Mama ran to Parekh-ji. He lay down on the ground and 'I am your guilty man.
Punish me,' Mama said, his voice heavy.
Parekh-ji placed both his hands on Mama's head. 'Get up, Bittoo.'
'No, no. I want to die here. I let the greatest man down,' Mama continued to bawl.
Parekh-ji gave the youngsters a firm glance. Everyone backed off. Parekh-ji lifted Mama up by the shoulders, 'Come, let's go for dinner to Vishala. We need to talk.'
Mama walked towards Parekh-ji's ear, his head still down.
'Come son,' Parekh-ji said to Omi. Ish and I looked at each other. Maybe it was time for Ish and me to vanish.
'Can Ish and Govind come along? They came to Gandhinagar,' Omi said. I guess he wanted us to have a treat at Vishala, normally unaffordable for us.
Parekh-ji looked at us and tried to place us. I don't know if he could.
'Hop into the jeep,' he said.
The Vishala Village Restaurant and Utensils Museum is located at the outskirts of Ahmedabad, in the village of Sarkhej. Along with a craft museum and village courtyards, there is an ethnic restaurant that serves authentic Gujarati cuisine.
We took a semi-private room with seating on the clay floor. Parekh-ji's security staff sat outside, near the puppet show for kids. Their guns made the guest's importance known to the waiters and insured us good service. Within minutes, we had two dozen dishes in front of us.
'Eat, and don't get so sentimental about politics. Emotional speeches are fine, but in your mind always think straight,' Parekh-ji lectured Mama.
We gorged on the dhokla, khandvi, ghugra, gota, dalwada and several other Gujarati snacks. I felt full even before the main course arrived.
'Now, listen, Parekh-ji said as he finished his glass of mint chaas, 'things are not as they seem. Hasmukh-ji's defeat has a back story. We expected it.'
'What?' Mama said while Omi, Ish and I made valiant inroads into the food.
'Hasmukh-ji's seniority in the party earned him a ticket. But he is part of the old school. The same school as the current chief minister. Our high command in Delhi is not happy with them.'
'They are not?' Mama echoed stupidly.
'No. We might be a Hindu party, but it doesn't mean we preach religion all day and do no work. Gujarat is a place of business, it is not a lazy place. The high command did not like the way the administration handled the earthquake. People lost a lot in that, I know you boys did too,' he turned to us.
We nodded. The mention of the earthquake still hurt.
'The by-elections for these seats came as a boon. The old school put their candidate. We knew they were weak. Of count, hardworking people like Bittoo tried their best But, a dud candidate is a dud candidate. So we lost both the seats. With the main election in twelve months, the entire party machinery is shaken up. And the high command finally gets a chance to make a change.'
'What change?' Mama said.
"They are replacing the chief minister.'
'What? For losing two seats?' Mama said, 'the total number of seats is...'
'A hundred and eighty plus,' Parekh-ji said as he broke his bajra rati, 'but like I said, it gave a reason to change. And Gujarat is vital to our party. We can't afford to lose it.'
We gorged on the dhokla, khandvi, ghugra, gota, dalwada and several other Gujarati snacks. I felt full even before the main course arrived.
'Now, listen,1 Parekh-ji said as he finished his glass of mint chaas, 'things are not as they seem. Hasmukh-ji's defeat has a back story. We expected it.'
'What?' Mama said while Omi, Ish and I made valiant inroads into the food.
'Hasmukh-ji's seniority in the party earned him a ticket. But he is part of the old school. The same school as the current chief minister. Our high command in Delhi is not happy with them.'
'They are not?' Mama echoed stupidly.
'No. We might be a Hindu party, but it doesn't mean we preach religion all day and do no work. Gujarat is a place of business, it is not a lazy place. The high command did not like the way the administration handled the earthquake. People lost a lot in that, I know you boys did too,' he turned to us.
We nodded. The mention of the earthquake still hurt.
'The by-elections for these seats came as a boon. The old school put their candidate. We knew they were weak. Of count, hardworking people like Bittoo tried their best But, a dud candidate is a dud candidate. So we lost both the seats. With the main election in twelve months, the entire party machinery is shaken up. And the high command finally gets a chance to make a change.'
'What change?' Mama said.
"They are replacing the chief minister.'
'What? For losing two seats?' Mama said, 'the total number of seats is...'
'A hundred and eighty plus,' Parekh-ji said as he broke his bajra rati, 'but like I said, it gave a reason to change. And Gujarat is vital to our party. We can't afford to lose it.'
'No dessert here or what?' Parekh-ji said as there was a delay after the main courses were cleared.
'Who will get the aamras for the sahib?' Mama screamed at the waiters.
Sixteen
Where's your smallest chocolate cake?' I was at Navrangpura's Ten, the best cake shop in Ahmedabad. Vidya turned eighteen on 19 November 2001. She could now officially make her own decisions. Unofficially, she had done that since birth.
'No bag please,' I said as I kept the cake box in my rucksack of books. I kept the rucksack upright in my lap until I made it to Vidya's place.
Entering Vidya's house while hiding a cake was hard enough. Ish being in the house made it worse. India was playing England It Kolkata Eden Gardens in a day-night match. Ish had plonked himself in front of the sofa with sandwiches, milk, chips and biscuits - everything that he needed to survive for the next eight hours. Ish's dad sat on the dining table, continuing his PhD on the newspapers of India. As was often the case when Ish was around, uncle had a disgusted expression on his face.
I snuck the rucksack between my arm and side body to keep it horizontal.
'India's batting - Ganguly and Tendulkar. Seventy no loss after ten overs,' Ish said and screamed, 'Mom, sauce!'
Uncle picked up the ketchup bottle from the dining table and banged it as hard as possible on the coffee table in front of his son.
'Thanks dad,' Ish said. 'Can you move. Can't see the TV.'
Ish's dad gave his son a dirty look and moved.
'Sit no,' Ish said to me.
'Tuitions,' I said, pointing to Vidya's room.
'Oh, you've come for that. She's studying on her birthday, dedication dude.'
'Some people are serious about their lives...,' Ish's dad ranted while still reading his paper.
Ish pressed the volume button on the TV remote as loud as possible in protest.
'His mother has made him into a monster,' Ish's dad said and left for his bedroom. Tendulkar struck a four and the monster clapped.
'Don't worry, dad's fine,' Ish said as he saw my nervous expression. 'Hey, wish her and all. She'll like it. I forgot this morning.'
Ish grabbed a sandwich and topped it with lots of chips and ketchup. He took a big bite. My friend had found bliss. I had to find mine.
I climbed the stairs, my heart beating fast. 'Happy birthday, Miss Eighteen,' I greeted as I shut the terrace door.
She wore a shiny red kurti and white pants. The choice of clothes was a bit over the top but it was ok on a birthday I guess.
'Did you know eighteen is the only number that is twice the sum of its digits?'
she said.
I took out the cake and placed it on the white plastic table.
'A cake from Ten! Someone is going high-class,' she teased.
'You like chocolate. They have the best.' I opened the box. She stood up from her chair and came next to me to see the cake.
'You've changed since we have had this thing.'
'What thing?' I peeped into her big eyes.
'This thing,' she said and came forward to kiss me. We kissed during almost every class since the last month, so it wasn't a big deal. Sometimes we kissed everytime she solved a problem. At other times, we took a kissing break every fifteen minutes. Once, we didn't kiss at all as she did a mock test. However, we made up for it in the next class where we spent the first ten minutes kissing and the rest discussing her mistakes. When we felt desire, we kissed. When we felt guilty, we studied. Somehow, we balanced mathematics and romance within the hour quite well.
We went to the edge of the terrace. The last bit of sunlight disappeared as the sky turned dark orange. The evening breeze held a chill. At a distance, we saw the dome of Omi's temple.
She entwined her hands with mine and looked at me. 'You tell me,' she said as she removed a strand of hair from her face, 'should I become a doctor?'
I shook my head.
'Then how do I get out?'
'Apply to whichever college and just go,' I said.
'How?' she said as she tugged my hand. 'How will I even get the application fee to apply? How will I support myself in Mumbai?'
'Your parents will eventually come around. They will pay for your studies. Until then...'
A loud roar went through the pol and startled us. India had hit a six.
'Until then what?' she said after the noise subsided.
'Until then I will support you,' I said. We looked into each other's eyes. She smiled. We took a walk around the perimeter of the terrace.
'So my tutor doesn't believe I need to figure out maths problems?'
'Figuring out the maths of life is more important,' I said. 'What's that?'
'Who you are, what do you want versus what people expect of you. And how to keep what you want without pissing off people too much. Life is an optimisation problem, with tons of variables and constraints.'
'Is it possible to run away and not piss off my parents?'
'You can minimise the pissed-off state, but can't make it zero. We can only optimise life, never solve it,' I said as we came to a corner.
'Can I tell you something weird?' 'What?'
'When you talk hardcore maths, like these terms that totally go over my head,'
she said, her hand in take-off motion above her head.
'Yes.'
'It turns me on.'
'Vidya, your boldness...,' I said, shocked. 'Makes you blush, right?' she said and laughed. 'So we are cutting this cake or what?' I said to change the topic.
'Of course, follow me to Café Vidya,' she said.
We slid under the water tank and sat on the floor. She had brought six pink cushions and a rug. 'I brought them from my room, so we can have a little party here,' she said and passed a couple to me. Under the cushions, she had a stereo.
'Music?' she said, her face pretty as a song. I nodded.
'I'll put on Boyzone, my favourite,' she said. I took out the packet of eighteen candles that came with the cake.
'Let's light all of them,' she said.
I wanted to go switch on the terrace light as it had become dark.
'Let it be,' she said and pulled my hand as she lit the eighteenth candle.
'What if someone comes?'
'Both my parents have bad knees. They never climb up to the terrace. And Ish, well there is a match on.'
We heard two consecutive roars in the pol. The Indian innings had reached the slog overs.
She released my hand as I sat down again. She looked beautiful as the candlelight flickered on her face. A song called 'No matter what' started to play.
Like with all romantic songs, the lyrics seemed tailor-made for us.
No matter what they tell us
No matter what they do
No matter what they teach us
What we believe is true
The candle flames appeared to move to the rhythm of the music. She cut the cake with the plastic knife that came in the box. I wished her again and put a piece of cake in her mouth. She held it in her mouth and leaned towards me. She pushed me back on the cushions and brought her mouth close to mine for my share of the cake.
She kissed me like she never had before. It wasn't like she did anything different, but there seemed to be more feeling behind it. Her hands came to my shoulders and under my shirt.
The music continued.
I can't deny what I believe
I can't be what I'm not
I know this love's forever
That's all that matters now
I don't know if it was the candlelight or the birthday mood or the cushions or what. But it was then that I made the second mistake of my life.
I opened the top button of her kurti and slid my fingers inside. A voice inside stopped me, I took my hand out. But she continued to kiss me as she unbuttoned the rest of her top. She pulled my fingers towards her again.
'Vidya...' By this time my hand was in places impossible to withdraw from for any guy. So, I went with the flow, feelings, desire, nature or whatever else people called the stuff that evaporated human rationality.
She took off her kurti. 'Remove your hand, they won't run away.'
'Huh?' I said.
'How else do I remove this?' she said, pointing to her bra. I moved my hands to her stomach as she took the bra off and lay on top of me.
'Take it off,' she said, tugging at my shirt. At this point, I could have jumped off the terrace if she asked me to. I followed her instruction instantly.
The music didn't stop, and neither did we. We went further and further as the tiny cake candles burned out one by one. Sweat beads glistened on our bodies.
Vidya didn't say anything throughout, apart from one time in the middle.
'Are you going to go down on me?' she said, after she had done the same to me.
I went down, and came back up. We looked into each other's eyes as we became one. The screams from the pols continued as England lost wickets.
Only four candles remained burning by the time we finished. We combined the six cushions to make one mattress and lay on it. Only after we were done did we realise how cold and chilly it really was. We covered ourselves in my jacket and dug our cold feet inside the lower cushions.
'Wow, I am an adult and am no longer a virgin, so cool. Thank God,' she said and giggled. She cuddled next to me. A sense of reality struck as the passion subsided. What have you done Mr Govind Patel?
'See, I still have goosebumps,' she said and lifted her arm. Little pink bumps dotted her flawless, fair skin.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Govind, what are you doing right now? Touching her goosebumps? The voice in me grew stronger.
I am so glad this happened. Aren't you?' she said.
I kept quiet.
'Say something.'
'I should get going.'
'Don't you like it here?'
'Here? You realise we are on top of your dad and mom and brother?'
'Stop freaking out,' she said.
'I am sorry. I am nervous,' I said.
'Don't be,' she said and hugged me. She felt my body shake. 'You ok?'
I didn't know why, but I had tears in my eyes. Maybe I felt scared. Maybe because no one had held me like that ever and asked if I was ok. Maybe because I never knew it would be possible for me to feel like this. Maybe because I had betrayed my best friend. I normally never cried, but with so many reasons at the same time, it was impossible not to.
'Hey, I'm the girl. Let me do this part,' she said. I looked into her moist eyes.
I sat up and dressed. We came outside as the moon lit up the terrace. I checked my watch. I had overshot the class time by thirty minutes.
'I love you,' she said from behind as I opened the terrace door.
'Happy birthday,' I said and left.
'Hey, you missed the best part. We will win this. Stay on,' Ish said as I reached downstairs.
'No, I'm quite tired. I'll watch it at home,' I said as I reached the main door.
'Eat dinner, son,' Ish's mother said as she set the table. 'I've made special dishes for Vidya's birthday.
'No aunty, my mummy has cooked at home as well,' I said. I had already celebrated her daughter's birthday.
'Such a good boy,' she said fondly as I left the house.
Seventeen
Hold it tight, it is shaking,' Omi said. He stood on his toes on a stool to reach the ceiling. We wanted to drop the tricolour ribbons from the ceiling fan. I held the legs of the stool, Ish stood next to us with glue and cellotape.
'I'll fall,' Omi warned, dangling his right foot off the stool.
'It's not my fault. The stool has creaky legs,' I said.
I never wanted to celebrate Republic Day, which came in a week. However, we did want to celebrate our resurrection after the earthquake a year ago. Though thoughts about that day still made me tremble, I was relieved to have fully paid off our loans. Our business had tripled from a year ago and it all happened from this shop.
'January 26 preparations? Keep it up,' Mama's entry distracted us all. Omi toppled from the stool and landed on the floor. The ribbons fell on his head.
'You let go!' he accused me as everyone laughed.
Mama placed a brown bag of samosas and some yellow pamphlets on the table.
We grabbed a samosa each.
'What exactly are you counting?' I asked idly. 'The number of times we have made love,' she replied. 'Wow, our score is eight already.' 'You keep track?' I said.
'I keep track of a lot of things.' 'Like what?'
'Like today is 21 Feb, only five days to my period. Hence, it is a safe day.'
'It's safe anyway. I used a condom,' I said as I shifted my cushion for comfort.
'Oh? So now you trust physics over mathematics?' she said and giggled. She flipped over to rest on her elbows and poked her toes into my shins.
'Are you still embarrassed to buy condoms?'
'I get them from an unknown chemist in Satellite. And I have enough now for a while.'
'Oh really,' she climbed over me. 'So no problem in using a couple more then?'
With that, our score reached nine.
'Goodnight aunty,' I said to Vidya's mom. I always hated that part, the point when aunty offered me something to eat or asked me why I worked so hard.
I walked back home with my thoughts. Nine times in two months. We made love on an average of once a week. Nine times meant I had lost all benefit of doubt. I couldn't say that I had made love to her by accident, in an impulsive moment. You don't do things by accident nine times. Though sometimes, another kind
of accident can happen. And I found out exactly five days later.
★
'There is something you should know,' she said.
We had come to the Ahmedabad Textile Industries Research Association's (ATIRA) campus lawns. She had SMSed me that we needed to go for an 'urgent walk', whatever that meant. We had said at home that we had to go and buy a really good maths guide. No one questioned us after that. The ATIRA lawns in Vastrapur swell with strollers in the evening. Several couples held hands. I wanted to but did not. We fixed our gaze on the ground and did a slow walk. Fat aunties wearing sarees and sneakers and with a firm resolve to lose weight overtook us.
'What's up?' I said and bought a packet of groundnuts.
'Something is late,' she said.
I tried to think of what she was referring to. I couldn't.
'What?' I said.
'My period,' she said.
Men cannot respond when the P-word is being talked about. For the most part, it freaks them out.
'Really? How?' I said, struggling for words.
'What do you mean how? It should have happened yesterday, the 25th, but hasn't.'
'Are you sure?'
'Excuse me? I wouldn't know if it has happened?' she said and stopped to look at me.
'No, I meant are you sure it was due on 25th Feb?' 'I am not that bad at maths.'
'Ok but...,' I said. I had created the problem. I had nothing of value to offer in the discussion. I offered her groundnuts. She declined.
'But what?' she said.
'But we used protection. And how does it work with girls? Are they always on time?' I asked. Nothing in the world was always exactly on time.
'Mine are. Normally I don't care. But now that I am with you, even a slight delay scares me. And the anxiety creates more delay'
'Do you want to see a doctor?' I was desperate to suggest a solution.
'And say what? Please check if I am pregnant?'
Another P-word to freak men out. No, she did not say that 'You can't be pregnant?' I said.
Sweat erupted on my forehead like I had jogged thrice around the ATIRA lawns.
I rubbed my hands and took deep breaths.
'Why not?' she retorted, her face tense. 'And can you be supportive and not hyperventilate.'
'Let's sit down,' I said and pointed to a bench. I threw the packet of groundnuts in the dustbin. She sat next to me. I debated whether I should put my arm around her. My being close to he had caused this anyway. She kept quiet. Two tears came rolling out of her eyes. God, I had to figure out something. My mind processed the alternatives at lightning speed, (a) Make her laugh - bad idea,{b) Step away and let her be - no, (c) Suggest potential solutions like the A word - hell no, (d) Hold her - maybe, ok hold her, hold her and tell her you will be there for her.
Do it, moron.
I slid closer to her on the bench and embraced her. She hid her face on my shoulder and cried. Her hands clutched my shirt
'Don't worry, I will be there for you,' I said.
'Why, why is it so unfair? Why do only I have to deal with this?' she cried, 'why can't you get pregnant at the same time?'
Because I am biologically male, I wanted to say. But I think she knew that.
'Listen Vidya, we used the rhythm method, we used protection I know it is not hundred per cent but the probability is so low...'
Vidya just shook her head and cried. Maths is always horrible at reassuring people. Nobody believed in probability in emotional moments.
A family walked by. The man carried a fat boy on his shoulders. I found it symbolic of the potential burden in my life. The thought train started again. I am twenty-two years old. I have big dreams for my business. I have my mother to support. Come to think of it, I have to take care of my friends' careers too. And Vidya? She is only eighteen. She has to study more, be a PR person or whatever she wants to be. She couldn't move from one prison to the next. Ok, worst case I have to mention the A-word.
She slid away from me. The crying had made her eyes wet and face pink. She looked even more beautiful. Why can't men stop noticing beauty, ever? We stood up to walk back after a few minutes.
'Let's wait for a day or two more. We'll see what we have to do then,' I said as we reached the auto stand.
'It's probably a false alarm. I'm overreacting. I should have waited for a day or two longer before telling you,' she said. She clasped my fingers in the auto. Her face vacillated from calm to worried.
We kept quiet in the auto for five minutes. Then I had to say it. 'Vidya, in case, just in case it is not a false alarm. What are we going to do? Or should we talk about it later?'
'You tell me, what do you want to do?'
When women ask you for your choice, they already have a choice in mind. And if you want to maintain sanity, you'd better choose the same.
I looked into her eyes to find out the answer she expected from me. I couldn't find it.
'I don't know. This is too big a news for me. I can't say what we will do.
Pregnancy, abortion, I don't know how all this works.'
'You want me to get an abortion?'
'No, no. I said I don't know. What's the other option, marriage?'
'Excuse me, I am eighteen. I just passed out of school,' she said.
'Then what?'
'I don't know. I don't want to think. Please don't talk about it,' she said.
We kept quiet for the rest of the auto journey.
'Here, take this maths guide to show at home,' I said and passed her a book when she reached home.
Vidya and I exchanged ten 'are you asleep' and 'not yet' messages that night.
'What's up?' Ish said as I laid my head on the cashbox early morning.
'Nothing. Couldn't sleep well,' I said.
'Why? Thinking of Pandit-ji's daughter,' Ish laughed. I ignored him. Every few hours I had the urge to send Vidya a 'did anything happen' message. But she would tell me if something happened. I opened a calendar and tracked all the past dates of our intimacy. Apart from the first time several months ago, I had used protection every time. Could they be late for any other reason? I didn't know and I could not ask anyone. Ish and Omi probably didn't even know the P-word.
And there was no other woman I knew apart from Vidya. And I couldn't ask mom anyway. I picked up my phone again. 'How is it going?', I sent a neutral message.
'Nothing yet', she replied back.
The next night I did get some sleep. I sprang out of bed early morning to SMS
her again. I had an SMS from her already, 'a bit of pain, nothing else'.
I threw the phone away. I wanted to reach the shop early to take out supplies from the godown. Somehow, I hated being late anymore.
Eighteen
Are trains ever on time?' Mama's loud voice interrupted us while we were at work. Ish dragged out a heavy box of wickets from the godown.
'Mama, you here so early?' Omi said.
Mama kept two pink paper boxes on the wicket box. He had a tikka from the morning prayers on his forehead.
'I had bought hot kachoris for my son and other sevaks. Their train was supposed to reach at 5 a.m. But it is five hours late. Now what to do? Thought I will have them with you,' Mama said and took out a kachori.