3 December 1999
Fourteen days. That’s how long it had been.
When I saw her today, I thought I was imagining her. But it was no mistake. She was blaring the screechy horn of her Tauji’s Bajaj scooter. It was then that it struck me that I hadn’t seen it parked below her house. She had taken it with her.
‘Hi,’ I said when she stopped near me.
We forgot how we used to greet each other so we shook hands like we were in business together.
‘I don’t have a phone,’ she said, looking at me.
‘I didn’t ask if you had one.’
‘Do you want to go somewhere?’ she asked.
I climbed up, and sat as far back as possible. She drove us to Wimpy’s.
‘Will you not talk at all?’ she asked.
‘I have nothing to say. You’re the one with a new life.’
‘Fine, I will speak.’
She told me her employers were teaching her to talk in an American accent, and that once she finishes that, she would no longer be Brahmi but Becky. She talked in her accent which sounded like a parody of how they talk in English movies.
‘I’m getting better,’ she explained. ‘You should see how good my colleagues are at this. The company knows we are lying about our certificates but no one cares,’ she added in the same breath.
It was disconcerting as to how she had bunched herself up in ‘we’, how she had decided on the course of who she would be like. For the next hour or so, she said how lucky she was to have Vedant as a brother who was showing her the world and how we, Arundhati and I, were depriving ourselves of the wonders that the life beyond Pitampura, beyond Rohini, beyond Dhaula Kuan and South Extension held. Her eyes glinted, as did mine, hers with hope and mine with mad envy.
‘Vedant spends lavishly,’ she said. ‘You two should come home sometime.’
‘What’s the point? It’s not as if you’re missing out on anything.’
‘C’mon, Raghu.’
‘Fine, fine, I’m sorry. But you can’t expect me not to be grumpy.’
‘I had to leave the way I did. You know that,’ she said.
‘What about Tauji–Taiji? They haven’t come looking for you?’
‘They don’t know where I am but I called them, asked them to not look for me, or I will go to the police. Tell them about the assaults.’
‘You would do that?’ I asked.
‘No, but they thought I would. That’s why they couldn’t even ask for the scooter.’
‘As happy as I am to see you I know you’re going to leave. You have been looking at the clock for the last fifteen minutes. So let’s go.’
‘Are you going to be okay?’
‘As okay as I can be without seeing you for days on end.’
‘Raghu.’
‘I am not saying that to make you feel bad, which you probably are. But I had to say it to someone.’
‘I know. I had to say something to you as well,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you.’
She put on her helmet and sunglasses, which were a new addition, and we rode off towards my home. Maa–Baba had always told me sunglasses weaken the eyes and slowly rob one of his or her eyesight. I wonder if it will happen to her. Will she one day stop seeing my love?
‘I will see you later?’ she said after dropping me and kicking her scooter back to life.
I nodded.
She put it into gear and had only driven a few yards when I started to run after her scooter. I was on my knees, blinded and choked with dust when Brahmi noticed me in the rear-view mirror. She took a swift U-turn.
‘Raghu? What were you doing? Why were you running?’
‘Don’t go.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t bear to not see you. I look around in school for you and you’re not there,’ I said, the words streaming out of my mouth, unchecked.
‘. . .’
‘I’m sorry but I am doing badly in school. I need you there. Didn’t you tell me the same? You needed me? Now where am I supposed to go without you?’
‘. . .’
‘Why don’t you say something?’
‘. . .’
‘I can’t call you. I can’t see you. I don’t have any secrets of ours to hide from Rishab and Sahil. You don’t even care about Mina any more. Don’t you think she misses you?’
‘. . .’
‘Why am I the only one talking? Why are you not saying anything?’
‘. . .’
‘I’m sorry. Did I say too much? I will not. You can go. I’m sorry to have stopped you.’
‘. . .’
‘I just wanted to tell you that I will be there if you need me.’
‘. . .’
‘Unlike you who just walked away.’
‘. . .’
‘Of course, you have your reasons.’
‘. . .’
‘And you don’t need me. You have your brother to take care of you.’
‘. . .’
‘Bye. I love you. I’m sorry. I will just go now.’
She reached out for my hand and hugged me. We cried in tandem for a bit, which was liberating. Then she left without a promise of when she would be back to see me again. I couldn’t bring myself to ask that one thing that was gnawing my insides—why does she lie to people about her parents?