I‘m no longer Mumma’s favourite child because well, I’m no longer a child, and I don’t get the unconditional, all-consuming love Rabbani gets from Maa. When Maa got pregnant with Rabbani when I was seventeen, I was almost immediately expected to assume the role of a responsible older brother. I love being Rabbani’s brother, but it would have been nice to continue to be a child as well. With Baba, nothing changed. Our relationship has always been a three-step loop. 1. Baba suggests. 2. I accept/reject the suggestion. 3. Baba is proud/disappointed.
Mumma turns to me. ‘What are you thinking of doing today? You were saying you will go kayaking—are you?’
She points at the people congregating at the beach side for the activity.
‘I’m thinking about it.’
‘Don’t waste the vacation because of a girl.’
‘Mumma,yaar—’
‘Maybe it’s good that it ended.’
‘It’s not ended.’
‘We told you earlier only. Anyway, how long could she have hidden it from her parents? Sooner or later, this had to happen. I’m just surprised it lasted three months.’
Sameeksha is the first girl I told Mumma about. I felt as though I was finally on to something, as though she was the one. Now I know telling her was a mistake.
Mumma realizes the conversation is a dead pursuit.
‘Daksh?’ She points to the distance. ‘Isn’t that the girl you were talking to yesterday morning?’
Standing in the serpentine queue on the beach, I see Aanchal and Gaurav with life jackets strapped on, getting ready for kayaking.
‘The girl’s beautiful,’ Mumma observes.
‘Mumma, yaar.’
‘What? She is beautiful, look at her face!’
‘Everything is not about looks, Mumma.’
‘If everything is not about looks, what did you see in Sameeksha?’
‘She’s a good person,’ I tell Mumma.
‘If she was that good, she would tell her parents and not hide you,’ argues Mumma. ‘Make-up videos she can share all day on social media but not a single picture of you. Why?’
‘Mumma, yaar . . . I am leaving!’ I get up.
I hear Mumma grumble how Sameeksha was a mistake from the get-go, a vixen, a siren who ensnared her son with her large breasts. I won’t lie: her large breasts were a part of the equation. I run towards the line of people now being led towards their kayaks. Gaurav and Aanchal are clicking pictures of each other.
‘Hey, Gaurav!’ I call out. ‘Give me the phone. I will take a picture of you guys together.’
He looks at Aanchal for permission and when she nods, gives the phone to me. I frame them against the water.
‘Guys, you need to do something. The kayak looks like a dead body you’re posing with. Do something fun.’
‘Like this?’ asks Aanchal, raising a V sign.
‘Something more fun. Okay, so Aanchal, you can pretend that you’re hitting him with the oar, and Gaurav you can, like, jump backwards as if you’re trying to escape. I will try to capture it when you’re in mid-air.’
‘No,’ moans the joyless Gaurav.
‘Do it!’ exhorts Aanchal excitedly. Her bright eyes and open smile are more summery than summer itself. When I look at her through the screen of the phone I feel sad for her because no camera will catch the depth of her eyes, the poetic fall of her eyelashes and her gentle movements.
Gaurav is as stiff as a plank in the beginning but slowly loosens up and does better.
