We were close and closed at the same time.
Ravi walked in some 10 minutes later, looking dapper in a khaki shirt. Our regular waiter was doing cartwheels around him.
‘Ma’am is already here, sir. She came very early, sir.’
I wished he’d shut up and make himself scarce, I had a headache already. But he was so bent on impressing Ravi that he sent a dessert plate crashing to the floor, and with it, a slice of the chocolate ganache cake he was carrying. Ravi was his gentle self, telling him to be careful the next time.
I wondered if Ravi had trained himself to be this way, as a quasi-public figure. His actions a reaction to his status. Measured. Hari Rao wouldn’t have entertained headlines like ‘Grandson in a Tiff’, ‘Drunk Grandson in the Gutter’, or like the tabloids might say, ‘GrandDope’. He was so relaxed about most things, it was near impossible to get a reaction out of him. Maybe that’s why I was on the edge. What I had to say could cause him to explode – that carefully cultivated image blowing up and falling around us.
‘So, how did the campaign trail go? Your first one, right?’
I nodded. I didn’t have an answer to the first part of the question. ‘How come you weren’t there?’ I asked.
‘Where?’ he asked, sitting back in his chair.
In Malavalli. In Mandya. In Maddur. In Mysuru. My query had surprised him.
‘Campaigning with your grandfather, rallying the troops,’ I said, not sure why I had chosen this moment to take it to him. ‘He’s old; he could’ve done with some help maybe.’ I couldn’t stop myself.
Our coffees arrived without us having ordered. They came with a large serving of orange and dark chocolatecookies that looked like bird droppings. I reached for one. I was hungry; I hadn’t eaten during whatever part of the day I had already seen.
‘If he wanted me there, he’d have told me.’
‘And you’d be there?’
‘To support him? Yeah, sure.’
So the only reason he wasn’t with his 70-something grandfather in the midst of an election campaign was because he hadn’t asked him to be there. I chewed on the cookie; it tasted better than it looked.
It bothered me that Ravi wasn’t with his grandfather in Mysuru. I tried to brush it aside, but it found a way to surface. Maybe it was because of what I shared with my parents, and now with my father. I know all relationships are not the same and not everybody is as fortunate as I am with the DNA lottery, but caring is a choice.
‘How is he? All okay health-wise?’
‘Yeah.’ It was a dry response.
Andrew didn’t like talking about his family, and neither did Ravi. If the men I mingled with were to be categorized, it was guys with ambiguous ancestry.
‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ Ravi asked. ‘He drove? You went with him?’
That was a fair comeback. Caring or not, I had crossed lines.
But how did he know I had driven with Andrew? I had told him I was going with Andrew, but we may have taken an office car, more of our colleagues could’ve been around, even driven us.
‘My grandfather told me.’
Ravi had told me that he had spoken to his grandfather about us. He had shown him pictures, too, obviously. How much of Andrew and me had Hari Rao noticed?
This was pointless. It was not why I had asked Ravi to meet me today. I was playing for time I didn’t need.
‘Ravi,’ I said abruptly, ‘we need to talk about us.’ I was looking down at the tiles. I felt a chill in my bones.
‘My favourite topic,’ he said.
I took a sip from my cup. I held it for a bit. I was comforted by its warmth. ‘I want out.’ I heard my voice shake. My heart was hammering My pulse was exploding.
I could’ve said, ‘I love you, but I am not sure if I’m in love with you.’ Or, ‘I feel for you as a friend and not a boyfriend.’ Both of these were true, but I pulled out the scissor instead.
‘Want out?’ Ravi barked. His eyes were all over me, and his mouth was open.
