21 February 2000
Boudi’s heavily pregnant but with Maa–Baba fussing over her every little discomfort, it gives Dada a lot of time on his hands.
My retreat from the world of friends and frolic and going out has not been taken lightly by Dada. Apparently, Brahmi had reached out to Arundhati, Sahil and Rishab to involve me, talk to me, and make sure I was fine. It hadn’t ended well for anyone. A couple of days ago, all three of them had landed at my place unannounced. I had only briefly recovered from a depressing bout of reminiscing about Brahmi so the last thing I had wanted was to see them—my last surviving tether to her. What really angered me on seeing them was that she could call them but not me!
I told them I didn’t want to see them. They tried cracking stupid jokes, and suggest stupider things for me to do with them. Tired of their antics, I left the house and they came running after me.
Thrice I warned them to leave me alone, and yet they persisted. In my defence, I warned them suitably, so I am not solely responsible for what happened next. Rishab held my hand to stop me from walking away, and I wrested myself free, picked up a stone and swung it at him. He staggered back in shock and put his hand on his forehead. It came back red. Arundhati and Sahil shouted at me together. While Arundhati ran to tend to her boyfriend, Sahil charged at me, and received the same treatment. I got him in his ear and he fell down smack on the ground.
Arundhati shouted, ‘You are mental! So is your girlfriend! YOU BOTH ARE CRAZY.’
I dropped the stone. ‘She’s not my anything,’ I had said and walked away.
Maa–Baba and Dada–Boudi had heard of what I had done and Dada had been the entrusted with the responsibility of bringing me back to real life. Numerous times I have thought of telling him the truth about Maa–Baba, of my almost-firm plan of ending my life, but the thought of Meenakshi (possibly) has kept me from it. Dada has taken the task quite seriously. It started with him taking me to gaming arcades, which distracted me for a maximum of a couple of minutes.
‘You know how you will heal?’ he had said. ‘By going everywhere you have been with her.’
‘Sounds like the worst plan of all time.’
‘You didn’t let me complete. We will go and make better memories.’
‘It keeps getting worse.’
I tried it just to make Dada stop talking and get busy thinking his idea was working. A short visit to Keventer’s made me so depressed that the plan was aborted like many others that followed.
‘I miss my old brother,’ he often said.
‘I miss everything about the old times, Dada. But that’s not going to change anything, is it?’
‘God, why are you so depressing?’
I wish I could tell him.
He took another line of approach—just dragging me along to wherever he went. He let me in on a big, happy secret after a lot of gushing and beating around the bush.
‘I’m thinking of buying a new flat,’ he said. ‘Maa has been asking Zubeida and me to shift to their flat what with the kid coming. But you know how small that flat is, so I was thinking, why not shift to a bigger flat? I told Maa today I am moving into their flat.’
‘Why—’
‘Just listen. I’m hoping to close the deal before Zubeida delivers. After that I will surprise them with the new flat. What do you think?’ he asked and stared at me for affirmation.
‘That’s stupid. You can’t live with Maa–Baba,’ I said.
‘Why not? It will be fun. And it will be better for the child as well.’
None of my arguments held water. He was still going ahead with his stupid plan because he didn’t know the truth. He dragged me to every building I had been to, that I had marked and checked the roofs of, and others I hadn’t, and asked for my opinion of it. I rejected every one of them because I knew he wasn’t going to stay in any of them after I told them what Maa–Baba really thought of them. But I let him have his moment for now. Why spoil what would be one of the most beautiful moments of his life?
He would walk around the empty flats, tell me where he would put what, which bed would be placed where, where the crib would go, how big the kitchen would be, how we would place the air conditioner if we bought one. His excitement was infectious and disgusting. It gave me a troubling insight on Dada, which crushed my heart. He had been more devastated than any of us after he had had to leave the house. His version of the future had all of us living together, even Didimaa and Mama, and dogs, in a big house overlooking a garden and little kids running around. Of course, what else could you expect out of someone appallingly optimistic? Dada has only chosen to see the good in people. Stupid as he is, he is even counting on Boudi’s family eventually coming around and accepting him and the child. In his vision, we will be the epitome of Muslim–Hindu unity, both families living under one roof in the middle of Delhi. So naive of him.
Some time or the other, he would slip in a question about Brahmi. He would see the look on my face and not probe further.
A couple of days back, Richa Mittal bumped into me while I distributed prasad to the beggars outside the temple and said, ‘I heard you are shifting.’
I wasn’t even surprised this time.
She continued, ‘Don’t forget to tell her your address.’
‘Are you referring to yourself as her?’ I scoffed.
She glared at me and left.
Dada and I spent the entire day together. We had to pack up their house and shift everything they had into our flat.
He looked happy and I was repulsed by his foolish happiness. While he packed, he told me, ‘Get into IIT Delhi. I don’t want you to move out.’
‘Why? Madras is much better,’ I said to humour him.
‘Your Boudi and I want you to stay with us. Four years is a long time and your nephew or niece would like you to be around. You wouldn’t want to be away,’ he said.
For the next few minutes, that thought did play on my mind. Would it be as easy to pull myself away from that little child and throw myself off a roof? Would it prevent me from doing it? Would it be another peg which I would be tethered to and destined to walk around in circles? And what would he or she think of me when she grows up knowing her or his uncle killed himself within weeks of his or her birth? Would that little child be worth the suffering that would come? And in that moment, it struck me that I was already expecting to derive my happiness from someone who hadn’t even opened her or his eyes, who was still floating in amniotic fluid. I was like Maa–Baba, who had never stopped deriving their happiness out of us and when we failed to supply that, they turned against us like a virulent disease.
‘I will think about it,’ I said.
‘What’s there to think about? You will score well, I know. Just choose Delhi in counselling. Don’t be a pain.’
‘I told you I will think about it.’
Dada was clearly pissed because he didn’t talk to me for an hour. On our way back I said, ‘Dada?’
‘What?’ he asked irritably.
‘I love you.’
‘What a stupid thing to say to your brother,’ he said and laughed at his own wisecrack.
I hope he remembers this.
It took us five trips between the two houses to shift everything. All the while I was thinking how long it would take Dada to shift out of the house. How much would he leave behind? How much would he take with him?