THE MAGICAL PALACE (12 page)

‘Actually, Rahul, before you clean the spices, use this dry cloth to wipe out the inside of the pickle jars,’ Ma instructed me.

I loved the pickle jars—some tall and cavernous, some transparent and others opaque—that would hold the mangoes and spices once they were mixed. We sat around the kitchen table on stools as we worked. The conversation that followed was a defining moment for me because I heard from my mother for the first time what she thought of ‘love marriages’.

It started with Mallika saying, ‘I cannot wait to watch the film tonight. Rishi Kapoor is supposed to be really good in it.’

‘I know. He is so cute,’ Rani chimed in.

‘What is the story about?’ my mother asked.

‘It is about this Hindu boy and Christian girl. They fall in love and run away, in the end jumping over a waterfall …’ Mallika said sadly.

‘Oh, that is so sad. But those kinds of mixed marriages never work, you know.’

‘Don’t be so old-fashioned, Ma.’ Rani sounded exasperated. ‘Things are not like they used to be when you were young. If I had a Muslim or Christian boyfriend, would you not let me marry him?’

‘I might. But you know your father. He would never, ever permit it. His family suffered terribly in the Partition when they came over from East Pakistan. In this world, society is still not ready for Hindus to marry Christians or Muslims. The scars from the Partition are still fresh. It is going to take decades, maybe even hundreds of years, before Hindus and Muslims intermarry and before love marriages are accepted.’

The slicing knife slid off a mango seed and buried itself in Mallika’s finger. She pulled it out and it fell to the kitchen floor with a clatter.

‘Oh!’ Mallika cried and grabbed a towel and wrapped her finger in it even as it turned red. ‘Oh no, this is bad luck!’ she said, her voice full of pain and fear as she looked at Rani.

I felt a shiver of apprehension as I stared at the blood dripping onto the floor. The hopelessness of Mallika’s love was overwhelming because she was truly alone. Rani, Mallika, Shyamala and I were powerless and had to do whatever our parents told us to.

‘Don’t be superstitious, Mallika. It is just an accident.’ Rani tried to soothe her as she and I jumped up and went to see how bad the cut was.

‘Oh, Mallika!’ My mother was at her side in a flash. ‘Show it to me.’ She examined the finger, holding it tightly on either side of the cut. ‘It is not too deep. Thank God. Your mother would never forgive me if you were hurt in my kitchen.’

‘Here is some ice from the fridge. I am going to apply a tourniquet. I learnt how to do first-aid in my Girl Scouts
class.’ Rani had been anxious to use the word tourniquet, I was sure.

The cut stopped bleeding after intense pressure was applied for a while.

‘Okay, that is enough work for all of you. Wash your hands. Mallika, rinse out the cut and let Rani apply some Boroline ointment and then tie a bandage. I will finish the rest. I will make the lime pickles later. Mallika, tell your mother I will give her some of my pickles when they are done.’

Mallika and Rani went off to wash their hands. I stayed behind in the kitchen, going through the spices, looking for chaff. It was hot outside and the crows sounded tired and cranky. A fly buzzed annoyingly above us somewhere. ‘
Jis gali mein tera ghar na ho, balama
…’ The hit song from
Kati Patang
on the radio reminded me again of Rajesh Khanna rowing a boat in Nainital while Asha Parekh blushed. My mother mixed the mangoes in the oil and heated them with the spices in the kadhai. Then she carefully poured the mixture into the jars.

She took some time with the sweet pickle, which was one of my favourites. It was made with summer berries. She tied a cloth over the mouth of each jar. The jars were then placed out in the blazing summer sun. There they would sit for the rest of summer, to be brought in each night and put out each morning. After about three to four months of being infused in the hot sun, the pickles would be on their way to the pantry, where they would stay for a year or two before being eaten. When ready, these pickles were dark and sticky with berries and mangoes—the promise of summer distilled.

I wondered what would happen to all of us in a year, when the pickles would be ready. Would Mallika still be in love with Salim? Would Binesh Kaku and Anjali Mashi
accept their relationship? Would I be normal like everyone else at school or would I have to hide my feelings from everyone so that I did not get punished and expelled, and bring shame to my family? Would I become like Amit, vacant and slow, if I were administered shock therapy?

‘Go see how Mallika is doing, Rahul’ Ma said to me. ‘I don’t know how I would have made all these pickles without your help.’ She smiled and pushed me outside the kitchen as she prepared to clean up.

Mallika and Rani were sitting at the dining table and talking in low voices. Mallika looked pensive. They stopped talking when I entered.

‘How is your finger, Mallika Didi?’ I asked.

‘Much better. Thank God it has stopped bleeding.’

‘I am so excited about the film we are going to watch this evening.’ I said. I could not wait to see Salim again. I hoped Mallika would introduce me to him.

‘I am too,’ said Mallika, suddenly looking radiant.

‘I will be bringing out tea soon. Rani, set the table,’ my mother announced from the kitchen.

We snacked on hot, spicy tea, with crisp, savoury nimkis and a plate of gajas filled with nuts and raisins and shaped like half-moons.

‘It is almost five in the evening,’ Mallika suddenly exclaimed.

‘Let us go,’ Rani said. ‘I need to get ready.’

‘Me too!’ I scrambled for the bedroom. I put on my new Rajesh Khanna-style shirt and pants. My favourite shoes with the big buckles were next. I arranged my hair carefully with a curl on one side, just like my hero and then, humming ‘
Mere sapnon ki rani kab ayegi tu
…’ to myself, I ran to meet the others.

My father was waiting at the wheel, ready to drive us to the film theatre. ‘Rahul, stay close to Mallika and Rani,’ he ordered.

‘We will make sure of that,’ Mallika said, squeezing my hand conspiratorially.

I smiled to myself, thrilled to be going to Ramesh Talkies, my favourite theatre. Grand and imposing, it had gigantic, painted posters with larger-than-life pictures of actors and actresses. We loved the potato chips, the spicy masala peanuts and the popcorn sold there—the roasted and sweet aroma would be heavy in the foyer when we entered. But most of all, I was excited because I would see Salim.

‘Let us get snacks.’ Mallika said as we walked to the stand selling Coca Cola and snacks.

‘Oh, yes, let’s go,’ Rani said with a meaningful look at Mallika.

Mallika was paying the vendor when a voice behind us said, ‘Mallika?’

I recognized him right away.

Mallika turned around. Her face lit up and she squealed with joy: ‘Salim!’

‘Are you here to watch this film?’ he asked.

‘Yes!’ Mallika giggled.

I had not realized how impressive Salim was up close. He was over six feet tall and had beautiful dark hair. His hair was done in the latest fashion, nicely combed back and with sideburns. He was dressed stylishly too. His eyes were dark and soulful and he had a sparkling smile. Walking over to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘And who are you?’ I found myself looking into his eyes and stared at him, enjoying our proximity.

‘This is Rahul. Rahul, meet Salim. I know Salim from
college,’ Mallika said. Salim’s eyes twinkled as he squeezed my shoulder and said, ‘Hi, Rahul.’

I knew a lot more about Salim already, but I also knew that it was supposed to be a secret.

‘Hi, Salim,’ I said, suddenly feeling shy. With the exception of Shubho, he was the most handsome man I had ever seen off screen. He was older than Shubho and there was nothing boyish about him. I stared at his brown eyes and was conscious of a desire to look at all of him—the pants that hugged his hips tightly, the dark curly hair that showed at the opening of his shirt, the strong forearms and the large hand that still squeezed my shoulder. I held on to Mallika’s hand, feeling both bashful and excited.

Rani came up to meet us. ‘Hello … I mean, hi,’ she stammered. ‘Nice to meet you. I am Rani.’

I was conscious of a sense of disappointment as Salim moved away from me to greet her. ‘Hi, Rani,’ he said.

‘Would you like to join us? What a coincidence, running into you here.’ Mallika sounded perfectly innocent. Salim looked at Mallika and gave her a quick wink. Mallika blushed as she looked down, trying to hide her pleasure.

I knew that this clandestine meeting was no coincidence. I felt especially thrilled to be in the presence of a real-life romantic couple, just like the heroes and heroines in films. I thought about Shubho and his girlfriend. They did not need to hide their feelings for each other and meet secretly. A sudden stab of jealousy shot through me as I thought about how they had kissed and touched each other.

We walked into the theatre, our feet sinking into the blood-red carpet. It was dark and cool, the air-conditioning a welcome respite from the heat outside. Scalloped velvet curtains covered the silver screen. The stale air smelt of
sickly sweet Priya perfume, Jovan Musk cologne and sweat, mingling with the aroma of popcorn and potato chips. Bags rustled around us. Mallika took us high up onto the balcony where it was not very crowded. Salim sat next to me on one side. On the other side, Mallika sat, flanked by Rani. The curtains lifted and the conversations became whispers all around as people tried to finish their talking before the show.

After the obligatory newsreel and trailers, the film started. Whispers quieted down further. The rustling and crackling of plastic died away as the snacks were put aside for a bit.

I glanced at Mallika, happy to be with my real-life heroine. She and Salim were looking at each other, bright smiles on their faces. Her eyes sparkling, she patted my cheek. I was elated to be sitting in between these two beautiful people who had committed their love to each other against all odds. I knew then that, no matter what opposition they faced, I would support them any way I could. I thought about Shubho, my real-life hero, and wished that I was sitting in the darkened theatre with him, my head on his shoulder.

The film we were watching,
Bobby
, was probably the best-known teenage love story ever made in India. Rishi Kapoor, handsome and dashing, was a Hindu boy. But his rich father was a scheming villain and inflexible about his son’s love for a Christian girl, a Goan fisherman’s daughter, played by the beautiful Dimple Kapadia. Thus the hero and heroine were in constant danger from their controlling parents. In the end, after an escape and chase, the lovers jump off a cliff, over a waterfall and into a deep gorge, because no one would accept their love. But a last-minute reprieve was granted when the girl’s father, the poor fisherman, had a change of heart and jumped in to save them.

Mallika and Rani cried from relief and joy at the end. I did too, discreetly, feeling too old to show my tears in public. I felt Salim put his arm over the back of my chair. I looked over and saw Salim’s hand on Mallika’s shoulder, gently rubbing it. She looked at him and smiled. She stopped crying. So did I.

6

June 1973. Hyderabad

The day had dawned still and hot. As I relived our meeting with Salim from the night before, I sat outside on the veranda, my legs dangling a few feet above the ground, listening to the gusts of wind that made the trees bow and sway in sudden snatches. The storm that had been threatening to break had not arrived, granting us a temporary reprieve. The monsoons would arrive soon.

I thought about Shubho as well. I wanted desperately to see him again and wondered if I could convince my parents to let me visit Ranjan soon for a Day Spend. They would undoubtedly say that it was too soon. I racked my brains, trying to think of an excuse to be around Ranjan, so that I could be around Shubho too. I thought of the way he had looked right at me as he kissed his girlfriend and a familiar, warm sensation flooded my body. I wished I could read the letter that Amit Puri had written. Had he felt the same rush of desire that I did when he expressed his love for the captain of the football team?

The phone rang, breaking into my thoughts.

‘Four-six-five-three-zero,’ I heard my mother answer. ‘Oh, Anjali Didi. How are you?’ There was a pause as Anjali
Mashi said something. Then Ma continued: ‘Yes, of course I remember. We will visit you this Saturday. Don’t worry so much. We can talk more when we visit. Rahul and Rani are here and I have to cook lunch for them. But we will see you later tonight.’

She hung up and turned around. ‘We are going to see Mallika this evening,’ she said to Rani and me. We nodded enthusiastically at the news and walked to the steps that led down from the veranda.

‘I think Mallika Didi likes Salim just like Dimple liked Rishi Kapoor. They are boyfriend–girlfriend, aren’t they?’ I asked Rani, using the scandalous words I had learnt at school. And I had seen what Shubho did with his girlfriend and felt privy to a secret world that Rani had probably never seen.

‘Don’t be stupid! And don’t mention this to anyone or else we will not be allowed to go out with Mallika Didi. If Binesh Kaku and Anjali Mashi find out, they will be very angry. So never, never mention this to anyone. Understand? I hope I have a boyfriend too. I cannot imagine being married off to someone I do not know, like our parents were,’ she said, her voice holding a surprising urgency. Her face tightened with dread and she grabbed my arm.

I felt Rani’s fear palpably as never before and it made me feel unexpectedly sad for her. I was newly aware of the precariousness of her position. I looked at her and noticed again how her body had changed over the past year and how she held herself differently, with a new modesty. I had seen Ranjan responding to her. Rani’s hair was pulled up and her big hooped earrings gave her a mature look. She would have to follow many rules like other girls and her freedom was much more tenuous than mine. I had always
assumed that Rani’s place in life was stronger since she had bullied and threatened me for as long as I could remember. Rani had secrets too, and would have more, like Mallika, I thought. Just like me.