Monsoon Memories (12 page)

‘Come to the boardroom when you are ready.’ With a little smile and a wink meant to reassure her, Kate was gone.

Was this because she had rushed home after lunch yesterday, taken the afternoon off? It couldn’t be. She had emailed the Tanner document to Kate first thing this morning. If Kate was annoyed she would have told Shirin herself. She was upfront in dealing with her team. And Marie wouldn’t be involved in something as trivial as this, would she?
Why
was Marie involved?

Shirin smoothed her shirt to rid it of doughnut crumbs, tried futilely to rub away the jam stain in the shape of North America on the right knee of her black trousers, picked up a notebook and pencil and made her way to the boardroom.

‘You in trouble, then?’ Rob asked as she passed his desk, grinning vampire-like as he bit into an obscenely shiny apple. ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed.’

‘He fancies you, you know,’ Kate had said to her once.

‘Who—Rob?’ she’d asked, a surprised giggled erupting. They were sitting in a café, having a late lunch, celebrating a release that had gone particularly well. The smell of coffee wafted, rich, warm, and Shirin was assaulted by a sudden memory: she and her mother by the roadside shack near Mangalore Bus Station, the man pouring hot sloshing coffee from a great height into their two tiny tumblers. She had swallowed hers in two gulps. It was very sweet and very hot and had scalded her tongue. She had yelped, jumping up and down, gasping and fanning her open mouth with her hands and her mother had said, ‘You look just like Rex,’ and laughed—that rare magical waterfall of a laugh.

‘Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you? Don’t you notice these things, Shirin?’ Kate had asked, genuinely curious. ‘Don’t you ever see a man and go, “Ooh, I fancy you”? Aren’t you ever tempted? You and Vinod have been together so long… Back when Dave and I were an item, there were times when I…’

She’d thought of the tingle she got sometimes when someone looked at her a certain way; when she caught a glimpse of eyes, bespectacled and serious; the feelings a certain smell—lemony musk—aroused in her… and the guilt that engulfed her almost immediately. The impulse, so deeply embedded from childhood to rush to confession, the desire for absolution—even though she hadn’t been to church in years. ‘I am, sometimes.’

‘Thank goodness,’ Kate had breathed, grinning, ‘You are human after all.’ And then, her expression serious, ‘Would you… you know, leave Vinod? If someone came along, swept you off your feet?’

She’d thought of a different time, a different girl. Younger. Before. The fantasies she’d had, of Chandru the coconut picker, of the boatmen with their gleaming bodies, of Prince Charming whisking her off into the sunset. And then she’d thought of Vinod. His kind face. That smile. ‘I couldn’t do it, Kate. Not to Vinod.’

‘Yes. But you wouldn’t be thinking rationally, would you, in the throes of passion? You wouldn’t be thinking of Vinod at all…’ Kate had persisted.

Wet bodies flattened against the wall, standing side by side, not quite touching. The rain; a wavy curtain in the flickering half light of lamps. The drum roll of thunder. The power cut. Darkness thick as tamarind paste. Their breath punctuating the heady silence: in out, in out, in unison. A burst of laughter, a snatch of conversation drifting toward them on the mango-scented breeze. His face illuminated in a sudden flash of lightning. Very close. ‘Run away with me.’
Guilt. Shame. Vinod.
Vinod washing her ever so gently that terrible evening, his tears falling like rain…
‘I love Vinod, Kate.’

‘I know,’ Kate had smiled softly. ‘And anyway, Vinod’s a hundred times better looking than Rob.’

Kate and Marie were already seated when she entered, heads together, poring over one of the many sheets of paper spread haphazardly along the length of the table, designed to seat at least twelve.

‘Hello, Marie, Kate,’ she said.

The bank of windows behind them framed cherry-blossom trees in glorious bloom; a furious burst of pink and white. Snatches of conversation from colleagues on their way to lunch drifted in.

‘Shirin,’ Marie stood and reached across the table to clasp Shirin’s hand.

The tinny music heralding the lunch van followed by the customary two cheery honks on the horn sounded. Chairs scraped and desks were pushed aside as people ran downstairs to bag their favourite sandwich.

‘You’re looking well.’ Marie’s smile, behind her designer spectacles was stern.

The shiver of apprehension ballooned. Was this something to do with the rumour of redundancies whispering through the company? Was she going first?
I’ve worked so hard to get here. This is my identity; who I am now.
Out loud, ‘Thank you. And you look great. As always.’

That earned a proper smile. Even Marie—cropped grey hair, no-nonsense suit and uncompromising expression—was susceptible to compliments.

‘Now. I’ll get right down to business. You know Jay’s leaving next month?’

Shirin nodded.

‘And that he was handling the CMS account, which is very critical to us?’

‘Yes,’ Shirin agreed.
I’ll fight like hell to keep my job.
She flashed a sidelong glance at Kate. Kate, head bent, copiously studying her notes, hair a red-gold curtain.
Kate, what’s going on?

‘Well, I’ve talked to Kate—obviously—and to John Watts, whom you were reporting to briefly last November, and to a few of your colleagues. They have nothing but praise for you. All this I find very encouraging.’ Marie looked at Shirin over the top of her glasses, which had slid down to her nose, and Shirin was reminded of her mother putting down her newspaper and looking at her in much the same way one rainy Sunday afternoon aeons ago: ‘Have you been reading those books that clueless illiterate Duja in charge of the lending library lets you borrow?’ ‘No, Ma.’ ‘Then what put you in mind of devils possessing nuns to take over the church?’ ‘I’m sorry, Ma.’ ‘You should be; it’s blasphemy.’
Jacinta picking up the
Udayavani
, its pages rustling, hiding her face; had there been a hint of a smile on her mother’s stern visage?

Why on earth was she thinking of her mother now?

‘I have also taken the liberty of looking through your performance appraisals and talking to your staff manager,’ Marie continued, ‘and he agrees with me and Kate here, that you are ready for more responsibility and that you’ll handle it well.’

What? Had she heard right? Out of the corner of her eyes, Shirin saw Kate smiling.

‘So, we would like you to take over Jay’s team and manage the CMS project.’ A long pause during which Marie looked straight at Shirin. ‘As you might be aware, it is an all-male team. Kate assures me that you will be fine, that there has been no repeat...’

Ian’s accusation slunk into the room; hung there. A blue-tinged shadow. And Shirin was transported back nine years to a room just like this one in the Goodge Street office: Ian standing in one corner, she in the other, Kate beside her, Marie facing all of them. Marie, looking into Shirin’s eyes, as if she could read her mind:
‘Now, Shirin. With your permission, Kate has told me a bit about what happened to you. I can understand where you’re coming from.’ Marie had paused, turned her attention to Ian. ‘Ian, I can see where you’re coming from, too. If someone cringed every time they came near me, if they ducked away from me when I tried to talk to them, acted for all the world as if I was going to harass them, I would be frustrated and angry too. And it would affect the quality of my work.’ Another pause. ‘Shirin, you are hardworking, diligent. No one has issue with your work. But you will be working as part of a team and there will be men in your team, as explained in the contract you signed when you joined CST Solutions. I cannot have this issue every time you have to work with a member of the opposite sex.’ Shirin had wilted under her gaze. ‘And as for you, Ian, I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this. I’m moving you to John’s team with immediate effect.’ Marie had smiled at Ian then, a slight relaxation of her facial muscles, ‘I have reason to believe that you’ve been angling for this for a while.’ A nod at Shirin, ‘Can I speak to you privately for a minute?’ After Ian and Kate had left, she’d said, her gaze boring into Shirin, ‘Kate mentioned that you’ve had counselling before. I would suggest that you take a few weeks off work, go back for more intensive counselling sessions to deal with this issue you seem to have with certain men.’

Now, Shirin cleared her throat. ‘I apologised to Ian after.’ It was Ian’s eyes that had repelled her: hooded, empty, too close for comfort; his breath when he leaned close, pungent like the smell that populated her nightmares.

Marie nodded, her strict countenance softening. ‘I know.’ Shirin’s heart constricted at Marie’s expression: an expression she’d seen so often on a much-beloved face. How could this heavyset white woman remind her so of her slender mother?

‘So, are you ready to take on Jay’s team, then?’ Marie asked, the beginnings of a smile curling her lips upward.

Ian’s accusation, the spectre of the Eyes, slunk away, to be replaced by relief. Joy even. ‘Yes. Thank you very much.’ A quick glance at Kate who was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Thanks, Kate.’

Marie reached across, took Shirin’s hand, held it in both of hers. ‘Prove yourself, Shirin. Show us what you can do.’

Rob was in the process of biting into a doorstep BLT, mouth wide open, reminiscent of the baby python that had slunk into Ananthanna’s chicken coop, the chicken squawking plaintively from between its fangs before disappearing into its belly. ‘Been sacked yet?’ he asked between munches.

‘Unfortunately no.’ She couldn’t keep the smile from her voice.

‘Despite all the things I said when Marie asked me about you?’ He shook his head in mock bewilderment and smiled, giving her a glimpse of half-chewed tomato. ‘Congratulations!’

‘Thanks, Rob. Any of those left in the van?’

‘Nope. Only the mangy salad ones.’

Shirin pulled a face.

‘Why don’t you go to Marks, get yourself a decent sandwich and some cakes for us lot who helped you up by putting in a good word?’ Rob rubbed his stomach. ‘I feel like dessert.’

Once at her desk, she called Vinod, knowing he would be on his lunch break. ‘I’ve been put in charge of Jay’s team, managing CMS, that account I told you about.’

‘Good for you, Shonu.’ She heard the smile in his voice. She pictured him leaning back in his chair, the grin softening his features, transforming his face.

‘Marie called me in to tell me. She’s the one who handled the whole thing with Ian. I thought I was going to be sacked...’

‘Did she bring Ian up?’ Shirin pictured him pulling at his belt, trying to tuck the beginnings of a paunch in: a recently acquired habit.

‘She had to. I am in charge of an all-male team.’

‘Way to go, Shonu,’ Quiet pride in his voice.

‘She reminded me of Ma.’

‘Who did?’

‘Marie.’

‘Oh...’ And then, Vinod being Vinod, ‘Good. That’s a good thing, Shonu. Let the memories come.’

And like a dam burst open, a memory spilled out, insinuating itself to the fore of her mind:
She’s four years old. It’s too hot to wear any clothes. She follows the example of the Fernandes twins and runs around naked. Afterwards, her mother’s wrath: ‘Shame on you! Running around nude like that... Don’t you know you are a girl?’ The palms of Jacinta’s hands bunched into fists, her eyes cold and hard like the granite in the Panambur quarry. Shirin is puzzled. Why is her mother asking such a silly question? Of course she knows she’s a girl. That’s why Madhu clothes her in dresses and churidars—not shorts like the Fernandes twins. That’s why she has to wear the heavy gold earrings her grandmother gifted her with when she was born even though they hurt her lobes. She’s about to open her mouth to ask why, but Madhu, hovering anxiously behind Jacinta, catches Shirin’s eyes and shakes her head—
No.

Later, after Jacinta metes out punishment (two sharp beatings on her bare stick-insect legs with the tender branch from the hibiscus plant), after she has cried out her tears and been fed and fussed over by Madhu, she turns around in Madhu’s lap so as to face her and, her eyes still wet with remembered agony, whispers, ‘Why was she so angry?’

Madhu pats her head gently. ‘You are a girl, Shirin. Girls don’t run around naked.’

‘Why?’

‘They just don’t.’

‘Shirin, are you there?’ Vinod’s voice in her ear, grounding her in the present.

‘Yes.’

‘This morning, I was rushing; I didn’t get a chance...’ He paused and she knew what was coming. ‘Have you thought any more about contacting them?’

Softly, ‘Yes.’

‘I’m sure there’s a way to find their email addresses in this day and age. Perhaps you could ring Deepak’s employer. He’s with HP now, did you say?’

‘What about confidentiality?’

‘Surely if you explained... Or even just called HP and asked to speak to him.’

Was it possible? She pictured herself, after saying goodbye to Vinod, dialling HP. Waiting for the heartbeat of static, the pause indicating a transatlantic connection. ‘Hello?’ An Indian voice imitating an American accent. ‘Can I speak to Deepak Diaz, please?’
My brother.
‘Do you have his extension number?’ The receptionist with her fake accent: pish pish, in Madhu’s lingo. ‘No, sorry; I seem to have misplaced it.’ ‘Hold on a minute,’ the receptionist’s bored voice tinged with annoyance echoing down the line. A pause. Muzak bridging the distance, punctuated by static. And then... Her brother’s deep voice—reminding Shirin every time she heard it of the shock they’d all had when out of the blue, the angelic voice of his childhood, the pride of the choir, the favourite of the nuns, had transformed to this. ‘Hello? Who’s this?’ What would she say? That she couldn’t stay away any longer. That she had to come back. That she had to see her. Could she? Drop this bombshell on her brother, sitting in his office, on an ordinary workday, in the middle of an ordinary week. ‘I want to come home. I want to end this. I’ve had enough.’ Could she?

‘Shonu?’ Vinod’s voice.

What if he doesn’t want to speak to me? What if he disconnects the call on recognising my voice?
‘Yes?’