15 May 1999
Today was the first day of our summer vacations.
While our classmates celebrated the time off from school Brahmi and I opted for extra assignments for the time. She didn’t say anything explicitly but she opted for them after I did. But then again hope is a bad thing. Maybe she didn’t do it for me but for the same ulterior motives I had. Our school was renovating the physics and biology labs during the summer vacations and we could be the first ones to try out some of the equipment. Since we are both non-medical students the summer vacations were the only time we could go to the lab and cut open some frogs like our classmates in the biology section.
‘They might ban dissecting animals soon,’ Brahmi complained.
‘That’s sad. Are you sure about handling knives?’
‘It will give me practice,’ she said and chuckled.
‘That’s not a laughing matter.’
‘Is it not?’
Today we didn’t meet to cut open a frog. I had to meet Zubeida Quaze and I asked Brahmi to tag along. I needed someone on my team. I had maintained a demeanour of equanimity but Brahmi had seen through it and suggested bunking school. ‘Don’t worry, the auditions for the debating society are today,’ she had said. We both went first, fumbled, got rejected and then sneaked out. Where, I had asked, and she brought me to Lodhi Gardens, where we picked flowers and got chased by watchmen.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
‘I have no choice,’ I said.
‘You look nervous,’ she said and gave me her water bottle to drink from.
‘I am not nervous.’
‘But why do you want to meet her? You can be with your Maa–Baba on this and ask Dada not to get married to her.’
‘I can’t do that to Dada. Dada is in love. You know what heartbreak feels like.’
We were to meet Dada and Boudi, wasn’t she to be my sister-in-law, at United Coffee House.
‘Shouldn’t they be here yet?’
‘He’s being cool. Being late is cool for him.’
‘What?’
‘His definition of being cool is warped. As you can see. In love and not sure if he’s going to get married! How nonsensical is that?’
Brahmi laughed. ‘True.’
‘Can I ask you a question, Brahmi?’
She nodded.
‘Did you think you will marry the boy you cut your wrists for?’
‘Both of them.’
‘You cut yourself twice for love?’
‘Isn’t love death by a thousand cuts? I’m glad I am through with two. Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘What did the second boy do?’
‘I didn’t cut myself for him but for how stupid I was to keep lying to myself that he will change, that he really loved me, to believe in every lie he told me. I was punishing myself.’
What I felt at that moment was a lot of jealousy mixed with a feeling of incompetence. I was a relationship novice and had no advice to share or similar anecdotes to bond over. The only girl I have ever liked—before Brahmi—never knew I liked her and that was five years ago.
Once they arrived and we settled down, Dada leant away from us and towards the man on the other table who was listening to the commentary of the first World Cup match. England–Sri Lanka.
Next to Dada, Zubeida sat in her distracting and flowing black burqa. Only her round face was visible through it, like it had been framed.
It looked suffocating but her smile betrayed no such emotion. She looked at Brahmi and me, still smiling warmly, her brown eyes devoid of any malice. Her burqa screamed ‘Them! Those people!’ but her eyes said ‘Us. We.’
‘You’re so beautiful,’ said Brahmi.
‘That’s so sweet of you. You’re very cute yourself,’ said Zubeida and touched Brahmi’s hand lightly.
‘Thank you,’ said Brahmi and smiled.
‘You’re so quiet, Raghu. You wanted to see me. Your Dada told me you have some questions for me. Don’t you?’
‘I have three questions,’ I said.
‘Raghu? I can’t believe you’re going to do this—’ Dada started to say.
Zubeida interrupted him. ‘Let him ask.’
‘How did you meet my brother?’ I asked.
‘Oh. I thought you had some tough ones for me. This one is easy. Your brother and I were in IIT Delhi. Though we never talked in college. It was when we started going to the same office that we started to talk. So I met him way before I first talked to him. Phew. What is the next one?’ she asked and looked at Brahmi who smiled back.
‘Why did you fall in love with him?’
‘Raghu? That’s rude,’ said Dada and kicked me under the table.
‘It’s not, Anirban. It’s only fair he has questions,’ she said and looked at me. Not even a single hair peeked out of her burqa. She continued, ‘Umm . . . well . . . your Dada is the most intelligent, kind man I have ever met. The choice, if you put it like that, was obvious. I understand your reservations, Raghu. My family would react the same way if they come to know. Before Dada I hadn’t even been friends with a boy. Love was never an option for me.’
‘My last question. Why didn’t you fall in love with someone from your own community? A Musalman boy? We could have avoided all of this.’
‘You can’t choose whom you love. Did you choose to be friends with your gorgeous friend here?’ said Zubeida.
‘Of course I did. She was the most intelligent girl in my class. The choice was obvious, unlike yours. Weren’t there Musalman boys in IIT or at your office?’ I asked irritably.
Zubeida laughed. ‘There were but I never talked to them.’
‘Then why did the two of you do this when you knew how your parents would react? It’s just wrong, isn’t it, that you should decide to hurt them like this? When you had choices, why didn’t you choose otherwise? It’s not as if you wouldn’t have found anyone else! They are billions of Hindus and Muslims alike. Then why?’
‘Raghu. You shouldn’t talk to her like this,’ Dada said angrily.
‘Your Dada is right,’ echoed Brahmi.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You don’t have to apologize,’ said Zubeida. ‘Is anyone of you hungry? Do you want a milkshake? I have heard they have the best milkshakes here!’
‘I don’t want a milkshake.’
‘You can keep asking me questions, Raghu. I’m here for you,’ she said, smiling softly at me.
I tried refusing the milkshake, I tried hard not to drink it, and I wanted to hate it when it swished around in my mouth. I failed on all three counts. I failed at hating Zubeida Quaze.
‘What should I call you?’
‘Call her Didi,’ said Dada.
‘I will think about it.’
‘You can call me anything,’ said Zubeida.
‘I can’t call you Didi because what if you two get married.’
‘Raghu!’ interrupted Dada.
‘Dada, I’m not talking to you. I just remembered I had one more question. Sorry? Can I ask that too?’
‘Please go ahead, Raghu.’
‘Are you getting married to Dada? And don’t tell me you haven’t decided on that because why would you be in love if you don’t intend to get married? Am I right, Brahmi?’
‘Absolutely!’ said Brahmi.
‘You are so cute,’ she said to both of us.
‘That’s not the answer to my question.’
‘I might but your Dada has to agree to it,’ said Zubeida and looked at Dada lovingly.
‘Dada? Do you agree?’ I asked.
Dada nodded half-heartedly, still leaning to hear the commentary of the ongoing match.
Later, Brahmi told me on our way back to school, ‘She’s so sweet.’
‘Is she sweet enough for Maa–Baba not to notice the burqa?’
Baba came back home early for India’s first match in the World Cup. Imagine the gloom in the Ganguly household when despite Ganguly’s valiant 97, India lost its first World Cup match. Dada and Baba refused to eat the malai prawn curry Maa had made in anticipation of an Indian win.
‘It’s because of you we lost,’ said Baba. ‘You celebrated too early. Next time I will lock the kitchen till the time India wins!’
‘But—’
‘Baba is right. You jinxed our win,’ Dada concurred.
‘That’s unfair!’ I protested.
Dada and Baba left the dinner table and walked to the balcony. They closed the door behind them. Dada was first invited to stand outside with Baba when he cleared IIT. He had smoked his first cigarette that day and had vomited promptly. Maa–Baba had a huge shouting match while Maa cleaned up the half-digested Chinese food we had eaten earlier that day. I peeped in through the window and found the two of them lighting their cigarettes. Mina nipped at my toes. I ate their portion too. The results of the board exams will be announced next week and I have better things to do than mourn our cricket team’s losses.
P.S. Saw many tall buildings today. That’s why Connaught Place is my favourite place. Right there on Barakhamba Road, there are two buildings, each quite tall but each quite hard to get into. Two watchmen outside each building but I’m guessing they must go off to sleep late at night.