DURJOYDATTA

theboywithabrokenheart

PENGUINBOOKS

Contents

20July2002

21July2002

23July2002

27July2002

29July2002

4August2002

7August2002

9August2002

11August2002

14August2002

17August2002

18August2002

23August2002

25August2002

29August2002

1September2002

4September2002

6September2002

16September2002

19September2002

22September2002

23September2002

24September2002

26September2002

27September2002

28September2002

29September2002

2October2002

7October2002

8October2002

9October2002

10October2002

11October2002

15October2002

17October2002

18October2002

19October2002

25October2002

26October2002

30October2002

1November2002

14November2002

15November2002

16November2002

25November2002

27November2002

29November2002

10December2002

12December2002

17December2002

18December2002

19December2002

25December2002

31December2002

2January2003

5January2003

6January2003

7January2003

10January2003

17January2003

20January2003

21January2003

22January2003

24January2003

27January2003

30January2003

1February2003

2February2003

7February2003

11February2003

17February2003

20February2003

21February2003

23February2003

24February2003

25February2003

27February2003

2March2003

4March2003

5March2003

6March2003

9March2003

10March2003

12March2003

13March2003

14March2003

15March2003

16March2003

19March2003

20March2003

21March2003

23March2003

24March2003

25April2003

30April2003

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PENGUINMETROREADS

THEBOYWITHABROKENHEART

DurjoyDattawasborninNewDelhi,andcompletedadegreeinengineeringandbusinessmanagementbeforeembarkingonawritingcareer.Hisfirstbook—OfCourseILoveYou

…—waspublishedwhenhewastwenty-oneyearsoldandwasaninstantbestseller.Hissuccessivenovels—NowThatYou’reRich…;SheBrokeUp,IDidn’t!…;OhYes,I’mSingle!…;YouWereMyCrush…;IfIt’sNotForever…;TilltheLastBreath…;SomeoneLikeYou;HoldMyHand;WhenOnlyLoveRemains;World’sBestBoyfriend;OurImpossibleLove;TheGirlofMyDreams;andTheBoyWhoLoved—havealsofoundprominenceonvariousbestsellerlists,makinghimoneofthehighest-sellingauthorsinIndia.

Durjoyalsohastohiscreditninetelevisionshowsandhaswrittenoverathousandepisodesfortelevision.

DurjoylivesinMumbai.Formoreupdates,youcanfollowhimonFacebook

(www.facebook.com/durjoydatta1)orTwitter(@durjoydatta)ormailhimat

durjoydatta@gmail.com.

20July2002

WhatshouldIstartwith?‘Hi’or‘DearDiary’?‘Hi’istoocasual,and‘dear’soundsalittlearchaic.MaybeifIgodeeperintothequestion,Iwillfindmyanswer.Who’sitI’mwritingfor?Foranoldermewhowouldn’tevenhavethetimetoreadthis?Forasisterwhowouldpullmylegendlesslyifshefindsoutaboutthis?ForthebestfriendIdon’thave?OrfortheboyfriendthatIhavevowednevertomake?

OK,letmeforgetaboutfindingareason,andgetstraightintoit.

TomorrowanewchapterstartsinmylifeandIintendtomakeitcount.Tomorrow’sthedayeverythingwillchange;it’slikeoneofthosemomentsinmovieswherethegirliswalkingonthestreetandshe’sconfusedandlost,her

http://www.facebook.com/durjoydatta1https://twitter.com/durjoydattamailto:durjoydatta@gmail.com

eyestearyandherstepsunsteady,butthenslowlyasenseofconfidenceseepsthroughher,slowlyfillingherup,submergingherinhopeandpossiblejoy,andshe’ssmiling,andthenshe’srunning,sprintingawayfromherpast,leavingbehindallthatshehasbeenthrough,chargingatherfuture,laughinglikecrazy.Eighteenyearsisalongtimetospendwitheyeslookingatthegroundlikeagoodgirl,stepsslow,wordssoftandbarelyaudible,andaconstant,politesmile.

Nowit’sallgoingtochange.Ithasto.Doesn’tit?

Isitrudenottointroducemyself?

Heregoes.

Hi!I’mAdvaitaVaid,daughterofOmPrakashVaidandNilimaVaid,theyoungersisterofDivyaVaid.IamfromDehradunandIlivewithMumma,Papa,Di,Dadaji(Grandpa),Buaji(Papa’ssister),Fufaji(Buaji’shusband),ManishChachu(father’syoungerbrother)andmytwocousins,KaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiya,inahouseasoldastime,inaroomwhichIsharewiththreeothers,andthere’snotonepartofthissentencethatIamnotdyingtochange.

21July2002

‘Youcandoanythingyouwantonceyou’reincollege,’MummahadalwayssaidtomewhileIwasinschool.

Anything.

Itookheruponthisandaskedherifherwordsstillstand,andifIcouldseriouslydoanythingnowthatitwasmyfirstdayofcollege.ShestaredatmeandIthinkshewaswonderingifIwouldputherthroughthesamesleeplessnightsandthesamehumiliationthatDivyaDihadputherthroughbeforedroppingoutofcollegeinhersecondyear.

‘Don’tstealfromanyone,’shesaid.

Thatwasunfair.ThelasttimeeitherDivyaDiorI—famedshopliftersof

pens,chocolatesandnewspapers,andlater,evenfilchinghardcash—hadbeencaughtstealingwasthreeyearsagowhenwestolethreehundredrupeesfromtheshagunenvelopesatoursecondcousin’swedding.Wewerethenbannedfromattendingtheotherfunctions,butIhaveheardthepaneerwasn’tanythingtowritehomeaboutandtheicecreamhadfinishedanhourbeforethepheras.Inmydefence,I’mamuchbetterthiefthanDi(thedebaclewasallherfault),althoughshecanjump,run,kickandpunchherwaybetterthanme.ThatwasthelasttimeDiandIeverstoleatawedding.Mummawouldnotletusoutofhersight.ButneitherMummanorPapahaseverscoldedusforfindingthingswithusthatwedidn’town.‘Everyonesteals,’saysPapa,whohasalwaysbeenatthereceivingendofthievery.Sothetwoofusarejusttryingtobalancethescaleslittlebylittle.

MummawasarguingwithanauntyfromtheneighbourhoodwhenIgotbackhomefrommylargelydisappointingfirstdayincollegewhichchieflycomprisedoffillinguponeformafteranother,beingpolitetoseniors,andwatchingboysandgirlstryingtofallinloveatfirstsight.

‘Thestitcheshavecomeapart,’theauntygrousedloudly.

‘ItwasperfectwhenIgaveittoyou.Youmusthavegainedweight,bhabhiji,’saidMumma.‘Butfine,Iwillstitchitagain,it’llcostfortyrupees.’

Beforetheauntycouldprotest,Mummasaid,withastrategictouchontheaunty’sarmsandakindlookinhereyes,‘You’remyfriend,whatkindofpersonwouldIbeifIdon’tgiveyouaspecialrate.’

Thisdoesn’talwayswork.DitellsmethatshehasseenMummabeingspaton,pushedaround,hersewingmachinesmashed,andononeoccasionslappedaroundbyafew

auntiesontheallegation—whichisprobablytrue—thatshestealscloth.Andevenifshedidn’tsteal,there’snodenyingthatit’sMumma’scunningandtenacitythathavepaidforDi’sandmyschooling.

Mummahastwopart-timetailors,IqbalandAltaf,workingforher.Mummaoftensayssheowesherentirebusinesstothesetwomen,buttheyareneverallowedinsideourhouseonDadaji’sandBuaji’sinstructions.Theydrinkoutofearthentumblerswhichwehavetobreakaftertheiruse.

‘AtleastAltafChachucancomeinside,healwaysgetsNatkhatandKismis

toffeesforme!’IoftenprotestedwhenIwaslittle.IsawthemsooftenthatIgrewupbelievingthatAltafwasmycousinchachu.Ididn’tcaremuchaboutIqbalwhonevercamebearingtoffees.

‘Yourbuajianddadajidon’tlikethembecausetheyareMuslims,’Mummaoftenusedtosay

‘BuajiandDadajilikenoone!Notevenus!’Iwouldreply.

ItwaslaterthatIrealizedthattheirhatredtowardsAltafandIqbalstemmedfromnotonlythefactthattheywereMuslims,butalsothattheybelongedtolower-casteHindufamilieswhichhadconvertedtoIslamtwogenerationsago,exhaustedbytheindignitytheyhadsufferedatthehandsofupper-casteHindus.

AsforDadaji’shatredtowardsus,ithadtodowiththefactthatPapa,theeldestsoninthefamily,hadchosentomarryMumma,alower-castewoman.PapahadbetrayedDadaji,aproud,jingoistBrahminwhohadspenthisyouthdefendingtheexaltedpositionofBrahmins,theirpurebloodandtheneedforuntouchabilityinMohyalmeetingsacrossthestate.Mummaandushadputhiminquiteanawkwardposition.

Ourrelatives,whichisanotherwordforbloodsuckingmonsters,haveneverfailedtopointthatouttoDivyaDiandmeevenwhenweweretooyoungtounderstandanyofthis.

‘Lookatyousisters,yougetyourcomplexionfromyourfather,’theyusedtosay.‘Youareluckytonotgetanythingfromyourma.Lookatyourfather,whitelikemilk,andyourmother…chiichii.’

‘ButPapaisalangda!Hecan’tevenwalk!’DivyaDiandIwouldchime.

Papa,thesonofatall,authoritativeandrespectedhomeopath,DrVaid,wasacripple.

Sometimeshewoulduseastick,butmosttimesPapawouldjusthobblearoundwithabrightsmileonhisface,hopingitwoulddeflecttheattentionfromhiscrookedleg.Asifheowedittotheworldtobecheerfulatleast.

Whenwesaidthis,therelativeswouldbeshocked,andsoonaccusationswouldflyleftandright,andfingerswouldbepointedatMummaforhavingtaughtustodisrespectPapabycallinghimlangda.

‘Whereelsewouldtheylearnsuchathingfrom!Nomatterwherethesepeoplegetmarried,theywillalwaysbeguttural.It’suselesstoteachthemcivility.’Theywouldgaspandstartchanting,Buajibeingtheloudestofthemall,‘Ram,Ram,Ram!’

Papawouldlatergiveuschocolate.ItwashewhohadtaughtustocallhimlangdaifanyoneberatedMumma;hewouldalsosayitwasn’tMummawhowasluckybuthim.

23July2002

Whatisitaboutsiblingsthatthere’sneveradaytheydon’twanttostrangleeachother?Inthepastfewmonthstherehasrarelybeenatimethatthetransistorinourroomhasnotbeenswitchedon.Weevensleepwiththatdamnedthingon,lestshemisseshearingthe

‘DolaRe’songfromDevdasforthebillionthtime.Thoughthere’slittledoubtthatShahRukhKhanisalivinggod,therehastocomeatimewhenyouhaveheardthesongsomanytimesthatyouwouldratherhearyournailsscratchagainsttheblackboard.ButDivyaDihasonlymadeitworsebyborrowingaministereowhichplaysthesongrepeatedlyfromitstinnyanddefectivespeakers.

‘Wheredidyougetthisfrom?’Iasked.

‘Afriend,’saidDivyaDi,andgavenofurtherexplanations.Wehavelearntovertimethatit’suselesstoaskherforanyexplanationbecauseshe’smoreadeptatliesthanShahRukhisatbreakingheartsanddyinginhisfilms.

‘Howwascollege?’Mummaasked,pouringhotkadhiintomybowl.

‘Youdidn’tmakepakoras?What’skadhiwithoutpakoras?’Igrumbled.

‘Yousisteristryingtoloseweight,’sheanswered.

‘Ihavetobefifty-fivekgbeforetheendofthismonth,’saidDivyaDi,whoalreadylooksmalnourished—gorgeousbutmalnourished.TherearetimesMummaandIcan’tkeepoureyesoffherwhenshecombsherlong,black

hair,pullsthemintoatightpony,andwearsthesnugsalwarkameezesMummastitchesforher.Growingup,herhighjawline,thesmooth,glisteningskin,andhersharp,piercingeyes,alwaysseemedlikeanodditywhenshedroveacyclearoundtheneighbourhood.Sheshouldhavebeenatthebackofanair-conditionedHondaCity.Everyfewdays,Mummaburnslittleredchillies,orslapsthegroundwithaslippertosaveherfromtheevileye.WhenIwasyounger,allIwantedwastolooklikemybigsisterbutIamshortbyDivyaDi’senviableandbafflingfive-foot-tenbyanembarrassingeightinches.Sheistallerthantheseventeen-year-oldtwinsKaranandAnshumanBhaiya,bothofwhomstillhopetogrowtallerthanhertosavetheirmasculinepride.TheywouldbecrushedifDadaji’stoweringheightisn’tpassedontothem,andonlytoDi.DivyaDicontinued,‘ThereareauditionsforaPunjabimusicvideonextmonth.There’salotofmoneyinit.’

‘Manygirlsareauditioning,’saidMumma,scrapingtheleftoverkadhiontoherplate.

‘Girlsareevenreadytowearshortsforit.Keepyourhopeslow,beta.’

‘Ma,it’snotthatkindofavideo.Wehavebeeninstructedtowearonlysalwarkameez,’

saidDivyaDi.

ThesedaysDivyaDihasbeenpractisingthestepsto‘DolaRe’allafternoonintheroom,whichmeantMummaandIhadtodividehercleaningresponsibilitiesamongstourselves.

‘Shedanceslikeadream,doesn’tshe?’Mummasaidaswewatchedherinraptattention.Sheswirledandbentandswayedlikeshewaspossessed,andwhenshecrashedheartbrokentothefloorasthesongended,shehadputtoshameAishwaryaRaiandMadhuriDixitandanyoneelsewho’dtrieddancingtothatsong.

‘Goddess,’IwhisperedtoMumma,becauseitwastrue.AndthentoldDivyaDi,

‘Enoughofdancing.NowmakeMummaandmesometea.Wehavebeenworkingsohard.’

‘Howwasit?’sheasked,pantingandsweatingandbeautiful.

‘OK-ish,itcouldhavebeenmuchbetter,’Iteasedher.

‘Nonsense,itwasbeautiful!’saidMumma,andgotuptomakeherpatentoverboiled,too-sweet-for-anyonetea.

ExceptforPapa,noneofuscanmakegoodtea.BuajineverfailstoremindusaboutthiseveryeveningwhenDadajiandshearebackfromtheclinicandwemakethemtea.Wemakeitbadpurposefullytoexactourlittlerevenge—deathbyathousandcupsofbadtea.

DadajiwouldcomplainaboutittoBuaji,andnotus,asifoursightandourwordswouldmakehimimpure.Notoncehashecalledusbyname,andhaschosentocallus‘voladkiyan’.

‘DoyouthinkBuajiwillletmedothevideoifI’mselected?’askedDivyaDilateratnight.

Lastyear,shewaschosenfromhundredsofgirlstostarinamusicvideowhichshefirmlybelievedwouldbeherticketoutofthistown,towardsabetterlifeforallofus.Twodaysbeforetheshoot,BuajihadfoundoutthatDivyaDihadliedandshewouldhavetowearashortskirtforthevideo,andthusbeforeverlabelledaragingwhore.Despitethefivethousandrupeesthatshewasbeingpaid,BuajihadgrabbedDivyaDibyherhairandlockedherinthestoreroomforthreedays.

‘BUAJI!Takethemoney!Letmedothevideo!IPROMISEIWON’TWEAR

SHORTS,’DivyaDihadscreamedtillshelosthervoice.

ButBuajihadjustglaredatMummaandPapa,andsaid,‘That’swhatyourdaughter’sizzatisworth?Fivethousandrupees?Takethatfrommeandslapyourdaughter!Hadyouslappedherearliershewouldn’thave—’

‘Di,wedon’thavetobringthatupagain,’Papahadsaid.

‘Peopleneverforget.YouthinktheywilleverstoptalkingabouthowyourChamarnidaughteropenedherlegsforthatboyand—’Buaji’svoicetrailedoffasifshecouldn’tbringherselftosayanythingmore.

IthinkBuaji’sproblemwasonlypartlywithwhatDivyaDiwouldhavetowearorwhatshehaddoneinthepasttobesmirchthehonourofourfamily.

Whatshefearedmostwasthatwewouldhaveafuture,wewouldhavemoneyandhope,andthatwasunacceptabletoher.

IfIweretoratehowmuchweareloathedbymembersoftheVaidhousehold,Buajiwouldberightatthetop,followedcloselybyDadajiandthenbyFufajiandhissons,KaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiya,whohavebeentaughtandconditionedtobeeffectiveintheirhatred;theyarefollowedbythelastofthelot,ManishChachu,who’stooself-absorbedtocare.

IfPapa’selderbrother,AnilTauji,werealive,thingsmighthavebeendifferent,butwhycryoverspiltmilk?Wehadlearntearlyinlifethatifyou’reamixed-castefamilywithacrippledfather,andtwogirlswithstainedreputations,youwouldonlyhaveeachotherforsupportandlove.

I’velearntoveraperiodoftimethatBuajireservesasecretstashofhatredandnastinessforDivyaDi,whohadturnedouttobethecompleteoppositeoftheabominationofachildthatBuajihadpredictedwouldcomeoutoftheunholy,lustymarriagebetweenPapaandMumma.DivyaDiwasabeautifulchild,andthatgratedonBuaji.ShewasthepolaroppositeofBuajiwho’scracked,burntandugly,apaintolookat.MaybelookingatDivyaDiremindedherofhowlizard-likeandhorribleshelooked.MummahasstrictlyaskedusnottocommentonBuaji’slooks,hasevenscoldedandslappedusonnumerousoccasions,butweonlydothatbecauseshe’sexactlylikethatontheinside.Crackedlikebarrenearth.Shrivelledup.Flaky.Disgusting.

I’veheardthatBuajihad‘accidentally’droppedDivyaDitwicewhenshewasjustabouttwentydaysoldinthehopethattheprettychildthathadcomeoutofthewombofmydark,untouchablemotherwouldbreakherskullanddie.

27July2002

Thisfamilyofourshasoneandonlyonedream—tohaveahouseofourown,torunawayfromwherewelivenow—andeverythingconvergestowardsthatdream.EverysuitandsalwarMummasells,everyrailwayandbusticketPapabooksasanagent,everydanceclassDivyaDiteaches,it’swiththehopethatonedaywewillbeabletomoveoutofouroneroominDadaji’sancestralhouseandhaveatleastaone-bedroomhouse.Wouldn’tthatbeanupgrade

fromthesingleroomwehavebeenlivingin?

Tillnowthere’sbeenscantprogressonthatdream,buthopeiswhattakesusfromonedaytoanother.OnsomeSundaysallfourofustakeabustotheoutskirts,towardsHaridwar,toinspectthebuildingsunderconstruction,havefutileconversationswithpropertydealerswherewetalkaboutsquarefeetandcarpetareaandmonthlyinstalments,andthenwalkaroundapartmentswhereotherpeoplelived,andimaginewhatwoulditbeliketoliveinoneofthem.

‘Atleastit’snotafool’sdream,’Mummasaid,holdinguptoday’spaper.TheDalitMahaSabhahadorganizedaDalitwomen’srallyinAndhraPradeshaskingforlandredistributionsothattheywouldalsohavelandoftheirown

‘Nothingisgoingtohappen,’saidMummabeforeusingthenewspapertopackmylunch.

DespitehersurnamenowbeingVaid,Mummafeelsakinshiptowardsalllowercastes.

DespiteourhatredforallthingsBrahminical,DiandIhaverevelledintheprivilegeofoursurnames.NeitherDinorIweremadetofeelinferiorinschoolbecauseeveryoneknewusastheVaidsisters,granddaughtersofarespected,oldMohyalBrahmin.Butwewerenevermadetoforgetitoncewewerehome.Wewereconstantlyremindedthatwewereimpostors,withuncleanblood,andluckytobelivinginaBrahminhousehold.Thedefinitionof‘lucky’beingdubiousatbest.Allthreeofuswouldratherliveinacaste-less,religion-lesshouseholdthanbelucky.

Thereshouldbearesearchonthelong-standingside-effectsofyourbrothersconstantlycallingyouChuriorChamar,andaskingyoutocleantheseptictankandthenlaugh.

‘That’swhatyourdestinyis,tocleanourshit,rollaroundatourfeet,Chamarni!’theywouldsay.

‘Ourdestinyisalsotocarryyourdeadbodies.Isn’tthatexciting?Iamwonderingwhatwewoulddowithyourdead,defencelessbodies,’DivyaDiwouldsay.

‘Leaveittothedogs?Nah,tooeasy,’Iwouldanswer.‘Paradethemnaked?Oh.Wait.

Leavethemwiththepigs.Playfootballwithyourbeheadedheads?Hockeywithyourballs?Endlesspossibilities.Wouldn’tthatbewonderful?’

Theywouldrunaway,crying.

Forthreehoursafteranotherunsatisfactorydayincollege,atacybercafénearmyoldschool,ItypedoutCVsfordiplomaholdersandcollegegraduateswhoneededthemforjobsinDelhi,Mumbai,KolkataandBengaluru.Citieswithbiggerroads,shorterclothes,tallerbuildingsandlongernights.TheeagernessintheireyesasIhandedovertheprintedCVsmademewanttotypeoneoutformyselfaswell.

‘Wheredidyoulearntoformatlikethat?’askedaboywhenItooksomenovelkeyboardshortcuts.‘School.Iwasthecomputerlabmonitor,’Ianswered,andaddedgruffly,‘Youcangoifyou’redone.’

DivyaDiwouldhavebeenproud.She’salwaysbeenwaryofseeingboysaroundme.

‘OfcourseIworryaboutyoubeingaroundboys.You’resobeautifulandstupid!’DivyaDihasalwaystoldme.

‘I’mnot,youare.I’mtheuglyducklingandyou’relike…theswan,’Iwouldoftensay.

‘Iwillslapyouifyousaythatoncemore.EverymodelinDelhilookslikeme,andtherearemillions.Butyou,lookatyoureyes,asiftheywerepluckedoutofastuffedtoy,allblackanddeepandsparkly,andyourcutelittlefacethatfeelslikethemorningitself.

Andsee,see,justlookatyourlips,sobubblegummy.It’slikeyou’restillachild.Lookathowyougopinkinyourcheekswhensomeonetellsyouthat.’

‘I’msoshortandyou’relike—’

‘Andyouhobblearoundlikealittleduck,quack,quack.It’ssoadorable.Theyshouldputyouinanassemblylineandmakethousandsofyou.Stresslevelswillplummet,Iamtellingyou.Loveatfirstsighteverywhere.Likethis.’Shewouldsnapherfingers.

‘Please,Di—’

‘Mummakasam,Iwouldbeyouinaheartbeat,’DivyaDiwouldsay.Mummakasamwassacred.Itwasn’tasifwebelievedthatthecosmoswouldconspiretorobMummaofherlifeifherstupidkidslied,butitwasapactbetweenus.TonotlieunderMumma’soath.Andeverytimeshewouldsaythat,Iwouldimmediatelyfeelbeautiful.

Butit’snotasifIhavegivenhermanychancestoworryaboutboysbeingaroundme.

BothsheandIhavebeenquiteunluckywithmakingfriendswitheithergender.Wewerealwaysthepoorestinclass,andevenforlittlechildren,it’shardtokeepupwithfriendshipswhenyoudon’thaveasinglerupeetospare.

EspeciallywhentheparentsofotherchildrentellthemnottomixwiththeVaidgirls.

Dirtyuniforms,emptylunchboxes,nopresents,birthdayparties,andreturngifts,andbarelypassingmarks—nothingwasinourfavour.Itwasworsebecausedespiteourlimitedintelligence,wewereinaschoolbeyondourmeans.

Itkeptgettingtougheraswegrewolder.DiandIwereknowntostealthings,AndMummawasdismissedastheslimyvamp,andPapathewickedcripple.

OurfatewasfinallysealedwhenDiwasbrandedabadgirlafterheraffairwithVibhorGupta.Fromthenonwewerebadinfluences.

Comingbacktothetyping.Forthreehoursofeasywork,120rupeesisalot.IfIgetthreehoursoftypingworkeveryday,Iwouldbeearning3600rupeesamonth,andthatwouldchangealotofthingsaroundthehouse.ButitwouldalsorequireeveryyoungpersoninDehraduntowakeuptoadreamofwantingtoleavethissleepytown.

Buttodaywasagooddayoverall.DivyaDigotpaidforthemonthshehadspentteachingafamilydanceto‘DolaRe’;sotheVaidkidswererichtoday!Weallpooledinandboughtasecond-handcooleraftertakingpermissionfromBuaji.Someluxurythat.

29July2002

Fufajihasfallenill.Unfortunately,Dadajisaysit’snothingmorethanastomachinfection,anditwillpass.Wewantedittobemuchworse.

DivyaDioptedforcancer.‘Youcan’tpickcancer,’IarguedaboutDivyaDi’schoice.‘Itwillbealong,expensivepathtodeath.AndyouknowhowDadajiis,thisisabouthisbeloveddamad,andwhatwouldn’thedoforhim.’

WediscussedothermorbidwaysFufajicoulddieswiftlyandeconomicallytillMummaaskedustostop.

‘Asifyoudon’twantthesame,’saidDivyaDi.

‘Idon’t,’saidMumma,checkingdressmaterialsforholesanddefects.Thensheaddedsoftly,‘Andcanyoupleasenotsaysuchthingssoloudly?’

Ifyouthinkofit—DivyaDiandIhavetalkedaboutthisatlength—Fufajidyingahorribleornon-horribledeathwouldbeofnousetous.ButBuaji’sdeathwouldthrowtheentirepowerequationoftheVaidhouseintoatizzy.Dadajirunsthishouselikeafeudallord,brandishinghiswalkingsticklikeaswordatdissidents.Despitehisadvancedage,he’sbuiltlikeanox,atsix-foot-threetoweringoverallofus,andhisbonyarmsstillretainedthepowerandswiftnessfromhisyouth.It’ssaidwhenhewasyounger,hecouldhavecrushedaskullwithhisbarehands.Andifrumoursaretobebelieved,afewmenhavelostapartoftheirhearingafteragoodslapfromDadaji.

ButmostofhisdirtyworkiscarriedoutbyBuaji,whotookoverashisdeputy/crony/compounderattheclinicafterAnilTaujipassedaway.Thatwasanentirelyunnecessarydeath.IhavebeentoldthatAnilTaujilovedPapaandallofus.Hewasakind,brilliantmanwhowassupposedtotakeoverworkfromDadajiwhentherighttimecame.

‘HewasthelightofDadaji’seyes,andIwasthescourge,’Papaoftensaid.‘Hewastallandreallyhandsome,whileIremindedyourdadajiofhisfailure.Hecouldn’tkeepmearoundhim.Iwasembarrassing.’

ThefailurePapawastalkingaboutwasthedentintheprideDadajitookinhishomeopathywhenPapawasstruckdownwithpolio.Dadajihadn’tgotanyofhischildrenvaccinated,andadvocatedagainstit,forhebelievedthathomeopathymedicineshadmadevaccinessuperfluous.WhileAnilTauji,

BuajiandManishChachugrewuptobehealthyadults,Papawascrippled—aconstant,livingreminderofDadaji’sfailure,whichwas

thereforeveryonetowitness.Naturally,Papahadgottenusvaccinated,butthenhehadgottenthrashedbyDadajiinfrontoftheentireneighbourhood.Thatwasthelastnailintheirrelationship.ItwasthedaythatMummaandPapahaddecidedtheywouldn’tspendtheirlivesinthishouse,andstartedtoworktowardsit.ItwasAnilTaujiwhohadhelpedPaparealizethat.

‘Wehadfinallybrokenfreeofthistoxicjointfamily.Wehadourownhouse,justthefourofus.Itwasagoodtime,’Papahadtoldme.

‘Werewehappy?’

‘Veryhappy,Advaita.Youshouldhaveseenyourdidiandmumma!Ah,suchsmiles!’

Papahadsaidtearfully.‘YourAnilTaujihadmanagedeverything.Hepaidusforeverythingwithouttellingyourdadajiordadiji.Therent,thedeposit,thefurniture,everything.YourTaujiknewthatstayinginthathousewithyourdadajiwasn’tgoodforyouandyoursister.ButyourdadajiknewtherewasnowayIcouldhavethatkindofmoney.’

‘DidDadajiaskyouwhereyougotthemoneyfrom?’

‘HeassumedthatIhadbeenfilchingfromthehouseforyears,havingfallentoyourmother’sinsatiablegreed.Therewasalotoftalkaroundthetown.PeoplewonderedwhyIhadshiftedawayfromthefamily.MostofthempiledtheblameonyourMumma.ButyourTaujimadeDadajinottakeanystepsagainstus.’

‘ButthenTaujifellsick?’

‘Hewasdiagnosedwithaterminalillnessamonthafterwehadmovedoutofthehouse.

ThenBuajicamebackfromDelhi.’

IamtoldthatBuajihaddescendedlikeahawkonthehousewhenAnilTaujiwastoldhewon’tsurvivehislong-standingillness.Shethenlaidclaimtothehouse,theclinic,anythingofvalue,andpoisonedDadaji’searsagainstMummaandPapa,whomshealreadyloathed.Evenafterallthoseyears,she

hadn’tforgiventhem.Hergrudgehadbecomesharper,moreinsidious.Shesquattedinthehouselikeacunningscavenger.YourFufajicamewithher,luggingafewsuitcasestoomany,andneverleft.’

‘Butwhydidwemoveback?Wecouldhavestayedaway.’

Papahadsighed.‘Itwasn’tbychoice.WeweremadetoafteryourTaujipassedaway,beta.’

‘Howcouldtheydothat!’Ihadaskedangrily.

Papahadheldmyhand,thewayyouwouldwhiletellingsomeoneahorriblestory.

‘WhenAnilTaujipassedaway,Dadajiturnedhisgriefintowrath.Weborethebruntofit.

Dadajiheldalotmorepowerthanhedoestodayinourcommunity.Peoplelistenedto

him.EveryoneinDehradunknewsomeonewhohadbeentreatedbyDadaji.Yourdadajineverhadthemoney,buthewaslistenedto,respected,andfeared.’

‘Dadajithreatenedyou?’

‘Yourdadajigotusthrownoutofthehousewehadrented,strippedusofourbelongings,accusedusoftheft,andmadesurewedidn’tfindaplacetostay.Hehadbeenreadytoseeusstarvetodeath.Threedayswewaitedoutsidethegatetillfinallyyourdadijistrodeintothecourtyardandthreatenedtolightherselfifyourdadajididn’tletusinside.’

IwasfouratthetimebutIhavefaintmemoriesofthelittlerowhousewehadshiftedto.ButitcouldalsobethatIamconstructingthesememoriesfromwhatIhaveheard.ButDivyaDiremembersclearlythehouse,thelittlegarden,theoldneemtree,andthetulsiplantedbyMumma.

PapatoldmeDadijikeptDadajifromharassinguswhenwefirstmovedin.Butthingschangedswiftlywhenshepassedaway.AfterDadijidied,Buajiwantedtothrowusout,butshesoonsherealizedthathavingthreegirlsaroundinthehousemeantnothavingtopayforamaid.Wearealsotreatedassuch.

Weweren’tallowedtousethebathroom—westillaren’t—soPapahadtomakeoneoutsidebythegarden.Westillusethat.There’snorunningwaterorpowerthere.Wealsohaveaseparatekitchen.It’sinashedontheroof.ThisisbecauseBuajidoesn’twantherfoodtobemixedwithMumma’s,thoughfarcically,Mumma’stheonewhocooksforeveryone.

‘Shecan’tseeushappy,’Mummahadoncesaidafteraparticularlyroughday.Whiletheseptictanksofallthehousesweregettingcleanedbythejamadarssentbythemunicipalcorporation,Buajihadjokedinfrontoftheentirecolony,‘Wedon’tneedone,wehaveajamadarnirightinourhome.’

Mummahadprotestedstronglyandwhentheshoutingmatchbetweenthetwohadreachedafeverishpitch,Dadajihadintervened.Hechasedthejamadarsoutofthehouse,andaskedMummatocleanit.

‘TUNAHIKAREGITOKAUNKAREGA!(Whowilldoitifnotyou?)’Dadajihadshouted.

Mummahadspentsixstraighthourscarryingbucketsoffaecesfromourhousetanktothemunicipaltruck.Thewholelanewatchedwithdupattasandhandkerchiefscoveringtheirnoses,whilelittlechildrenvomited,notbeingabletobearthestench.Mummahadfaintedtwice,andbothtimesDadajihadswunghisstickatPapa’sfoottostophimfromgoingtoMumma’shelp.Suchstupid,stupidlove.

Andwhenshewasdoneandshiveringinherbedwithhighfever,Dadajihadsaid,

‘WHYDIDN’TYOUDIE!MYSONWOULDHAVEBEENALIVEHADYOU

PEOPLENOTSTOLENFROMUS.WECOULDHAVEGIVENHIMBETTER

TREATMENT!YOUSTOLEFROMMYDYINGSON!THISISWHATYOU

DESERVE!!’

Thatwasgrosslyuntrue,butitdidn’tmatter.NotonlydidBuajiandDadajibelieveit,sodideveryoneelsewhoknewus.That’swhynoonereallyraisesaneyebrowwhentheytreatusbadlyinthishouse.

It’seasiertosaythisinhindsight,butMummaandPapathinktheyshouldhaverodeitoutwhenDadajihadnotlettheminsidethehouse.TheythinktheyshouldhavepulledDivyaDioutofschoolforacoupleofyearsandscrapedthrough.Overtheyears,themoreDadaji’sreputationhadgrownasafiercelyprotectivefatherofanunfortunatedaughter,andasalegendarydoctorforthehave-nots,andalsoasthetragicmanwhoseeldestsonhaddiedinhisarms,peoplesawPapaintheworstoflights.Overtheyears,hehasbeencalled‘ungrateful’,a‘thief’,an‘abomination’,andifithadbeenanyoneelse,heorshewouldhavecrumbled.

ThecoolerhasbeenshiftedtoBuaji’sroomforthedaytomakeFufajifeelbetter.

It’ssohotwithoutit.HowquicklydidIgetusedtothat?I’mtellingyou,theVaidsarebornforluxury.

4August2002

KaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiya,theseventeen-year-oldtwinsandtheapplesofDadaji’seyes,areconditionedtohateus,thinkofusasinferior,belittleusandbreakourspirits—andtheyreallyhavebeentaughtwell.ButunlikeMummaandme,DivyaDistillseessomegoodinthem,andbelievestheywillturnaroundsomeday,falltotheirkneesandapologize.Shehasgrownupwiththem.Whentheyweretwelveandhadstartedtotrulyowntheirroleofvileandcraftybastardswhorevelledinourmisery,DivyaDiusedtodefendthemandtrytopaintapictureoftheirpastniceness.

‘Theyneverletmecarrymybagswhentheywereyounger.’‘DespiteBuajitellingthemnotto,theywouldsharetheirpaneerwithme.Evenyou,butyoudon’tremember.’‘Theyusedtopolishyourshoes,remember?’

Evennow,DivyaDi’sonlydisappointedinthem,notangryliketherestofus.Sotoday,DivyaDihadtakentoapleadingtonewiththem,hopingtheywouldseesense.Theydidn’t.DespiteDi’sandmyferventprotests,KaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiyahaddecidedtofixthingsthemselves.AndthatafterDivyaDihadalreadyfixeditthebestshecould;theythoughtitwastheirbrotherlydutytodoso,becausefromthemomentDivyaDiandIhadturnedthirteen,thehonouroftheVaidsrestedpurelyonhowwebehavedand

conductedoutsidethehouse.

Theyhadmissedapreviousopportunitytoprovethemselvestobeworthymen,menwhocouldbravelypickupcudgelsandrodsandhockeysticks,anddefendthewomenoftheirfamilyiftheneedarose.Threeyearsago,theycouldn’tdoanythingwhenitwasrumouredthatDivyaDihadlosthervirginitytoaboynamedVibhorGupta.Whenshewasgrilledandslappedaboutathomeonwhethertherumoursweretrue,shehadbeenmum.Sheborethebeatingsforamonthwithoutafrown;evenKaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiya,yearsyoungerthanher,hadhitherwithauthority.Barelyfourteenthen,theyhadplannedfordaystoaccosttheguyandbeathimup,onlytorealizethatsomeoneelsehadalreadydoneitforthem.VibhorGuptahadbeenbeatenwithinaninchofhislife,hishouseransacked,andhisscooterburnt.Hiscollegeclassroomhadbeensetonfire,andhisadmission(andDi’s)hadbeencancelled.ThepersonwhohaddoneitwasMeghnadSharma,aninfluentialboyofpoliticallyconnectedpowerfulparentsfromSaharanpurwhohadbeenhopelesslyinlovewithDivyaDisinceherschooldays.Hehadquiteareputationforgettingintofightsandscufflesonadailybasis;hehadevenpaidacoupleofvisitstothepolicestation,buthisuncleswereinchargethere.

ButwhenIfirstsawhim,hedidn’tcomeacrossasabadguy.Ithadstartedharmlesslyenough.

Hewouldwaitoutsideourschoolpatientlyforittoendandthenwatchustillthetimeweboardedthebus.Afewmonthslaterhestarteddrivingalongsidethebus,stealingshyglancesatus,smilingsoftly.DivyaDiandIstoppedsittingbythewindowtosaveourselvesfromtheembarrassment.Othergirlscalledhisstalkingcute,andwantedtoswitchplaceswithher.

OnceDivyaDistartedgoingtocollege,hewastheretoo,leaningonhiscarwithhisfriends,watchingDieveryday.Whenhefinallymusteredupthecourage,DivyaDiturnedhimdown.(Atthattime,shewasinlovewithacollegemate,butnooneknewthisexceptme.Ihadstumbledacrossthepowerfulloveletterstheyhadwrittentoeachother.)TherejectionchangedsomethinginMeghnad,whostartedcampingoutinfrontofourhouse,hiseyescold,hisbodystiff.WarningsbyMummaandPapahelpedonlyforabriefwhile,asitturnedoutthatDadajiknewMeghnad’sfather.Sohistransgressionswerelabelledas

‘thingsboysdo’.DivyaDistartedtotakelongerroutestocollegetoavoid

him,andwhenhecaughtontothat,shestoppedgoingtocollegealtogether.ThemoreDipulledawayfromhimthemoreinvasiveandaggressivehegot.

Hewouldthenbefoundnearourhouseatalltimesoftheday,waitingforDitostepout,andtrytotalktoher.Sometimeshewouldgrabherdupattaorherhand.ItwasonlywhenDithreatenedtoshoutandcrywouldheletgo.Thenthecallsstarted.Onceaday,andthentwiceaday,andafterthattillBuajipulledthecordoutofthephone.

TwicehehadbangedthedoorinthemiddleofthenightandthenranawaywhenDadajiwalkedout,brandishinghisstick.Ofcourse,BuajiandFufajihadpointedtheirfingersatDivyaDi.

‘Youmusthaveencouragedhim,’theyhadsaid.

Andthen,outoftheblue,therumourspreadlikewildfirethatDivyaVaidandVibhorGuptahadhadsexinthelibraryaftercollegehours.Inasmalltownlikeours,peopleliveforrumourslikethis,andsoonabunchofpeoplesubstantiatedthem,sayingtheyhadalwayssuspectedtherewassomethinggoingonbetweenthetwo.TherumourneversatwellwithmebecauseIknewthatVibhorGuptahadendedtherelationshipwithDi—

leavingheracryingmessforweeks—andleftherforanothergirlmonthsbeforethewhispersstarted.

Sowhydidn’tDivyaDiownuptothetruth?

Ihadgottenmyanswerintheweeksthatpassed.Meghnad’stripstoourhousetrickledtoastop.Thelasttimehehadcampedoutsideourhouse,heandhisfriendshadbrokenalcoholbottles,screamedprofanitiesforanhourinthemiddleofthenight,andspray-paintedtheword‘RANDI’ontheboundarywall.IttookDivyaDiandmethebetterpartofadaytosmudgeitintoalargeblackblot.

DivyaDitoldmeoneday,‘BoyslikeMeghnad?Theywon’tacceptagirlwhohasbeenwithanotherman.It’sagainsttheirmasculinity.’Infact,itwasDiwhohadconcoctedandspreadtherumour.Shehadsaid,‘Lookatitthisway.VibhorhaslefttownandgonetoDelhi,andIdon’thavetodealwithMeghnadanymore.’

KaranandAnshumanBhaiyahadletgooftheopportunitythen,butthey

weren’tgoingtoletitgonow.

‘MadhubanHotel,that’swherethemadarchodisstaying!’saidKaranBhaiya,twirlingthebatinhishand.

He’stheonewithstupidbravado,whileAnshumanBhaiya,awimp,isthemorecunningofthetwo.

‘Wewillbeattheshitoutofhim,’saidKaranBhaiya.

TheyspedoffonDadaji’sscooterbeforewecouldmakethemseesense.Wegotonourcyclesandfollowed.Theyshotoutofsightprettyquickly.

Earlierthatevening,duringtheauditions,thePunjabisingerhaddecidedtojoinDivyaDi’sdanceandputhishandsinplacesheshouldn’thave.Expectedly,DivyaDipunchedhisnosehardenoughtobreakit,andthreatenedtocallthecops.Theythrewheroutofthehotel.TheVaidbrothersweren’tsatisfiedwiththisnarrative.Isabrotherabrotherifhedoesn’tmeddleinhissister’saffairs?

WefoundtheVaidbrothers,paragonsofbrotherhood,avengersoftheirsister’spride,sittingwithbloodiednosesonthepavementoutsidethehotel.Thesingerhadleft,leavingbehindhistroupetodealwithmybrothers.

KaranBhaiyawasallbloodiedwhileAnshumanBhaiyadidn’thaveascratch.Theywerebrothers,buttheycouldn’tbemoredifferentfromeachother.KaranBhaiyaseeksoutfracasanddivesheadlongintothem;he’snottheoneintoplans,hisonlyplanishisfist.AnshumanBhaiya,ontheotherhand,iscowardlyandcunning.Onlylastweek,hehadfreakedoutlikeachildwhenDivyaDihadfilleduphisschoolbagwithfrogs.Hehadtakenrevengebyspittingintoourfood.

‘Lethimcometothecitythenexttime,’saidKaranBhaiya.‘Wewillseehowheleaves.’

Itwasalreadylate,soDiandIrodebackhome,chainedourcyclestotheelectricpole,andwereclamberingoverthefencewhenthelightscameoninthehouse.Thenewsofthefracasinthehotel,andourbrothers’heroicstandhadreachedtheelderstoo.

OutcameDadaji,swinginghiscane,blaring,‘WHEREDIDTHETWOOFYOUGO?’

DadajistrodetowardsusandraisedhisstickandstoppedjustshortofDi,whohadscrunchedherselfintoaball.

DivyaDistammeredsoftly,‘It…itwasn’tmyfault…thatsinger…’

Buajisaid,‘Ihadaskedhernottogo.’

FufajiaskedPapatokeepusunderherthumb.‘Bechkarizzatkhaajaengiyedono.

(Theywillsellourhonour.)Moneyisnoteverything,Prakash.’

Buajiaddedsternly,‘Twogirls,andbotharelikethis.Badiwaliwasalwayslikethis,characterless,butnowevenchhotiisgettingoutofhand,visitingcybercafésandwhat-not!’

WeknowthatDadaji,evenwithhisreputationofarespectedhomeopath,iscapableofdangerousviolence.Eventoday,everyoneciteswhathehaddonetothosethreepoorboyswhohadbrokenintohisclinicmorethantwodecadesago.Dadajihadscoutedoutthreeteenagerswhohadburgledhisclinicandbroughtdownhisstickonthem.Itwasamiracletheysurvivedthecrackedskulls,brokenribsandsmashedjaws.Onlookerswillstilltellyouthathewouldhavekilledthemthatdayhadpeoplenotintervened.TheboyswerepoorDalits,andDadajitoorespectedtobetouched,sothematterwasburiedunderthecarpet.Overtheyears,Dadajihasgivenplentyofexamplesofhowsavagehecouldgetwithhisstick.Everyfewmonths,thestickhastobereplaced,forthat’showlongitlasts.

Dadajistoodthere,lookedatusandMummaandPapaalternatively,shookhisheadderisively,andturnedandstrodeinside.

Lateratnight,DadajimadeKaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiyaremovethefuseofthelinetoourroom,plungingusintodarknessandheat.Thedoortotheterracewaslocked.

Mummaburstoutlaughingattheirchildishness.

Allfourofussweatedlikepigsinourroom.

7August2002

Iconsidermyselfanoptimist,andoptimistslikemearen’tstupidoroutoftouchwithreality;whattheydohaveisathickerskin,ahigherthresholdofpain,andaneyeonthebiggerpicture.Despiterepeateddisappointments,Ihadallowedmycollegethebenefitofthedoubt.Mybigplanwastoinveiglemywayintocollegefestivalcouncils,makemyselfindispensabletothetreasuryorthesponsorshipdepartmentanddowhatthiscountryisgreatat—–ascam.Unfortunately,thecollegeprofessorsdecidedthatfirst-yearstudentsweretooyoungtobeapartofthemoreimportantdepartmentsandshouldberelegatedtoinfrastructuralandorganizationalrolesthatIhadnointerestin.WhyelsewouldIwanttobeinthisshittyexcuseofacollege?Youcanprettymuchgetadegreewithoutgoingtocollege.Adegreethat’sworthnothing.Vaids,anyway,havealwaysbeenindescribablybadinstudies.It’samarvelthatDivyaDiandIhavefinishedschool.KaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiyahavehadtochangeschoolstwicebecauseoffailingintheeighthandninthclasses.Andyet,BuajiandFufajifosterastrangedreamtoputtheseblockheadsinanengineeringcollege.SoeveryextrarupeeinthehousegoesintothefundforthesetwojackasseswhomBuajiisobsessedwithseeingasengineers.

Nowbacktomycollege.

Ihadtowaitforotheropportunities,andgirldidIstumbleonone.

Myclass,fullofunambitiousslackers,werelettingtheirlibrarycardsgowaste,andthat’swhereIfoundmylittleopportunity.

Icollectednineteenlibrarycardsfromdifferentstudents,andstackedtogetherathomethenewesteditionsofthetextandreferencebooksrecommendedbytheprofessors.

Withinaweek,whilethestudentsweretoobusyingratiatingthemselveswithsocialhierarchiestocareaboutbooks,IhadcyclostyledcopiesofallthebooksIhadchosen.

Iwaitedforexamtime,whenpanicwouldreachacriticalmass;allstudentswerenowlookingforthebooksthatwereneatlystackedintheVaidhouse.Classichoarding.ThephotostatbhaiyaandIturnedinaneatprofitof4500rupees.

Butthistimethefourofusweren’tbuyinganything.ThemoneyishiddeninashoeboxinourGodrejalmirah.

Papagotusalootikkitocelebrate,buthehadtowaitoutsidethehousetillBuaji,Fufajiandthewastrelswereoutoftheway.Welitagarbattisbeforeweatetokeepthesmellfromwaftingtowardsanyone’snoses.

‘Lookatthem!Theelectricitybillisgoingthroughtheroof;theydon’tpaytheirshareandtheneattikkiseveryday!Thegallofthatwoman,’Buajiwouldshoutotherwise.

Itwasgoodmoney,buttemporarymoney,andnothingthatwouldgetusoutofthishouse.Butyougottocelebrateyourlittlevictories.

SomethingelsehappenedtodayandI’mnotsurewhattomakeofit.

Therewasthisboyinthelibrarytoday.

Handsduginhispockets,hewalkedaround,headbent,scouringthespinesofbooks,pausinglongeratthebiggeronesasifimaginingwhattheymustbeabout,hissoftlipsmovingslowly,relishingthenamesonhistongue,smilingsoftlyasifrememberingsomething,andthenmovingon.TwiceIthoughthehadcaughtmelookingathim.

Thinkingofitnow,Iwasonlystaringinanattempttomakesenseofthemazeofcontradictionsthathisfacewas.Remnantsofboyhood—thewantingeyesofapuppydogabandonedbyhisownersandthefulllipsofagirl—wagedawarforpossessionwithrampagingsignsofadulthood—astubborn,ingrownstubbleandanalmostcruelandpainfullysharpjawline.

EverycoupleofminuteshishandswouldslipintohispocketandhewouldchangethesongonhisWalkman.Orwasherewindingtothesamesong.IsawhimtakethebookIhadearmarkedformynextpicking.DidIseeaglintofexcitementinhiseyes,anaughtiness,asifhehadatoyinhishands?Hesatontheground,leanedontheracks,andflippedthroughthepagesfeverishlyatsomeplaces,andslowlyatsome,hummingconstantly.Iwasn’tasmucharrestedbyhiscute-boy-gone-roguevibeasmuchasIwasbythethrobbingbassofhisgrave,coarsevoice,whichseemedlikeithadbrokenonlyyesterday.Itfeltlikesomeoneholdingaheavy-dutyconcertspeakertomychest.THUMP.

THUMP.Alittlelater,thisgorgeousboycalmlyrippedoffthehardcoverofthebook—aneasyhacktosmugglebooksoutofthelibrary.Hetuckedthebookintothewaistbandofhisjeansatthebackandcasuallywalkedtowardstheexit.Imusthavebeenreallydistractedbecausehebumpedintomeonthewayout.

‘Sorry,Advaita.’Hisvoicewentstraighttothepitofmystomachandmadeitrumbleasifamillioncaterpillarshadjustfinishedtheirmetamorphosisintoaggressive,flutteringbutterflies.ItonlysettledlaterwhenIrealizedheknewmyname.Ihadneverseentheboybefore,hewasn’tinmyclass,andhewasn’tevenafamilyfriend’sfriend.Hewasastranger.Thatsnuffedoutthebutterfliesinaninstant.

9August2002

IcouldtalktoDiaboutthis,butshealwayssays,‘Boysareuselessandweshouldnevertalkaboutthem.’AfterVibhorGuptalefther,Dihadtakenaradicalanti-boystance,whichisunfortunatebecauseBOYSisagreatconcept(it’sromanticlovethat’snonsenseinmyopinion,notboys).Boysaregreattilltheyarenot.It’sthegreatestjoytoseegroupsofseven-year-oldboysfrolickingaround,gigglingandlaughingandjumpingoffstairsandkickingballsandfallingovereachother.Theyarebratsbutrespectfultowardstheirsistersandmothers,morethantheyaretothemselvesortheirownkind.Theygrumblebutdowhattheyareaskedtodo;theyhaveastrictmoralcodeaboutwhat’swrongandwhat’snot;theycleanupwellandarecutewithoutmeasure.What’snottolove?Thenwhathappensinthoseelevenyearsafterwhichtheybecomeunbearableateighteen?Howdoesonefallinlovewiththeseannoying,disrespectfulboys?ThankgodintheVaidhouseitisforbiddentofallinlove,thesheerexistenceofitisdenieddespiteMumma’sandPapa’slovestory.ShouldIgointothestory?Ihaveonlythesketchiestdetails…butwhattheheck.

It’shardformetoimagineBuajiasayoung,sprightlywomanfulloflifeandhopeanddreamsandaworkingheart,butit’ssaidthatshewasonceexactlythat.Afourteen-year-oldgirl,brightinstudies,someonewithaspringinherstepandanaughtytwinkleinhereye.SomesayshewasthesplittingimageofDivyaDi,andwasdeeplylovedbyeveryone.Ihaveseenoldpicturesof

herandIcantestifytothatpartofthestory.Shereallywasbeautiful.

Themonthwhentheincidenthappenedandthechronologyofeventsandthecharacterschangeeverytimethestoryistold,butovertheyearsIhavepickedoutthecommonnarrativesinallthestoriesandmadeoneofmyown.

ItwasJanuaryandfreezingcold,andDadaji,alongwithhisbrothersandtheirwives,wasoutsittingbythefirewhichDadijikeptalivebythrowinglittletwigsandstokingitfromtimetotime.PapawasthensevenandinDadiji’sbrother’sarms,whileAnilTaujiwasrollickingwiththeotherkids.Noonesawhowithappened,buteyewitnessaccountscategoricallystatethatitwasnoone’sfault.ThefirewasdyingdownandDadijihadbentoveralittletooclose,pokingatthedyingembers,whenherpallufelloverandburstoutinflames,engulfingherinasecond.Shescreamedandhowled,andwhileeveryoneunderstandablystoodfrozen,Buajifoolishlyandbravelyrantoher,andpulledthesarioffDadiji.Aspeoplewatchedinhorror,Buajitrippedandthesariwrappeditselfaroundher.

Thefire,whichhadsparedDadiji,nowburntthroughBuaji’sskin,meltedhertissueandcharredittothebonebythetimeDadajiandhisbrothersmanagedtoextinguishit.

Papatellsmehecanstillsometimessmelltheungodlystenchofhumanfleshburninginthecourtyard.

‘IsMaokay?’Buajihadaskedwhenshewasbeingtakentothehospital.

Papa,whowastoosmallforhismemoriestobereliable,saysthatBuajihadn’tshedasingletear,notthenandneitherwhenshewasinthehospitalrecovering.

Thingschangedswiftly.Shecamebackhomewithasplotchy,scaldedscartissuerunningfromthetopofhernecktothewrist,withtherightsideofherbodyreducedtoabattered,burntbattlefield.Revulsionfollowed,peopleturnedawaytheireyesinpityandshamefuldisgust,makingBuajirealizethatshewasnolongerwhatsheoncehadbeen.

Mirrorswerepaintedoveratthebehestofthedoctor.Notlongafter,shedroppedoutofschoolandthenstoppedleavingthehousealtogether.DadajiandDadiji,bothrackedbyguilt,dideverythingtheycouldtonotmakeherfeeldifferent,buttherewaslittletheycoulddo.Thatfirewastheinflexion

pointofDadaji’sandDadiji’srelationshipwithBuaji;theirloveforhermultipliedmanyfolds,andoftenbecameunreasonable.Familyheirloomsandjewelleryweresold,savingswereexhausted,andDadajiworkedhimselftodeathtopayforthereconstructivesurgeriesthattookplaceinDelhi.Butnothinghelpedmuch,anditwasBuajiwhoputastoptothefutilityoftheexercise.

Therealizationthatshewouldnevergetmarriedhadalsostruckhome.

Inanexceptionallyunreasonablemoment,DadajimadeAnilTaujiandPapaforsakemarriagebecauseheknewthatthedaytheygotmarried,conversationsaroundBuaji’smarriagewouldflyfastandthick.

Taujiforsakeloveandmarriageandfamily,butPapadeceivedeveryonewhenhedaredtofindloveandhappinessinMumma.Dramafollowed,butthat’sastoryforanothertime.

WithAnilTaujiandDadijispendingtheirlivesblamingthemselvesforwhathappenedtoBuajiandcringingpitifullyeverytimetheysawher,andPapahavingbrokenherheart,itwasonlyDadajiwhosawbeyondherscarsandbecamehereverything:friend,family,father.Theywerecompleteinthemselves.

‘Iwillonlybeyourdaughter,’BuajiusedtotellDadaji.‘Noone’swife,noone’smother.Iamokaywiththat.’

Butsoonafter,FufajiwalkedintoBuaji’slifeandagreedtomarryherwithoutarupeeindowry,givingBuajiachanceatnormalcy.Buajifellinlovewiththemanandgotmarriedwithinamonth.Buaji’sweddingdayistheonlydayDadajihasevercried.ThepicturesofBuaji’sweddingconfirmthat;Dadajilooksahappybutbrokenman.

WhatIsayfromhereispurehearsayandthere’sahugechancethatnoneofitistrue.

Fufajiwasn’tthemaneveryonethoughthimtobe.Marriageforhimwasjustacoverto

carryonhisphilanderingbehaviour,andwhatbettercoverthanBuaji,apityproject?It’ssaidthattheirweddingwasneverconsummatedandthatKaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiyawereborninalabandbornebyBuaji.

‘IVFinolderwomenoftenresultsintwins,’saysDi,whofirmlybelievesinthestory.

Solovehashadasketchyhistoryinourhouse.EventhoughIneverwanttostumbleintothedelusional,romanticaspectoflove,Idoenjoylookingatboysfromtimetotime.IhaveheardthatboysfromDelhiaremuchbetterlooking,andthosefromBengalurumorearticulate,fromMumbaimoreambitious,andfromKolkatamoreloving,butfornow,Dehradunboyshaveservedtheirpurposewell.

Andthisboy…uff.

Buthowthehelldidheknowmyname?

11August2002

ThemoretimeIspendthinkingofhimthemorehandsomehegetsinmyhead,andtheangrierIget.Iknowitshouldonlybethelatter,butIcan’tshakeofftheimageofhimgazinglovinglyatthebooks.Iwouldhavetakenhimtobeacriminal—withaneighteen-wheelerheavybaritone—ifhehadanAK-47inhishand,buthehadbooks.Helookedmore…likeapoet,anangryonewhohasnotbeengettingpaidforbrokenwords,whogetshisheartshatteredfornothing.Ijusthadtostopthinkingabouthim.Whohadheaskedaboutme?Howdidheknowmyname?Isn’tthatwhatstalkersdo?Wasn’tthatwhatMeghnaddid?MaybeI’moverthinkingthis.Iknowthenamesofalotofpeopletoo,noneofwhomknowmine.ButIneedtoconfronthim,containthisbeforethingsspiraloutofcontrol.AndI’vejustgottostopthinkingabouthim.

Shiftingtomoreimportantmatters,ManishChachu’sbackfromSaharanpur.

Afterfailingasamedicalrepresentative,losingasmallfortuneinrealestate,hehasdecidedtotryhishandatthefurniturebusiness.

‘YourChachuistoosoftforbusiness.Heshouldhavebeenabigmoviestarinstead,’

Papaalwayssays.

ChachuwasDadaji’sfavouritebecausehewasBuaji’sfavourite,butthenhegrewtoooldandtoounsuccessful,anddroppedoutofhisfavour.Itgotworsewhenhekeptdeflectingthequestionofmarriage.AfterPapa’sdebacleofgivingDadajitwogranddaughters,ManishChachuwastheonlywaythegreatVaidnamewouldsurvive.

Buteventhen,herarelygetstheshortendofthestickfromDadajibecauseofhowmuchBuajiloveshim.Bornayearafterthatcalamitousfire,BuajihadgottenattachedtoChachuquickly;hewastheonlyonewhodidn’tseeherasavictimanddidn’tflinchwhenhesawher.SheliterallybroughtManishChachuup.BuajidideverythingtomakeManishChachuanotherDadaji,butonlymanagedaseverelywatered-downversion.

Lastyear,theremainingchunkofDadiji’sjewellerywaspawnedofftosaveChachufromthemurkymoneylendershehadchosentoowe.Noquestionsasked.

‘Icouldhaveemployedmoretailors,rentedashop,giventhemoneybackwithdoubletheinterest.Yourbuajiisblind,shehasnosenseofmoney,’Mummahadgrousedbackthen.

‘She’dratherslitherwriststhanhelpyou,’Ihadreplied.

He’sagood-lookingman,nodoubtaboutthat,somuchsothattillIwaseightIwasadamanthewouldbethemanImarried.Iwouldchasewomenawayfromhimwithastick.Whenhewasyounger,heusedtobemuchkindertousthanourbrothers,andwewouldclingtohim.Thoseweregoodtimes.

ManishChachuisthirty-five,pasttheso-calledprimemarriageableagebyatleastfiveyears.However,despitehisadvancedage,andhisfailuretomakesomethingofhimself,he’sstillavaluedpickinthemarriagemarket.He’stall,he’sgotDadaji’sgoodlooksandisjustasfinickysartorially.LikeDadaji,hewouldn’tbecaughtdeadwithouthisfitted,starchedwhitekurta–pyjamas.WhenChachuwasyounger,brasholdwomenwouldflocktoDadijiwithproposalsfortheirdaughters,allofwhichwererejectedwithanupturnofthenoseandawaveofDadaji’swalkingstick.Theywantedsomeonericher,morebeautiful,lessfat.Theproposals,onceagush,slowedalittleoncewordgotoutofManishChachu’swretchedluckwithmoney.

‘Ofcourseyourbuajiislookingforagirlforhim,’Mummasaidtoday.‘Withyourdadajifallingsicksooften,theyneedthemoney.Doyouthinkyour

dadaji’spatientspayhimanything?Nothing.Thenga.Onlyrespect,nomoney.’

FufajiandBuajiknowmostoftheoldergirlsinDehradunandtheirfamiliesbynameandthekindofmoneytheyhave.

‘Onlyagirlcansetthingsright,bringhappinesstothehouse,’Buajioftensaysthesedays.

DivyaDiandIraiseourhands,buttheyareignored.Byhappiness,weallknowshemeansmoney.Dowryisonlybadwhenwomenareburntforit.

‘Maybethentheywillthrowusoutiftheyfindagirlrichenough,’Mummawouldsay.

‘Theywouldbeabletoaffordmaidsthen.’

‘Whyareyousadaboutit?Itwillbegoodriddanceifweleaveandtheyforgetallaboutus!’DivyaDiwouldsay.

‘Wheredoyouthinkourrationcomesfrom?’Iwouldbuttin.

‘Wewillbeabletoaffordit,’DivyaDiwouldbeconfident.‘Youpeoplejustdon’twanttotaketherisk.’

‘IamnotsureIwanttoriskstarvation,’Iwouldscoff.‘Di,there’snowaywewillbeabletopaytherent.Orevenfindahouse.’

‘Oh,please,’DivyaDiwoulddisagree.‘Iftheyaskustoleave,theyarenotgoingtomakeitdifficultforustofindone.Getoveryourvictimsyndrome.’

DivyaDihasalwaysbeenthemostoptimisticofusall,eggingusontoleaveeverythingandmovetoDelhi,farfromDadaji’sinfluence,andtrytomakealivingthere.SheassumesMumma’scustomerswouldmagicallyappear,andsheherselfwouldgetalotof

work:‘Therearepeopledyingtogivemesmalljobsorinternships,andscoresofmodellingassignmentsawaitme.’

‘Stoptalkingabouthiswedding!’Mummawouldsay.‘Nothinghashappenedyet.’

That’strue.ManishChachuhasbeenlessthanenthusiasticaboutgettingmarried.ItwasonlywhenheaskedDadajiandFufajitoloosentheirpursestringsforhisfurniturebusinessideathat,hehadtogiveintotheirdemandsforhismarriage.

‘Noone’sgoingtogetmarriedtohimifhedoesn’thavearunningbusiness,oratleastashop,’FufajihadarguedinfrontofDadaji.‘Wewillrecoupeverythingfromthegirl’sfamily.Trustme.’

DivyaandIhavevowedtofoilourfamily’sdesigns.

‘ManishChachu?Doyoureallywanttogetmarried?Ineverthoughtyouwould,’askedDivyaDi.

‘Everyonehasto.Yourtimeisgoingtocomesoon,’hesaidbeforehepickeduphishelmet.

14August2002

15AugustisabigdayforDivyaDiandme.

WhathadstartedasacompetitionbetweenKaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiyaononesideandDiandIontheothermeansalotmoretousnow.

Mummagetsirritatedathowseriouslywetakethisday—theunabashedaggression,thewar-likepreparationandthewholeattitude.ButDiandIlookforwardtotheadrenalinerushofwinningthekite-flyingmatch,andcountingthescarsleftbehindbythecrushedglassofthemanjacuttingthroughourfingers.Theyarelikenotchesonourbelt,badgesonourchest,ourwarpaint.Weareundoubtedlythebestintown.Wehaven’tsettledwhoisthebetteroneamongstusthough.Theonetimewehaddecidedtofightagainsteachother,ithadendedwithnine-year-oldmewrappingthemanjaaroundDivyaDi’snecktryingtomakeherconcededefeat.MummaandPapatellmeIcouldhavekilledherthatdaywhichItookasanexaggerationthen,butnowIknowitcouldbetrue.Abarelyvisiblescarintheshapeofalongsmileonherneckstillbearstestimonytothatday.

Theyearbeforelastwehadtakenbetsandonpaperwewon3000rupees.

Imaginethat!

Inoneevening!ButthennoonecoughedupanymoneyandtheparentsofafewkidsevencomplainedtoDadajiaboutDivyaDiterrorizingthem,andthatwasthat.

Anyway,todayisthedaywebuyourkitesandthebaddest,sharpestmanjainthemarket.Theshopkeepersarenotgoingtosaveupthedelicatekitesforayear,sothediscountsarecrazy.Andwhat’sthedealwithflyingkitesonanyotherdaythan15

August?Whatexactlyareyoucelebrating?AThursday?15August,IndependenceDay,kitesflyinghighandfree,dopeoplenotgetthemetaphor?

ButneitherDinorIflykitesforfunanymore,wedoittowin.It’sthedaywhentheVaidsistersalwayscomeoutontop.

Wewereonourwaybackfromthemarketwhenwesawabunchofkidsrunningandshouting,‘Baarvan!YeBaarvantha!’

‘Didtheyreallysaytwelve?’askedDi,stoppingthescooter.

ThehighestnumberofkitesDiandIhavecutwithasinglekiteisseven.Andthat’stheunofficialDehradunrecord.Wehadtofindoutifthesekidsweretellingthetruth.Wedrovebehindthekids,eyesonthesky,lookingforthekiteresponsibleforobliteratingourrecord.

Withinminutes,wespottedit.Ashimmeringblackkitewhichswooped,glidedandcutthroughtheairwithincredibledecisiveness.DiandIgaspeddespitetryinghardnottobeimpressedwiththewholething.Thenextsecond,Dibangedthescooteragainstathela,awoodencartfulloflitchis.

‘Goandseewhoitis,’Disaidtome,evenasshetradedinsultswiththethelaguy.

Itracedthemanjaofthekiteandraninitsdirection..AleftfromtheRispanapul,rightthroughJogiwalla,pastthetaxistand,asharpleftfromthebusstop,andstraightontotheHaridwarbypass.

Andtherehewas,standingontheroad,fingersbleeding,tonguerollinginhischeek,eyesstuckonthetautmanja,wriststwistingandturning,feetmovingswiftly—averitablekitegod!Hewasgood,verygood!Hishandsomeface

wasanexampleinconcentration.

Hewastheboyfromthelibrary.WasIimaginingit?No.Hewasthere.Reallythere.

IhadnoinstructionstogotalktohimandsoIstoodthereandwatched.Tobehonest,Iwasalongwayfromhome,andIwasabitscaredaboutapproachinghim.

Hedidn’thaveanextrakitelyingaround,nobackupplanifhelostthisoneintheair.

Sucharrogantconfidenceheexuded,borderingonthefoolish.Hedidn’texult,celebrate,pumphisfistandshout‘Aivokaate!’likeanamateurwhenhewonaduel.Hewouldshrugandmoveontothenewone,hisfacenotbetrayinganyemotion.Isatdownandlookedathimdominatethefield,mimickingthewayhiswristsmoved,committingtomemoryhistricks;Iwasbothmesmerizedandfurious.Alittlelater,hefinallylosthiskite.Hewasn’tbeaten.Theweatheredmanjahadjustgivenawayandthekitefloatedawayintothemountains,afittingendtohisinnings.Hepickedupthecharkhari,thespindleforthestring,turnedandleft.Ifollowedhimbuthewalkedtoobrisklyanddisappearedintotheopenfields.

Istoppedafewkidsrunningafterakiteandaskedthemwhohewas.

Oneofthegirlssaid,‘Mainahijaanti.Ek–dobaarbasbastimeindekhahai.(Idon’tknow,Ihavejustseenhimacoupleoftimesintheslums.)’

Myhour-longsearchforthatboyyieldednothing,nooneknewwhoIwastalkingabout(butIcouldn’ttellanyonethathewasgorgeous,orthathefilchedbooksfromalibrary,orthathewasmagnificentwithakite,soI’mnotsureiftheyweretalkingabouttherightguy).

Onmywayback,Ifoundhischarkharilollingaboutontheroadside.Iwon’tlie,Ipickeditupandcarriedithome.AtfirstIwasjustcurioustoseeifitwasanydifferentfromtheonesweusedandalmosteventhrewitawaywhenIsawitwasn’t,butforsomereasonIkeptithidden.

‘Wherewereyoulost?’DivyaDisnappedatmewhenIgothome.

ItriedtoliebutDivyaDiknewstraightawaythatIwasfibbing.Ispilledall.

‘Boyscanneverbeourfriends.Asforhisrecord,wewillbeatittomorrow,’shesaidsternly.

17August2002

It’sbeentwodaysbutmyfingersstillhurt.Di’sareevenworse.Wedidn’tevencomeclosetobeatingthatboy’srecordbutwedidbeatourownusingthetipsIhadgleanedfromlookingatthatboy.Atonepoint,evenBuajiwascheeringforus,exultingoveroureverywinagainsttheneighbourhoodboys.It’sinmomentslikethesethatIimagineanalternativerealitywhereourrelationshipsaren’tstrainedbymiseriesandhate,andthatfillsmyheartwithsomuchjoy.Butthenagain,ashumans,Ithinkcrueltyandhatredtowardseachotherisourdefaultsetting,andthemoretimepeoplespendwitheachotherthemorechancesarethereforthemaskofcivilityanddecencytoslipaway…

Wedidn’tspothiskite.Whywouldsomeonesogoodchickenouton15August,adaywheneveryonebringsouttheirbest?Diisn’tthinkingaboutitanymore;shedoesn’thavetountilnextyear,butshesensedthatIwascaringalittletoomuch.

‘Doyoulikehim?’sheasked,straightoffthebat.

‘What!No?I’vejustseenhimtwice.’

‘Stayawayfromthatboy.Ifhefeelshe’sgettingsomeattentionoutofacutegirllikeyou,whoknowswhathewillhedo?’

‘I’mnotcute,’Isaid.

‘Don’tfishforcompliments,’shesaid.‘Wedon’twantanotherMeghnadonourhands.

Youwouldn’tknowhowtohandle—’

‘Shutupandtellmeifyou’recomingwithmetoSaharanpurtomorrow,’Isaid.Idon’tknowwhyIwantedtosteertheconversationawayfromDibashingtheboy.Ididn’tevenknowhimandyet…

‘Dowehavetogo?’sheasked,displeased.

‘Mummaneedsclothforthelehngaorders.Icangoaloneifyoudon’twantto’

DivyaDipausedforabitbeforesayingshedidn’tmind.Unlikeme,DiisjustifiedindislikingSaharanpur.Butit’snotthatshehasn’tbumpedintoMeghnadinDehradunintheoddestofplaces.SometimesIfeelheorchestratestheseaccidentalbump-ins,andthathestillhasn’tgottenoverDi.Evennowheandhisfriendsshoutout‘slut’and‘whore’

whenevertheyrunintoDiinpublicplaces.

Justwhenwethinkwe’veseenthelastofhimandhisshenanigans,someoneortheotherremindsusofwhathadhappenedallthoseyearsback.Mostwomeninthe

neighbourhood,theoneswhohadseenthefullestextentofMeghnad’smadness,shamelesslytellusthatweletagoodboyoutofourhands.

Butthegoodboythewomengushaboutisoftenfoundterrorizingotheryoungwomen.

18August2002

It’satwo-hour-longboring,dustyridetoSaharanpur.EverytimeIwishthedriveisn’tasbadasthelasttime,butitalwaysis.Thebusitselfisfilthybeyondimagination:paan-stainedcorners,vomitstreaksoneverywindow,allkindsofsmells—frompeoplecarryingfoodandvegetablestosell.IusuallysleepanddroolalloverDi’sshoulderfortheentiretwo-hourjourney.

‘Wehavereached,’saidDivyaDiandthebusstutteredtoahalt.‘Wewon’twasteanytimeherelikethelasttime.Keeplookingoveryourshoulders.Slimchancethathewouldbehere,butyouneverknow.’

Inoddedandweheadedout.

TheVaidsaremasterbargainers.Wetakeprideinit!Andsowhatshouldhavebeenaquickin-and-outstretchedtofourhours.DiandIwerelockedin

afiercebattleoverwhocouldwinthebetterdiscountsfromtheseasonedwholesalersofSaharanpur.Bythetimewefinished,itwassundownandwehadtoshoutandbawlourwaytothelastbusbacktoDehradun.Wepaidthefullfarebutdidn’tgetaseat.

‘Somuchforsavingmoney,’saidDi.

ThebushadbarelyleftSaharanpurwhenabottleofbeercamecrashinginsidethroughthewindowbehindus.Littleshardsofglasscrunchedbeneathourfeet.Allofuslookedoutside,scared.Wesawacarwithabunchofboyshangingoutofthedoor,shouting,screaming,whistling.‘OYE!IDHAR!IDHAR!’

Divyaclutchedmyhandinmildpanicandmyheartleaptup.

Meghnadwasonthedriver’sseatgazingstraightattheroad,nostrilsflared,asifithadn’tbeenyearsbutdayssincethatincident.Helookeddrunk;everyoneinthecardid.

Hehadnowgrownamenacingbeardwhichaccentuatedhiscrookednoseandhisdoped-outeyes,andlookedinfinitelymorerepulsiveandlizard-like.Dituggedatmyarm,mademesitdownandaskedmenottolookoutside.Thecarfollowedusforacouplemorekilometres;insultsweretradedbetweentheconductorandtheboys—theconductorpolite,theboysincorrigible—andmorebottleswerethrownin.Thebusreekedofalcohol.Whenthecarstoppedfollowingus,afewpassengerslookedatusaccusingly.

‘Kyahai?’Disnappedback.‘Wedon’tknowthem!’

Wemusthavecoveredjustanotherkilometrewhentherewasaloudbangandthebussplutteredtoahalt.Atirehadgivenway.Thepassengersgrumbled,butknewtheyhadno

choice,andeveryonegotoff.Itwasdiscoveredthatthepuncturehadtodowithafewironnailsthathadbeenstrewnontheroad.Wouldn’tbetheworstthingMeghnadhasdone.Infact,quiteanimprovementfromlastmonthwhenhehadwhippedoutagunatsomeonewhohadcuthimoffintraffic.

Asthedriverandconductorwerechangingthetyre,wedrankacupofrevoltinglysweetteaattheroadsidedhaba.

ThenIsawtheboyagain—thebook-stealing,name-knowing,kite-flyingboy,

washinghishandsatthedhaba’shandpump.Idouble-checked.Itwashim,nodoubtaboutit.

Ifanything,hiskurtawasevendirtierandhewascarryingabackpack.Nowhewassittingaloneinacorneronabenchofthedhaba,writinginanotebook.Hedidn’tlookupevenoncebeforetheconductorcalledeveryonetoboardthebus.

‘Thereareafewmorepeopleboarding,soifyouwanttogototheroof,feelfreetodoso,’saidtheconductor.

Peoplerushedin,andDitriedtopushmeinside.

‘Iwilltaketheroof,’Isaid.

‘Why?Mummawillkillusifshegetstoknow.’

‘Shedoesn’thavetoknow,’Isaid.

‘Fine,I’msittinginside,’shesaidandwentin.

Ifollowedtheboyandabunchofothersatopthebus.Theconductorslammedhishandonthesideofthebus,andaskedustobecarefulatthetop.

Betweenhimandmesattenothers.TwiceItriedwalkinguptothefrontofthebuswherehesat,butpeoplesatmedown,tellingmeitwastoodangerous.Theboydidn’tturntolook,andkeptscribblinginhisnotebook,whichhewasstrugglingtoholdonto,hisrough,longhairfloppingbehindhishead.

‘Oye!’Ishoutedfinally.‘Oye,you!’

Theboyturnedandlookedatme.

‘What?’hesaidgruffly.

‘HOWDOYOUKNOWMYNAME!’Ishoutedbackoverthehonksofthebus.

Withoutmissingabeat,hesaid,‘Whodoesn’tknowthegranddaughtersoftherespectedDrVaid?’

Helookedawayfromme.

Itwascleartomethathewaslying,butIcouldn’tfindthewordstoprobefurther,toaskwhathisnamewas.

Ifumbledforawaytostartaconversationbutfellshortandhegotbacktohisnotebook.

Forthenexthour,Isatuprightandalert,tocatchtheboyassoonasthebuscomestoastop.Butwhenthebusstopped,hejustjumpedofffromthefrontanddisappeared.Ifeltfrustrated.

Theboywasgone.Whodoesn’tknowthegranddaughtersoftherespectedDrVaid?

EverytimeIhearthisinmyhead,Iambaffled.

WhenIfirstheardit,themeaningwassimple.ItwasatauntatDivyaDiandme,theshamefulprodigaldaughters.Ineffect,hewassaying,‘Whodoesn’tknowabouttheinfamous,bigdi-huigranddaughtersofDrVaid?

ButnowthatIkeepgoingthroughthewordsrepeatedlyinmyhead,IfeelhisstresswasonthewordsrespectedDrVaid.AsifhewasnottauntingDiorme,butDadaji.Thewordrespectedwasutteredwithsarcasm,notreverence.MaybeitwassaidtostripDadajiofbothrespectandthetitleofdoctor.Andwhynot?Itmadesensetome.Forus,neitherofitwasvalid.ButwhatcouldhehaveagainstDadaji?

23August2002

There’sapujaatManishChachu’snewshop.

DadajiandManishChachuworewhite,starchedkurtas,andlookedlikefreshlymintedpoliticians.Fufajiworetheonlysuithehad,andPapawasinanoldshirt–pant,lookingliketheiraccountant.

‘Whydowehavetogo?’grumbledDi.

‘WhenwasthelasttimeDadajipaidforourmeal?’Iasked.

‘Keepyourmouthsshut,don’tlaughatChachu,anddon’tlookDadajiintheeye,’saidMummabeforeweleft.

KaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiyahadspentagoodpartoflastnightandthismorningsweeping,washingandpaintingtheshop.AboutahundredyardsfromtheGhantaghar,theclocktower,itwashousedinaprimelocationandhadcomeataheftyprice.DadajiandBuajihaddippedintothefundthathadbeensavedupforKaranBhaiya’sandAnshumanBhaiya’sengineeringstudies.

‘Nowseethekindofrishtasthatwillcomeflocking!’FufajisaidwithgleeasKaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiyafixedtheshopboard:Vaid’sFurniture.Proprietor:ManishVaid

ThepanditwaslatebyanhourandDadajigrumbledlikeitwasourfault.

DadajimadeKaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiyadusteverycorneroftheshopagainwhilewewaitedoutside.

Myattentionwascaughtbythesoundofamotorcycle.Iturned.Wasthisacertaintrend?OfseeinghimwhenandwhereIleastexpectedto?Inacloudofdust,ridinga150-ccchoking,coughing,angryEnfield,hissoiledwhitekurtabillowinginthewind,andapandit—withpaandribblingoutofthecornersofhismouthlikeblood—clingingontohimfordearlife,therehewas

‘Arre!Pagal!Whodriveslikethis?Areyouamadman?’cursedthepandit,scramblingoffthebike.

‘Yourgodwillsaveyou,willhenot?’saidtheboyimpudently.

Thewomenofthehousewhoarenotsupposedtotouchthefeetofanyoneotherthantheirelderlyrelativeswereaskedtotouchthisfoul-mouthed,paan-chewingman’s.The

panditscrunchedhisnose,andwavedusawaywithoutsomuchasalook,asifwewerelepers.

HeaskedDadaji,‘Noneofthewomenareimpure?’

Buaji,Mumma,DiandIshooktheirheads.

ThepanditwalkedinandafterhimDadajiandManishChachu.Thenthe

panditturnedaroundandtoldPapainamatter-of-facttone:‘Yourdaughterscancomein,butnotyourwife.’

‘Haanji,ofcourse.It’smyfault.Ishouldhaveremembered,’saidMummapolitelyandsteppedawayfromtheentranceoftheshop,hertearsbarelyhidden.‘…it’smyfault.’

‘But,panditji—’

‘Shecancomeinafterwefinishthepuja,’thepanditinterruptedPapasummarily.ThenFufaji,Buaji,KaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiyawalkedinside.Papaandtherestofusstoodoutside,shakinginfury.

‘OmPrakash!’thunderedDadajitoPapa.‘You’reneededhere.’

ThiswasnotthefirsttimeandyetsomethingbreaksinsideuseverytimeMummaisaskednottopartakeinhavansandpujas,thereligiousceremoniesofthehouse;thisfeelingkeepsgettingworse.Weshouldn’tevenfeelbadanymorebut…

Earlier,DivyaDiandIusedtobesubjectedtothesametreatment,butovertimeithaschanged.AsifsomehowPapahadmanagedtodiluteourmother’slower-castelineageoutofus.

‘Pitaji,shealsoshouldbe—’saidPapa.

‘Wecanstartwithoutyou,’saidDadaji.

Papaloweredhisheadandsaid,‘Startwithoutme.’Dadajiwasfuming.

DivyaDihadalsojustbeguntoturnawaywhenMummaheldherhandandmadeherstay.Wewatchedon,ourfacesburningwithshameandanger.

Thehavan,thesacredfire,waslit,withthemeninthefrontandBuajiattheback.

Mummawhispered,‘I’mOK,itdoesn’tmeananything.’

Idamnwellknowwhatthesefucking,divisiveritualsmean!Theyareallhogwash,meantfordim-wittedpeople.

DivyaDisquirmedinMumma’sgrip.Meanwhile,Idistractedmyselfby

stealingglancesattheboywho’ddecidedtostayandwatchtheceremony.Theboyleanedagainstthemotorcycleandstaredunblinkinglyintothefire.OnceinawhilehewouldchangesongsonhisWalkmanandthenagaincarryonwithhisstaringbusiness.Twice,hespatonthegroundasthepandit’sslokareachedacrescendo.

Thethirdtime,hewalkedovertoDivyaDi.

‘Thiswillhelp,’hesaid,andgaveherhisWalkmanwiththeearphonesdanglingfromit.

Helookedstraightatmeandsaid,‘Youtakeone,’andpointedtooneendoftheearphone.

BeforePapaandMummacouldprotest,heturnedawayfromusandstartedwalkingbacktothemotorcycle.IgnoringMumma’sprotests,wepushed‘play’,andliterallytheharshestrock/metal/whatever-it-is-called,blaredoutoftheearphones.Thepandit’swordswerenolongeraudible,anditseemedlikehewastheonemouthingtheexpletivesinthesongwewerelisteningto.NolongerdidDilookfurious.Thesongchangedanditwasnolongermetal.Itwasasongfromourchildhood—fromthemovieDulaara;thesong‘MeriPantBhiSexy’hadbeenbannedbecauseithadthatword‘sexy’init.Itwashilarious.DivyaDiandIdideverythingwecouldtonotbreakoutlaughingattheboy’saudaciouschoice.

DivyaDismiledattheboy,andflashedhimathumbs-up,andhenoddedeversoslightly.

KaranBhaiyanudgedAnshumanBhaiyaandpointedattheearphonesinourearsandthesmilesonourfaces.Wedidn’ttakeoureyesoffthehavan,whichwasnowverymuchtolerable.

‘Youcancomeinsidenow,’saidthepanditoncethepujawasover,andweallshuffledin.

Wewerenowingreatspirits.

‘Youcancomeinsidetoo,’Dadajisaidtotheboy.

Theboylookedon,notanswering,andsaidafteralongpause,‘Idon’twanttogetinvolvedinthisnonsense.Iwasaskedtodropthepandithereandtakehimback.Ifthere’smorework,Ineedtogetpaidforit.’Helitanother

cigaretteandletithangfromhislipslimply.IwascorrectaboutWhodoesn’tknowthegranddaughtersoftherespectedDrVaid?HisdemeanourshowednovisiblerespectforDadaji.

‘Isthathowyouwerebroughtup?’saidBuajisternly.‘Callhimpanditji!’

‘DoesitlooklikeIamtalkingtoyou,aunty?’hesaid,hisvoiceharsh.

DivyaDiandIlookedateachother,andthebriefestofsmilespassedbetweenusbeforeKaranBhaiyastoodupandsaid,‘Saale,isthisthewaytotalk?Tameeznahihaikya,whereareyourmanners?’

Theboythrewthecigaretteonthegroundandcrusheditwithhischappals.

‘Idon’twanttocauseaproblemhere,’hesaid,staringstraightatKaranBhaiya,whowasitchingforafight.

AnshumanBhaiyawassizingtheboyup,andperhapsrealizedthathisbrotherwasnomatchforthecalmgruffnessoftheboy.

‘Leavehimalone,’saidthepandit.

‘Didn’tyouseehowhetalkedtoyou?Tomother?’askedKaranBhaiya.

‘Listentome,Karan.Wewilldealwithhimlater.Abhijaanedesuarko(Letthepiggo),’saidAnshumanBhaiyacautiously.

Theboystoodthereunmoving,staringunblinkinglyatKaranBhaiya,unaffectedandsupremelyarrogant.Andthen,hesteppedforward,hisfeetsure,hiseyesfocused.Iknewhowthiswasgoingtounfold.TheboywouldwalkwithinsniffingdistanceofKaranBhaiya,waitforhimtotakethefirstswing,takethehitboldly,andthenwatchKaranBhaiyanursehisbruisedknuckle;hewouldthensmile,lightanothercigarette,havealong,satisfyingpuff,andblowitallonKaranBhaiya’sface;finally,hewouldletgoaswiftuppercutandknockKaranBhaiyaout.HewouldthenstamponhisfacewhileholdingAnshumanBhaiyabyhisneck.

Noneofthathappened.

Hecametome,andcalmlyfishedouttheearphonefrommyrightearandthenDi’s.HewrappedthemaroundtheWalkmanmeticulouslyandputitallbackinhispocket.

TheboytookoutthekeyoftheEnfieldfromhisbackpocket,droppeditinmyhands,andsaid,‘AskyourFufajitodroptheoldmanhome.Askhimtobealittleuseful.’Heturnedandleft.

25August2002

Dehradunisasmalltown.Gossip,rumours,scandalsspreadlikewildfireandnooneknowsthatbetterthanus.Ditellsmeit’snotsointhebigcities,wherepeoplehidebehindlockeddoors,anddon’ttrusttheirneighbours.Trustingone’sneighbourshasnotgotanyoneanywhere,especiallyifyouhavetheoneswedo.

Soinaneighbourhood,andinatownlikeours,peoplewerereallycuriousaboutthisboyeveryonehadseen,butknewzilchabout.TheEnfieldwasfromagaragenearthepandit’shouse.

Thesearetherecordedtestimoniesofthepeoplewhohadtalkedtohim.

Hehasbeenhereafewtimes.Healwayssitsatthecomputeratthatfarcorner.Hewipeshisbrowserhistorybeforeheleaves,soIdon’tknowwhathelooksat.Nevertalkedtohim.Lookslikeagoonda,soInevertried.He’salwaysalittleangry.Don’tknowwherehe’scomefrom.Mybusinessisnottoaskquestions.—SureshUncle,GuptaCyberCaféHe’snotthatgood-looking.No,neverbotheredtoaskhisname.Hecallsmebhai,andIcallhimbhai.—Aboyfromthegarage

Tallguy?Wearskurtas?Heavyvoicelikesomeonedroveascooteroverhisneck?Haan,haan,Iknowhim.Niceboy.Paysaftereverypeg.Notroubleever.Thoughalittlescary.

Doesn’ttalkmuch,staresathisdrinkallthetimehe’shere.Notawordtoanyone.Lookslikehehasabrokenheart.Don’tknowhisnamethough.WhywouldIaskacustomerhisname?—Chachaji,ownerofabaronthehighwayTheboyisprettygood-looking.Buthealwayslooksangry,doesn’the?Alwayssketchyabouthispast.Musthaverunawayfromsomewhere.—AnotherboyfromthegarageAren’tyouOmPrakash’sdaughter?—NeerajUncle,owner,NeerajSweetShopHaveseenhimwiththoseboysoftheslumacoupleoftimes.Hetalkslittle.Heardfromsomewherethathehaddone

somethingbiginDelhi.Hadtorunawayandcomehere.

Howlong?Somesayayear?BeforethishewasinGhaziabad.Comeshereoftenwaitingforacall.Nevercallshisparents,that’sstrangeno?Beta,whyareyouasking?Aren’tyouVaidBhaisaheb’sdaughter?—SumanAuntyfromthePCOboothHedefinitelydidsomethinginDelhi.Otherwisewhydoeshehidehisname?Iaskedhimonce.Hedidn’tbothertoanswer.Lookslikealoaferthough.Don’ttalktohim.Doesn’tlooksafe.—SumanAunty’sson

Itoldhimonceortwicetostopsmoking.Butthere’salotofangerinhim,sohehastosmoke.Whatabouttheanger?DoyouthinkIwillaskhim?Whoknowswhathehasdone!

Idon’twanttogetintothat.—Rajesh,cornerpaanwalaAllofthisthrewupapictureofanangry,heartbrokenboywhohadrunawayfromDelhiaftersomethingbighadhappenedtohim,andfoundsuccourinDehraduninloneliness,cigarettesandtheoccasionaldrink.Butwhatwashedoingwiththatbookinthelibrary?

29August2002

Thismorning,theguyfromthegaragecalled.Theboyhadcometopickupabike,theircheapest,YamahaRX100,andpaidtwicetherentfortheday,plussecurity.

‘Youdidn’taskhisname?Whatkindofabusinessareyourunning?’Iasked.‘Doyouknowwherehewent?’

‘SahastradharaIthink,’hehadanswered.

Onastupidandrecklesswhim,ItookthescooteroutanddrovetoSahastradhara,theonlypicnicspotmyschoolknew.Askids,weweren’tallowedtotakeadipinthesulphur-richwaterorevensitontherocks,whichwereslipperyandweepy.IwasparkingmyscooterwhenIspottedhim.Perchedprecariouslyononeoftheweepingrocks,thebiggestofthemall,thewatermeanderingandgushingaroundhim.Shirtlessandwet,hesatthere,eyestowardsthesky,calmbuttaut.IshoutedanditstruckmeagainthatIdidn’thaveaname.OYE!Ishouted.MyOyesdidn’treachhim.

Exhaustedwithalltheshouting,Isattherewaitingforhimtoswimtothisside.Hewasnowlyingdown,lostinaworldofhisown.Thenafterwhatseemedlikehours,hegotup,andjumpedintotheshallowpool.Hewasnotseenforwhatseemedlikealongtime.Thenhecameupgaspingforair.Watersnakeddownhisbodyinlittlerivulets,navigatingitswaythroughhisrigidmusculature.HisbodyseemedlikeastarvedversionofMichelangelo’sDavid.Hehadthemuscles,thesinew,thenervesthatsnakedonhisarms,butwaslankier,maybeevenmoredefined,maybeevenmoreperfect.Ugh!Youcouldputhiminalabtostudymuscledefinition.

Igotup,andinthelightofthisspecimen,IbecameacutelyawareofhowmythighswobbledasIstoodup.Hedriedhimselfoffwithacloth,andslippedintohisjeansandablackT-shirtwhichhunglooselyonhim.

‘Hey!’

‘Yes?’hesaid,hiseyesboringintomethistime,hisvoicereverberatinginsideme.

‘Don’tyourememberme?’

‘AdvaitaVaid,’hesaid,walkingawayfrommewithacoldlook,afarcryfromhishelpfulselfthatday.Helitacigaretteandtookalong,hungrydragatit.

‘Thankyouforthatday,’Isaid,smilingpolitely.

Hekickedhismotorcycletolife,withoutsparinganod.Desperatetokeeptheconversationgoingandaweebitcurious,Isaid,‘Whatdidyoumeanbywhatyousaidthatday?GranddaughtersoftherespectedDrVaid?’

Hedidn’treactagain,andIwaspushedintosaying,‘Youcan’ttalkaboutgirlsthatway.’

‘Ididn’t.’

‘Youweretauntingus,DivyaDiandme,Iamnotdaft.’

‘Ididn’ttalkaboutanygirlinthemanneryou’reaccusingmeof.’

‘Thenwhowereyoutalkingabout?’

‘You’resmartenoughtodiscern,’hesaid,kickedthemotorcycletolifeanddroveaway.

‘HEY!’

Hewasalreadyfaraway.

Forthenexthourandahalf,IchasedhimdownallthroughtoDehradun,extractingeverybitfrommytwo-strokeengine.Afterawhile,itfeltlikehewasmockingme—hewouldslowdown,makingmefeelIwascoveringground,andthenspeedupagain.Later,heparkedhismotorcyclenearTomatoSoupWalla,amisnomerbecausehesellschickensouptoo.ThiswaswhereDiandIhadcaughtKaranBhaiyaandAnshumanBhaiyabeingbadHindusandslurpingonsoupfloatingwithchunksofchicken.

‘Whatdoyouwant?’heasked.

Hiswordswerelikeajackhammeronmyskull.WhatdidIwantfromhim?Icouldn’thavejustsaidthatheintriguedme,andIwouldn’tmindhavingaconversationwithhim.

Howlamewouldthathavebeen?So,likeaheadlesschicken,Ifumbledandstammered.

‘Arre?Youcan’tjustmockmyDadajiandwalkaway,’Isaid.

Helookedatmeandsaid,‘Iwon’tapologizeforwhatIsaidabouthim.’

‘That’srude.Idon’tknowwhatyouhaveheardaboutmyDadaji,butit’sunwarranted.

Tellmewhosaidwhattoyou?’

HelookedatmeasifIhadaskedhimsomethingridiculous.

‘Iamnotleavingbeforeyoutellmewhotoldyouwhat.Iwon’tstandforthisrumour-mongering,’Isaid,andleanedbackintothechair.

‘You’reseriouslygoingtositheretillIdon’ttellyou?’

‘Yes.’

‘Suityourself.’

Fifteenminutespassedandwhilehereadthroughthenewspaper,hardlyblinking,Igrewrestless.Hewasalsosippinghissoup,andspewingsmokeoutlikeagoddamnchimney.Mustbenicetoberichenoughtosupportsuchanexpensive,filthyhabit.

Ishouldhavegottenupandleft,butIstayedput.IhadovercommittedtothecauseandIwouldseethisthrough.Icouldbestubborntoo.WhatkindofgranddaughterwouldIbeifIdidn’tsquash‘rumours’aboutmyDadaji?

‘Areyoualwaysthissullenorisitjustyourvoice?’Iasked.

Hestaredatmeagain,sayingnothing,justthosepainfuleyeslookingatmeasifitwasmewhohaddonesomethingwrong.

‘IwantedtogiveyouthisforthatWalkmanthingyoupulledoffforus.Here,takeit,’Isaid.

‘What’sthis?’Heopenedthepolythenebagandheldthekurtainfrontofhim.Thebriefestsmilecameonhisface,buthesaid,‘Ican’ttakethis.’

‘It’smadeforyouandIgotintoalotoftroublegettingitforyou.Keepitordumpit.’

Heputthekurtabackinthepolythenebagandletoutafeeble‘thankyou’.

‘You’rewelcome,’Isaid.‘Butthatdoesn’tmeanIhaveforgottenaboutyourrumour-mongering!’

Herolledhiseyesirritably.

‘Youknowmyname.Theleastyoucandoistellmeyourname.YoulooklikeanAditya,areyou?Wait,wait.You’reSamir,aren’tyou?OrRehaan?’

‘Pickanyofthem.’

‘OK,Iwilldothat,butwhat’slikeyourrealname?Theoneyourparentsgaveyou.’

‘RaghuGanguly,’hesaid,catchingmygaze,andsmirkingpitifully.‘UsedtobeaproudHindu,aBrahminlikeyourgrandfatherandyourbuaji.’

‘Whyareyousmirking?Look,whateveranyonemighthavetoldyouitisnottrue.’

‘Isthatcorrect?’

‘Absolutely!’

‘Didhenotcelebratewhathappenedearlierthisyear?GiveafieryspeechagainstMuslimsattheMohyalConventioninJuly?AskforallHindustouniteanddrivetheMuslimsoutofthecountry?’Thelastofhiswordswereangrilyspatout.

‘Look,Ihardlyknowyouandyoucan’tjust—’

Hegrumbled,‘Didheordidhenot?’

‘Hedid.’

Earlierthisyear,thousandsofMuslims,andaslightlylesserproportionofHindushadbeencutdowntopieces.Bothcommunitieshadrapedeachother’swomen,impaledinfantsontridentsandswords,andburntdownneighbourhoodafterneighbourhood.Itissaidthatthebroad-chestedchiefministerwascomplicit,buteveryoneknowsthat—likeinthecaseofmostriotsinIndia—nothingisgoingtohappentohim.Thesupporthehad,explicitandimplicit,fromHindusallaroundthecountrywasoverwhelming.DadajihadbeenattheforefrontinDehradun,givingfieryanti-Muslimspeechesatgatherings,droningonabouttheneedforHinduhouseholdstostockuponcrowbars,swordsandaxesincasethewarspillsovertotheirstate.

‘Weshouldslowlyflushthemoutfromthiscountry,’Buajihadsaid.

Dadajihadsaid,‘TheytoomusthavejoinedthewaragainstusBrahmins.’

MummatoldmelaterthatAltafandIqbalweretooscaredtocometoourhousesincetheyhadheardaboutDadaji’sspeech.

‘Igottogo,’hesaidandfoldedthenewspaper.

‘But…butwhatdoesthathavetodowithyou?’Iasked.

‘Peoplelike…likeyourgrandfatherdestroyedmylife.’Heslammedthetable.

1September2002

Thingshavemovedratherquickly,andManishChachu’sshopisalreadyyieldingrichdividends.Onlyyesterday,ManishaChachu,FufajiandBuajiwenttothreehouses,twoonRajpurRoad,oneonTurnerRoad,andmeteligiblegirls.ManishChachuhadgonethroughtheproceedingswithhisheadhunglow,withtheinterest,ifyoumay,ofadyingman.Twoofthemwereintheirthirties,mangliks,butwealthyandservile,andthelastonewas,inBuaji’swords,‘unbearablyuglyandhadstudiedtoomuch’.

‘HowdaretheythinkIwouldgiveManishtosuchawitch?’Buajihadsaidoncetheyleftthisgirl’shouse.

Butwithintwenty-fourhours,Buajichangedhertuneandseemedtobesmittenwiththegirlshehadfoundtobeamonstrosity.Thiswasbecausesomerumourshadreachedherears.Therewastalkofhowthegirlhadrunaway,gottenmarried,butthemanhadleftherwithintwomonthsandshehadreturnedtohermother’shousewithbruisesontheface,afracturedhandandashatteredheart.

‘Herparentswilldoeverythingtogetthismarriagetohappen.Wecanaskforanything,’shewouldhavesaidinherconspiratorialtonetoFufajiandDadaji.

‘WhataboutManish?Hewillsayyes?’Fufajiwouldhaveasked.

‘Leavethattome.IwillhandleBhaiya,’Buajiwouldhavesaid.

AndIimaginethatDadajiwouldhavekeptquiet,knowingBuajiwasthemorediscerningone.

Ihaven’tbeenabletogethisgorgeous,face,hiswords,hispainedeyes,hisgravellyandyetsoftvoice,andhissupposedhatredformygrandfatherandhisilkoutofmyhead.

IstayawakeandthinkofallthethingsthatcouldhavehappenedtoRaghuGangulyforhimtosaywhathehad,andthatpointedinoneandonlyonedirection.HehadbeeninlovewithaMuslimgirlandthattherelationshiphadfallenapart—asitusuallyhappens—

becauseoftheirreligions.Likeanyself-respectingsleuth,Iaskedaroundtocheckifmystoryheld.

4September2002

Afteralongtime,DivyaDihassnaggedsomeprintcatalogueworkandshehasbeenworkingonitforthepastfewdays.Buajiandtheothershaveturneduptheirnosesmorethanonce,butthemoneyshewillbringinwillhelpthehousehold,andsotheyhaven’tdoneanythingdrastic.SoIhadtoheadoutalonewhenIgotthenewsthatSumitraBaliofRajpurRoadwasontheshortlistforManishChachu.Sheneededtobesaved.

IsawSumitraBaliatPaltanBazaarbuyingicecreambricks.Weretheyexpectingvisitors?OrweretheyaswealthyasFufajiandBuajihopedtheywereandwerehavingicecreameveryday?

ShewasfarfromhowBuajihaddescribedher.‘Ugly’wasthelastwordIwoulduseforher.‘Powerful’,‘decisive’and‘strong’cametomyheadinstantly.Tallandstraightlikeanarrow,shestoodoutfromtheothersinthebazaar.Inasariwithnotasinglepleatoutofplace,herchinup,shouldersexudingconfidence,andherstrideslongandpurposeful,shelookedlikeshehadsteppedstraightoutofaworld-changingboardmeeting.

ShewassurprisedtofindmesittingonherScooty.Shecouldn’tplacemeatfirst.Whenshedid,herdemeanourchanged—shouldersdrooping,eyesdowncast,apolitesmilepastedonherface.

‘Youcan’tgetmarriedtomyChachu,’Isaid.‘Gohomeandtellyourparentsthatthiscan’thappen.Makeupanyexcuse,OK?’

Icouldunderstandtheshockonherface,soIhadtoexplain.

‘Youknow,weVaidsareveryproudofthewaywelook.Weareallfair,tall,andstrong-boned.PuccaAryans,exceptourmother,ofcourse.Butyou…Iknowyou’reaBrahmintoobutyou’rewhatwecallshit-faced.YouarebrownandIwouldn’twantmylittlebrothersandsisterstobedarkandunappealinglikeyou.Areyougettingmypoint?

ManishChachuhimselfhadwantedtosaythis,buthesentme.GohomeanddowhatIjusttoldyouto.Wecan’thaveanotherpersonlookinglikeyouinourhouse.Or—’

‘Or?’

‘Letmejustsayyourpresenceatourhousewouldn’tbetakenkindly.Andgivenyourhistory,Idon’tseeyourparentsjumpingtoyourrescueeither.Orwouldyouratherbechasedawayfromanotherhouse?’

Sumitra,unfazedbymythreats,said,‘Whatwillyoudotomethathasn’talreadybeendonebefore?’

‘Youhavenoidea,’Istumbledandstuttered,myplanofscaringheroffcrumblingtopieces.

‘YourChachuwillrapeme?’

‘I…’

‘Oryourbuajiwillaskformoney?’

‘Sumitra…’

‘OrFufajiandDadajiwillscaldmewiththeteaImakeforthem?’shesaid,herlipsquiveringinanger,theicecreaminherhandsslowlymelting.

‘Umm—’

‘Why?Don’tyouhaveanyotherthreatstomake?’

‘Ihaven’tevenstarted!’Iprotested,stilltryingtosticktotheplantoscareherawayfromthehorrendoustrapshewasabouttofindherselfin.

‘Thenwhyareyoudoingthis,Advaita?’sheasked.

‘Look—’

‘Iamnotscaredofyou,Advaita.You’reachild.’

‘I’mnotachild!’Isnapped.

‘Youwanticecream?’sheasked.

‘No!’

‘You’resocute,Advaita.’

OfcourseIwantedsome.

Sumitrawasalreadysittingnexttome,slippingthepapercoverofftheicecream.Thenshescoopeditwithaplasticspoon,hadsomeofitherselfandthenofferedittome.Iateitbegrudgingly,decidingnottoenjoyittoomuch.

‘It’snice,right?’sheaskedasIsavouredit.‘Youwantmore?’

Idid,andsoInodded,andshegavemethebrickandthespoon.Shehadseenrightthroughmycharade,myemptythreats.

‘YourChachuisaniceman.Icanseethat,’saidSumitra.‘YourbuajiandFufajiaredevils,butIdon’tseehowtheycanbeworsethanmyownparents.’

‘But—’

‘IknowwhatIamgettinginto,Advaita.’

‘I’msorryforwhatIsaid.You’rereallybeautiful.’

Sumitrasmiledformysake.I’msuremywordsmeantnothingtoher.Overtheyearsshewouldhaveheardtoomanytimesfromtoomanypeoplethatshe’sdark,saanwli,poor-looking.Itbumpeduselesslyagainstherthickskin.

‘Don’tsayIdidn’twarnyou.’

‘Thankyouforthat,’shesaid.

‘Howbadhasyourlifebeentothinkofmyfamilyasanescapeplan?’

‘That’swhatyourChachualsosaid.Butallmiseryisrelative,isn’tit?Can’tlosehope,canI?’

Webothlaughedathermisfortune.Later,sheletmedriveherScooty.She’sanicegirl.

Ilikeher.Ivowedtoprotecther.

ShedroppedmebacktoPaltanBazaar,andbeforesheleft,shethankedme

fordescribingherasbeautiful.

‘Ibelieveyou,’shesaid,smiling,herperfect,pearl-liketeethgleaming.ThenshecalledmejustasIwasleaving,‘Hey?’

‘Haan?’

‘DoesyoursisterknowaboutyourChachuandme?’sheasked,hervoiceglum.

‘Why?’

‘Sheusedtobemybestfriendincollege,’shesaid.

It’sstrangethatIhaveneverheardhernamefromDivyaDi.

DivyaDilookedlikeshehadseenaghostwhenItoldherwhomBuajihadpickedforManishChachu.Herentirebodyshookwithanger,andshepacedaroundtheroomasiflookingforsomethingtopunch.Itlookedlikeshewouldhaveaseizure.

‘WHYTHEHELLDIDNOONETELLMETHISBEFORE!’

‘WhoisSumitra—’

‘THATGIRLISABITCH!SHE’SALYING,CHEATINGWHORE!’

‘Di?Calmdown—’

‘Don’tyoudaretellmetocalmdown.ThatwomanwasmybestfriendandwasfuckingVibhor!Shewasmyfriend,helpingmepickgiftsforVibhorandfuckinghim!’Angrytearsfloodedhereyes.

Shecontinued,‘ShehadthegalltokeepintouchwithhimevenwhenMeghnaddrovehimawayfromthetown.Sheelopedayearlater.’

‘VibhorGuptawasn’tagoodguy,Di.’

‘Youdon’tknowhim,Advaita.WHOKNOWS,SHEMIGHTHAVEFUCKED

EVERYMANINDELHI!’

‘LookatwhathedidtoSumitra.ThewayIseeit,yousavedyourselfalifetimeofpain.’

‘Youwon’tgetit.Thatwomanistheabsoluteworst.Ifshecomestothishouse,Iwillpunchherintheface!’shesaidandstormedoff.

Frankly,Idon’twanttogetit.IfDivyaDiandtheboy(ifwhatbrokehimwaslove)arewhatyoubecomewhenyoufallinlove,Idon’twanttofeelit.Whyinvestsomuchinanemotionwhenallitgivesyouisunbridledpain?Thereareenoughmiseriesintheworld,whyaddanotherone?

6September2002

Weallhearditfromourhouse.

Bythetimewe,alongwithourneighboursreachedtheaccidentsite,therewerethirty-oddpeoplelookingon,shocked,andfrozenintheirplaces.Blood,fireandthestenchofburntfleshfilledtheair.KaranBhaiyawasthefirstamongustobreakthroughtheranksandrushtowherethetoppledbusburnt.Screamsthatbarelysoundedhumanfilledtheair.

Amidstallthis,IheardRaghu’sunmistakablevoice—deep,huskyandauthoritative.

DivyaDiandIjostledourwaytothefront.Threeambulancesscreechedtoahaltinfrontofus.Raghu,coveredinblood,KaranBhaiya,AnshumanBhaiyaandothermenextractedonepersonafteranotherfromthemangledbuswhichhadcollidedhead-onwithatruck.

Theyloadedpeopleintoambulances.Moremenandwomenjoinedintherescueoperationsaftertheygotoverthebloodandgutsthathadspilledontheroads.Thosewhowatchedfromthesidewerecryingtoo,perhapsimaginingthemortalityoftheirownselves.

IsawRaghupacingaround,holdinghishead,crying,bawling,trembling.Andtheninaflashheran,jumpedovertheroaddividerintothemovingtraffic,andstoodinthemiddleoftheroadwavingdowncars,pointingtotheaccidentonoursideoftheroad.Afewcarsswervedaway,narrowlymissing

him,notsparingthedyingalooklesttheyhavetolivewiththeguiltofnotstoppingfortherestoftheirlives.Raghupickeduparockandthrewitatacarwhichhadbeentryingtosteerclearofhim.Amanandawomansteppedout,shoutingcurses.Raghupunchedtheman,andpushedthewomanaway,andchargedtotheircar.Thenhedrovethecaroverthedividerandtowardswherethedyinglay.

‘Everyone!Inside!’heshouted.

Peopleswungintoaction.Theinjuredwerepushedupinsidetilltherewasnomorespacetospare.

‘Advaita!Don’t!’shoutedDivyaDi.

‘Iknowtheshortcuts!’IscreamedasIrantowardsthecar.

AsRaghustartedtodriveaway,musclememoryfromyearsofcatchingbuseskickedin,andIopenedthedoorandjumpedin.

‘Holdon.’Hesteppedontheaccelerator.

‘Lookatme,’Isaidtohim.

Forthenextfifteenminutes,Iguidedhimthroughthenarrowalleyways,theshortcutsofParkRoadandTurnerRoadandClementTown,andwereachedthehospitalbeforetheotherambulancesthathadlefttheaccidentscene.Thewardboyscamerunningtousassoonasheslammedthebrakes.

Raghustoodthereasthewardboysgottowork.Hewatchedtillthelastpersonwasunloadedontoastretcher,limbsfloppingarounduselessly.Hestaredunblinkinglyatthesplotchesandpoolsofbloodwhereoncethebodieslay,hisboyisheyespoolsoftears,hishandstremblingbyhisside.Helookedbroken.Lost.Defeated.

‘Weneedtoleave,’Isaidwhenthelastofthebodiesweretakenaway.

Heturnedtowardsme,eyesbloodshotandlipsquivering.Hemovedhismouth,butthewordswouldn’tcome.Littlerivuletsoftearsstreameddownhischeeksashepointedtothebloodymess.

‘Brah…Brahm…’Hestuttered.

‘TheywillbeOK.’

Heturnedaway,irrevocablywrecked.Heslumpe