‘We should do it, right?’
‘Not that you have been active on your account in six months,’ he says.
‘But doing it would mean this is something serious.’
‘Isn’t it serious?’ he asks.
It is, of course. He’s the one I reach out to, whether I’m riding the high of good news or grappling with the low of bad; whether I’m faced with something terrible or a minor inconvenience, when I find a crazy good book, a trashy TV show, or when I accidentally make the best biryani in the world. He’s my solace when I find myself struggling with loneliness and feel uncared for. In the last six months, he’s always there, a constant, someone who doesn’t let my phone get to the third ring. And he’s not shy to remind me that I’ve been there for him too, and that’s new for me.
‘Come to Phuket with me,’ I tell him.
‘It’s Vanita and your trip. I don’t want to impose.’
‘Vanita’s the coolest person I know. She won’t mind,’ I say. I meet his gaze, steady and sure. ‘I want you to come. She would want to know who I’m considering.’
‘Or is it going to be a test?’
‘More like a discussion. By the way, I asked her to not marry the guy she’s married to.’
‘Aditya.’
‘You remember?’
‘Of course. I have seen the pictures. You looked great by the way. I have told you that before, haven’t I?’
‘You have,’ I say, finding myself blushing a little. ‘But come. The flights are super cheap right now, I checked. If all three of us are going, we can get, like, a connected room, it will be cheaper.’
He hesitates, and then says, ‘Investor meetings. Or you know I would have come.’
‘You better be free every day when I get back,’ I tell him. ‘Ionly have a little time before I go back to the States.’
‘I’ll be here,’ he says with his movie-star smile and reaches out, his fingers brushing mine. ‘We have lots to talk about. It’s scary, but it’s interesting.’
I like how he reflects precisely how I feel. Two years ago when I landed in a country that wasn’t mine, how intense the feeling of being alone can be hit me for the first time. Everyone who knew who you were, what your story is, is no longer with you. Your existence has to be explained to an entirely new set of people who may or may not choose to accept you. Of course, Ifought this feeling because everyone had warned me and I had waved them off. How difficult can it be to build a new family, new connections, a new life? I won, too. I made friends and I built a life, and I was mostly happy. But something nagged at me. I have tried to sugarcoat it, but the truth is, I want something to be just my own. A world that’s just mine. A life that’s more than just me. Every time I have said this, old versions of me have pointed at me and laughed. Those parts of me were right, they had to survive, and what I feel now is right, too, because I need to thrive.
‘We will figure it out,’ he says and holds my hand.
A warmth spreads through me, surprising in its intensity. Ididn’t expect this when I came back to India—Saket, a guy who was just a profile picture, a few lines of text, a pixelated face, and now, undeniably, so much more.
3.
Daksh Dey
‘You’re literally the worst Dada in the world!’
The cult of Dada is slipping. These days, I’m training myself to disregard Rabbani’s hateful sentences. I file them under ‘Temporary opinions formed in moments of insanity’ and not ‘Facts’. She’s eleven, still two years away from the dreaded teens, but her mind and her attitude have raced ahead. But I’m prepared. I’m Teflon now. Nothing sticks.
‘Worse than even Ptolemy was to Cleopatra?’
‘No one’s interested in your history lesson,’ she says and turns dramatically towards Baba. ‘Who’s he to give me permission to go on a school trip? You can also sign!’
She waves the permission slip in the air.
Baba looks up from the prosthetic leg he’s polishing and shakes his head. ‘I agree with your Dada. Eleven-year-olds don’t need to go on a trip.’
‘Then why are Naman and Nishant going? They are ten-year-olds. They are practically infants compared to me.’
‘All those books and you keep using “literally” and “practically” in every sentence,’ I point out.
