‘Why not?’
‘Because you can’t.’
Dada frowned. ‘Shut up and come here with my office bag. Close the door first. I want to show you something. Get me my office bag. It’s in the cupboard.’
From the bag he took out his PowerBook and clicked through to a folder. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked and clicked on a little icon.
‘I’m not ready for anything.’
The screen slowly filled out in a picture.
‘What is this?’
It was taken from a digital camera, not like the usual ones with reels. With digital cameras, you get multiple shots at looking happy or sad. But in the picture Dada stood awkwardly next to a girl who was clad from head to toe in black—only her face was visible through her burqa.
‘She’s Zubeida Quaze, the girl I told you about. Isn’t she beautiful? You should meet her. I think both of you will get along like a house on fire. She’s quite—’
‘She wears a burqa, Dada.’
‘Oh yes, she does. So does everyone in her family. It adds so much mystery, doesn’t it? I have more pictures of ours if you want to see. She gives me hell when I ask her to—’
I shoved the PowerBook away.
‘I don’t want to see any more of her pictures! And delete them! I’m going to tell Maa–Baba everything. She’s the reason why you’re going to Bangalore, isn’t it?’
‘No?’
‘Are you out of your mind—’
Before I could reach the door, Dada held my hand and pulled me away from it.
‘Dada, let me—’
Dada struck me. His slap stung my face like a million bees. Before I could register the assault, he had pulled me close and hugged me. ‘Look, Raghu, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hit you but you can’t tell Maa–Baba anything.’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘Didn’t I tell you? This is our secret. I will tell them when the time is right. Don’t spoil it before anything happens, okay? I like Zubeida. I really do. Just the way I like you. She’s very important to me.’
Just the way I like you?I freed myself from his grasp.
‘I’m your brother, Dada. We are your family; your responsibilities are towards me, towards this family. I won’t tell Maa–Baba today but if you don’t tell them soon enough, I will. Baba needs to know what you have done. You have to come back.’
I left the room.
6 April 1999
Brahmi’s eyes were murderous, fists clenched and she was waiting for me. Without any prelude, she shot out the question that must have been bubbling inside her since last night. ‘Did you call on my phone yesterday?’
‘Me? No! Why would I? I don’t call anyone.’
‘Someone called four times at my house yesterday.’
‘It wasn’t me.’
‘There was no voice on the other side!’
‘I don’t even have your number. Also I have to ask Maa before calling anyone. So it can’t be me.’
