‘Saale,’ Raghav roars, the word ripping out of him, ‘if you were in front of me, I would have slapped you!’
‘I’m your father!’ his father says and speaks to someone near him. ‘You asked me to call him and you see how he’s talking—’
‘Maa chuda le, chutiye!’ he screams, all control gone. ‘I don’t care who the fuck you are! Why the fuck did you call me?’
‘Look at you! Look at what that girl has done to you!’
A guttural roar of pure agony tears from Raghav’s throat. ‘SHE IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU! Just fuck off! Just fuck offf!’ he screams into the phone and then throws it with all hismight.
It shatters on the ground. He stumbles towards the pieces and stomps on them again and again. He paces the length of the narrow alley, once, twice, a caged animal.
‘FUCK!’ he screams.
He looks like he wants to punch a wall, to scream, to shatter something. And then suddenly, he slumps on the ground, all the fight gone, and just cries. Before I can centre myself to sit down with him, he gets up and wipes his tears as if nothing happened.
‘Raghav,’ I say.
He turns to me. ‘This is what they do. this is family... this is the fucking thing that Karan Johar makes movies about. Let’sleave.’
I nod. And then turn away from him and towards the scooter. ‘Yes, let’s go.’
Without a word, he walks back to the scooter and gets on. I climb on behind him, my arms wrapping tightly around his waist. It’s not a gentle hold. He kicks the engine to life. We drive out of the alley and on to the road. He’s driving too fast, the wind whipping my hair. The world becomes a blur of lights and shadows. It feels like an escape. A desperate escape. Or maybe there’s no escape at all. Maybe we shouldn’t have come.
25
Raghav
The scooter’s engine is a high-pitched cough. It’s the only time I have wished for an internal combustion engine to blow up. My hands are gripped tightly on the handlebars, as I push the small engine faster than it’s meant to go. I should slow down because this is stupid. And I’m trying my best to do it... but... Each gust of air slaps my face like my father’s voice—chinki—that word he threw out intentionally, meant to hurt me, to hurt her. Even after her death. It’s fucked up that for all the deeply flawed and unkind people we see in the world, there’s no barrier preventing them from becoming parents. Behind me, Aditi is a solid, grounding weight. Her arms are wrapped tight around my waist, her helmet pressed against my back. She isn’t screaming or telling me to slow down. Maybe she’s scared she will slip off. Little does she know, right now, she’s an anchor. The only thing keeping me from flying apart. The rage burns hot. But no fire burns forever. Eventually, it flickers and sputters, and I find myself tired. My arms ache. My head throbs. My eyes burn from the wind. The speed looks dumber. I ease up and drive to the side. I kill the engine. The silence is immense. Deafening, almost. We are out of the city, on a small hill of some sort. When I look into the distance, I see the crash of waves far below.
Aditi gets off the scooter slowly, steadying herself. I should apologize to her, but I can’t muster the strength. She pulls off her helmet. She doesn’t look at me. Just walks to the low stone wall at the edge of the cliff and sits there. I stay by the bike, mylegs trembling, my fingers paining from how tightly I’d gripped the throttle.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, my voice unsteady, my body still vibrating with leftover anger. Shame prickles under my skin. For losing control. For dragging her into this. ‘I shouldn’t have driven this fast.’
She doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t speak for a while. Then, she looks back at me, smiles and says, ‘Tejal was right about one thing. I have been suicidal since that day,’ she says sadly. ‘... but a part of me knew that I would never do it. Today, I was sure of it.’
I breathe a little easy hearing her voice. ‘All the more reason I shouldn’t have driven this fast.’
She shakes her head. ‘It’s not your fault, Raghav. I heard him... it reminded me of my family. Of how they were. Of how they are. I’m sorry you had to go through whatever you had to.’
I walk up to her and sit next to her. ‘It never stopped,’ I say. ‘It was just fucking constant. The humiliation. The jibes. The shitty things they said. After they said they would never accept her. I kind of lied to them that I would think about it... I just thought they would come around...’
‘They never do, do they?’
‘They would send pictures of her in family WhatsApp groups,’ I tell her. ‘... make fun of her people. Racist slurs. Some uncles would say at least I had practice on her. Can you imagine it? Grown men!’
My throat tightens. The memory rises like bile.
She keeps her hand on me. ‘That’s terrible.’
‘What can I do, right? Fucking family.’
She shakes her head. ‘You know what my breaking pointwas?’
I turn to look at her. Her eyes are glazed over.
She continues, ‘When my Jiju slapped me. At their house too. Not even mine. And when I cried, he slapped me once more. In front of strangers, he slapped me. My parents, my brothers, my Bhaiya. Like I was nothing. Like he owned me. Like who the fuck was he? How could he slap me? But he could. That just broke me.’
‘Fuck him.’
