‘Are you going to get him back?’
It was I who wanted to squeal with joy. In that split second, I imagined a future—like I always do—of Dada, Boudi, that little kid, and Brahmi, who in my version chooses to shift to our house rather than Vedant’s.
‘Stop asking questions! I’m late! Move!’ She slapped me on the back. Before I could react, she pulled me close. She held my face and apologized.
‘Will you let Boudi come here too?’
‘I don’t know if Baba will ever allow him in this house but how long can a mother stay away from her son? But till the time I’m not here you need to listen to Baba, okay? You need to do everything that he tells you. Now help me close this suitcase. Yes, like that. I will be back soon.’
I revelled in seeing Baba’s stricken face when I told him that Maa had left. He stood there dumbstruck, like the cat got his tongue. He disappeared inside the kitchen and cooked dinner for himself and for me. We ate early, after which Bhattacharya Uncle came over. They both drank from the bottle Bhattacharya Uncle had got. Later Baba slept on the couch, quite restless without his partner in crime.
14 August 1999
Brahmi was back in school but not for long if her plan was to work out. I could tell she was getting a little put off by my incessant questions about Vedant when she seemed to be in a jolly mood. Brahmi and I had stayed back in the school and were waiting for Vedant. He was already an hour late which tells a lot about a person. He could be Mother Teresa and I would still hate him for wresting away from me the opportunity to be her hero.
‘He ran away from his house a year ago,’ she explained about Vedant. ‘He has not been in touch with his family ever since. He now lives alone.’
We had been waiting for him at the reception for an hour when he walked in. Brahmi smiled brightly when she saw him. He scooped Brahmi up in his arms with a flourish and kissed her on the cheek. There was something overwhelmingly positive about him.
‘Who’s he?’ asked Vedant the second he saw me.
‘Raghu. We are in the same class,’ explained Brahmi.
He sized me up. I didn’t hold his interest for long. He turned back to her and said, ‘How have you been? Sorry, I couldn’t be in touch. I wanted to but you know how it has been . . .’
‘I know,’ said Brahmi.
‘It’s been a year since I have seen anyone from my family. It’s so good to see you. And how tall you’ve grown. Look at you!’ Vedant said and held her hand. He looked at me and told me what I already knew. ‘I failed my twelfth grade and Papa would have wanted me to sit at his stupid little paint shop. Who wants to do that shit, right?’
Vedant, with his nice shirt and shiny sunglasses, would have been a misfit in any paint shop, little or big, stupid or not.Who wants to do that shit, right?There was a way he said it, with a sense of danger and style. I can still hear it my ears; I am murmuring it right now. He said it with the slight accent of someone who only talks in English.
‘I’m working at a call centre in Gurgaon. It’s a shit place to live in but the job is good, pays me Rs 8000. They pick me up in a cab at night and drop me home in the morning. I sell insurance to the Americans. It’s an easy job. Once you’ve sold an extra litre of paint to a Marwari businessman, there’s nothing you can’t sell. It’s the next big thing.’ He lit a cigarette. The guard asked him to put it out. He continued, ‘I got in early. I could be a lead soon. I will show my stupid family what I can do. They didn’t even ask me for my tenth certificate. I’m going to be really big.’
Brahmi and I stared at him, dumbfounded, a little appalled at his optimism.
‘They train you for a month. You will be as good as me,’ he told Brahmi.
We sat and listened attentively to his stories of achievement, debauchery and how he was successfully beating the system. Seeing him, the years of engineering seemed pointless.
‘Keep your bags ready,’ he said before leaving.
Brahmi hugged him and her eyes were little pools of tears.
‘It’s a good plan,’ I told her later, not wanting to dull her smile. ‘But your parents?’
‘They will understand,’ she said.
With that, I gave up that line of questioning her escape plan.
Baba came back home with a big ilish fish.
‘I used to cut fish myself when I was your age. That’s the key to how it tastes later. Come, I will teach you. It will be the best fish you have ever tasted,’ said Baba.
I had about ten comebacks for him, each more biting than the last, making up for all they had made me endure in the past few weeks.
Instead I instantly forgave him and prepared the fish with him. Every once in a while he would call out Maa’s name. The empty echoes would remind him of Maa’s absence and he would turn pale. The fish preparation turned out to be bland, nothing like what he had initially bragged about. The two of sat us in the living room and watched TV. Maa’s absence and our swift reconciliation hung in the air. I was not sure I had completely forgiven Baba so I put him to the test.
‘Baba? My friend Brahmi needs some money. Could we spare some?’ I asked.
