A Long Way Home Read online

  Outside, the other three members were in the kitchen. Only mom was working. Dad and Saloni were loitering around, checking for something to toss into their mouth before dinner. Dad moved about more sheepishly, like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome in there, while Saloni made a lot of noise, pulling out a bunch of plates, a tin container and then banging the cupboard door shut. She slid the plates away and put down the container with a thwack. Inside it, she found an old packet of wafers. She took out a handful and passed a few to Dad. Mom, meanwhile, wiped her brow and glided the tiny paneer pieces into a boiling pot. Hearing all the noise, she turned around and saw Saloni eating junk.

  She gave her a thwack on the back and Dad swallowed his food. ‘You’re here to help me or eat this? And you?’ She glared at my dad who took a step back, nearing the kitchen exit. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just checking in to see how long the dinner will take. I’m hungry.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ She now looked exasperated. ‘If you just ask your kids to give me a hand, it would have been done an hour ago.’

  Baba glanced at Saloni, who now carried the plates to the table and rolled her eyes on the way. He retreated to the living room, nodding at me on the way.

  ‘Any help needed?’ I asked my mother, joining her at the stove. It was freaking boiling hot in here.

  ‘Ari, thank god, you’re here. Can you chop these peeled fruits and put them in the custard bowl?’

  I took a deep breath of the cake baking on the gas stove; it smelled delicious, then went over to the plate of naked fruits—apples, bananas and chikoos. By the time the food was arranged on the coffee table in the living room—rotis, rice, daal tadka, palak paneer and custard—Ishaan came out, all freshened up but still looking tired and overworked.

  He sat at the centre of the baithak, while Baba took his spot on the chair owing to his back injury. I brought the cake out. Saloni lit a candle and we circled round Ishaan. This time, without complaining, he blew out the candle and cut the cake. We clapped, sang the birthday song, which started off enthusiastically but barely one voice made it to the end, which was Saloni’s.

  Once he fed her, she hugged Ishaan. She was tiny in his arms. Then I gave him a hug next and I could just tell he was going through the whole procedure for our sake and if, right now, he had the chance to be anywhere else, he would be.

  Finally, we sat down to eat and as the food and plates were passed around, the chattering began. Mom commenced the conversation, ‘So how is work?’

  I wasn’t paying attention, so I replied, ‘A bit hectic, but good.’

  Almost at the same time, Ishaan said, ‘Fine.’

  I glanced up at him, then we both turned to Mom, waiting to see to whom she’d asked the question. She tried to smile. ‘I asked both of you,’ she said. ‘You’re liking your work, right?’

  This time, both of us waited for the other to answer. Finally, when it seemed Ishaan wasn’t going to, I answered with a smile, ‘Yeah. A lot.’

  ‘Your mother said you got promoted?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Not promoted, Baba,’ I said, shooting a sharp glance at Mom, who looked on innocently while chewing her food. ‘Just confirmed. They ended my probation last week.’

  ‘Does that mean they’ll pay you more?’ Saloni asked.

  I eyed her suspiciously. ‘And why do you ask?’

  She smiled. ‘No reason.’

  ‘Confirmed just means I’m not under their scrutiny anymore,’ I explained. ‘It means they are satisfied with my work. There is no raise. The same work continues, but now I’m no longer on the noose.’

  ‘Well,’ Baba said, ‘Congratulations. That’s a big deal too. Now you can claim some paid leaves.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I nodded. ‘That too.’

  ‘Does that mean you’ll visit more often?’ Mom asked.

  ‘Sure.’ I shrugged. That brightened up her face.

  ‘And how long will you have to work overtime?’ she asked Ishaan, who seemed surprised he was included in the conversation, then his face instantly fell that he was.

  ‘Until the project is done,’ he mumbled a reply. ‘Might take a month or so.’

  ‘And then you’ll leave a little earlier every day?’

  ‘No. Then they’ll hand us another project.’

  Mom sighed. ‘How monstrous can these people be? Will you ever come home on time then? Before we sleep.’

  He pulled in a breath. ‘I don’t know, Aai. Should I also rent an apartment elsewhere, so I can go home whenever I’m done with work without having to explain myself every morning?’

  Baba eyed him. ‘Calm down. What is wrong with you? She was just asking.’

  I could tell he was getting worked up. ‘It’s the same question every day. Does anyone ask him that? Do you care at what time Arihant reaches his apartment?’

  I glanced up at the faces, not really expecting the spotlight to shift on me.

  Baba held his ground. ‘We’re talking about you.’

  ‘He reaches home before nine,’ Mom said, coming to my defence, although I wasn’t sure why I needed it. ‘I call him every night.’

  Ishaan frowned at me. ‘And you believe him?’

  ‘Why are you targeting him?’ Baba demanded. ‘This is not about Arihant.’

  This dinner wasn’t going in the direction I had hoped it would.

  ‘I am not targeting anyone. I just think I’m grown enough and you don’t have to worry about me or my work. I’m capable of taking care of both.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Baba said. ‘No one is worried about you. Your mother just wants you around more often.’

  Mom pursed her lips, frowning into the plate in her lap. ‘Of course, once you get married, I’d be the last person to interfere in your life.’

  Ishaan breathed out, ‘Don’t start that now.’

  She peeked up at her eldest son. ‘Did you accept Rupali’s request?’

  Ishaan dropped his hand he’d taken to his mouth, his spoon clanking in the plate. ‘Aai.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Who’s Rupali?’

  ‘You eat your food,’ Ishaan snapped.

  ‘Ishu Da’s potential future wife,’ Saloni provided.

  He shot her a glare, which had little effect. ‘No, she’s not.’

  ‘She’s the daughter of my friend, Sudha,’ Mom told me. ‘We met her during Sheetal’s wedding last month. She was pretty. Right?’ She glanced at Ishaan to confirm, who said nothing, simply focused on his food. Mom slapped his hand. ‘Did you accept her request or not?’

  ‘No.’ He was curt. Nothing new. ‘I don’t have time to while away on Facebook.’

  Saloni pulled out her phone from her pocket, a reason for her to use it. ‘Give me your account details. I’ll accept it for you.’

  Baba’s eyes went to her phone and narrowed. ‘Why did you bring that to dinner? Put it away.’

  Ishaan butted in. ‘Very funny.’

  ‘It’s not funny,’ Baba intervened.

  ‘I was talking to Saloni.’

  Mom turned to her husband. ‘You please keep quiet for a second.’ Baba’s facial expression didn’t change and he stared my sister down until she did keep her phone aside. Mom glanced over at Ishaan. ‘Why not, but? You give it to your sister. She will accept it.’

  He snorted but didn’t think that warranted a reply. A beat of silence passed.

  ‘Can I have a slice of cake?’ I asked to no one in particular and Mom automatically turned to pass it on to me, even though the cake was closest to Ishaan.

  As she did, she asked him, ‘Do you already have someone in your life?’

  Ishaan put his plate down and got up from his seat. ‘If this party is to discuss my love or professional life, then I’m really not interested.’

  ‘Ishaan!’ That was Dad, the only person who could silence him. Or, the only person he heeded to. ‘Sit down. We are a family. We discuss each other’s lives. That’s what families do.’

  ‘Only when there is an active pa
rticipation of the one you’re discussing,’ he shot back.

  ‘This is your birthday party!’

  ‘My birthday was last week and I didn’t ask for a party. Not then, not now.’

  ‘What has got into you? So arrogant. You sit down right now. Don’t spoil it for everyone else.’

  Reluctantly, after a long pause we held our breaths for, he sat down slowly. All of us had stopped eating. ‘No more talking about marriage,’ Baba declared, by which time we were already past that topic. For some time, the sound of cutlery and the spinning fan overhead provided a backdrop for this pleasant family gathering.

  ‘When is your last working day, Baba?’ I asked, just to clear the contaminated energy in the room. If someone didn’t want to talk about something, we had other topics to focus on. We always had topics.

  ‘Some time in October. They are planning on throwing a retirement party for me,’ he said. ‘What do you call it these days?’

  ‘Farewell,’ Saloni said easily.

  ‘Right. That.’

  ‘And will that be on your last official working day?’ I asked.

  ‘Probably not. My last working day is the twenty-sixth. I might have to work a couple of days after that. Once it’s confirmed, I’ll tell you.’

  ‘We will all go,’ Mom said.

  The three of us gave non-committal nods.

  ‘Speaking of farewell,’ Saloni added, setting down her custard spoon, ‘I need two thousand rupees for my college farewell.’

  Baba nearly choked on his piece of roti. ‘You just contributed a thousand and five last week.’

  She twisted her mouth. ‘That’s not enough.’

  ‘What farewell?’ I frowned. ‘You’re still in the ninth.’

  ‘Ninth standard kids give a farewell party to the tenth. We contribute and arrange everything. Of course, the school helps coordinate and manage stuff, but we do most of the work, especially choosing the menu, theme and place. Last year, our seniors hosted the event at Farzi café.’ She dropped her shoulders, sighing deeply. ‘Just in the pictures it looked so much fun.’

  ‘What place are you booking that you need more than three thousand per student?’ Baba asked. ‘Some five-star?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t joke, Baba. You can’t buy appetizers in a five-star hotel with that amount of money.’

  I coughed a laugh. ‘And how would you know that?’

  ‘I don’t get how the school always finds different ways to extract money from students,’ Baba said. ‘I send you there for a good education. You seem to do everything else but that.’

  ‘It’s the school rule, Baba,’ she argued. ‘Besides, you need social skills nowadays too. Only grades are not enough.’ Clearly, we were too ancient and miserly in her opinion for she shook her head in defeat, then picked up a fork to eat the rice. The rest of us were using fingers.

  ‘But isn’t that a little unfair?’ I asked, just to annoy her a little more. Baba would eventually give her the money, but it was fun to watch her get worked up over our ‘mediocrity’ and ‘backwardness’. ‘You don’t even know these people you’re doling out thousands for. And they are not your students. So ideally, your school should be paying for it.’

  She grunted. ‘You won’t get it.’

  ‘Just like I don’t get your haircut?’

  She sat straight in her seat, her face registering surprise. ‘You noticed?’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘It looks crazier than it did before.’

  She ignored that. ‘Whatever. I’m just glad that you noticed. Nobody in this house seems to care.’

  Now, the other three pairs of eyes studied her. A moment of silent evaluation passed.

  ‘How much was it for?’ asked Baba at last.

  ‘It looks the same to me,’ said Ishaan.

  ‘Oh, now I see it. I like the layers at the back,’ Mom said and reached over to touch it. ‘Keep it tied up or you’ll spoil it.’

  ‘Aai!’ she brushed her hand away. ‘This haircut isn’t meant to be tied.’

  Mom blinked, then picked up her glass of water. ‘You still should.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Saloni said, with an exasperated sigh, ‘Baba, I’ll need to pay the money max by tomorrow.’

  ‘Take it from me at night,’ he said finally. ‘And that’s it for this party. No more.’

  A big grin spread across her face. ‘Thank you!’

  ‘And write down every rupee you spend. Are you doing that?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered. I doubted it, but didn’t feel the need to pull her leg further because the custard demanded my unwavering, dedicated attention.

  Once the leftover food went into the fridge, the living room cleared and plates dumped into the sink, Ishaan retreated to his room, Saloni went out of the house, typing away on her phone, Baba pulled out his book from the bedside drawer and Mom went into the bathroom to wash her face. With sleep waltzing in my eyes, I was the first one to get knocked out.

  CHAPTER 7

  T

  he sun glared down through the leaves of tall, slumped trees, creating golden patches on the ground. Summer in Mumbai wasn’t a pleasant sight. The wind was stagnant. What swirled it was the motion of vehicles zooming past, sending wafts of street food delicacies my way. With my headphone plugged in, I barely heard the honking and chattering of people surrounding me.

  The Bombay Brew, however, was almost empty. I sat at the table by the window, with a full view of the busy street. Walking from the railway station to this place in the afternoon was a near-death experience. Arvi rarely walked, so whenever we would come here, we’d take the bus or an auto.

  I wondered how much she’d changed, physically, since I last saw her at the college fest. After I’d asked her to meet here on text, she’d replied eight hours later. Just when I thought she wasn’t going to, she wrote back, ‘My treat.’ I sent her a ‘thumbs up’ emoticon.

  Since then, I directly texted her this morning saying I had left my house, to which she replied she’d done the same. This place was equidistant from both our houses, which was why we hung out here so often. But she was already late by twenty minutes.

  Her text dropped in after I sent away the waiter twice.

  Arvi: Reached?

  I checked the time and wrote: Yes. When will you work on your tardiness?

  Arvi: What’s that?

  She hadn’t changed. Either way.

  Me: Your wonderful skill of always being late.

  Arvi: Oh. Sorry. I’m in a fast train and it just wouldn’t move fast enough. Give me ten more minutes. Don’t leave, okay?

  I’m not the one who does, I typed, but then deleted the words and exited the chat. Some relations were like an old sweater, outgrown, gathering dust and tucked deep into the corners of our closet; often too worn out to be revived, but too precious to be replaced. What I had with Arvi was irreplaceable. You cannot replicate a masterpiece and you shouldn’t. Admittedly, I tried doing that and failed miserably.

  I leaned back on the seat, the sleeves of my red shirt rolled up. She used to like it when I did that. Said I looked especially handsome that way. Not that I was doing it for her…

  My mind drifted to the countless times we had sat in this exact spot, sharing laughter, stolen kisses and glanced out the window to see the slow-moving traffic, the shops and restaurants overflowing with customers. We had a special memory of that one bar right across the road, hidden from the direct view of pedestrians and aesthetically named Copper Club.

  One winter evening Arvi and I argued over a picture of her I’d shared on my Facebook page and wrote a semi-funny post on it, pulling her leg but also announcing how much I loved her. As it so happened, she missed the humour, which in my defence, was just as self-deprecating. Deciding I no longer valued her, she tossed her purse over her shoulder and stormed off.

  I downed my coffee, seething in this very seat and watched her pace to the auto stand. A sleazy man standing at the entrance of the Copper Club eyed her. I saw him before
she did. As soon as she passed by him, he cat-called her. She turned, narrowing her eyes at him.

  She barely got a chance to tell him off before I shot through the café door, surged past the traffic and was by her side. He saw me and stumbled away, humming to himself. A pulsating heartbeat of silence passed as we watched him. Then we caught each other’s eyes and burst out laughing.

  ‘What are you, a Ninja? How did you cover that distance in less than ten seconds?’ she said between her laughter and I pulled her into my arms, my hug gobbling her up.

  ‘I will turn into one if that drunkard lays his eyes on you again.’

  She hugged me back and we stood there for a whole minute before I realized I had left my wallet in the café. We rushed back in to get it and stayed till the sun ripped off the sky’s bright blanket.

  I watched the entrance of Copper Club with a grim look now, wondered if they still served dissatisfied men. It was just inside a narrow lane and you’d easily miss the nameplate if you weren’t particularly looking for it. You had to squeeze in your way to—

  I blinked at the blue Pulsar parked outside, a familiar dent on its side. I leaned closer to the window to read the number plate.

  It was Ishaan’s bike.

  Taking my headphone off, I scrolled through the contacts and hopped out of the café. Ishaan didn’t pick up immediately. Just when I thought he wasn’t going to, I heard his voice. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Ishaan,’ I said, trying to hear the sounds behind him. There was some kind of commotion but I couldn’t be sure what it was. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Why?’ It was rare to get a straight answer from my brother.

  ‘Aai wants to know.’

  ‘I’m…ah…’ Seconds later, he emerged from the entrance of the Copper Club, dabbing his forehead with a napkin that looked like something the bar might provide. I was behind a street vendor, hidden from his direct view. ‘I’m at the mall.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘What do you want?’ Curt. Annoyed. Defensive.

  ‘Nothing. I told you Mom is asking.’

  ‘Then let her do it. You don’t have to be her advocate.’

  ‘Don’t get so worked up, bro. She is only worried about you not having lunch.’