‘So do you,’ I said.
‘When did you tell them?’
‘They just know I’m shifting and doing my studies through open school,’ she whispered.
‘What are you guys whispering? Let’s click pictures!’ said Arundhati. ‘Come here!’
Arundhati made me stand in between and linked her arm around me. She exhorted Brahmi to do the same. My heart fluttered and it shows in the picture that was clicked. Rishab’s parents met us and told us that the upper floor of the house was ours and we were free to do anything except break the showpieces. We all laughed and politely took their leave.
We huddled inside Rishab’s room.
We sat and talked and smoked and coughed and laughed. We made Arundhati sing for us and, by god, did she sing beautifully. Later, Rishab played his mixtapes, and Sahil and Arundhati—both fabulous dancers—showed off their moves. Brahmi smiled all through. She looked happy. Then we took turns to tell her how much we would miss her. The three hours we spent at Rishab’s passed in a flash. When it was time to leave I volunteered to drop Brahmi home. She changed into her regular home clothes and gave the saree she had borrowed from Arundhati back to her. In the auto, she thanked me for coming, told me she would miss this time and slept on my shoulder.
‘We are here,’ I said, tapping on her shoulder.
She woke up with a start.
‘Can I walk you home?’
She nodded.
She froze ten yards from her house.
‘No.’
This single ominous word escaped her lips.
Two adults, who I knew were her Tauji–Taiji, came charging at her. In a swift sequence of events which included a lot of cursing, shouting, slapping, her more than me, we were at her place. Their entire colony was watching—from their stairs, their windows, their balconies. She had been dragged by her hair, while I was given a more merciful treatment—they only pulled me by my hand. They pushed Brahmi into her room and locked it. Her Taiji was crying and her Tauji looked at me in angry silence.
‘WHEN WILL THIS GIRL STOP TROUBLING US?’ shouted her Taiji, pacing outside Brahmi’s room.
I scouted the area for pointy objects, things I could jam into the carotid arteries of her Tauji–Taiji and break her out of there.
Her Taiji disappeared inside a room for a few minutes and then dragged out a big bag.
‘She was planning to run away!’ shouted her Taiji and pointed at me. ‘Was she running away with you? Tell me or I will inform the police!’
Her Taiji passed a washing bat to him. Tauji kept it next to him.
I wanted to say, ‘So what, and yes, she was planning to run away with me because I love her and who else would be more deserving of her’, but the words died an early death in my throat.
‘Is she running with you? What are you? Twelve? ANSWER MY QUESTION, YOU BASTARD.’
‘Sixteen. I’m sixteen. Which twelve-year-old has a moustache,’ I said and her Taiji charged at me and slapped me across my face.
Indignant, I told her, ‘You slap me once more and you see what I do.’
At which point Tauji clenched the washing bat in his hand and pointed it at my face.
He said, ‘Beta, you don’t know who I am. It would be advisable if you tell us where you were taking her. Either you tell me or you tell the police.’
Who was he? Judging by the state of his house, he couldn’t be a powerful businessman or politician who could legitimately use that phrase.
‘Are you the police?’ I asked him.
‘I am an advocate at the Tis Hazari court. My friends in the police will make you disappear tomorrow and you won’t even see it coming,’ he said. ‘If I want it, you won’t see the light of day tomorrow, ladke. So open your mouth.’ He patted my face with the bat. He said, ‘Tell us where you were going with her?’
‘Uncle, with all due respect, I am not talking to you. If you can please call her parents I will tell them everything.’
