What?
‘What?’
‘As if you don’t know,’ she says in a cold voice and leans against the wall. She’s pretending to read the book, but I know she doesn’t want to talk to me.
‘I don’t, actually,’ I say.
She doesn’t respond. I watch the floors pass by slowly as the lift descends. A part of me wants to stay quiet and escape from this conversation; another part of me desperately wants her to like me even though I never did before, when she was younger; another part wants her to elaborate on how Daksh is still in love with me. She can’t just say that and stop talking.
‘So, computers, right?’ I say to lighten the mood.
‘Gaming,’ she answers dryly. ‘I would like to make them one day. That’s where the real money is. Not what Gaurav used to do.’
Every answer of hers is an invitation to end the conversation so I decide to stay quiet.
Suddenly, she looks directly at me with piercing eyes and says simply, ‘Aanchal? Don’t hurt my brother again.’
‘Firstly, I think you should call me Didi. The age difference is considerable.’
‘We don’t have to be civil about this. You didn’t like me as a kid, I know that already. So why are you even pretending?’
‘We all change,’ I argue.
‘It’s because of you I had to leave Amruta and my brothers... anyway.’
The lift stops.
‘Later,’ she says.
Before I can say anything, the lift doors open, and she walks out with an energy only teenagers can muster. I wonder if there would be any right time to tell Rabbani that I love her brother. I wonder if there’s any truth in what Rabbani just said.
8.
Daksh Dey
Mata Rani Bikes is a cluster of small shops lined next to each other in Sector 11 Dwarka. It had started with one and then the owner, Manoj, kept outsmarting the competition next to him. Today, we are fixing panniers to my motorcycle for the long ride that’s going to come. The air is thick with the smell of oil and petrol, and the sound of the machines and tools working on my motorcycle. Next to my 1250 GS, two mechanics are working on a Triumph Tiger. It’s what Jagath and Zeenath are going to ride. I had been undecided for a long time about joining them for the ride. But seeing Gaurav handle himself so well after being released from the rehabilitation centre has given me the confidence to leave him with his family. We misjudged just how much Gaurav needs us. He’s eating well, sleeping well and looks happy. Right now, he’s firmly in Tejal’s grasp, like a loyal pup listening to its kind master, following her every instruction. I’m happy for him. In a different world, Jagath, Zeenath, Gaurav and I would be riding our motorcycles together. Unfortunately, that will have to wait.
‘You can’t just stand here the whole time,’ Manoj says to me. ‘It’s your motorcycle, not your girlfriend. We aren’t going to fuck it.’
‘The welds are too big, don’t need them. And secondly, you’re a father of two, Manoj, some grace would be nice. And of course, I’m going to stay here till you finish the work. Can’t be stuck on a road in Italy and curse you guys.’
Manoj shrugs, goes to the front of the shop and starts to make conversation with the waiting customers.
I hear a familiar voice.
‘Any helmet would do,’ I hear the voice say.
I turn to see Aanchal sitting on a parked steel-grey Honda Activa. Manoj dangles a pink helmet in one hand and a yellow one in the other, in front of her. She shakes her head and asks for a darker colour.
‘Take a carbon fibre helmet,’ I offer. ‘That’s what saved me from your brother.’
She looks up and sees me. Then she turns to Manoj and asks for carbon fibre.
‘You have become a cliché, Daksh,’ she says, pointing to my motorcycle behind me. ‘You left your wife, you bought this bike, next you will get a tattoo.’
‘Any suggestions?’
‘Get a scorpion, or Chinese lettering, something extremely wannabe,’ she says.
