Jasmine Skies (20 page)

‘So, now you have met Prem you can go. Perhaps you and Priya will go there together one day. Such a fun city, but I don’t get chance to go often. This is why I am a big fan of this
Facebook. Distance is not so final now. Every day I am emailing or Skyping Prem and Elen, and my little grandbabies. I am not missing birthdays or anything. Anjou is even putting her dancing
videos, her spinning on her head, on YouTube. So distance doesn’t have to make you strangers. After Bimal’s passing I am always telling Priya to Facebook you. So, the way I see it, you
and Priya are the new bridge.’ Manu translates as Lila cups my chin in her hands and hugs me to her. ‘Now I have to leave it up to you to make the connections.’

‘Thank you for bringing us together,’ I say.

Manu is about to translate but Lila raises her hand and he walks silently back up to the top of the steps and sits down, as if he doesn’t want to intrude.

I would like to ask Lila what happened between mum and Anjali, what is hidden in those letters, but the only way I could do that is through Manu translating, and that would be wrong. And, I
suppose, if Lila wanted to tell me she would have done it by now.

A family – a mum, a dad, a little boy and an even younger girl – are bathing in the river and washing their clothes. The little girl is splashing water in her brother’s face.
The way he leaps and prances around reminds me of Krish.

‘Bimal . . . bring me here . . . when small, small.’ Lila indicates with her hand, smiling as she watches the girl play in the river with her brother.

Something about Lila’s words makes me understand why Anjali’s so angry with me. Like the day Jidé told me about his sister dying in Rwanda, wrapped only in his precious piece
of orange cloth; that memory belongs only to me and him, no matter what happens between us. Just like Lila’s memory of Grandad as her big brother standing on this ghat when she was just four
years old belongs only to her.

We’re both lost in thought for a while watching the fading light dancing on the water. I think about trying to capture this amazing sunset on camera, but then I change my mind. I notice
that as the days go by I’m taking fewer photos, it’s sometimes better to see things just as they are. We watch the sun turn from yellow to orange to almost red and then disappear from
the sky completely. Lila’s holding my hand and I’m glad that I don’t have to talk to her, because this feels like sitting with Grandad used to. Sometimes we wouldn’t talk at
all, but no matter what was happening to me, I would always feel better from just being with him.

The family bathing in the river have darkened into silhouettes. And I suppose when they look at us, that’s all they see too . . . Suddenly I feel smaller and less important than I’ve
ever felt before. I’m just a tiny speck among millions and millions of people.

Street Wishes

‘Your mum’s avoiding me, isn’t she?’

‘She’ll take a couple of days to cool off. She always brings Didima in for emergency back-up when she doesn’t know how to cope! Anyway, she’s got meetings all day so you
won’t have to bump into her. Don’t look so worried,’ Priya says, throwing an arm around my shoulder. ‘Ma said you’re working at the refuge with Janu today. I’ll
be back later. I can’t believe it’s my last rehearsal! After tomorrow, I’m all yours!’

I sigh. I actually really do want to do some work at the refuge, and start the art project, but Janu will be there and I feel weird about seeing him. I wish could see more of Priya. What I love
about her is she’s so straight down the line and she’s sort of the opposite to me, so light and airy. I really need that side of her so I don’t just sink down into myself. Priya
mistakes my frown as me being upset with her. ‘I’ll make it up to you, promise!’ She smiles. ‘You won’t believe the rides at Nicco Park, and I’ve got my own
surprise for you! After tomorrow you won’t know what’s hit you!’ She laughs as she runs out of the door and slides down the banisters.

I get dressed in a pale green-cotton kurti and white leggings. I’m going to wear sandals today (I don’t care how they look – I can’t stand my feet sweating in Converse
all day long).

When I walk out into the living room Janu’s already sitting at the table eating dhal. ‘Hungry?’ he asks, picking up a spoon to ladle some into a bowl for me.

‘No, thank you,’ I say, feeling my stomach tense.

‘We have planned today for your art project. Everyone is very excited.’

I should have prepared all of this before I even arrived. I can’t believe I’ve been so caught up in myself that I haven’t thought it all through properly yet.

As we ride the tram I start to remember all the children that I’ve seen living on the streets since I got here, especially the little naked girl sitting amongst the
rubbish. The other thing that keeps coming back to me is Janu’s beautiful carved Kadamba . . . a wishing tree.

‘You’re very quiet,’ says Janu as the tram comes to a stop near the refuge.

‘I’m just thinking about the project.’

‘Make it a surprise!’ he says luckily.

As we walk through the door into the reception area some men and women in smart suits are waiting for Janu. They shake hands with him formally. He seems so much older when he
comes here. As he takes the visitors through to the refuge he catches my eye.

‘I am so looking forward to seeing your project. Nili will show you where everything is,’ he tells me, nodding towards the young woman with glasses I saw when I was last here. She
must be about twenty. Today she’s wearing jeans and trainers and a pretty pale blue kurti that has green and white beads decorating the ties at the neck. Her hair is pulled back in a
business-like ponytail. She smiles politely and shows me through to one of the orange rooms.

‘Janu tells me you’re an artist.’ She has a sweet soft voice. Maybe it’s just her glasses, but she reminds me of my friend Millie. They’ve both got that way of
looking at you that makes you know straight away that they’re sussing you out. I’m not sure she’s happy about having to help me.

‘I’m learning,’ I tell her, feeling completely out of my depth, and then an idea for the art project pops into my head!

‘Acha. So, everything we have is here.’ She walks me over to a whole wall of wooden drawers, the kind you see in old chemist shops, each one filled with something different –
tiny scraps of material, beads, mirrors, feathers, paints, paper, string, glue, sticky tape, scissors – everything I need except for rubbish. So I explain to Nili my idea, to make street
wishes: to collect cartons, cans, things obviously found on the street, and then to wash them, decorate them and get the children to write their wishes on them.

‘Then I thought we could hang the wishes on Janu’s tree in the shop. He said it needs more decoration!’ I say.

Nili nods but looks a bit unsure about the idea. ‘We will see,’ she says. ‘If these wishes sell, I will be able to carry on this project after you’ve gone.’

I suddenly feel so naive. I never even thought about having to make sure their work sells. All the art I do is just for myself. Sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t, but I guess
that everything these children make, even artwork, has got to contribute towards their survival. I wish I’d taken more time to think this through.

Nili walks into the next-door classroom and asks some of the older children to go and look for rubbish.

I hear one boy complaining bitterly. As he talks he looks up at me through the doorway and says something about ‘English tourist’ and spits on the ground. Nili raises her voice at
him sharply and reluctantly he follows the rest of the children out.

‘What did he say?’ I ask Nili.

‘Don’t worry about it!’

‘No, really, what did he say?’ I insist.

‘He said, “Why doesn’t she collect her own rubbish?”’ Nili sighs. ‘You can understand – some of these children are full of anger.’

I nod as if I do understand, but the truth is of course I don’t. How can I, coming from my life, know what it’s like to have to rummage in rubbish just to get by. I suppose these
children come to the refuge to get away from that life, and I’ve sent them back out there. This isn’t a great start.

‘How much do you think people will pay for these wishes?’ asks Nili, breaking into my thoughts.

‘Hopefully enough to make them come true!’ I say, smiling at her. I would like Nili to be my friend, but I can feel that she’s standing back from me, as if she’s waiting
to decide whether she likes me or not.

‘But you know some of these children have very big wishes!’ she says.

Since the idea of making a tree of ‘street wishes’ has been growing in my mind I’ve been feeling quietly confident about it. But it’s only taken ‘Spitting
Boy’ and Nili’s very reasonable questions to make all my confidence drain away.

‘How old will the children be?’ I ask Nili.

‘All ages. Whoever’s around,’ she says, looking at me as if it’s a stupid question. ‘I have many tasks to do. You want to wait in the restaurant till the children
get back?’

‘Maybe I can go and help Lal in medical,’ I suggest. I can’t stand the thought of sitting on my own getting more and more nervous.

Nili nods and smiles at me warmly for the first time. For some reason it matters to me that Nili thinks I’m OK, just like it matters that Janu does too. I don’t want them to think
I’m some clueless English girl who’s afraid of hard work.

I walk up the staircase to the white room.

‘Ah! My eye specialist!’ Lal greets me as I make my way towards him through the crowded room. It’s oddly comforting to hear his Birmingham accent.

There’s a little girl of about four years old sitting in his reclining chair, which looks as if it might once have belonged to a dentist. Lal is telling her a story and she’s smiling
up at him even though he has a pair of enormous tweezers in his hand and is tugging at her front tooth. She makes a little yelp, and the tooth is out. Lal carefully washes it, wraps it in a piece
of cloth and hands it to her. As she climbs down off the chair she says something to me and grins, sticking her tongue between the bloody gap.

I can’t help but smile because I think I know what she said.

‘She says, now the fairies will make all her wishes come true! I was telling her about the tooth fairy,’ explains Lal.

Somehow that little girl’s hopeful grin makes me feel a bit better, as if my idea isn’t completely useless. I know what I’m expecting to do in this room, but soon I’m
going to be standing in front of a class of children, including Spitting Boy. My stomach tightens. I’ll probably stumble over my words as Nili translates everything I say, watching me with
her quiet piercing eyes.

I collect the little stainless-steel bowls from the cupboard and pour water from the kettle as Lal hands me the antibiotic eye drops. Some of the children smile and chatter away to me as I bathe
their eyes, removing the yellow gunk. Even though I don’t understand most of what they say, I nod and smile back.

‘Could you do the last treatment for Sunil, my brilliant assistant?’ Lal indicates a boy who has just walked in the room, the boy I treated first when I was here before.

Sunil lays his head on my knee and closes his eyes while I wipe away the little bit of infection that’s still there. Then I lift the lid, so that his eye rolls back, and drip in the
antibiotic drops. When I’m done he looks up at me and blinks away the bleariness. It’s not until now that I notice his eyes are a hazel-green colour. Suddenly he twists around and
starts shouting something excitedly, pointing at me and holding my hand tightly. The other children in the queue jump up and surround me as if watching some kind of sideshow.

Lal is telling them to move aside as he pushes through. He crouches down next to Sunil and talks to him gently. Sunil lets go of my hand but he’s still talking to Lal in an animated way,
like he’s telling a story, and all the other children are gathered around listening intently.

‘Acha, acha, acha!’ calms Lal.

And when Sunil finally stops talking Lal turns to me, takes a deep breath and explains.

‘He says he knows you. He says he knows your eyes.’

As Lal translates Sunil keeps interrupting.

‘He says he knows your grandad . . . He says he’s seen you in the house.’

‘What house?’ I ask Lal.

‘Doctor Lane, Doctor Lane!’ shouts Sunil.

My head tilts and I feel like I’m going to pass out. Sunil’s eyes . . . were the eyes peering through the floorboards. Now I know for sure that I’m being pulled back towards
the old house where Grandad grew up.

‘Sorry, Sorry!’ Sunil jumps up and goes over to the water cylinder. He comes running back with a glass of cold water for me. I take tiny sips as I stare at him.

Sunil starts talking again and Lal explains his words to me. ‘He says your grandfather is teaching him medicine in the house.’

I feel a cold chill run up the length of my spine. ‘My grandad’s dead.’ I tell Lal in a tiny voice I hardly recognize as my own. Lal places a firm hand on Sunil’s arm as
if to say, ‘Stop now! That’s enough!’

Sunil keeps talking, less frantically now, but Lal ignores him and practically has to lift me up because my legs have gone to jelly under me. He leads me out of the medical room and into the
canteen. He calls over to a man behind the counter for some tea and helps me to a chair.