Monsoon Memories (9 page)

Before. One little word. So conveniently wiping away so much.

If only it were that easy...

Shirin shook her head, giving herself the pep talk that had gotten her through the last few years. She pulled on the mask of accomplished, confident businesswoman that she hoped people saw when they looked at her and opened the cubicle door only to find her colleague—aka gossip queen—Anne’s face reflected back at her from the mirror.

‘Are you okay? I heard you, you know...’ Anne mimed being sick. ‘Is there something you are not telling us?’ Anne’s eyes twinkled and she did something, which must have been meant to convey mischief, with her eyebrows.

‘Huh?’ Shirin washed her face and hands. She desperately wanted to brush her teeth, get the awful taste out of her mouth. Did she have mints in her purse? She ought to buy some and keep them there.

Anne was still trying to get to the bottom of things. ‘So, are you, you know...’ She indicated her stomach and rocked her hands together.

What on earth did she mean? And then, all at once, realisation dawned, cold and heavy in the pit of her recently emptied stomach.
If only you knew, Anne
...

‘I have the stomach bug. Twenty-four-hour thingy, I hope.’ Her voice sounded surprisingly normal, thank goodness. ‘Will take the afternoon off, I think...’

‘You do that. I’ll let Kate know.’ The look of pity on Anne’s face was far worse than her solicitousness.

‘Thanks, Anne,’ Shirin mumbled, grabbing her bag from her desk and running out of the office before she stumbled into anyone else—or, worse, burst into tears.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Puffed-Up Puris and
Gluey Bhaji

‘B
ye, Madhu.’ Reena allowed herself to be swept into Madhu’s embrace. Madhu was as over the top with her affections as Jacinta was reserved.

Jacinta’s goodbye had been a squeeze of Reena’s hand. She had pushed a wayward strand of hair out of Reena’s face, looked into her eyes and said, ‘Come back to visit your Mai soon, you hear?’

Then Reena had sought out Madhu, only to be squashed against her bosom, inhaling the smell of oil and spices that clung to Madhu’s clothes. ‘Look after yourself,’ Madhu said, ‘and come for Christmas. I’ll make Nevri and Tukdis.’ Nevri and Tukdis were Reena’s favourites out of all the Kuswar—the sweetmeats made especially at Christmas.

‘Hurry up, Reena, the rickshaw’s waiting,’ Preeti called.

Gypsy howled. Chinnu came up to Reena, mewling, and rubbed herself against Reena’s legs.

She looked up at Madhu. ‘I’m sorry for the hurt this caused,’ she whispered, opening her notebook to the photograph. ‘Do you want it?’
Please say I can keep it, Madhu.

Plan A had not worked. After that eventful afternoon when she found out who Shirin was, she had not been able to wangle time alone with Madhu. Plan B was a washout. Now only Plan C remained and for that to work, she needed the photograph—once she’d managed to find Aunt Anita, that is. And she would. No task was too hard for Reena Diaz, Super Sleuth.

‘Oh, Rinu, you didn’t hurt me,’ Madhu smiled tenderly through tear-bright eyes. ‘It was nice to finally talk about her. I don’t need her picture. I have her here with me always.’ She pointed to her heart. ‘You keep it.’

‘Thank you,’ Reena said, giving her another hug, ‘Madhu, why...’ One final attempt at Plan A.

‘Shh…’ Madhu placed a finger gently on Reena’s lips. She bent down and whispered in Reena’s ear, ‘Don’t worry too much about Shirin. One day, soon, she’ll be back. I know it here.’ And once again she pointed at her heart.

‘Reena!’ Preeti called, sending Gypsy into a paroxysm of barks.

‘Go,’ Madhu said with a gentle nudge.

Before she turned the corner, Reena looked back at the house—at Jacinta standing by the front door and Madhu on the steps in front of the kitchen—and waved as hard as she could.

* * *

Bangalore was just the same as usual: busy, bustling and unnaturally hot for the time of year. They arrived on Sunday morning and Reena’s mum spent all day in bed, curled up with the air conditioner on full blast. Her dad, after having breakfast (puri bhaji which Preeti had ordered from the restaurant across the potholed road from their apartment complex—the puris: puffed brown balloons which went
poof
when Reena stuck her finger in them; the bhaji: wet gluey potatoes that smelled and tasted like paste), announced that he was going to work.

‘On a Sunday?’ Preeti asked with a half-hearted pout, knowing even as she said it that he would go anyway.

‘I have been away for so long,’ Deepak was already at the computer checking his emails, ‘and I am at meetings all day tomorrow, so I will have no time to catch up on all the bits that need doing.’ He talked while he typed, his fingers flying over the keys.

‘Did you at least eat breakfast properly?’

‘Of course I did.’ He shut down the computer, stood, stretched. ‘That break was good. Catching up with everyone was fun. Ma looks better than last time, don’t you think?’

‘Yes. She seems to be finally getting over your da’s death.’

‘But the journey back... God, those ghats are a nightmare.’

‘I know. They’ll never repair those roads, Deepak. That bus bumped its way over every single ditch it could possibly go through. I didn’t get a wink of sleep and my back is aching so much.’

‘How is your leg?’ Her father’s voice was gentle.

‘That hurts too.’

One of her mother’s legs was slightly shorter than the other—a birth defect—and ached whenever it was subjected to strain.

‘Put your feet up today,’ Deepak said, as he hefted the bag he carried to the office over his shoulder. ‘Bye then, Preeti.’ And to Reena, ‘You, too, princess. Have a good day. Finish any homework that needs doing.’

‘Bye,’ Reena mumbled, chasing the bhaji on her plate with a piece of puri. She had not been able to look her father in the eye since she had found out about Shirin. She kept thinking she would talk to him, ask him what had really happened: why he did not acknowledge one sister while he fawned over the other. But the time was never right. Or, if she were true to herself, she was not brave enough. What if there wasn’t a good enough explanation and the father she adored was really at fault? She’d rather live with the doubt.

She finished her breakfast and washed her hands. ‘I am going downstairs to the playground for a bit, Mum,’ she announced, opening the door to her parents’ bedroom where her mother was sprawled on the bed, curtains drawn, pillow over her eyes.

‘Aren’t you tired, Rinu? Don’t you want to sleep for a bit?’ The pillow came off as Preeti regarded her daughter critically.

‘No, I’m fine.’

‘You’re bored here, aren’t you?’ Her mother’s voice was gentle.

She kicked the doorpost with her feet. ‘A little.’

‘Why don’t you knock on number 36, see if the girl who lives there wants to play? She looks about your age.’

As if it were that easy. The girl from number 36 had never so much as acknowledged Reena, had always looked right through her.

‘I’m fine, Mum.’ She flashed a brilliant smile at her mother.

Preeti looked like she was about to say something else.

‘Bye, Mum,’ Reena said, to pre-empt any other soul-searching questions. Her mother looked so tired, lying there with her bad foot elevated by pillows. Reena did not want her to worry and not be able to rest.

Preeti’s eyes searched Reena’s face. ‘Okay, then, wake me when you’re home,’ Preeti pulled the pillow back down.

Reena shut the door softly, flew across the landing to Mrs. Gupta’s flat and rang the doorbell.

Please, God. Let Murli open the door. If he does, I promise to go to church the next three Sundays in a row.

Mrs. Gupta opened the door. She was wearing a flower-print housecoat. Her hair was swept up in a towel. She looked none too happy to see Reena.

I am not coming to church next week,
Reena announced to God in her head.

‘Oh, Reena you are back.’ Mrs. Gupta’s thin smile looked like a grimace, especially with her hair pulled back so severely her skin stretched into ugly, taut lines. ‘Is there something you want?’

‘My ball fell in the swimming pool, and I can’t swim and my mum is sleeping and I can’t find the man who cleans the pool. If Murli could help...’ Reena made up on the spot.

She could feel her face turning crimson as the blood rushed to it.
Please, God, let Mrs. Gupta not realise eleven is a bit too old to play with a ball.
She wished the ground would open up and swallow her. She, Super Sleuth, should be able to come up with better excuses,
relevant
excuses. Why on earth had she been so impulsive? She had not thought that it might be too early, that it was Sunday. She had not thought anything at all. She had just wanted to see her friend.

Mrs. Gupta was looking at her like she was a cockroach she had found scuttling around her kitchen. How could Murli put up with her? She was about to apologise and slink away when Mrs. Gupta screeched, ‘Murli!’

Thank you, God. Sorry for renouncing you so quickly. I promise I’ll go to church religiously, even attend Sunday school,
prayed Reena, making peace.

Murli came hurrying to the door, as string-bean-like as ever, wearing his usual white mundu, a dishcloth slung over his right shoulder. His face lit up when he saw Reena. Then it sobered into an expression of solicitous humility in Mrs. Gupta’s presence.

‘Reena here, Mrs. Diaz’s daughter, you know, from next door...’ Mrs. Gupta said, yawning. Murli nodded vigorously. ‘She needs help rescuing her ball. Come back soon, mind; you’ve all the washing up from breakfast to do.’ Mrs. Gupta yawned again and banged the door shut, ignoring Reena’s effusive thank yous. Her flimsy excuse had worked!

‘Reena,’ Murli grinned happily when they were sitting on the steps leading to the swimming pool. ‘Did you get back this morning? How was the holiday?’

The sun shone on the clean blue expanse, making the water sparkle like the gold in her mother’s jewellery box. The flowers in the neat beds that flanked the pool created a picture-perfect multihued contrast. In the playground, two girls sat on the swings, chatting, their bare feet sketching figures in the mud. A gentle breeze caressed Reena’s face as she sat in the shade of the decorative palm trees. It was so different to rainy, unpolished Taipur, and yet she loved that place too and it had hurt to leave. But now, as she looked at Murli’s thin, animated face, for the first time since she had said goodbye to her grandmother and to Madhu, she was glad to be back.

‘It was good, Murli.’ One of the girls said something to the other and she threw back her head and laughed—a silvery sound like wind chimes.

‘Why don’t you go talk to them? Come on, I’ll come with you.’

She shook her head. If they saw Murli, they’d laugh and point. They must think her a freak, sitting talking to a servant. Well, tough, she thought. ‘I discovered something there, Murli. In Taipur.’

‘Discovered something?’

She took the photograph from its hiding place in her notebook—which was beginning to look a bit worn, much like a proper detective’s—and handed it to Murli.

Murli squinted as he studied the picture. ‘Oh, that’s your dad when he was little, isn’t it? He hasn’t changed much. And that’s your Aunty Anita. If anything, she’s become more beautiful. Who’s the other girl?’ He looked up at Reena, a question in his eyes. ‘She looks like you.’

‘I know,’ Reena said softly.

‘Who is she?’

‘She’s my dad’s sister.’

‘I didn’t know he had another sister.’

The girls had finished swinging. They stood up in unison, brushed the dust off their skirts and walked off, hand in hand, in the opposite direction to where Murli and Reena were sitting.

‘Neither did I. He never talks about her. Nobody does. It’s like she never existed.’

‘But... why?’ Murli looked at the photograph again, as if searching for clues, for something he’d missed.

‘That’s what I’d like to know, too,’ Reena whispered.

CHAPTER NINE

Cow-Dung Pastes and
Gram-Flour Baths

T
he house was cold, uninviting. The stale smell of the curry they had had the night before hit Shirin as she opened the front door, causing her stomach to turn again. She sprinted to the bathroom, retched some more and ran the bath while she brushed, scrutinising her face in the mirror. Her eyes, dark circles underlining them, looked too big in her sunken face. Lipstick was peeling off lips that she had wished, growing up, would pout more—like Anita’s. Her cheeks were hollow and the double chin she’d hoped would disappear was as prominent as ever. Only her hair shone, luxurious and buoyant, thanks to Madhu massaging it with coconut oil warm from the charcoal hearth used to cook conjee, morning and night, no matter how busy she was. She had worn it long all her life. Except the once…
Her mother’s face stony as she crumpled the note, tore it into a million little pieces, picked up the scissors. Deepak’s face grave. Anita’s drawn, tearful. Her fearless sister for once in her life cowering behind Madhu. Madhu, palms joined, pleading. And her hair, her beautiful hair, her one redeeming feature, strewn around the courtyard, dark against the red mud, stray strands flying in the breeze, Rex bounding up, sniffing it and ambling away disappointed that it wasn’t edible…

Madhu would tut at her complexion if she saw it now: ‘How could you let it go, Shirin? After all that care I took to make your skin glow. After all the countless gram-flour baths, all those pastes made from cow dung, tulsi leaves and herbs that I applied to your face every single day without fail.’

When Shirin first heard Madhu say this, she was shocked. ‘You put cow dung on my face?’

‘Every day religiously until you were three. Why else do you think your skin is so clear? No pimples, nothing. And it wasn’t an easy job, either. Collecting fresh cow dung, finding the herbs, making the paste, applying it, waiting for it to dry and making sure you wouldn’t rub it off. Do you think I put so much effort into Anita?’ She didn’t say Deepak. There was no need. He had the great fortune of being a boy, not a girl being groomed for marriage from the day she was born. Madhu smiled fondly at Shirin. ‘It paid off, though. Look at your complexion.’ She took Shirin’s hand, led her to the mirrored door on the Godrej wardrobe and, in a voice filled with pride, said, ‘It glows.’