Jasmine Skies (16 page)

Bacha’s barking wakes me up.

‘Mira . . . Mira!’ Someone’s whispering, ‘Shhhhhhh,’ and giggling.

I kneel on the bed and look through the window. Two huge midnight-blue cat’s eyes peer back at me through the darkness, making me gasp with fright.

‘Let me in. It’s me, Priya!’

I release the catch on the wrought-iron grid and pull back the lace curtains. Now a leg appears through the window, then a graceful arm and finally through the dark looms Priya’s elfin
face. ‘Shh,’ she whispers, even though
she’s
the one making all the noise. She pulls herself through the window and tumbles head first towards the marble floor, finishing
her entrance with a forward roll. She’s obviously done this before.

I’m still dazed as I stare up at her cat’s eyes.

‘Funky contacts or what?!’ she says, inspecting her reflection in the bathroom mirror. ‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me where I’ve been?’

I nod, feeling a bit disorientated – Priya was in her bed when I went to sleep, and I have no idea when she sneaked off or where she’s been.

‘The time has come to introduce you to DJ Prey!’ She laughs, drawing her hands into a namaste. She jumps on to my bed and starts to swing her hips and pound her feet in the weirdest
mixture of club and Kathak dance.

‘DJ Prey is in the house, so you better get ready for some serious sounds!’ she announces, holding her hand to her ear as if she’s listening in to headphones.

I take out my camera.

‘Got video on that thing?’ she asks.

I nod and point the camera at her!

‘And tonight in the house of DJ Prey,

‘I present to you my cous,

‘Hot from the club scene in . . .

‘London town.

‘Give it up for . . .

‘Miiiiiiiiiiiraaaaa!’

She leaps over to her wardrobe and flings open the door.

‘Right! No arguments.’ She grabs my iPod, searching through it and handing me the earphones. ‘Just choose something and sing!’

‘I can’t, without rehearsing,’ I say, laughing.

‘Why not? Have you written anything while you’re here?’

I go over to my bag and take out my notebook and hand it to Priya.

‘Intense! This is great. Got a tune in your head?’

I nod. The fact is I can never write lyrics without thinking up the tune first. They sort of go together.

‘Yes, but I haven’t practised it or anything,’ I hesitate.

‘Well here’s your chance to become a recording artist,’ Priya laughs, thrusting a microphone in my face and counting me in. I take a deep breath, doesn’t seem like I have
much choice . . .

My voice peters out as I start to giggle. But for once Priya is dead serious. I can’t believe it, but she looks as if she’s actually quite moved.

‘I love the break in your voice. Keep singing, come on, this could be good.’

She waits for me to compose myself and start again.

‘Not bad! Sing it once more!’ Priya orders.

I have two more goes before she’s happy.

‘Peeeeeerfect! Got that!’ Priya listens back to my voice through her earphones. ‘I always knew with that mad laugh of yours you’d be able to blast it out a bit!’
she says, handing me the earphones.

It sounds OK actually. I’m always a bit surprised when I hear my own voice, as if it belongs to someone else.

‘What’re you going to do with the recording?’ I ask Priya.

‘Surprise!’ she says, cranking up the music to full volume again. Then she jumps back on to her bed and pulls me to my feet. We are both laughing and dancing now.

‘Turn that music down!’ Anjali appears at the door with a half-annoyed, half-amused look on her face. ‘It’s one o’clock in the morning, for goodness sake,’
she tells us in a mock-strict voice, but I can tell that she’s trying not to laugh. My mum would go ballistic if I woke her up at this time of night playing music.

‘I’ve got tickets for you for Nicco Park, when the gala’s over,’ says Anjali. ‘You and Mira can go wild then! But for now you two need to get some sleep – and
so do I.’

In one swift pounce Priya has jumped off the bed and is lifting Anjali off her feet and swinging her round. She’s incredibly strong for someone so slight.

‘Thanks, Ma! You’re the best in the world!’ says Priya, planting a kiss on her cheek.

‘OK, OK, put me down!’ Anjali laughs. ‘Anyway, what are you doing still dressed? And what have you done to your eyes?’

Priya shrugs.

Anjali sighs. ‘Never mind, I’m not sure I want to know. Just quickly get washed and into bed.’ She shakes her head and goes back to her own room.

Priya closes the bedroom door and goes into the bathroom. When she comes back out her eyes are normal again. She flicks off the light and I hear her get changed and into bed.

‘What’s Nicco Park?’ I whisper in the dark.

‘It’s like Disneyland. Best rides ever. You wait till we do the water chute! It blows your brains!’

‘OK! But where
have
you been?’

‘With the Pod,’ Priya says, which doesn’t really answer my question.

‘Anjali told me Paddy’s hurt.’

‘Doesn’t stop her organizing a gig though! That’s where we’ve been, checking out somewhere to PARTY! I’m telling you, we’ll get this scene buzzing like
Mumbai, but first we’ve got to build it, getting hotter and hotter till we break out big time, like the monsoon . . . there’ll be no stopping us! Top secret, yaar?! I wish I could have
taken you with me but, trust me, the surprise will be worth it!’ she whispers. ‘And don’t tell Janu I was out either.’

‘Why not?’

‘He always wants to play the great protector, like his Lord Vishnu. How did you two get on anyway?’

‘Fine!’ I don’t dare say any more in case I give away my feelings.

‘Thought you would! No ‘
stolen glances
’ then?’

‘I wasn’t thinking about . . .’

‘Whatever!’ Priya grins.

It hadn’t occurred to me that Janu might be religious. I suppose I don’t really know anything much about him.

‘Night, cous!’ Priya yawns.

‘Night!’ I say, trying to wipe the disturbing memory of Priya’s midnight blue cat’s eyes from my mind.

Kali Force

Anjali and Priya are arguing in Bengali at a hundred miles an hour. I hear my name at least six times, mostly out of Priya’s mouth, so I’m beginning to wonder what
I’ve done to offend her until I hear . . .

‘Gala, gala, gala, all day, all night . . . gala, gala . . .’

And then
slam
goes the front door. Priya must make it down the stairs at breakneck speed because Bacha’s
already barking his greeting at her. I climb on the bed and look out of the window to see Priya batting him off her and stomping up the road with her chin in the air, ignoring Bacha’s whine
until he finally gives up trailing her. Anjali knocks gently and then comes in to the room. ‘I’m so sorry, Mira,’ she says, ‘I’ve called the airport every day since
you got here, but I’m getting no joy from them at all. I told your ma she’d better think about claiming for your case on the insurance. She was happy to get your email, by the way. She
told me she’s fine just to email, if you think it makes you less homesick than Skyping.’

‘OK. But don’t worry about the case,’ I say. At first I was upset about losing everything in it, all my clothes and the presents for everyone, but now the only thing I really
care about, that I know can never be replaced, is Jidé’s note.

‘Where’s Priya today?’ asks Manu, looking at Anjali and me sitting on the back seat.

‘Rehearsals,’ answers Anjali as she turns to me. ‘You probably heard that she was annoyed with me this morning because she wanted to take you out today. Still, you won’t
mind spending a few hours with your old aunty, will you? It’ll be a good chance for us to get to know each other a little better!’

‘So that’s why she was upset?’ I check, relieved that it wasn’t something I’d done to offend her.

Anjali nods. ‘It’s hard on her, having all these extra rehearsals while you’re here. And maybe hard on you too.’

‘I’m having a great time,’ I assure her.

‘Good. I’m just so happy that you and Priya are getting on so well.’

‘Can we go to a bank to change my money?’ I ask. So far Anjali’s refused to let me pay for a single thing.

‘Na, na, not necessary!’ She smiles, ‘You hold on to it. This is all my pleasure,’ she says, squeezing me to her. ‘It’s just like me and your ma when she came
over . . .’ Her voice catches with emotion.

I do love being here and meeting Priya has been brilliant. The problem is, I feel exactly the same with Anjali as I do about talking to Mum – guilty, guilty, guilty, and sort of annoyed
with them both at the same time. I just want to know the truth, why mum and granddad lost touch with their family for so long. It’s starting to drive me crazy thinking about it!

‘Prudence . . . Learning . . . Motherhood!’ reads out Anjali, pointing at three enormous sculptures of women inside the gardens of the Victoria Memorial.
‘That just about covers it! Here it is. What do you think?’ she asks as we walk through the manicured formal gardens and the enormous sculpture of Queen Victoria looking mean and moody,
towering over everything and everyone on her great stone plinth. I suppose she does what she’s supposed to, makes you feel small.

‘Grandad used to talk about this statue,’ I say. ‘When we were learning about Queen Victoria at school he always said that she needed an enormous gown because under her puffy
skirts her legs were straddling continents.’

Anjali laughs. ‘He was right about that!’

We wander up to the great marble dome – the symbol of the British Raj – up the steps and into the building. There are classical
paintings hanging everywhere.

‘I can’t get my head around the idea that you can just walk into someone else’s country and take over,’ I say, following a wall of golden-framed grainy black and white
photographs of British colonels and officers, all proudly wearing their uniforms and medals.

Anjali smiles. ‘You do remind me of Uma at your age,’ she says.

‘What was she like?’

‘Thoughtful, a bit dreamy, head in the clouds . . . a real idealist. She was full of big questions . . . and she would ask and ask and ask until she got an answer.’

This
must
be my moment to ask Anjali what happened. By the sounds of it, Mum would have.

‘So why did everyone lose touch for so long?’

‘That doesn’t matter. You’re here now.’ Anjali shrugs and I feel that great heavy door being slammed shut against me again.

‘Next stop Kalighat Temple?’ asks Manu, peering at us through the mirror.

Anjali just nods and closes her eyes. It’s obvious her eyes, and ears, are sealed against any more questions.

Bright orange marigolds line the paths to the temple. We walk up the stone steps where there are hundreds of pairs of brightly coloured sandals patiently waiting for their
owners to return. I take a photo because I’d love to do a painting of this sea of shoes. In London if I left my shoes on the steps of St Paul’s I would be worried that someone might
steal them, but here, even though there are so many people who don’t even have shoes, I don’t think anyone would take them.

I place my sandals next to a pair of shiny black shoes. They’re exactly like the ones Grandad used to leave sitting neatly in the hallway. I know it’s weird, but I keep getting a
feeling that he really is travelling with me on this journey, not only in my dreams either.