After the Storm (6 page)

‘Sir, you’re still in school?’ exclaimed Vicky.

‘I know,’ he replied. ‘I’ve come to collect the assignments that all of you submitted yesterday. But more importantly, what are
you
two doing here?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all, sir,’ said Mili, putting on her most innocent look and chewing her thumbnail.

‘Aren’t you late for tea?’

‘Yes, sir, we’re going, sir,’ replied Mili taking hold of Vicky’s hand and running towards the refectory. Oh, Lord Kishan, what was going to happen now?

‘Sweetheart,’ whispered Vicky, as soon as they were out of hearing, ‘we’re dead. Now he knows we made that drawing. Be prepared to be guillotined.’

Uncleji’s Tuck Shop. Strategically placed between STH and MP College, and hence the favourite haunt of most of the students studying there. Right next to the door stood an old piano, with its lid ripped off. Every now and then a student passing by would run his hands over the keys, adding to the cacophony. A quarter of the canteen was cordoned off by a low wall. Over the wall you could see Uncleji in his greasy vest frying pakoras in a giant wok and shouting at Bahadur to chop the vegetables faster.

Gurpreet lolled at his favourite corner table, watching the students as they walked in and out of the tuck shop in dribs and drabs.

‘Preeto …’ said Jatin.

‘Have some shame,’ said Gurpreet with mock horror. ‘Calling me “beloved” in public.’ He sighed theatrically. ‘Now, if only a girl could call me that – Preet … Preeto
– I’d be on top of the world,’ he said, as he slurped his tea noisily.

Jatin gave him a disgusted look. ‘No girl’s going to call you Preet unless you stop making those awful sounds.’ He yawned. ‘If the teachers had informed us there’d be no classes today, we wouldn’t have had to come to college on a lovely day like this,’ he grumbled.

‘What’s your problem?’ Gurpreet asked, gulping down the remnants of his cup. ‘Uncleji’s set up this lovely canteen for us. Just stay put. Be—’ He stopped speaking when he found a couple of eyes staring at him over the rim of a pair of glasses. She had a head full of short, curly hair and her glasses were bigger than Gandhi’s. But her eyes – they were hypnotic and he could not look away.

‘That blasted Angel has taken the last copy of the critical analysis of Keats’ odes. Now how will we study for the test?’ he heard her saying to her friend.

He walked over to their table. ‘Hello, I’m Gurpreet. I study in MP College and couldn’t help overhearing that you need a certain book on Keats. If you wish, I can get it from our college library.’

‘Oh, can you?’ Vicky asked, her eyes lighting up.

‘Come hither this evening and it shall be thine,’ replied Gurpreet, holding Vicky’s gaze.

Vicky laughed, and pushing back her glasses with the tip of her finger, replied, ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘You can call me Gurpreet,’ he said with a smile and extended his hand. ‘Or if you prefer – Preet,’ he added with a wink.

‘Gurpreet,’ Vicky said, giving him a crooked smile.
‘I’m Vicky and this here is my friend Mili. We study at STH – Junior Cambridge.’

‘Oye, Jatin, come here.’ Gurpreet waved to his friend.

Jatin walked over self–consciously.

‘And this is Jatin,’ said Gurpreet, thumping his friend across his back.

Jatin scowled, then nodded and smiled shyly at Vicky and Mili.

‘They study at STH,’ said Gurpreet again.

‘STH?’ said Jatin, raising a brow. ‘Do you know a girl called Vidushi?’

‘Yes,’ Mili replied.

‘Is she all right?’ asked Jatin. ‘I haven’t seen her in a long time.’

‘Her husband died,’ said Vicky. ‘She dropped out of school.’

‘Where’s she now?’ Jatin asked anxiously.

Gurpreet looked at him. The news seemed to have perturbed him.

‘Some ashram for widows. That’s all we know,’ replied Vicky.

‘I’d better find her,’ Jatin mumbled.

Gurpreet looked at him with narrowed eyes. Who was this Vidushi? And why was Jatin so worried about her? He’d have to find out. But first the book.

A few hours later Gurpreet swaggered into the college library, followed by Jatin. He rummaged through the bookshelves, looking for the book he had promised Vicky. ‘This is the one,’ he said, pulling out a book with one hand and holding a cigarette in the other.

‘Excuse me, sir, smoking is not allowed here,’ said the librarian, as he coughed and spluttered and waved the air before him with both his hands.

‘Says who?’ queried Gurpreet.

‘It’s the college rule.’

‘All right, then,’ Gurpreet replied, stubbing out his cigarette reluctantly. He then handed the book to the librarian.

‘This book is only for reference, sir. You cannot take it out of the library,’ said the librarian.

‘Preeto, what now?’ whispered Jatin to Gurpreet. ‘You promised that girl. What’ll she think of you now?’

‘Don’t worry,’ replied Gurpreet in a low voice. ‘I’m not going to give up so easily. I’ve finally found the girl of my dreams – how can I let go of a golden opportunity like this to impress her?’

Jatin chuckled. ‘Girl of your dreams, indeed! That’s what you call every girl you meet.’

Gurpreet turned to the librarian. ‘What did you say?’ he asked.

‘This book is only for reading in the confines of the library,’ the librarian patiently reiterated.

‘Do you think I’m going to eat it if I take it outside the library? Believe me, I’m going to read it, that’s all.’

‘Sir,’ the librarian tried again. ‘Books in the reference section are to be rea—’

But Gurpreet had already snatched the book from his hand. ‘I’m taking it with me,’ he said. ‘Put it on my account. I’ll bring it back as soon as I’m done with it.’ He tucked the book under his arm and strode out of the library, chin up in the air.

‘I’ll lose my job,’ the librarian muttered, but Gurpreet pretended not to hear.

‘Why are you always so aggressive?’ Jatin asked as they entered the tuck shop for the second time that day. ‘You think you can get anything by force. But that’s not how things work.’

‘That’s the only way it works,’ replied Gurpreet, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ‘Didn’t you see? You think the librarian would have given me the book, had I begged for it?’

Jatin did not reply.

Gurpreet continued speaking. ‘If you want to acquire something, you’ve got to snatch it, yaara. That’s what the British did. And that’s what we need to do to get our freedom back.’

‘I still think you can gain much more by peaceful means – like Gandhiji is doing.’

‘Exactly. He has been negotiating with the British government for the last I don’t know how many years. Anything happened? Nothing.’

He stopped speaking and waved to Vicky as he saw her and her friend Mili enter the tuck shop. Vicky waved back and the two of them moved towards the table where they were seated. Bahadur approached their table and grinned. He was still wearing his holey cap. He wiped the table clean with the gamcha he wore around his neck as a scarf. Then he fetched four glasses of water to the table, a finger dipping into each glass. Gurpreet suppressed a smile as he saw the look of disgust on Mili’s face. She’d get used to it before the year was done, he told himself.

‘What are my pretty damsels doing this weekend?’ he asked.

‘I’m visiting some relatives,’ replied Jatin.

‘Who’s asking you?’ said Gurpreet.

‘I have to give my attendance at my local guardian’s. Else news will be sent to Mummum …’ replied Vicky pulling a face.

‘Mummum?’ Gurpreet asked.

‘My mother,’ replied Vicky.

‘Oh,’ said Gurpreet. He turned to Mili hopefully and asked, ‘And you, ma’am?’

Mili blushed and replied shyly, ‘I’m going with her.’

Throwing up his hands in exasperation, Gurpreet exclaimed, ‘What luck. Two lovely ladies afore me, and neither wish to go on a date with me.’ Everybody laughed as Gurpreet dramatically put his hand to his heart and let out a long sigh.

‘You ought to join a drama troupe,’ Jatin said, rolling his eyes.

Gurpreet looked at Vicky. She was engrossed in dipping her pakora in tamarind chutney. ‘I almost forgot,’ he said. ‘Is this the book you wanted?’

Vicky looked up from her plate, licked her fingers and almost snatched the book from Gurpreet’s hand. ‘Why, yes. So you managed to get it from your library? I’d almost given up.’

Gurpreet crossed his heart theatrically and said, ‘This is a mere book. For you, ma’am, I can even lay down my life.’

‘Really?’ asked Vicky. ‘Prove it. Go to the summit of this mountain and jump off from there.’

‘Haiyo Rabba,’ Gurpreet exclaimed, smacking his forehead. ‘That was such a romantic dialogue and look what you did to it.’ He smiled as Vicky began to laugh. Her laughter made her eyes twinkle. He put his hands behind his head and watched the girls babble. Ah. Life was good, the tuck shop its quintessence. He would be haunting this place from now onwards, he thought with a grin.

Vicky drummed the windowpane impatiently as she looked out. There was no place like Kishangarh in May. The entire hillside was bursting with life and colour. Every single minute of this bright Sunday morning spent indoors was a waste. It was the kind of morning that was meant for riding. She looked longingly at the
chestnut-brown
horse tethered to a tree down in the valley below. She could visualise herself riding it bareback, the summer breeze on her face, the clippity–clop of the hooves, the horse sweating and foaming at the mouth as the two of them challenged the wind to a race. She could even smell it. Why had Mummum insisted she visit Uncle George when she spoke to her two days back?

‘George and Ethel are your only relatives in Kishangarh, poppet,’ she had said. ‘There should be someone – a guardian you can turn to if something should happen.’ What the devil. Mummum could be such a pain sometimes. But how she missed her. Even though she had never been able to see much of her. Mummum usually left for work before she woke up and got home after she’d gone to bed.

Vicky turned away from the window. Pushing back
her glasses which had reached the tip of her nose, she peered into Mili’s bag. ‘What
are
you packing? And all these heavy books? We’ll be gone just one day.’

‘Have you forgotten we have a test tomorrow?’ Mili replied as she tried to put the bag over her shoulders.

Vicky shook her head with exasperation as her friend tottered under the weight of her bag. ‘Here, let me carry it. You carry mine.’

‘Where are you two off to?’

Vicky pulled a face as she recognised the voice. Angel. Such a busybody she was. Always poking her nose into other people’s affairs. ‘Here comes our guardian angel,’ she muttered.

Mili giggled. ‘We’re going to spend the day with our local guardians,’ she said.

‘I hope you’ve signed the register?’ asked Angel.

Looking at her over the rim of her glasses, Vicky asked, ‘What register?’

‘Haven’t you read the rules the warden gave you? Each time you stay overnight at your local guardians’, you must enter your name, place of stay and phone number in the register. Otherwise you can get into serious trouble.’

‘Thanks for telling us,’ Vicky replied. ‘Now where’s this register?’

‘In the common room, of course,’ replied Angel as she twirled a lock of her hair and strutted out of the room.

‘The common room, of course,’ Vicky mimicked. She smiled at Mili who was giggling hysterically, dumped her bag on the floor, then they hurried towards the common room.

‘Have you noticed how long her nose is?’ Vicky asked as they walked back to their room. ‘Maybe that’s why she’s so nosy. Perhaps if we could grate it with a cheese grater, she’d become less inquisitive.’

The two friends looked at each other and sniggered, then picked up their bags and left the hostel.

Fifteen minutes later, they were walking hand in hand along the Mall, happily singing ‘
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree
…’ It was a beautiful day. There was so much to see – the flowers dotting the slopes, the soft mossy grass, the velvety butterflies, the nests with their speckled eggs, the crafty spiders, the clumsy daddy-
long-legs
.

Uncle George’s house soon came into view as they reached the end of the Mall. It was a small cottage with a red-tiled sloping roof and walls the colour of buttercups. It stood on the hill, just a couple of paces above the last shop on the Mall. The black iron gate leading up to the house did not look welcoming, but rather like a giant Alsatian’s teeth, snarling and ready to bite.

‘Don’t mention that I missed mass this morning,’ Vicky whispered to Mili as she opened the gate.

Aunt Ethel was at the door. As soon as she saw Vicky, she exclaimed, ‘Oh my God, Vicky, how you have grown! Come inside, my child.’ Vicky and Mili followed her. Vicky smiled to herself. Aunty resembled Papa so much, she found herself warming to her almost instantly. Aunt Ethel wore a mauve cotton dress, her hair tucked neatly into a bun. Vicky could see why Uncle George hated Mummum so. While his own wife was the epitome
of elegance, Mummum was as rough and clumsy as the bears that danced on the streets of Mohanagar on their hind legs. Vicky lifted her chin in the air. Bah! So what if Mummum wasn’t prim and proper? She was the cuddliest and most huggable mother in all the land. She smiled as Aunt Ethel embraced her and nodded her head to acknowledge Mili’s namaste.

‘Come, come,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad you decided to visit us today. Your uncle has gone to Nainital and I was beginning to feel a little lonely.’

She led them through a dark, narrow corridor, with a number of doors on the right. It looked like a
firstclass
compartment in a train rather than the interior of a house. Vicky looked around the living room – at the heavy teak furniture, the velvet curtains, the beautiful mosaics and tapestry on the floor and the walls. It definitely looked like the house of the Collector.

‘You know, the last time I saw Vicky, she was only three,’ Aunt Ethel was saying to Mili. ‘She had lined up all her dolls and was saying to them, “I’m your princess and it’s your duty to obey me.”’

Mili grinned at Vicky. ‘I didn’t know you wanted to be a princess like me,’ she chuckled.

‘But we never got a chance to go to Mohanagar again,’ Aunt Ethel whispered, as she rearranged the flowers on the table.

Vicky stared at her for a minute, then looked away. Grown-ups were terrible liars. It wasn’t because they had never gone to Mohanagar again. It was because Uncle George wanted to have nothing to do with his native relatives after Papa’s death.

Aunt Ethel chatted with them for a long time. She asked them about the hostel, the teachers, the food, Mummum, the clinic, her sisters, how long Mili and she had been friends …