The Unexpected Son (5 page)

Arms folded, he leaned across the table to examine her face. “No, you look perfectly all right,” he assured her.

Now that she had a rare chance to study his face up close, Vinita noticed all the imperfections. His teeth had brown nicotine stains and the lower row was crowded. His nostrils were flared, like a bull's. His eyebrows were heavy and sat low over the sockets. Maybe it was the brows and nostrils which made him look so fierce. His extraordinary gold-colored eyes were his best feature. Cat's eyes.

No, he wasn't good-looking by any standard, but the overall image, with the tall, athletic build and wide shoulders, was imposing. There was something about this man that many females found irresistible, some male element that was both primitive and wild. Despite her resistance, it was slowly reeling her in at the moment. And she didn't appreciate the loss of control.

Within minutes their coffee arrived, steaming and fragrant, with a delightful head of foam, bubbles popping. Gratefully, she picked up the spoon to add sugar to the mug. It gave her fidgety hands something to do. In the next instant the spoon flew out of her fingers and crashed to the floor with a metallic ping.

Self-conscious, she bent down to pick it up, but Som was there before her, retrieving the spoon and putting it back on the table. He offered her his spoon instead of ordering a new one. “I don't take sugar in my coffee.”

“I'm sorry,” she said with a rueful smile, and accepted the spoon. “I'm usually not this clumsy.” Her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

“Don't give it another thought. For some reason I seem to have that effect on girls,” he informed her. And he seemed dead serious, too.

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at the narcissistic remark. At twenty-two—or was it twenty-three?—with all the fooling around he'd done, he was an experienced flirt. So of course he had that kind of impact on girls like her—sheltered young teenagers who couldn't resist the bad-boy image and the ego as large as the Indian Ocean.

Despite all her valiant efforts at reining in her heart, she felt it slide a little.

And her pulse, instead of stabilizing after that first sip of caffeine, only crept up another degree. She was already regretting her impulsive decision to accept his invitation. But the naughtiness of it and the excitement had been too great to resist.

She looked at her surroundings once again. Was it really she, the awkward bookworm, sitting at a chic table in a small, private café with a man like Som Kori? There was a surreal quality to the scene, like an out-of-body experience. If she hadn't been so nervous, she probably would have detected the humor in it.

When she reached home sometime later, slightly dazed, her nerves still vibrating from the rush of having done something extraordinary, she was relieved to find that her mother hadn't noticed she was late. Or maybe she was under the impression Vinita had a dance lesson that afternoon.

But then Vinita learned from their maid that both the boys involved in the street incident had died from the assault. Her heart took a dive. They were merely boys, killed by a heartless crowd of zealots. And apparently the reason was trivial: the Kannada boys were caught teasing a Marathi girl in their neighborhood.

That night, as she lay in bed, she realized it had been the most bizarre day of her life. Both violence and adventure had abruptly invaded her otherwise ordinary existence. The terrifying sights and sounds of the youths being chased and then murdered would haunt her for months.

Som Kori would haunt her a lot longer.

T
hrough sleep-deprived eyes, Vinita tried her best to concentrate on her exam. Her fingers were hurting from holding the fountain pen at the correct angle for two hours. This economics exam was the hardest she'd ever encountered. All the cramming from the previous night hadn't amounted to much. Every question was turning into a minor struggle to answer.

She could only pray she'd do well enough to pass the exam—something she'd never had to do in the past. Her prayers had always been reserved for keeping her class rank at number one.

Putting the pen down for a second, she flexed her hand to get the stiffness out. She lifted her head and took a quick survey of the classroom. Everyone had their head bent over their desk. The scratch-scratch of nibs scribbling rapidly over ruled paper was the only sound in the hushed classroom. They seemed to have no problem focusing. So what was the matter with her?

“You need something, Miss Shelke?”

The brusque voice startled her. Her eyes connected with the monitor's stern ones behind the horn-rimmed glasses. It was more a reprimand than a question. Students were supposed to mind their own business and not let their gazes wander. If they needed something, they were supposed to raise their hands and ask.

“No, m—madam,” she murmured, hot embarrassment flooding her face. She could sense everyone's attention on her. She'd interrupted their concentration on their precious exam.

“Then why are you wasting time?” The monitor approached Vinita's desk, the starch in her cotton sari making a crackling sound with each measured step. She was a thin, humorless woman, who made the students' bones rattle with fear. One word from her could have someone expelled from the exam, even from the college, permanently.

“Sorry, madam. My eyes were tired,” Vinita mumbled. She'd never been reprimanded in class before. Tears of humiliation stung her eyes, but she fought them back.

The pigeon-faced woman glared at her, making it clear she didn't believe Vinita for one moment. Then she abruptly turned around and went back to her chair at the front of the class.

Somehow Vinita managed to keep her head down and get through the exam. Then she left the classroom and headed for the ladies' lounge, the humiliation lingering like a bitter after-taste. That was the last exam of the year. Blessed relief! And yet the familiar feeling of joyful release was absent.

Prema was waiting for her in the large, crowded lounge. Every conversation buzzing around was about exams:
Oh God, that political science exam was horrible; I think I did okay on question number three but not four; my statistics paper was so easy this time; I'm sure the Hindi quiz is going to be a killer this afternoon…

“How was it?” Prema asked. She had just finished an English Lit exam herself.

“Bad,” replied Vinita on a rueful note.

Prema chuckled as she lifted her stack of books off the floor. “You always say that—”

“I don't.”

“—but then you end up scoring the highest marks. You're such a clever liar.”

“This time I'm not lying.” Vinita rubbed her temple. “I'm too tired to even think about it anymore.”

Prema peered at her closely. “Your eyes are red. Getting sick or something?”

Yeah, sick at heart,
Vinita thought with an inward grimace, but shook her head instead. “Didn't get any sleep last night. It's this stupid exam.”

“Well, you're done for the year. We're both done for the year.” Prema grinned. “No more classes and exams for eight whole weeks. Freedom!”

“Yes, freedom,” Vinita echoed blandly. She followed Prema out the door and down the steps leading to the portico, the same place she'd bumped into Som that evening not long ago.

As she breathed in the hot outdoor air, she wished Prema wasn't with her. Not that she didn't love Prema dearly, but she liked walking home alone these days. It was easier to think without interruptions, to let her mind wander. And easier to meet up with Som. Besides, Prema was bouncing with excitement because the long-awaited summer holidays were finally here.

Vinita wished she could join in her friend's elation. Wouldn't that be nice and simple? Just like it used to be until recently, when the two friends let out a whoop of relief at the end of March, when final exams were over. Then they'd make elaborate plans for the months of April and May.

Back then, the summer holidays had felt like they would last forever and school was only a distant and hazy blot on the horizon. Both of them would open their arms wide and embrace the scorching sun like flowers waiting to blossom. And they'd bask in it for hours each day, ride their bikes, until their brown skin turned black, until they were ready to drop from exhaustion.

Well, those were the old days of childlike delight in the most ordinary things. Now she and Prema were nearly adults and summer had lost its brilliance. Lately, it seemed like Vinita had no interest in anything or anyone.

She lived for one thing, one person: Som.

This year, unlike the previous years, the summer holidays were going to be a major hindrance. All these weeks it had been relatively easy to steal away after classes to meet Som—an hour or two of bliss. But now, without college as an excuse, her only reason for leaving home was the occasional movie with her friends—and her dance lessons three afternoons each week. She'd have to think of some way to work around them so she could carve out some time to see Som.

Prema interrupted her thoughts when she said, “I hope you're going straight home.” Her expression was just a hair short of a warning.

Vinita avoided the censorious glare and continued to walk toward the gate. “I…I'm not sure.”

“Vini, how many times do I have to say you're begging for trouble?”

“I won't get into trouble.”

Prema stopped in her tracks and stared at Vinita, her dark eyes fairly dripping with disapproval. “That's what you said the last time I warned you. Now you're meeting that horrible chap almost every day.”

“He's not horrible!” Vinita shot back, and realized too late that she'd raised her voice to the point of calling attention to herself and Prema. Students standing around were gawking with obvious interest. “Let's not talk about it here,” she hissed through clenched teeth. It was bad enough that most of the campus knew about her and Som. Now they'd know her best friend condemned it, too.

“Fine, let's discuss it somewhere else.” Prema started to walk faster. Vinita had to hurry to keep pace with her. Prema's thin lips were clamped shut. They practically disappeared when she was annoyed or unhappy. She had an expressive face that always indicated her mood.

As they reached the campus gates, from the corner of her eye Vinita noticed Som's friends sitting atop the wall as usual. Som wasn't with them, which meant he was probably waiting for her at the café. Her pulse did an ecstatic somersault.

The minute they were on safer ground, Prema slowed down and turned to her. “Tell me you're not going to continue this…affair with Som Kori…now that college is over for the year.”

“I wish I could.” Vinita shook her head. “But I can't.”

“Can't or won't?” Prema demanded.

“Both…I guess,” Vinita replied, afraid to meet her friend's punishing gaze.

“Then you're on your own. I don't want to be involved in lying to your mother anymore.”

Vinita winced. “I thought you were my friend. Guess I was mistaken.”

“And I thought you were brighter than the rest of us,” said Prema. “Apparently I was mistaken, too.”

Tears sprang to Vinita's eyes. “How can you say such mean things?”

Prema gave a frustrated groan. “Because nothing else will get through to you.” She quickened her pace once again. “Som will probably be waiting for you, so I'll go on home.”

“Prema, wait.” But Prema was almost running, so Vinita slowed down and watched her weave her way through the pockets of pedestrians, her turquoise
salwar-kameez
-clad figure slowly dissolving into the distance.

For a moment Vinita stood still, feeling abandoned. Prema and she had been inseparable since kindergarten. Was Vinita willing to lose a precious friendship because of her unwillingness to give up Som? Was it too greedy to want to have both?

Drying her eyes, she put the handkerchief back in her purse and continued down the footpath. She hated admitting even to herself that Prema might be right. What was the matter with Vinita? Where was her common sense? Even her precious dance lessons, something she'd loved and always made time for in her busy schedule, didn't mean much anymore. What was she getting into? And yet, each time she thought of withdrawing from the madness, she couldn't. Som was intoxicating. An addiction she couldn't shake.

It was a mere eleven weeks and two days since her first cup of coffee with him, and she could do nothing but obsess about him, night and day. She was straying from the restricted path she was supposed to tread.

She'd reminded herself often of her obligations to her family and herself. Her dance guru was upset with her for arriving late for lessons several times. On a couple of occasions, Vinita had skipped lessons altogether and then lied to him that she'd been sick. She told herself her heart would break if she didn't watch out. She was walking a very fine line. And yet all that wisdom was useless in the face of the irresistible attraction Som held for her.

She was in love with him. There was no doubt left in her mind. All the pride she'd taken in being a strong girl, incapable of falling prey to an attractive body and surging hormones, had crumbled quickly. The contempt she'd once held for girls who were too weak to resist temptation was reserved for herself now.

Unfortunately, the flesh was weak, the heart weaker. The soul was apparently the weakest.

Som and she met almost every afternoon at the café. It was an unspoken agreement, and it had become a habit to take a diversion on her way home and walk past Bombay Café—after Prema had taken the turn toward her own house.

If Vinita found Som outside the café waiting for her, they'd go inside and spend some time together. If he wasn't there, she'd turn around and go home, feeling let down. He wasn't all that predictable. Besides, he had cricket matches and practice games that sometimes interrupted their routine.

She wondered if he'd be there today.

And then she saw him, seated on the top step leading into the café, wearing sunglasses that masked his eyes. One leg was folded at the knee and the other was stretched out, the creases on his pants sharp as razor blades. The bright green shirt would have looked garish on a lesser man, but on him it looked rakish. Perfect. One arm hung loosely over his knee, the ever-present cigarette dangling between two fingers.

She forgot all about her spat with Prema, and her footsteps quickened in keeping with her heartbeat.

“Hello,” she said to him, trying not to show her delight.

“Hello, yourself,” he replied, rising to his feet with his usual pantherlike grace. Peeling his sunglasses off, he hooked them over his shirt pocket. He held the café door open for her and followed her inside, bringing with him his unique scent.

They occupied their usual booth behind the curtain. He asked her about her last exam and she gave him an offhand answer. He wouldn't have believed her if she said she'd fared badly, anyway—just like when Prema had laughed it off. Why did people find it so hard to believe that she could do poorly on a test, perhaps even fail? In any case, things like exams were of no interest to Som. In his world, all that mattered was sports.

But in all fairness to him, he was generally charming to her, attentive, often kind, or at least he seemed to try to be all those things, for her sake. The cynical frown was there, but it wasn't that severe. He even smiled at times—and each time it warmed her heart to think maybe
she
was responsible for it.

Nonetheless, there was a part of him that remained aloof, a part he didn't share with her. He never talked about his family like she talked about hers. He never shared his dreams for his future with her. She could never get a glimpse into his heart and head. For a man with so many friends and admirers, and someone who had deliberately sought out her company, he was perplexingly private.

Whenever she brought up the subject of his siblings and parents, he gave her some flippant reply that bordered on abrupt. Questions about a future career were brushed aside with a vague reference to “eventually joining my father's business.”

So she'd stopped asking him. No point in trying to chip away at a hard rock with a blunt knife, and certainly no reason to make that scowl deeper. She was happy with the simple fact that a part of him belonged to her.

Nevertheless, there was one thing he did share with total abandon: cricket—his passion, his ultimate bliss. That's when those rare smiles brightened his face—when he gave her a strike-by-strike account of some successful match or other. He seemed to come alive in those moments and pulse with the kind of energy she could almost touch and taste.

She waited till the waiter delivered their coffee, and took a sip before asking, “How was yesterday's game?”

He extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray and shrugged. “The match wasn't bad. Wasn't exactly good, either.”

“What does that mean?” she asked with a lift of her brow.

The scowl turned a little darker. “I was
this
close to scoring a century,” he said, holding up his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate the tiny gap. “But damn it all, just when I thought I was going to score my hundredth run, I got caught out.”

“Oh no!”

“Their stupid team has only
one
good fielder.” He gave a dramatic groan. “And it was my bad luck that
he
was precisely where my ball was headed.”