“Hello?” I say as everyone watches me, dead silent.
“Krishna Kumar.” Oops. It’s never a good sign when your parents call you by your full name. I wince, while Varun mimes getting his throat slit. I quickly lower the volume of the call so they can’t hear whatever Mummy’s going to say next. “Do you not think it necessary to let your mother know you’re alive?”
I’m not really the call-my-parents-every-day sort, but Mummy’s reaction is justified because I haven’t texted or called her since before the house party.
“Sorry, Mummy Ji,” I say, biting my tongue. “I lost track of time.”
“So much time that you couldn’t even drop a text saying you’re okay? Do you know how worried Papa and I have been?”
“I know, I’m sorry. I just—”
“And what is this Nani has been telling me about you going off to a camping trip with Priti?”
“It’s this field-trip thingy organized by V. G. Vaze,” I say, sticking to the story Priti and I told Nani. “When Priti found out my flight was postponed, she asked if I wanted to join her. Her friend’s on the volunteer team, so she was able to get me a ticket.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it earlier?” Mummy demands.
“It was very last-minute. I—erm—forgot?”
“Or you knew there was a chance I’d refuse to let you go and risk missing your flight, so you decided the best thing to do would be to let Nani know, go off on the trip, and get scolded by me later.”
Damn it. I’m not even surprised she can read me sowell. She’s my mom, after all. That, and I’m a terrible liar.
I give in, realizing there’s no point in lying further. Like I said, I sort of suck at it. “I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me.” Just to be safe, I add, “I got into JHU.”
Mummy snorts. “???????? ?????!*How many times will you use that excuse?”
I smile cheekily, even though she can’t see me. “As long as it continues to work.”
“Well, this is the last pass you get. All right?”
“Noted.”
“Also...” Mummy’s voice is laced with curiosity. “How come Priti took you along? Have you two finally resolved your issues?”
I glance once at the others, who are either listening to music on their earphones or talking in low voices. “Not really, but since she was going, I guess she thought it’d be rude to leave me behind. Or maybe Mausi told her to take me along; I don’t know.”
“The latter seems more believable,” Mummy grumbles. Even though she adores Mausi, she’s never really liked Priti. I mean, most of my relatives don’t, but their reasons are rooted in bigotry, unlike Mummy’s.
They find Priti rebellious and arrogant—which are labels plastered on every Indian girl who isn’t a vision of purity or obedient of every rule and restriction her family sets for her. Priti’s septum piercing, outfits, nape tattoo, and dark complexion never really helped either.
I’ve heard the comments aunties have made about her being????? ?????,*too garish, too bold, too shameless. Honestly, it’s all part of the reason why I’ve always admired her so much, especially when she turned up at that one wedding in a glittery black lehenga choli that exposed way more of her dark torso than it covered, hair pinned up so her tattoo was visible for everyone to see, and makeup so bold it completed the most daringFUCK YOUfit I’d ever seen.
Mummy’s not like them. She doesn’t like Priti because of how she’s treatedme.She knows how much Priti’s jibes and taunting have affected me over the years, how difficult it has been for me to set it all aside and still look forward to my vacations in India. She knows how much I cried that one time Priti told me I couldn’t wear a nath because I was American now.
I know for a fact Priti isn’t the problematic person she’d like me to believe. Someone who goes so out of their way to be a misfit in a society that’s quick to judge yet continues to hold their head high isn’t someone who’d harbor the belief that a diaspora kid like me isn’t Indian enough.
Priti said all that not because she meant it but becauseshe knows my weak spots, knows exactly what to say to hurt me the most.
That doesn’t make any of what she saidright,but the more I get to know Priti again and see how much she’s been hiding from everyone, the more I’m beginning to understand.
“She’s been better this time, Mummy,” I say, unable to believe I’m defending her as the words leave my mouth. “I don’t think we’re going to go back to being best friends, but it’s better than it has been.”
“That’s good to hear,” Mummy says, her voice softening. “Don’t let her get to you, okay, baccha? You know she doesn’t mean whatever she says. She just wants to trigger you. Mausi told us long back, remember?
“When we moved, she thought you had become too cool for her, and she mocked you for the very thing she was insecure about. It was her defense mechanism. But she was just a child then. Now that she’s growing up, things are bound to improve because she’s maturing. Give your relationship time and space to breathe.
“Sometimes, just the passage of time is enough to heal a wound. People think addressing the issue helps solve any problem, but that can trigger the wound instead of putting a salve to it. If you let the wound breathe, it’ll learn to heal on its own. It’ll be slow, but nothing comes without patience, hmm?”
