‘Am I the only person you’re calling to ask that or are Sahil and Rishab calling too?’
‘Why is that even a question?’ she asked.
‘So it’s just me?’
‘Just you, Raghu. Just you.’
At 11.50 p.m., I checked on Maa–Baba. Then I tiptoed to the drawing room and called her. She picked up midway through the first ring.
‘Happy birthday in advance! May you have the best year possible,’ I whispered into the receiver.
There was silence.
‘Are you crying?’
‘Why would I cry? It’s my birthday,’ she said.
‘So happy birthday!’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered back.
‘There are still three minutes to go.’
‘Can I cut the call after a minute? Will you call again? I don’t want Tauji–Taiji to think it’s a long call,’ she whispered.
I cut and called her again. She called me Naina this time and thanked me for calling her.
‘You sound sad. Why is that?’
‘I have been wished for the first time in ten years. Mumma–Papa are never home on my birthdays.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘Bombay.’
‘But they will surely call?’
‘I should cut the call now. Can you call again?’
There were fifteen more calls after that one that I made to her. Every time I was a different girl. At 12.30 a.m., I heard Taiji scream for her to disconnect the call. Before I could ask her if I should come see her, the line was cut. At 2 a.m., I was below her house waiting for light to come on in her room. The window stayed shut but on the glass was a paper with a note scribbled in black sketch pen. THANK YOU. I waited for three hours for her and came back. She had told me to not worry if something like this happened.
I came back cursing her parents for skimping on STD calls. When I sneaked in, I saw Maa on the sofa, staring dead straight at me. She didn’t even bother with an entire sentence.
‘Brahmi?’
I nodded.
‘You won’t go from tomorrow. I don’t want people seeing my son sneak out in the middle of the night to meet a girl. If you have to live in this house, there are certain rules you have to follow. There’s plenty of time in school. There’s no need to go in the night to meet her. And what kind of parents does she have who allow this?’
Maa didn’t wait for an answer. She got up and left.
There’s no way I’m not sneaking out tomorrow. I have inherited my self-preservation streak from Maa.
2 August 1999
Dada and I had been on the receiving end of quite a few beatings, he more than me. Being the academically weaker one, he was the one who was often chastised for low marks, suspensions and unfinished practical files. Though I detested it, I am for the parents’ and teachers’ right to slap a child. Though, sometimes there comes along a teacher like Raman Verma; he teaches mathematics to eleventh and twelfth graders. He is the weapon of choice our principal uses to rein in students and dole out disciplinary beatings. He pulls guys by their belts and smacks them right across their faces. I have borne the brunt of it once for unpolished shoes.
It hurt for two days.
