‘Take Arundhati inside. Show her your books,’ said Maa to me and her. ‘Go, now! Don’t be shy.’
‘I’m not being shy,’ I said. ‘I just . . . Do you want to?’
‘Okay,’ said Arundhati and smiled.
Maa–Baba have the knack of making the most mundane things awkward. Do they not sense our shame or our consent? No, Maa, I don’t want to recite a poem to these strangers. No, I don’t want to dance in front of them. Don’t you know they are not interested? Why are you so obsessed with your sons, Maa?
Arundhati Bhattacharya put her book aside and followed me to my room.
‘These are the books,’ I said, pointing at them.
‘Hmm. I thought there will be more.’ She flipped through the books, opening them, going through them and then telling me, ‘I have them all.’
‘Do you haveThe God of Small Things? The author shares—’
‘I know. She’s the best, isn’t she? Like me,’ said Arundhati with a bright smile. ‘You can borrow a few books from me if you want. I have a nice collection. But do return them and don’t dog-ear them.’
‘I have my course books to finish. Baba ordered the IIT material so I need to do that too in my free time.’
‘IIT material, already? Isn’t that a little early?’
‘The exam is in two years. They think there is not much time.’
‘Is that what you want to do? Engineering?’ she asked.
‘No one will approve of what I really want to do.’
‘And what’s that?’
Yeah, right. As if I could tell her.
‘I am not sure if I want to do what I really want to do. So I think engineering it is for now.’
‘My parents would love to adopt you and your brother. They were devastated when I took humanities. They think I am ruining my life. But I won’t know until I try, will I?’
‘Which school have you joined?’
‘Model School. I have not seen the school yet. What’s the school like? Is it good? Are there cute boys there?’
From what I have heard, it’s a school of geniuses or children who find drugs rather easily. Our conversation was cut short when Uncle entered and told Arundhati that it was time to leave.
‘It was nice to meet you.’ She shook my hand firmly, smiled warmly and left.
I polished off the samosas and the namkeen left behind by our guests. By now Maa’s opinion of her had changed. There was no longer a glint in her eyes. I chose not to tell her about Arundhati’s query about cute boys.
‘She was beautiful, wasn’t she?’ she asked me.
‘She was okay.’
‘She must be bad in studies though. She’s taken humanities like Paula Aunty’s son. Remember Paula Aunty? Her son did English honours and is now working in advertising for 5000 rupees. He’s twenty-eight.Chee chee. And look at your Dada, already doing so well.’
‘Maa?’
‘Yes,shona?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Is there something you want to tell me, Raghu?’
