The First Life of Vikram Roy (Many Lives Series Book 3) (2 page)

I've never heard them get angry at each other, let alone swear in front of us. And it's the first time Dad's begged for anything.
 

"No, it's his father's errors he will pay the price for." Mum's voice has dropped so low that I can just hear her mutter under her breath. She is not moved by his distress.
 

I want to help him. I want to do something.
 

"He needs me. Can't you see that? I can't just abandon him."

"Fine, so why don't you abandon us then." Mum's voice is stiff, cold. She is not giving in on this. I can tell.

They are both so angry at each other. I want to put my hands over my ears and not hear anymore. But Mum's hanging onto my arm as if I am her support; helping her to keep standing. She is so angry her body is vibrating. She is as unhappy as him.

Dad clenches his fists.
 

As if in response, Mum takes a step forward, forcing me to move forward with her.
 

"So, you are going to hit me, are you?" Mum asks, her voice shaking in disbelief.
 

"Ow!" the boy exclaims, and tries to pull his hand free from my father's grasp.

"Sorry, son, I didn't hurt you, did I?" Dropping to his knees, he lifts the boy's hand in his, examining it."

"Son …?" Mum's voice is shocked. I have never seen her this angry.
 

"What else did you expect me to call him?"

"A bastard?"
 

That
is a super-forbidden word. Things must be really bad for her to say that.

Dad rises to his feet and puts out a hand. "Enough!" His voice booms, startling me. Mum's got a quick temper. Dad's always been the more patient and easy-going of the two. But when he gets angry, it's like the Earth is splitting into two.
 

Next to me, Mum grows still. "He
is
,
though. Nothing can change that." She doesn't raise her voice. It's as if this time they have changed places. Dad's the angry one. Mum's reacting so differently this time, I don't know what to make of it. Pulling away from me, she walks into their bedroom.
 

Her soft sobbing seeps through the walls.

I should comfort her. Instead I stay rooted to my spot, watching the unfolding drama. I don't know it then but the next few minutes are going to change my life forever.
 

Dad swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he looks to me, a strange look on his face as if he is being torn inside. As if he wants to tell me something but can't. Voice composed, he says, "Vikram."

"Yes, Dad?" I reply, without taking my eyes off the boy, whose lips are now lifted in a slight smile. He looks smug, as if he's won a fight.

I try to push away the sinking feeling inside my stomach. It's as if I have inhaled all the dark clouds in the sky, and now they are choking my insides.

"Meet Vishal." Dad doesn't come forward. His eyes simply plead with me … for what? What does he want me to do? The sound of Mum crying is a steady monotone in the background. It's like the static from a TV set whose reception has been suddenly cut off, leaving the sound from the grainy screen to fill the silence.

"Who is he, Dad?" I feel compelled to ask. Inside, I am thinking, Don't tell me, I don't want to know. But, of course, he does.

"He's your younger brother …" Dad smiles crookedly.

Next to him, Vishal lifts his middle finger at me. He smirks, then rapidly drops his hand to his side before Dad can notice it. I don't rise to the bait. I feel like I have grown older in the last few minutes.
 

"Hi, Vishal …" I say. I keep my voice steady and force myself to resemble a blank sheet of paper. It's as if everything I knew before this moment has been wiped clean.

"Hi …" Vishal hesitates, then his face brightens with a smile, "… brother." He looks innocent. Like an angel. Is it only me who can hear the scorn threaded through that word?

Guess he's older than I first thought him to be.

Siblings can be a real pain.

TEN

The sound of a door slamming wakes me up. I played
Perfect Dark
on my
Nintendo
late into the night and am still slumped over my table. Not that Mum and Dad are aware of it. They've been too busy fighting. Getting up, I stretch and yawn. Then, I stumble to the bed and fall face down. Ah! Much better. I roll over onto to my back and my eyes fall on the basketball hoop. It mocks me from the far end of the room.
 

It's been ages since I tossed a ball through it. Now that I've discovered Joanna Dark of
Perfect Dark
, basketball has lost some of its appeal. Guess I just like strong, feisty girls. It's nothing to do with how beautiful she is. Okay, maybe just a little. Besides, I love shooting aliens too. Shoot baskets … shoot aliens. Hmm! The same thing, right? If only real-life problems could be solved as easily. I can hear Mum and Dad through
the half-open door.

"You're taking me for granted, Rajiv ... You always have since we got married. But since you brought the boy home, you've just become a lot worse. You think you can get away with anything—"

"—You just need an excuse to blame the boy ... why can't you just let him be?" Dad's baritone rumbles in reply.
 

"You don't get it, do you?"
 

Mum sounds desperate. And bitter. I fling the pillow over my face, trying to block out their voices. It's no use. I can still hear her.

"Every time I look at that boy, I see—"

"See what?" Dad doesn't raise his voice. No, since he lost his temper the day he brought Vishal home, he's been very careful to stay controlled. To not lose his temper again. He has a lot of will power that way.
 

Mum says I take after him. I don't lose my temper either. Not quickly. But if I am pushed too much, then sometimes I just snap. From the tone of Dad's voice, I know he's not far off from totally losing it either. "Don't push him, Mum. Don't," I whisper aloud, not aware that I am rocking myself. I crawl under the covers and shut my eyes. I am in my own bed, in my own room. I am safe here. Everything will go back to the way it was. It will. It has to.

"—I see my shortcomings. I see your love for that … that other woman … That boy is a reminder of all that is broken in our marriage." Mum's voice is sharp, as if she is trying to hurt him with her words.

"And is that what you think it is … broken?" Dad's voice has gone even softer, so I have to strain to hear him now.
 

"Isn't it?" Pain threads through her voice.
 

They've been arguing like this ever since Vishal arrived almost six months ago … and each time they fight, it gets worse. It's as if they hate each other. Grown-ups can be very vicious. And yet they tell kids to be polite, to share things, to never fight.
 

"God! Meera," Dad pleads. "Don't think for a moment I loved her. It was a few seconds of insanity. She was my childhood crush, the first girl I fell in love with. It was just seeing her after all these years … I couldn't help myself."

"Your male ego couldn't take a woman turning you down … you couldn't rest till you bedded her." She is crying now. "I thought you had changed, but you haven't."

Silence, then Dad says, almost as if he is speaking to himself, "Sometimes I think it's in my genes."

"Genes … Bullshit!"
 

Another change in Mum since Vishal's arrival—she swears freely now. They both do. It's like they don't really care if we are listening in on their conversations anymore.
 

"Don't tell me you are going to use that as an excuse now," she says.

"You're right." Dad's voice is contrite. "It
is
just an excuse. But sometimes I wonder … given the philandering old coot that my grandfather was … and then my own father couldn't keep it zipped, could he?"

"You swore you would stay faithful." Mum sounds sad. "Your promises don't mean much, do they?" Her words have gone all over the place as if the tears are dissolving her sentences, breaking them down. Just as they are melting Dad's heart.

"Don't say that. I love you, would do anything for you—"

"—Just not stay faithful."

"How do I convince you?" His voice is frustrated. There's silence, then a shuffling sound as if he's moved towards her. The sound of struggling, then a s
macking sound as if air being inhaled through closed lips.
I peek through the crack in the doorway—to my eternal regret, for Mum and Dad have locked lips.

I know they're kissing 'cause I've seen it on the soaps I sometimes watch with Mum. She always tries to cover my eyes every time a couple kisses on screen, but I've peeked through the gaps between her fingers a few times.

It's weird watching my parents kiss in real life. I shouldn't stare. I should look away. Now. But it's so fascinating. I know it's forbidden. I just can't stop looking.

They break away but can't take their eyes off each other. Mum's chest is heaving, her breasts rising up and down so fast it makes me slightly dizzy to watch. Dad reaches out to tuck a strand of hair that has fallen loose from her ponytail. She holds his palm and, bringing it to her lips, kisses it. Oh! No! Are they going to start smooching again? Ugh! It looks gross. But they seem to like it. I wonder what it feels like to touch someone else's lips.

Dad gets to his feet and holds out his hand. Mum takes it and they walk into their bedroom. The door shuts quietly behind them.

Can love tear at you so much? If it can hurt so much then I am never going to fall in love. Not easily.

ELEVEN

Guess my parents must have made up after all, for soon after this, my little sister is born. Seema brings with her a strange calm. The entire family rallies around her. She brings us together once more. Suddenly her needs are more pressing than anything else. Dad and Mum seem to bury their past, forgetting the third person who had come between them in their relationship. As for me …?
 

The first time I lift Seema in my arms, I completely fall for her. Such a little doll she is, small and pink. Her eyes are shut, and when I carry her I feel her heart beat rapidly. It's as if she has a little toy train inside of her, constantly running to get to the next station. I touch her cheek and she opens her eyes. They are an orange-brown, amber in colour. Just like mine. It's like she can see right through to my soul. She smiles at me, wrapping her little fingers around my thumb. I know I am her slave for life. My little sister.
 

Mum will not let Vishal near Seema. But I can tell the baby fascinates him. He watches from afar, and when he thinks no one is watching, he peers into her crib. He touches her cheek and places his favourite dog-eared teddy bear next to her. It's the only toy he'd brought with him when he arrived.

He's really taken with her.

For once, both my bro and me feel the same way.
 

***

One evening towards the end of summer, just before the first monsoons hit the city, we head out to the aquarium. It's our first family outing with Seema. Things are still peaceful enough between Mum and Dad. Vishal and I have called a cautious truce … which basically comes down to each of us pretending the other does not exist.
 

That suits me just fine.
 

Vishal is just a year younger than me, but to my eleven-year-old self he feels young and immature. He's just a kid. And he's shorter than me. But when we fight I feel the strength in his body. He's sturdier than me.

The aquarium has always been one of my favourite places in the city. It's quiet, and serene, with the silent shapes of fishes gliding through the water. There's something quite hypnotic about peering through the large glass windows and into the underwater world that you would never guess existed. The giant jellyfish is my favourite. Its umbrella-shaped body pulsates as it swims through the water with tentacles trailing the length of the glass screen of its tank. I stand there entranced by their gelatine-like, squishy, orange-coloured, almost transparent bodies. There are two in this tank immersed in a silent waltz. One leads and the other follows.
 

Mum's voice cuts through my jelly-shaped coma. "Seema, where is she?" I look at the pram placed between us, to find it empty.

Mum sinks to her knees, pushing back the white cover with red hearts which had, till a few seconds earlier, covered my little sister. She peels off the material as if hoping to find Seema crawling below the fabric then turns the pram upside down so the rattle and the red teddy bear—her constant companion—bounce off the floor with a jingle and a squeak. By now Mum is beyond frantic. She turns to me and hugs me tight, squeezing the breath out of me. Putting her head on my shoulder, she weeps. It's the first time someone has turned to me for comfort. I don't realise it then, but this sets the tone for my life. Vikram, the one who stays strong, who others can lean on, the one who everyone can depend on in times of distress.
 

Who do I turn to?
 

"Stay with your mother, Vikram. Take care of her," Dad tells me, and grabbing Vishal, he hurries up the corridor, past the octopus next door and the seahorses clinging to the surface of their tanks. He peeks into one of the prams as he passes, scaring the women. I can hear him apologising profusely as he does so. When he touches the baby on the shoulder of another woman, she raises an alarm. It brings her husband to her rescue, and soon a small crowd gathers around them. While Dad tries to placate the gathering, Vishal slips out through a gap in the opening and continues up the corridor. I see his figure disappearing around the bend.
 

It's my cue to follow.
 

There is no reason for me to feel so competitive about this. But I can't help it. I can't let my little brother get the better of me. I need to do something to find Seema. I tug at Mum's
saree
. She's still crying, her eyes following Dad's progress with anxious eyes. "Let me go look for her," I say, and take off running behind Vishal, her—"Be careful"—following in my wake.