor’s back up and made me even more desperate to take Sabah’s place.
Noor’s mood swings got more extreme but I never forced her to tell me what was going on. I trusted that she knew what she was doing, and my job as her best friend was to help her get away with it. And with the two-week winter break fast approaching, there were opportunities aplenty.
‘There’s a crafts fair on at Ansal Plaza. Should we go for that and then head to the bowling alley?’
‘A film, bowling, a trip to the museum,’ Noor said, mimicking me. ‘It�
�s the last day before the holidays, for fuck’s sake. Can you at least try to be interesting?’
I tried not to let her words get to me. Sometimes best friends were mean to each other. Everyone knew that.
‘What do you want to do then?’
‘I don’t know,’ she moaned. ‘I am so sick of this.’
She picked up her phone and started texting. I sat silently, trying to read her face as the texts went back and forth. I stared at her, convinced that she was secretly chatting with Sabah, moaning about how boring I was, both of them biding their time before announcing to me that this whole year, my friendship with Noor, it had all been nothing but an elaborate ploy, something to keep them both entertained before they went back to being best friends. I tried to shake some self-respect into myself.
‘We’re going out,’ Noor said, finally looking up from her phone. She looked me over, sizing up the outfit I had squeezed myself into that morning. ‘You need to change.’
‘Wait here. We’ll be a few hours,’ Noor said to her driver as we climbed out of the car.
I followed Noor into the restaurant and back out the other side, a trick that no longer surprised me.
‘Taxi,’ she yelled out, hailing a cab as she slipped off her hijab and pulled her skirt up a few inches. ‘Ready?’ she asked, flashing me a quick smile.
The taxi slowed as it turned into the narrow lane and bumped along next to overstuffed rickshaws and bikes. The party was at a farmhouse in Sainik Farms, Delhi’s poshest neighbourhood built entirely on illegal farmland. I’d been to the country club there with Noor’s family once before. Noor, Fatima Aunty and I had spent the evening sitting by the pool and munching down paneer pakoras and French fries while Faraz and Javed Uncle met with a group of men in the library. There was something odd about the place and when I mentioned it on the drive back, Javed Uncle had laughed, impressed with my observational prowess. Because the neighbourhood, spread over several hectares, was home to some of the country’s most influential politicians, bureaucrats and businessmen it had never been demolished, but the government drew the line on providing infrastructure and utilities to an entirely unregulated area. The result was a neighbourhood that felt at once excessive and unkempt. Poorly lit dirt tracks led to sprawling farmhouses with in-house cinemas and swimming pools, BMWs jostled for space alongside battered bicycles, there were fridges full of champagne and expensive wine but chauffeurs had to be sent out on twenty-minute milk runs before tea could be served. The overall effect was illicit, tantalizing, and deliciously dangerous.
Here was a neighbourhood that existed outside the normal laws.
The taxi slowed down as we approached our destination. The driveway was packed with cars. Music and laughter spilled out of the building, the party in full swing though it was still early.
‘Fifty rupees, madam,’ the taxi driver said, looking at us in the rear-view mirror.
I placed my bag on my lap, protecting myself from his prying eyes while Noor counted the cash out.
‘Want me to wait?’ he asked her in Hindi and Noor shook her head.
‘How will we get back? There aren’t any taxis here,’ I said as we slid out of the car.
‘We’ll get someone to drop us or something. Relax, will you?’ she said, walking up the short set of steps and heading straight in.
‘Come on,’ Noor said, impatiently. She twisted to grab my hand and I let her pull me through the tightly packed room towards the back of the house.
I’d been to plenty of parties with Noor, but this felt different. The room was thick with smoke, giving everything a haziness that made it seem ethereal. Music pulsed through the floor and sent shivers up my entire body. Across from us, a couple was pressed up against the wall, arms draped around each other as they kissed. In the corner, two girls in barely there dresses were perched on the pool table, slim legs dangling as boys circled them, making suggestive jokes as they attempted to manoeuvre their cues around them.
‘You made it,’ Sameer yelled over the music as he broke away from a group of boys to hug us. He twirled a lock of Noor’s hair around his finger as he took in her appearance, his eyes lingering on her cleavage. ‘You haven’t brought your crazy brother with you, right?’
Noor flashed one of her dazzling smiles. ‘Nope, he’s in even more trouble than I am,’ she said.
Faraz had got into a fight at his university last week, something to do with another student calling him a Muslim terrorist. His anger was entirely justifiable; the damage he did to that boy’s face, and to his own prospects in the Student Union election, not so much. It had worked out well for Noor, though. Her parents were so angry with their son, they had little energy left to deal with their daughter’s comparatively minor transgressions.
‘This way,’ Sameer said, pointing to the double doors leading out into the garden.
Noor and I followed in his slipstream as he hustled through the crowd and led us to a small table on the decked patio. He lit up a joint and passed it to Noor before heading back inside to get us some drinks.
He returned a few minutes later with a stocky boy in a sweat-drenched T-shirt and baggy jeans in tow.
‘Here you go,’ Sameer said, setting down two frothy glasses in front of Noor and me. He pulled his chair close to Noor’s and slipped an arm around her shoulders. ‘This is Karan,’ he continued, introducing us to his friend. ‘I told him you wanted to party.’
‘That’s why we’re here,’ Noor said in a voice that sounded unnaturally chirpy.
We had barely picked up our drinks when Karan produced a little plastic bag from his pocket. I looked at Noor, shocked at this sudden turn of events.
Sameer and Noor leaned in as he shook out four tiny white pills and pressed one each into their hands.
‘Alia?’ Karan asked, laying one sweaty palm on my thigh. I brushed it away.
I wasn’t naive. I knew Noor smoked weed sometimes and that there were drugs at nearly all the Wescott parties. I had seen groups of people disappearing into the bathroom enough times to work out what they were doing but up until that moment I hadn’t allowed myself to consider the possibility that Noor was one of them.
‘Oh no, not for her,’ Noor said. ‘Alia’s a good girl.’ She was smiling, which only made the words feel sharper.
I took the pill from Karan’s outstretched palm.
‘What is it?’ I asked no one in particular.
‘E,’ Karan said. ‘I mean, ecstasy.’
‘I know what E is,’ I bit back.
‘Only if you want to,’ Sameer said.
Noor nodded. ‘It’s totally up to you.’
‘I’m not—’ I started.
‘But no party poopers allowed,’ she winked, cutting me off. I watched as she opened her mouth and placed the pill on the tip of her tongue.
I understood then that it had all been a test, the mood swings, the parties and now the drugs – she was testing me, trying to see how far I would go to hold on to my spot as her best friend. The answer was as far as it took.
I took a big gulp of that lovely sugary drink and then did exactly as she had done.
We had reached that point in the night when the room felt overcrowded rather than bustling, when the smoke in the air felt suffocating rather than decadent. Every time I blinked, the room shifted, every detail simultaneously pin-sharp and disorientating. Noor and I were dancing, arms thrown around each other as ‘Mr Brightside’ played in the background.
‘I feel sick. I need the bathroom,’ I spoke into Noor’s ear.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said.
I shook my head. ‘I’ll be fine. Back in a sec.’
I untangled myself and headed into the hall but the bathroom was occupied. The couple from the deck had decided to move things up a notch.
I wandered through the maze of rooms looking for another bathroom. By the time I found one and then went back to the party, Noor was nowhere to be seen. I tried not to panic as I went from room to room looking for her. She w
as not dancing in the centre of the room, not bent over the pool table insisting she knew how to play, not even outside smoking and laughing with the boys.
I marched over to Karan. He was sitting at the same table as earlier with a group of boys I vaguely recognized from school.
‘Where is she?’ I asked, my tone accusatory.
He didn’t say anything, just wiggled his eyebrows as he tried to pull me onto his lap.
‘Get your hands off me.’ My scream was met with a burst of rowdy laughter and whistling. I pushed him off and walked away, searching instead for Sameer.
I found them in an upstairs bedroom.
‘There you—’ I started, relieved to have found her until I realized what I was looking at.
Noor was passed out on the bed, her skirt hiked up all the way to her hips, lacy pink knickers exposed. Sameer was crouched on the floor, bent over the bedside table.
The surge of anger that rushed through me left me startled. If I hadn’t been so terrified, I could have killed Sameer.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
Sameer turned around, revealing two thin lines of white powder on the table. ‘Want to join in?’ he slurred.
‘Noor,’ I said, walking over to her.
She mumbled something incoherent before closing her eyes again.
I yanked her skirt down and pulled her into a sitting position. Her eyes snapped open with the sudden movement. ‘Alia, I don’t – I don’t feel good.’
‘I know, I’m here now,’ I said, helping her up. ‘Let’s get you home.’
Outside, the driveway was packed with cars but I couldn’t find a single person willing to give us a lift home. I couldn’t blame them. One look at Noor would be enough for even Mother Teresa to back off.
I sat down on the porch and tried to get my brain to work. It would be impossible attempting to hail a taxi outside, but maybe I could call for one. I rummaged through Noor’s bag and pulled out her phone, trying to remember the number for directory services.
Can You See Me Now? Page 13