THE MAGICAL PALACE (36 page)

That evening, as I studied, I toyed with the idea of deliberately making mistakes in the exams so Ranjan could get higher marks. It would be a small price to pay for him to stop hating me so much. But having to face my parents’ disappointment would be worse and so I kept at my books.

Sunday Evening. San Francisco.

Andrew’s phone rang. The electronic jangle startled me, bringing me back to the reality of the present crisis.

‘Andrew Borghese. Oh, hey, Julian. No, I am not at the motel any more … Oh, about going out tonight …’

‘You are not going out tonight, are you?’ I interrupted even as I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice and failed. The dull throbbing in my temples had turned into a steady pounding now. Julian was Andrew’s ex-boyfriend.

‘Let me call you back?’ Andrew said and hung up. He turned to me. ‘Do you really think that I would go out tonight? Well, thanks for trusting my commitment to the relationship.’

‘Well, here I am pouring my heart out to you and you’ve already made plans to go out without bothering to hear me out!’ I said. ‘I thought you were going to give me a chance to at least share my story with you.’

‘I’m still here, am I not?’ Andrew’s voice was icy. ‘I’m here, and listening, even though you wanted me out of here. If you really cared a whit about me, Rahul, you would never ask me to leave this place—even for an evening.’ He glared at me, his body tense, looking ready to walk out again.

This was not good. I had to get through my story, I had to make him understand. Basically, I had to shut up and focus. I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to calm down. The headache was overwhelming now and I started to massage my temples. ‘I am sorry, Andrew,’ I said apologetically. ‘I overreacted. You know how I feel about Julian—it seems as though he will keep butting in between you and me as long as he is single.’ I sighed. ‘I hate the thought that you have been discussing me with him.’ Damn this headache, damn the whole bloody weekend. I hated being so needy, giving voice to words that I regretted even as I uttered them.

‘Yes,’ Andrew snapped. ‘I know how you feel about him. For some reason, you think that I will run into his arms at the first opportunity!’ He sounded positively furious now. ‘Look, Rahul, while we are sorting this stuff out, you
have
to get this—I am not looking to get out of this relationship to get together with Julian or anyone else. I want this to work. That is why I agreed to hold off on moving out. Do you understand what I am saying? Can we get clear on that?’

I nodded.

‘And yes, Julian is my ex,’ said Andrew, ‘and I do consider him a friend. You are going to have to respect that relationship.’

‘Yes.’ I was being chastised and it was galling. God, I loved Andrew so much. What would life be like if he left me?

‘Is your head hurting? Do you want to take a break?’

‘No, I’m okay. Let me just get some Ibuprofen before I continue.’

I walked to the medicine cabinet. The air in the apartment felt icy cold on my face after the heat of the fire. I rummaged through the cabinet, found the pills, then walked back to the fireplace. Andrew was on the phone.

‘ … Yes, I know I said I would go out, but I changed my mind. I have to work on the relationship tonight.’ He paused. ‘Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Julian. But you know that this comes first. Okay. Gotta go.’

We sat by the fire again. I was overjoyed that Andrew wasn’t going to meet Julian. I ached to touch him, kiss him, but I knew better than to reach out to him right now.

‘So …’ Andrew flashed me a brief smile. ‘Back to your tale, Rahul. Loved the monkeys—such a riot! Hated the part about you finding out about homosexuality, though. I can’t imagine how it must have felt. When growing up, it was bad enough being teased by bullies, but at least our school counsellor tried to get me to embrace who I was and
feel good about myself. And there you were, with no one to talk to, looking at some obscure homophobic sex therapist’s book. And drawing conclusions imposed on other people out of ignorance and personal bias.’ Andrew’s voice was warm with sympathy.

‘Yes, it was horribly traumatic. Though, after the incident with Shubho, I felt totally numb. But it all hit me like a ton of bricks as the months went by. And I also got to see for myself how society treated the parents of gay children. From that point on, I pretty much went straight back into the closet. I could not imagine bringing shame to the family … I don’t think you’ve ever dealt with that kind of shame.’

‘Not true. Parents disowned their children for being gay when I was growing up. That speaks volumes about their shame, you know.’

‘Maybe you’re right. We have a word called izzat back home. I don’t think there is an exact translation for that word in English. It means … personal honour—family honour, honour of one’s position in society and much, much more. Without izzat, a man cannot leave his home and face the world. That is the level of shame I am talking about— disowning one’s kids is not enough. Have you heard about honour killings?’

‘When a family kills a member? Yes, that is brutal.’

‘Well, that is the level of shame I am talking about. Anyway, by the time that year ended, I was completely in denial and lived in terror of losing what I had left.’

‘Maybe that is why you feel so threatened by Julian …’ Andrew mused. ‘Do you think you will lose me to him?’

‘Yes, I guess.’ I shrugged, embarrassed at having admitted my fear. ‘Though, you know what? I am tired of living with this fear.’

‘You carry so much unnecessary baggage with you, Rahul.’ Andrew’s voice was gentle. ‘But only you can get rid of it. I have to say, though, that I love the palace as you describe it! What a shame if you lost that too. If I had to leave a place like that, I would end up in therapy for years.’

I smiled wryly. ‘Who has the luxury of therapy in India?’ There was a strange bitterness in my voice.

‘Rahul, you have to let go! Your past is ruining your life, do you get that? It is costing you so much—your peace of mind, our relationship, your freedom to be happy …’

I was silent for a while. Andrew was right, of course. The tightness in my chest relaxed as I breathed out, determined to move forward. The past did belong in the past. It was over. Suddenly, for the first time since I had been a boy of thirteen, I had the unshakeable sense that I would be all right. That I could face whatever came my way. With or without Andrew. The peace from the night before came upon me again—a heavenly benediction.

‘Hmm. So where did I stop when Julian called?’ I wanted to get on with my story now, unburden myself to Andrew.

‘Let’s see. You were telling me about the boys in the schoolyard calling you names.’

‘Oh yes. That was just before the final exams …’

13

December 1973. Hyderabad.

The week of the examinations was a blur of studying, writing the finals, going home and studying again. We usually had one exam a day, for three hours. When the last day arrived, I could not wait to finish. The winter holidays were beginning after a long wait, but I was already dreading going back to school the next year.

During the winter break, the days dawned clear and crisp. The sun shone brightly at us even though it was low in the sky and I spent all day watching the monkeys. They had by now got used to my presence as I followed them around from one tree to another. The babies had grown and most of them did not cling to their mothers any longer, but they still stayed close. In the afternoons, they would sit and bask in the sun’s warmth, grooming each other, picking out lice and eating them. I tried to make the days last as long as possible, but they slipped by too soon.

The semi-annual PTA meeting of the HRA was a reminder that the winter vacation was coming to an end. Held in late December, just before classes resumed, it was attended by the parents of all students, including mine. The students
themselves were not supposed to attend the meeting, so I stayed home with Rani.

Rani and I were playing Monopoly that evening when we saw a stream of headlights making its way along the driveway. I recognized our Baby Ford as it stopped in front of the garage.

‘Ma and Baba are home,’ Rani exclaimed, ‘and they have brought back guests.’

We ran to the sitting room and straightened it out, arranging magazines on the coffee table and turning on the lights.

Under the lights of the portico stood my parents, Professor and Mrs Khosla and Ranjan’s parents, Mr and Dr Bose. Seeing all these people together stunned me momentarily.

‘Hello, Rahul, how are you?’ A chorus of polite hellos poured in. I figured then that none of these people knew what had been going on in school. Relieved, I invited them in and stepped into the kitchen to help my mother.

Carrying out a tray with tea, biscuits and some homemade sandesh, I heard Mrs Khosla say with a nasty laugh, ‘Arre, I must say that it was a relief that this PTA meeting was not as unpleasant as the PTA meeting in our daughters’ school. When Mrs Puri ran for office, she did not get one vote. Not one vote, I tell you.’ Her eyes glittered with righteous satisfaction.

‘Why? Mrs Puri was quite a good president last year, wasn’t she?’ my mother asked.

‘Well, she might have been a good president, but she was a terrible mother. After all, what kind of mother raises her son to be … you know …’ Mrs Khosla’s thin, pencilled eyebrows danced with implication, a smirk on her lips. Her jowls swung in disapproval on either side of her face.

‘Well, we all know that her son was not normal,’ Mr Bose chimed in. ‘But you can’t blame the mother for an abnormal son. They are lucky the child was not jailed. Such things are illegal you know, as they jolly well should be.’

‘Arre, Mr Bose. You are too nice. That is not abnormal behaviour, ji, it is a sickness. A moral sickness. Sickness that runs in the family, if you ask me. Hunh!’

‘All I can say is that I am glad that that disgusting boy is not in my son’s class now.’ Dr Bose pressed her thin lips together in a prim line and pushed her spectacles up her large beaky nose. They slid down again on her oily skin. ‘One bad apple spoils the rest.’

‘I agree,’ my mother chimed in. ‘There is nothing worse than bad company. You know, at this age … When we put Rahul in Hyderabad Royal Academy, we heard rumours about an all-boys school, you know … But we never thought that a boy in his class would do that …
be
like that.’

‘Her daughter is in Madhu’s and Rani’s school,’ Mrs Khosla said. ‘I hope she is not like her brother, you know a … chhee, chhee … I cannot even say that dirty word.’ She made a vomiting gesture, reminding me of Ranjan’s reaction to Amit Puri. ‘This perverted behaviour can ruin our children. Thank God my son brought this to Mrs Joshi’s knowledge, you know. Today, a love letter to another boy, tomorrow something more disgusting. At least I raised my son with good moral values.’ Mrs Khosla patted her own back, revealing a large sweat stain under her armpit.

‘I say that we should not include her in any social functions or the PTA,’ Professor Khosla added. ‘Why expose our children to this bad family?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Achha, let me be frank. There are good families and bad families. Theirs is not a respectable one. Anyway, to be safe,
I say we keep a very close eye on our children, just in case they are learning bad habits. Better to nip the corrupting influence in the bud.’

‘I agree,’ my father said as I started to slink away, cold with dread. So this is how people were talking about Amit’s mother and family. I could
never
cause my mother to suffer like this.

I went and sat on the veranda outside. It was a cold and dark evening. My breath was like a white wisp of cotton as it condensed in the air. It was silent outside, the silence of a cold winter night that blankets everything, stifling every sound, every chirp, every whimper and moan. I sat with my legs hanging over the edge of the veranda, feeling a deep, chilling fear. I saw clearly the future of my parents’ social standing if anyone were to find out about me. I resolved again to never put myself or my family in danger of disgrace and said a silent prayer of thanks that I was still safe.

The next day, the unthinkable happened. The monkeys disappeared—every single one of them.

‘Did you see the monkeys today?’ I asked Rani.

‘No, I did not. Ask Ma.’

‘Ma, have you seen the monkeys?’ I asked with a sense of foreboding.

‘No, Rahul, I have not. Go ask Shankar.’

I went looking for Shankar, confident that he would know, and found him. ‘Shankar, where are the monkeys?’ I asked.

‘Sahib, they are gone.’

‘Gone? Where? When? Did someone hurt them? Did someone frighten them?’

‘No, Sahib. Nothing happened. I have heard that monkeys travel from one area to another. Maybe they did
not find enough food to eat. It is winter and there are no fruits around. Maybe the other monkey troop will attack again. It is for the best, Sahib.’

‘For the best? What do you mean?’

‘Sahib, those monkeys will eat anything they can find. There will be no mangoes, no papayas, no jamun, lemon, oranges, guavas … nothing will be left uneaten. So it is good they are gone. Lord Hanuman has guided them to a good place.’

I looked for them as I ran from one part of the garden to the other. I peered around the servants’ quarters. I looked up at every tree, from the great banyan to the guava grove near the dhobi ghaat. There was no sign of them, nothing at all. Just the bare branches of the deciduous trees and the green boughs of the evergreens, swaying lightly in the afternoon sunshine.

My heart grew heavy with the loss of my unlikely friends.

January 1974. Hyderabad.

‘India is going to be a third-world country forever if we do not advance technologically,’ my father lamented as he read an article about a satellite that the United States had launched successfully into orbit. ‘Look at the United States. They are so ahead of us. One day, you will have to go there and get an education.’

The first day of school was coming up on me. I readied myself for another lecture.

‘That is why I want you to be an engineer, so that you can do your higher studies there. We are all doing our part. Even though I disagree with the expansion plan for the
Mint, I have to agree that is the only way to increase factory production. There are many gardens and palaces, but only one opportunity to make this Mint the largest one in the country.’