by Rohan Dahiya
She untied her hair and massaged her temples while the laptop warmed up. Over the last few weeks she’d figured out how to work the ancient bulky thing, only to reply to her ghostwriter’s emails. Charu had spent half of it droning on about a new restaurant that was offering free membership and it was members only and they wanted her to come for the opening. Sunaina watched the words blur in and out of focus, the smell of burning hash made her head swim.
“Sunaina these people are going up to their room, are you almost done?” Veeru prodded her.
She threw him a loopy smile and shook her head.
“I can wait … if you want?”
“Not at all, you please be on your way home I’ll lock up.”
He asked her if she was sure but looked ever grateful to be out of there. She put away the laptop and opened her notebook, filling out the pages with her musings, flights of fancy that Charu could turn into purposeful essays. Twenty minutes later she sighed and leaned back, admiring her work.
The street outside was desolate, no sign of energy living or otherwise. She was suddenly aware of how big the café was, empty chairs and curtained windows completing the look of a house long abandoned. The thing about the mountains on these nights was the absence of any noise. Except for footsteps, heavy and deliberate. She looked out the window and huffed at Faisal’s silhouette drudging its way up the stairs.
He threw open the door without a knock.
“Are you some sort of caveman? What the hell is wrong –”
“Oh shut up Sunaina! Is there something to drink here?”
“Fuck off.”
He stood there, face caked with dried sweat and dirt. He raised his eyebrows in a challenge, backpack sliding off his shoulder. She sighed loudly and pointed to the mini bottle of whiskey she’d left for him on the table. He grabbed at it and gave her a deep bow. Much to her own frustration, Sunaina felt bad about being rude to him. It was obvious that he was dead on his feet.
“There’s um some hot water in the room.”
Faisal didn’t turn around. “You left the geyser on?”
“Yes” her voice came out mousey.
He just stood there, shoulders sagging under that ridiculously oversized sweater he insisted on wearing every day because it was the last thing his mother had knit. His hair was crusty with sweat, she could see it curling out from under his cap.
His nose came first as he half turned back, still not really looking at her. “Thanks”, and he left her to her silence.
She pulled out the book he’d last given her, unlooping the thread bound necklace she used as a bookmark. It was a heavier subject than the other books he’d shared with her over the past two months, one that spoke of the beginnings of language, philosophy, and critical thinking. She unfolded the little paper on which she’d made her notes.
The word construct comes from conscience and structure. Where philosophers spoke of ideas, ideologies, and everything physical or otherwise as constructs. Of the mind, of society, everything. That’s where you get a ‘construction’ from. And a de-struction. A breaking down of a structure, whether by attacking the idea behind it, it’s foundation, or the structure itself – as a whole.
*I don’t know where to go with this really but I want you to think of a way this can be applied into the feminist context. Keep it light and fairly simple to read I don’t want something too flowery or whatever like do what you do best atm…
She signed off and locked up the dollhouse double doors. Faisal wasn’t yet done with his shower so she left her bag on the bed and stepped back out for a smoke. The night sky sprawled above, clear as an ocean with stars swimming in synchronized constellations. She stared at the smoke that looped up and out from her lips. There was no moon but the stars were out and in that moment they were hers to own so it was beautiful.
As always she sensed his presence before she heard him. “You know what’s funny? I thought you’d come back smelling of apples – considering you work in an orchard – but two weeks later and I’m only getting fertilizer and sweat.”
“Should I spray some ittar before seeing the begum?” he laughed.
“Your mom’s a begum,” she shoved him and ran inside.
He chased her, laughter booming through the quiet night. He stopped at the sight of her packed bag.
Their smiles faded.
“I meant to tell you about that.”
“You know it’s not safe.”
“But it is Faisal”, she threw her hands up in frustration, “it’s completely safe which is why I need to start going back out there.”
He sniffed disapprovingly.
“Look it’s not like I’m leading the trek I’m only going as a ‘tag-along guide’ as per what Jatin said –”
“Does Jatin plan on paying you for this by any chance?” she could tell how hard he fought to keep his eyebrows from rising.
“Because you already have a job, downstairs. You work a single shift and they pay you more than needed, they’ve given us a place to stay practically rent free do you understand that.”
“Oh of course I understand it man what is wrong with you. Listen it’s just more … I need more than to get up and serve coffee everyday. I want to walk out there.”
“Well why can’t you just wait for my workshops to get over?”
She snorted, “You? On a trek? Don’t even …”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t even know me Sunaina, you think I haven’t been on a stupid mountain trail before?”
“It’s a trek across a frozen lake, you realize that’s a whole different scenario, right?” And then it struck her. “Is this because it’s Jatin?”
Faisal raked his hands through his hair, breathing in deeply before speaking again.
“It’s not about him. I just … I want to be there with you.” she was surprised by how big his green eyes were. “Fuck the milquetoast, take me with you instead.”
She broke into laughter. “What the fuck is a milk toast!”
He smiled at her indulgently. “Look it up later.”
They turned down the bed and hurried to get under the blankets without freezing. He reached down and took off his socks because he could never sleep with them on, she reached out for them and put them on because of how warm he left them. She reached up and turned out the lights, he switched off his lamp and they lay with their backs to each other. Buried under her sweater sleeve, beneath the blankets, Sunaina replayed the past few minutes in her head.
She wanted to say something but he broke the silence first.
“How long are you going for?”
“It takes about nine days, I should be back by Thursday after next.”
She held her breath.
“Hmm”
“I’ll tell you what,” she turned to face his back, “you finish your workshops at the orchard and I’ll take you to this trail in the valley – about two, maybe three hours from here, it’s absolutely beautiful.”
“Where exactly is it?”
“It’s too dark to draw you a map.”
He could hear her smile.
She turned to face him, placing a hand between his shoulder blades. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
He sniggered into the darkness. “Could you have said anything more clichéd?”
She whacked him on the back and turned over to her side.
Sunaina was furious.
She took down the breakfast orders, almost everyone was dying to have scrambled eggs with bacon and pancakes, and served the steaming morning drinks. No one said a word when she put the empty tray on the counter with more force than necessary.
Faisal came in and sat at one of the last empty tables, taking her chance of a tip with it, and opened the menu as if he didn’t have the same breakfast every day. Without a word she slammed the charred bread and milk in front of him.
He looked up with a cheerful twinkle in his eye.
“What is this madam I have a standing order of –”
> “It’s milk and toast. That’s all you’re getting today unless you’re planning to pay for everything.”
“Arey begum what is the matter?”
“Milquetoast really? That’s a pathetic thing to call Jatin, I’ve known him for years you know. He’s one of the nicest boys I know from school, like why even would you?”
“He’s just annoying, begum why are you so riled up. It’s such a beautiful morning.”
She leaned in and he sank lower into his chair. “It’s a perfect morning for milk and toast. Eat up.”
“I’ll be working in the field all day, you want me to die of starvation?”
She walked away from the table.
“Begum”, he called after her.
“Begum’s dead!”
Sunaina was staring at them, each a twisted doppelgänger of poker straight hair, overglossed lips, and jewel tone athleisure outfits.
“Well okay so like, what if we have to pee?” one of them half whispered – as if the concept of urination was meant for closed doors.
Jatin looked their way, apprehensive but amused. He’d been emailing with the group for a while, a total of nine specimens of Delhi’s finest. Sunaina refocused, trying not to ask why they all wore matching chokers.
“Okay you can go behind a bush, with the location of where we’d be setting camp for the night, it’s at a safe distance from any residential or commercial spot as such. There isn’t a chance of being walked in on.” She ignored their offensive eye rolls. “You walk about twelve steps in any direction, though I suggest you go in a group so you can call out for safety.”
“Wait what –”
“Oh and if you’re a loud one go another three steps away, there’s usually enough ambient noise.”
They squirmed, visibly shaken.
“Okay hold up, you just said it’s like in the middle of nowhere, right? Why’re we gonna need to like ask for help or whatever?”
“Listen you should help us because what if we get attacked?”
“Uh yeah! I heard there are leopards and all over here.” She couldn’t even look up from her phone while speaking.
“No, this isn’t the time when they are likely to attack.” Though Sunaina wondered for a moment if that were true, deciding to leave them pacified at the moment.
“Ska-weez me!! But what if there’s a crazy inbred tribe –”
“There are no tribal communities here.” She harrumphed.
“Arey but what if there’s like an undiscovered one ya, like just jumping out and attacking us?”
“Yeah because they’re all cannibals and like they don’t believe in harming animals but we’re basically like a buffet feast for them?”
“Do you really want the deaths of five young and beautiful innocent girls on your conscience?” The tallest one puffed out her chest, looking like she was about to cut her to size.
“Yeah like what the fuck man?”
They crossed their arms in unison like they’d never lost a war.
Sunaina swayed on her feet as the sinking feeling of déjà vu washed over her. “Look most of the times people don’t die here from being attacked by an animal. It’s because they behave like fools.”
“Yeah but you can protect us right?”
“I’ll tell you what, you try and not drink too much or fall into the river and anything else I’ve got your back.” She felt the beginnings of a headache bloom.
Faisal announced his presence with a loud laugh. “Begum you should probably tell them about the piss spit while you’re at it.”
“Oh hell no, what the fuck is piss spit?”
Jatin walked over to intervene. “It’s nothing, he’s just kidding.”
They looked at her with widened eyes.
“No really, just an old wives’ tale. Way more fun to hear the story while you’re actually at the camp.” Her cheeks hurt from faking a smile.
Faisal threw his head back and roared with laughter as soon as Jatin had taken them away. He was such a private man in so many ways that seeing him laugh so openly was immediately and intensely endearing.
“You know you’re so twisted,” she couldn’t help but laugh with him.
“That’s one way to look at it.” He shrugged.
“Wait,” she pushed him into a seat, “why aren’t you at the orchard today?”
“I’m going after lunch, we’re prepping for a workshop on making yak cheese tomorrow so we’re prepping for that.”
“Yak cheese?” she scrunched her nose.
“Begum,” he rolled his yes from behind the menu, “you’ve had it without knowing and you loved it.”
“See, when you feed someone weird shit without telling them – that’s twisted. When you leave the room in a fucking mess – that’s twisted.” She pursed her lips disapprovingly.
“I’m not making my own bed.” He replied with a petulant pout.
She shook her head. “I’ll tell you what, let’s take a break from this side of town. My granddad lives in the valley, not too far from here; it’s barely half a day’s journey. I think it’ll be therapeutic for the both of us to just disengage and,” she exhaled sagely, “just be.”
It was in that moment that Sunaina realized that something had permanently changed in her. She was thriving in her bucolic settings, adapting to the new landscape around her. Living off the grid had had its ups and downs so far, but it had saved her from veering off the wrong side of the edge of a blade ready at her wrist.
Faisal smiled and nodded, eager to have some time off the fields.
Chapter ELEVEN
SECOND STAR TO THE
RIGHT & STRAIGHT
ON ’TIL MORNING
-Hey wyd
-wyd?
-What’re you doin? lol.. I thot u were supp 2 knw all of these
-Haha no I do just busy w sum stuff
-ohh ok
-talk later
--
-hey hey
-hi H.. what’s happening
-nothin just hangin w my bros
-oh nice
-they’re not my bros as such, like buddies
-Oh how fun! Guys nite?
-Totally.. u shud cum join
-Txt me when they’re gone I’ll let u kno
--
-hey gurl
-hii
-wha…
“Hassan! Come on man you’ve been at it for so long ya bugger, where’s your beer?”
He pocketed his phone and returned to the grill where the fish sizzled dangerously. Hassan deftly flipped them and the smell of crushed ginger and lemongrass wafted through the room to appreciative nods. He picked up the corona and flipped it upside down, the warm dregs rolling down his tongue like vinegar. He raised it at Rajiv and asked for another one.
“Oh buddy that smells wonderful yaar!”
“Did you get this sorted all by yourself?” The grill twinkled in response.
Rajiv winked dramatically, “No no, he had some help from the maid.”
Hassan roared with laughter. “Ay go to hell, you’re just jealous or what…”
“Oh please, I could get anyone bhaisaab and I definitely wouldn’t start with the help. I mean come on!”
“Try your luck and then we’ll talk” he winked, ignoring the jab of guilt. “Anyway I had to let her go dude, she was starting to stir up trouble and shit.”
Pranab studied him for a beat then stood up. “Well good riddance I say!”
They cheered and drank while Hassan plated up the fish.
“You’re okay right?”
He turned around to face Pranab.
“I’m fine”, he handed over the plate. “Go pass this around we’ll talk later.”
“Just keep things low key for a while.” Pranab lowered his voice. “If I get another phone call in the middle of the night I’ll really have to step in then.”
“Just pass this fish out yaar, it’s crap if it gets cold. We’ll talk later.”
Monty Manchanda pointed a finger
at the sign hanging above them. “Do I get to ask what this is even about?”
Pranab stared at the unlit neon lettering and raised a brow at his friend.
Hassan threw his hands up in resignation. “Arey bugger don’t ask me about that yaar. Sana did it while I was in Europe, fuckin’ looks like we’re sitting in a chawl instead of my living room.”
They weren’t the closest of friends, in fact if you were to ask Hassan to name his good friends Pranab Sahay’s name might not come up at all. Over the years of knowing each other the two men had become a part of each other’s daily life, forging a bond that didn’t need an outwardly acknowledgment.
-You there??
The downside was that Pranab had recently made a habit of involving himself in Hassan’s journey to reclaim lost youth. It had started out really simple: the idea was to get Hassan out of the house. He needed distraction from the fact that his wife and daughter had abandoned him, that his life was almost falling apart.
Distractions that had sprung in the form of Chanda, their maid. And then Kyra, the twenty something girl who met them at some pub in Gurgaon and told Hassan that he looked a little like Ben Affleck and soon they were, only casually, seeing each other. Distractions were now attracted to him like moths to a flame. He was working out every morning and night with the sort of determination that only belonged to people who made money off of their looks.
Pranab had warned him about signing up for Tinder before he had his separation legalized but Hassan was riding on the sort of high that didn’t belong to his generation of people.
“Anyway, I made the chicken myself ya this fish I get it pre-marinated by this young fellow in East of Kailash. Bloody good chap, must try him out.”
-Busy??
“It’s too good ya bugger, you must give me his number.”