Monsoon Memories (13 page)

‘We’ll celebrate this evening.’

‘Huh?’

‘Your promotion.’ And then, ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, then. I’ll see you later. Love you.’

‘Bye.’

She disconnected the call, stared at the phone. Could she? Carefully, she placed the phone in her purse. And googled Hewlett-Packard Global Soft Limited, clicked on the ‘Contact’ tab once the page came up, stared at the phone number. So easy. Her phone peeked from her handbag, beckoning. On the screen in front of her, the number glowed. Below it was printed, in small letters,
9:00 a.m.—6:00 p.m. Monday—Friday (IST)
. She checked her watch. Quarter to two. Which made it 6:15 p.m. in India. She sighed, not sure if it was disappointment she felt.

‘Congratulations,
manager
.’ Kate was at her desk, giving her a quick hug. ‘What say we go to the pub for a quick drink after work? Will Vinod mind? We won’t stay long.’

‘I’m sure that’s fine. I’ll tell him I’ll be late.’

‘What are you looking at?’ Kate peered at the computer. ‘Hewlett Packard. Not thinking of leaving us in the lurch?’

‘My brother works there.’

‘Oh.’ Kate’s eyes wide, a question in them.

‘I’ll fill you in this evening. Right now I’m off to get cakes for Rob over there.’ She raised her voice at this last bit. Rob looked up, mouthed ‘Cheers’ and winked.

‘Ooh. Not that I’m suggesting anything, but coffee and walnut cake is my particular favourite. And I did miss lunch...’ Kate laughed.

The phone number. Deepak. Her promotion. She stood, her legs wobbly from all the excitement. As she picked up her car keys and handbag, Shirin pictured Madhu’s response to her promotion. Madhu would cup Shirin’s face in her palms and, her eyes glowing with pride, whisper, ‘Well done, Shirin, I always knew you could do it. My girl...’

Why couldn’t she fathom Jacinta’s reaction? Why, when she tried to picture Jacinta, to trace her features from memory, did she only see the expression in her mother’s eyes the last time she saw her?

* * *

The pub was crowded, but Shirin managed to bag a table by the window overlooking the high street while Kate went to get their drinks. She took off her jacket and settled into her seat, the capacious high-backed chair engulfing her. She loved being in pubs: the crunch of salt-and-vinegar crisps; the frothy smell of beer mingling with the aroma of chips, onion rings and tart sweet ketchup; the conversations flowing and ebbing; the murmur of the sports commentator on TV accompanied every once in a while by a loud collective cheer or groan—all instilling in her a sense of camaraderie. Here, in this most English of institutions, she could pretend, briefly, that she belonged. That she was not forever floating, straddling two personalities and two worlds—the one she ached for, that she had had to leave behind; and the one she found herself in, the world she would always be in debt of, as it had accepted her, broken as she was, and had allowed her to heal, to make something of herself—so that sometimes, in the dead of night, she woke screaming silently, not sure who she was anymore, lost even to herself.

She closed her eyes briefly, the stress and excitement of the day catching up. And a name came to her, as if it had been hovering in the forefront of her memory, waiting for her to retrieve it. Sinha. Uttam Sinha.

She sat up, looked to the bar to see if she could spot Kate. She saw Kate’s distinctive hair, her camel jacket amongst the crush at the bar. She was deep in conversation with a tall man wearing a suit and tie, his head bent towards Kate as he listened to what she was saying. Dark hair. Glasses. Kate’s type. Good for her.

At the next table, across from her, a very young couple shared a chair. She sat on his lap, her head on his shoulder. His head rested on hers. Her eyes were closed. A half smiled played on her face. She looked so… content. And for a brief moment, Shirin ached to be her, this girl with her uncluttered life. No complicated history. No messy past. A man who so obviously adored her. Her whole life ahead of her, glimmering with possibilities…
I wish I’d grown up here. White-skinned. Not having to worry about what people might think or say; not having to heft the burden of obligation, of duty; not having to honour the family name…

A memory:
s
kipping school on the day of the Kannada test for which she hadn’t prepared, lying flat among the branches of the trees in the orchard surrounding the school, inhaling the fruity breeze, munching on raw mangoes and spying on her classmates, feeling only slightly guilty as they were called forward, one by one and hit with a ruler…

And another: the river sparkling in the sunlight, a golden blue, the boat undulating gently with the waves; St. Mary’s island shimmering in the distance, a dark haze against silvery clouds and pink-tinged sky; the picnic basket containing dosas, idlis, ambades and fresh jamun courtesy of Jilly Bai snug against their sun-warmed feet, Anita laughing at something she’d said…

No, she couldn’t imagine swapping her childhood for a different one. She had been happy then. Before she grew up. Before…

Shirin settled back onto her chair and looked away from the couple, out the window. Taipur. Home. Anita. Anita Sinha. Didn’t sound right. She would google it. Tomorrow. And should she call Deepak? Not yet. Not just yet...

She had been looking out the window without really seeing anything, but now her attention was captured by a teenage girl, Asian, standing by the bus stop opposite the pub. She looked about fourteen, her school uniform peeking out from under her navy-blue dress coat. She stood hunched against the chilly evening breeze, her hands working busily on a mobile phone, headphones in her ears, hair falling over her face. Every once in a while she looked up, sneaked sideways glances, and Shirin, following her gaze, found she was checking out a tall Asian boy lounging against the British Heart Foundation shop awning, scowling at his shoes. Shirin smiled, her heart going out to the girl.
Go on, talk to him if you fancy him.
A tall blonde girl wearing the same uniform crept up behind the Asian girl, put her arms around her. She squealed, looked up, laughed. She was very pretty when she smiled. The blonde girl pointed to the boy, nudged her friend. She blushed. The blonde started striding towards the boy, pulling her reluctant, blushing friend along. The boy slouched, scowling, oblivious.

‘Whew. What a crush.
Everyone’s
decided to have a quick after-work drink this evening.’ Kate sank onto the chair beside her, depositing their drinks and a saucer of spiced peanuts.

‘Who was the lucky man, then?’

‘Nothing escapes you, does it?’ Kate laughed.

‘Did you get his number?’

‘What do you think?’ Kate grinned and opened out her palm. A number was scribbled in her messy scrawl across it.

‘That will rub out. Here.’ Shirin rummaged around in her purse for a pen and a sheet of paper.

‘I didn’t know I would meet someone when I went to get the drinks, did I? If I did, I would have gone armed with a notebook and a tad more make up. His name is Callum. Does IT support for DCS. He seemed very nice.’

Across the street, the blonde was talking to the Asian boy, nudging her shy friend to join in. As Shirin watched, the Asian girl looked up, across the road and through the pub window, right at her.

‘Do you know her?’ Kate asked.

‘Who?’

‘That girl you’re watching? You’re not the only one who’s observant you know.’

‘No, no.’ Shirin pulled her gaze away.

‘So, ma’am, how does it feel to be manager?’ Kate mimicked holding a mic in front of Shirin’s mouth.

‘Good, thank you. Especially as I haven’t started doing the job yet.’

Kate burst out laughing, squeezed Shirin’s arm. ‘I’m pleased for you, Shirin. You are just the person for the job. It took all my willpower to keep it under wraps when Jay recommended you. Had to run it by Marie first…’ She leaned back, took a long swig of her pint of lager. ‘Ah. I needed that.’ And, smiling up at Shirin, ‘Go on then; spill the beans. Why were you looking up your brother’s company this afternoon?’

‘Vinod suggested I call his workplace, ask to speak to him.’

Kate sat up. ‘Do you want to?’

‘What if he doesn’t want to speak to me?’ With Kate, she could voice her doubts.

‘If you ask me, I think you should let it be. Why leave yourself open to hurt again?’ She leaned forward, looking into Shirin’s eyes, ‘Look at you: strong, confident woman. Manager. Is there any point in going back?’

‘I miss her, Kate. I miss Reena.’

Kate followed her gaze out the grimy pub window. The girl was walking down the street away from her, flanked by the blonde on one side and the Asian boy loping along on the other. He bent towards her, whispered something in her ear and she threw her head back and laughed.

‘I… I think I’ve finally forgiven myself for what I did. I can see that, in the circumstances, I was justified. What the counsellor, Vinod and you tried to tell me all this while is beginning to make sense. I’m not saying all my choices were right; I am still guilty about… Reena. But at the time, the person I was… I understand now… That’s why the memories don’t hurt as much, why I am able to entertain them.’

Kate nodded once. ‘Do you think after all this time they’re still...?’

‘I don’t know...’ Shirin stared at her drink as if it held all the answers. ‘I think I’d like to contact Anita first.’ She paused, taking a sip of her drink before continuing. ‘Anita... She’s…’ she scrabbled around for the right phrase to describe what she wanted to say.
Anita asking, ‘Why did you do it, Deepak? Why did you give the note to Ma? It was Shirin’s.’ Shirin sitting shell-shocked on the front stoop, the breeze cold on her bare neck, naked without its curtain of hair. Madhu sniffing violently as she swept the courtyard clean, her body bent like a question mark, the hair she’d spent hours massaging now nothing but a pool of dark strands hugging the trunks of the coconut trees.

As usual, Kate understood without her having to say it. ‘I know. The bond between sisters. With a brother it’s not the same, is it?’

‘I looked up to Deepak, was in awe of him.’
Deepak’s voice: ‘The Diaz family is Taipur’s most respected and has been for generations. Loving a Muslim. Don’t you realise the scandal it would cause? The disgrace…’
‘But with Anu it was different. We would get into all sorts of scrapes. “We’re partners in crime,” she used to say, having picked up the phrase from one of my books...’ Her little sister. Her confidante. ‘She’s not judgemental; at least she wasn’t when...’ She used to know every little thing about Anita, once upon a time.
Why, Anu, why have you stayed away?
‘When Mijju Aunty ran away with the butcher—a huge scandal in our sedate village—Anu said, “I would, too, if I was married to Rigu Uncle.”’

Kate laughed. ‘I like your sister.’

‘You two would get along like a house on fire. You remind me, in many ways, of her...’ She tried to picture, in a rosy future of the happily-ever-after kind, the three of them: Kate and Anita and her, sharing a drink and chatting and laughing. She couldn’t. The image just wouldn’t form.

‘I was this close to calling Deepak today, Kate. Only the fact that it was after office hours in India stopped me.’
And...
the fact that
I was afraid. Deepak’s face the last time she saw him: ‘I wish to God it hadn’t happened this way, Shirin.’

‘Do you have a number for Anita?’

‘No. But just now, as I was waiting for you, I remembered the name of her boyfriend. Husband now, I suppose. If she married him.’
Did you, Anu? After what I did, loving a Hindu, marrying one, would have been way down the ‘creating a scandal and disgracing the family’ list…
‘I’ll try finding her. If not, I’ll bite the bullet. Call Deepak.’

Kate leaned across, laid a hand on her arm. ‘If you’re sure that’s what you want.’

‘I don’t want to burden Reena with the truth, Kate.’
Reena.
‘I don’t want to disrupt her life. I just... I want to see her, that’s all.’ The Eyes loomed, large, menacing. With all her will, she wished them away. And they went. A first. Disappearing when she wanted them to. She was ready to face up to her past. As ready as she would ever be.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sunglasses in the Rain

M
urli was waiting for Reena by the bus stop, holding an umbrella open as she got off the school bus. ‘Ooh, look at Reena’s friend,’ she heard one of the boys in the back smirk. ‘Boyfriend more like,’ grinned another.

‘Shut up!’ she yelled, lugging her bag behind her, bouncing it off the steps—something her mother had warned her repeatedly
not
to do.
What do you care? He’s your friend and he’s got you an umbrella,
she thought, trying to ignore the chants of ‘Boyfriend! Boyfriend!’ as the bus pulled away.

‘Here, give it to me,’ Murli said, spitting the paan he had been chewing into the bushes by the front gate with a loud ‘thoo’. He hefted her bag onto his back and opened the gate for her, while holding the umbrella with the other hand and waving hello at the security guard.

‘What are you doing here, Murli? Does Mrs. Gupta know?’

‘She thinks I’m in the kitchen preparing chole for dinner.’ He gave her a paan-stained grin which did not quite reach his eyes.

‘What’s the matter, Murli?’

‘Oh, Rinu, there’s a great drought in my village. People are dying. The price of rice and pulses has rocketed. There is no water anywhere. And here, people are complaining about the rain...’ Words tumbled out of Murli’s mouth in a rush, as if he had been forcibly holding them in. 
‘Your family?’

‘They are okay for now. Because of the money I send them, they can to afford to buy food, despite the exorbitant prices...’ Murli’s agonised gaze met Reena’s. ‘You know what kills me? The amount of food that Mrs. Gupta wastes, so casually, without a second thought... What wouldn’t my people give for a few bites of the biryani she ordered me to throw away yesterday because she said it smelt…’