Chloe in India (15 page)

All eyes turned to Dhruv. He smiled sheepishly.

I couldn't tell if Mom was furious, so I just stood there, not saying anything, while Anna finished our story. “And so, I guess we all figured, given the article Chloe saw on your computer that night and your meeting with the housing minister yesterday, um, well…that you could…maybe, um…help us save the
basti
?”

There was a long silence as the four grown-ups digested this information. I held my breath. Now that I had heard Anna say it all out loud, this plan of mine sounded pretty far-fetched.

It was Shreya who finally broke the silence. “Lakshmi,” she said, “can you take us to your house?”

Lakshmi nodded.

Shreya turned to Mom. She pointed at her camera. “Well, you've got your Nikon, Helen. Press credentials?”

Mom shook her head briefly, as though trying to wake herself from a dream.

“Um, they're in the car, but…”

“But what?” Shreya said. “We don't have much time.”

That's when Dhruv Gupta laughed. “Now I see why you are so
mirchi, Chhole.
It's the company you keep!”

I punched him lightly on the arm. “You know I hate that nickname.”

Dhruv grinned.

“But thanks,” I added. “Thanks for helping get Lakshmi. And, um, congratulations on your Achievement Award. You deserve it.”

Dhruv shrugged and then pointed to his parents, who were searching for him in the crowd. “Gotta go,” he said. “Good luck, Lakshmi. Good luck, Chloe!” (Yes, he actually used my real name.) He disappeared into the crowd.

“All right, everyone! Let's go!” Shreya said. “I'll take my scooter and meet you there.”

I looked over at Anna. She was clasping and unclasping her hands, like she does when she's working on a really tough math problem. “There's one more thing,” she said, her voice tense. We all leaned forward.

“When Lakshmi came onstage, Anvi's dad made a phone call.”

Lakshmi gripped my hand.

“I'm so sorry, Lakshmi.” Anna shook her head. “I couldn't understand what he said—it was all in Hindi—but I could hear his voice. And he sounded angry.”

By the time we got to the
basti
it was after ten o'clock and pitch black. There was a silver Range Rover parked by the side of the road. As we pulled up behind it, Shreya screeched up next to us on her scooter.

“Hey, take a look at this!” Shreya grabbed Mom's Nikon and crouched down by the Range Rover's driver's-side door, trying to get a close-up shot of the crest emblazoned across it:

Saxena Enterprises LLC

The Mega-Luxury Experience

“They're here,” Shreya said. “We better hurry.”

She gave the camera back to Mom, then grabbed Lakshmi by the hand. The two of them started sprinting down the alley.

“I still can't believe this,” Dad muttered as we took off behind them.

When we got to Lakshmi's house, there was no sign of the Saxenas' thugs. But there were two fat policemen surrounded by a crowd of
basti
dwellers. The cops were holding thick stacks of Delhi Development Authority signs. They had just slapped one sideways onto the front of Lakshmi's house. Lakshmi's dad was slumped in the doorway, watching them.

I will never in my life forget the look on those fat policemen's faces when they turned and saw Shreya and Lakshmi barreling toward them, hand in hand, the rest of us close behind. When Mom held up her Nikon, they shrank back, hands shielding their faces, like they were being blinded by a superhero.

Lakshmi flung herself into her father's arms. He hugged her and then looked up at the rest of us in confusion.

In his defense, we must have been a strange sight: Lakshmi and me in our sparkly dance outfits and full stage makeup, Anna in her uniform, Dad in his professor's glasses and tie, Mom with her camera. Shreya was shouting at the policemen in rapid-fire Hindi, shaking her finger in their startled faces. Even Vijay had come. He held a baseball bat by his side.

Brandishing a notebook, Shreya had switched to English and was now demanding the names of the two potbellied policemen, who were stammering like schoolchildren brought before the principal.

“The driver and passenger of the silver Range Rover SUV, license plate DL 2SAX 4189, parked on the main road?” Shreya barked. “I don't suppose you remember their names either?”

The crowd of
basti
dwellers must have suspected a turn in the tide of their fortunes because they started to jeer. Then someone threw a rock at the policemen.

“Girls”—Dad's voice was quiet but urgent—“let's go back to the car.” He grabbed Anna and me by the elbows and tried to pull us back down the alley.

“But Mom and Shreya and Lakshmi…,” I protested, wriggling loose. I didn't want to leave them there by themselves.

“Vijay…,” Dad said.

Vijay nodded.

“Girls, you're coming with me. Vijay's staying with Mom and Shreya. Lakshmi lives here, she can take care of herself. Let's go. Now!”

I had never heard Dad use that tone of voice before. Slightly stunned, I let him pull me down the alleyway, toward the car. When we got to the
basti
entrance, the silver Range Rover was gone.

“Will Mom be okay?”

We were sitting in the parked car, waiting for Mom and Vijay to return.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Dad said. He smiled at me reassuringly. “Shreya's a pro at handling these situations. And Mom's been in tighter spots than this one.”

“Like what?” I said. I needed specifics.

“Hmm…,” Dad said. “Like remember when you made us go to the Toys “R” Us in Times Square on Christmas Eve?”

“Dad!” I complained, but I couldn't help smiling.

We heard a tap on the window. Dad unlocked the doors and Vijay and Mom piled into the front. They were both breathing heavily, like they had been running. Vijay slipped the baseball bat under the passenger seat and started the car quickly. He pulled us into the flowing traffic.

“Well, that was interesting!” Mom said. She leaned back against the headrest. Her eyes were shining. Sweat was running down her neck.

“What happened?” I said. “Where's Shreya? Is Lakshmi okay?”

Mom turned her head to look back at me. “Yes, sweetheart,” she said. “Lakshmi and her dad are fine. Shreya's staying to clear a few things up. She'll meet us at the house.”

I gave her my one-eyebrow raise—except this time it wasn't an act.

“Really, honey. Everything's fine.”

“How'd you do it, Mom?” Anna said.

Mom let out a little laugh. “Let's just say it was lucky timing that I met with the housing minister yesterday. I gave him a call. He's already gotten rid of those two buffoons.”

“But what about Lakshmi's house?”

“Not to worry,” Mom said. “Shreya will get me some quotes. I'll type up our little scoop and email it to the minister. By morning, the whole
basti
will be safe.”

She looked at our worried faces.

“If it makes you feel better, I can start right now.”

We nodded.

Mom pulled her BlackBerry out of her handbag and began typing as she spoke:

“If there is any doubt about corruption at the highest levels of the Indian government, consider the case of an innocent young schoolgirl and the real estate titan who used his political connections to threaten her humble home—”

“Mom?” I said.

Dad silenced me by holding a finger up to his lips. “Let her write for a minute, Chloe,” he said.

And so I did.

We were sitting at the breakfast table on Sunday morning when the doorbell rang.

“
Now
who can it be,” Mom grumbled. She was trying to read the newspaper.

“Probably just a shoeshine kid,” Dad said. Ever since he had overtipped a shoeshine kid a few weeks ago, skinny boys with hopeful smiles and wooden shoeshine boxes slung over their shoulders rang our doorbell often, looking for work. Every inch of leather in our house was gleaming.

Dad plucked Lucy from her high chair, where she had been happily mashing bananas into her hair. Sundays are Dechen's day off, so that's when the wheels tend to fall off the bus. Our dining room table looked like a bomb had gone off. Dad tripped over one of my roller skates on the way to the front door. “Damn it, Chloe….”

Then his voice changed. “Lakshmi!”

Anna and I sprang from the table and sprinted to the door. There were Lakshmi and her dad, smiling nervously in the doorway. I gave Lakshmi a big hug. Her dad touched his palms together and bowed his head in
namaste.

“Please, please come in,” Dad said, stepping aside to let them into the house.

“No.” Lakshmi was shaking her head. “You come.” She beckoned for us to follow her down the stairs. “We have some gift for you.”

“Helen!” Dad called out to Mom. “Come see!”

Parked in front of our gate was an old wooden wagon attached to a rusty bicycle. The wagon was like a garden on wheels; it was brimming over with plants. There were thorny cacti and a squat aloe vera. There was a massive palm, its bulbous trunk stuck into a wooden crate. There was a slender ficus tree and a gnarled little bonsai. There was bamboo. But best of all was a large potted champa tree in the middle.

Lakshmi and I climbed up into the wagon, and that's when I noticed the champa was covered in tiny paper cranes. They were tied to the branches by sewing thread. There had to be dozens of them, maybe more.

“I make them from old paper, old magazine.” Lakshmi shrugged as if to apologize.

“They're amazing! They're so tiny! How did you do it, Lakshmi?”

Lakshmi shrugged again, grinning.

Her dad was standing by the handlebars. “For you, madam,” he said to my mom. He placed his right palm over his heart and bowed his head.

For once, Mom was speechless. “Thank you,” she finally said. “I mean, it wasn't me. It was the girls. And my friend Shreya…But thank you. Thank you so very much.”

It took us a while to get all the plants into the house. We carried them up pot by pot and lined them up along the edge of the balcony. It was hot out there, so Dad cranked the awning to give them some shade.

“I take it he doesn't know about your brown thumb?” I heard him whisper to Mom.

“Shhh!” she said, slapping him lightly on the arm.

Lakshmi and I were squatting by the champa tree, untangling the cranes that had gotten caught during the move.

“May I offer you some tea?” Mom said to Lakshmi's dad.

He looked at her blankly.

“Chai,
Tantai
?” Lakshmi said.

Lakshmi's dad looked uncertain.

“Yes, please, Auntie,” Lakshmi said for him.

While Mom went to the kitchen, Dad brought a couple of extra chairs out onto the balcony. Lakshmi's dad perched on the edge of one, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his kurta. He reminded me of Lakshmi on that first day in the park when she was so reluctant to come into our house. I practically had to drag her up the stairs.

How many things had changed since then.

When I first met Lakshmi, I assumed that she was a misfit and that she hated it—hated being different, hated being left out. Because that's how I felt. But the truth is, Lakshmi didn't care about that stuff. She didn't care what Anvi and Prisha thought. She didn't care about the other kids. Or even Ms. Puri.

Now it occurred to me: that's what I loved most about Lakshmi. That's why I felt happy when I was around her. Because she wasn't trying to be something different. She was always unapologetically herself.

You know the periodic table in chemistry? All those elements that you can combine to make different compounds but that you can never break down? O is always oxygen. He is always helium. They are what they are. They'll never change. That's what Lakshmi was like to me: perfect in her own form.

I thought of that moment I first saw her in school with her shiny black eyes sparkling mischievously and her knobby knees, how she had whistled out the window to Kali, her fingers stuck in the corners of her mouth. I thought of her stomping on Anvi's invitation and dancing in my room, arms flung over her head, eyes closed.

I was always trying so hard to fit in. But Lakshmi? She was just Lakshmi.

“My father, his English no good,” Lakshmi was saying, shrugging at my dad.

“Well, it sure as hell beats my Hindi!” Dad replied cheerfully.

There was an awkward pause.

“Dad,” Anna said, “people don't really swear much in India.”

“Oh, right,” Dad said. “Sorry.”

When he tried to change topics, things only got worse. “Your wife?” he said to Lakshmi's dad. “Is she also, um, into gardening?”

I held my breath; I hadn't told anyone about Lakshmi's family.

A flash of pain crossed Lakshmi's father's face.

“My mother,” Lakshmi jumped in. “She is not living.”

Mom appeared with a tray of cookies and tea fixings and we all made ourselves busy, helping her transfer everything onto the table.

Lakshmi's dad took a sip of Mom's chai and struggled not to make a face. He reached for the sugar bowl and scooped five heaping teaspoons into his tea and then stirred it vigorously, the spoon clanking against the rim of the cup. When he pointed to the sky, I was sure it was a ploy to distract us so that he could dump his tea into one of the potted plants without anyone noticing. But then I followed his finger and saw the clouds rolling in, huge black puffs speeding across the sky.

“Rain!” Lakshmi yelped. She jumped up from her chair and pointed, too. “Chloe! Anna! Rain is coming!”

The wind had started to blow. Then thunder clapped.

“Come! Come!” Lakshmi yelled, grabbing me by the hand. We ran down the stairs, across the street, and into the park, kicking our shoes off onto the grass just as the first fat raindrops began to fall.

I have never felt rain like that. It pounded down so hard that it jumped back up from the ground, hitting us in both directions. Within seconds we were soaked. My T-shirt stuck to my chest like glue. The noise was deafening. It was so loud, I thought,
This is what it must feel like to stand inside a drum.

We couldn't talk to each other because we couldn't hear. There was nothing to do but dance. And so we did. We lifted up our arms and we spun through the rain. We danced and danced—Lakshmi and me and Anna, too. Kali showed up, barking at the excitement.

“We do our dance!” Lakshmi yelled at me.

“What?”

“Our dance!” She cupped her hands around her mouth like a megaphone. “Annual…Day…dance!”

I nodded, and so we started from the beginning of our routine, slipping and sliding on the wet grass. When we got to the spins, my feet shot out from under me and I landed—
splat
—on my bum in the mud. Lakshmi was still spinning, so I picked up a great gob of mud and threw it at her. I missed, but it distracted her and she lost her balance and fell down next to me. Then we were laughing and laughing, bums in the mud, rain running down our faces. We pulled Anna down with us too.

Kali was prancing around, barking. She gripped the hem of Lakshmi's kurta in her teeth and tried to pull Lakshmi up. But that only made Lakshmi shriek louder.

Lakshmi threw a mud ball at Kali, hitting her on the snout, and Kali let go of the kurta. She shook her head to clean off the wet mud, then barked at Lakshmi, annoyed.

“Chloe? Anna?”

Mom was leaning over the edge of the balcony, peering out at us through the rain.

I waved at her, trying to show her that everything was all right, that we were just goofing around with the dog.

I saw Mom hesitate. She was going to yell something else—probably order us to shoo Kali away and come back inside, get cleaned up—but then she stopped herself. She smiled and waved back instead.

The rain was slowing. Exhausted, we plopped down in a circle under the champa tree, leaning back against its rough trunk, our hearts still beating fast. I closed my eyes and turned my face up, feeling the raindrops that filtered through the tree's thick leaves. They fell on my eyelids and my cheeks. When I opened my eyes, squinting up through the rain, I was under a bright green tree tent.

Just like Boston,
I thought.
But then, different in almost every way.

We stayed under our tree for a while, watching as the sky brightened over the park like night turning into day.

“I'm sorry, Lakshmi,” I said. “About what happened in the bathroom at school. It was so stupid. And I was wrong. I was stupid and wrong.”

There. Finally, I had said it. Finally, I had apologized.

Lakshmi didn't reply, but she reached over with one thin, rough hand and gave mine a short, tight squeeze. I reached over to pass the squeeze on to Anna. She didn't pull her hand away.

We were all quiet for a while. In fact, all of Delhi seemed quiet. People had vanished from the streets. No cars passed. It was like a wet sponge had pressed down on the city, muffling the usual chaos.

“About what our dad said.” It was Anna who broke the silence this time. “About your mom…”

Laskhmi pulled her knees up to her chin and hugged them. “She use Pond's cold cream,” she said. “Every morning, she brush her hair—her hair black like night—and do my
choti
.” Lakshmi ran both hands down her long braids, as if remembering.

We sat there for a few more minutes, watching the raindrops drip from the champa leaves.

Then Lakshmi poked me hard in the ribs. “You lucky, Chloe. You have two sister. You have
full
family.”

I glanced over at Anna. Her eyes were closed, her head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. She must have felt my gaze, though, because she half smiled, her eyes still shut.

We were quiet for a few more minutes. Then Lakshmi poked me again. “I finish all the crane for you. Now you make your wish?” she said. “Your thousand-crane wish?”

I peeked out from under our green tree tent. Up on the balcony, Mom and Dad were still sipping Mom's awful chai and trying to chat with Lakshmi's dad despite the gulf between their languages. Lucy had stuck one bare foot out from under the awning and was trying to catch raindrops on her toes. A family of parrots squawked at her.

Now everything looked so much clearer to me. It was like the storm had power washed the city, clearing away all the summer heat and dust.

Lakshmi was right. I
was
lucky to have a full family, as loud and messy and American as it was.

I was still blond. And I still couldn't speak Hindi to save my life. But I had a new home that finally felt like home, even if it wasn't Boston. And I had a friend, a
real
friend—one who liked to climb trees and do origami and play in the rain, just like me.

“You take the wish, Lakshmi,” I said. “You made the cranes. Besides, I don't need it anymore.”

Nothing had changed and everything had changed.

Maybe I was still a misfit, but I was happy.