I pressed the button at my elbow and the car window slid down quickly. Ice-cold air hit us and I hurriedly raised the window until a thin slit allowed the air to blow across the tops of our heads and ease the suffocation I felt in the closed space. The Sikh driver’s eyes met mine in his rearview mirror. I looked at Anjali beside me in the car, but she seemed unconcerned. She was probably used to the cold in the hills. I had spent time with her twice, but hadn’t cared for the lack of amenities. Now we were on our way to Amritsar’s international airport at 5am.
“How did you find out I was going to Amritsar?” I asked Anjali.
“Roma.”
“What would you have done if I had cancelled the trip?”
“Gone by myself,” she grinned.
“So easy, is it?”
“Yes. But I wanted to spend time with you, so I’d have told you eventually… that is if Roma and Genie hadn’t been able to convince you to carry on with the trip.”
That seemed how it would have panned out. “Do you want to do anything specific in Mumbai?”
“I’ve got some meetings. But I thought we could go to the beach and do some time pass with Roma, Georgy permitting, of course.”
“You think he’ll permit?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Do you think he’s becoming more possessive of Roma?”
“Not really.”
“He’s more demanding now.”
“Why do you say that, Anjali?”
“When Roma asked if she could join us at Amritsar, he nearly blew a gasket. Then he told his parents, who had a thing or two to say.”
“Shit.”
“Yes. Roma wouldn’t tell me what they said, but she said she didn’t speak to Georgy for two days.”
“Why didn’t she say something to me?” I asked, feeling bad for my cousin.
“You have your own problems,” Anjali said.
“Still... she could always take a break with me. I’m not judgy, especially where her in laws are concerned.”
“True. But I think you were the reason they had a fight.”
“She told you?”
“No. She wouldn’t say and you know Georgy and his parents – they have a thing for you… and ‘your ways’.”
I couldn’t disagree because it was true. As far as my cousin’s in laws, the Kurians, were concerned, and even though I was younger and Roma was too difficult to sway, I was a bad influence in every sense – divorced, their grandchildren adored me and I was painting the town red just by being single. And, now, I was apparently being waited on hand and foot by my parents' handsome former man Friday, Genie, and, in all probability, was indulging in immoral activities. Clandestinely. I was debauched and pulling the wool over the eyes of every God-fearing Christiani relative I had.
I felt a sharp poke in my side. “I do not know how Roma married Georgy… but if she had taken a good look at her in laws I’m sure she’d have run. Fast,” Anjali said, forgetting that she had told me this several hundred times.
I couldn’t understand what Roma saw in Georgy either. Or his family. But now it was too late. And unlike me, she was not a quitter. And unlike me, her in laws were scared of her, which was worth chicken shit.
“Like they say, get your head out of the gutter and live your life,” Anjali mumbled absently.
I felt riled. “Who are they?”
“The universe. My guru.”
“You don’t have a guru.”
“Right. But we give too much importance to society and the people around us.”
“You have to if you want to live among them. There’s a hierarchy and codes and rules.”
Anjali still looked out of her side of the window, but she took a deep breath and her mouth tightened. She turned her head sharply, “Do you want to marry again?”
Yes! No. She glared at me – angry at my indecision – her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flaring. She was angry with me, because of me, for me. Many years ago I had sought her out in Almora, in Uttarakhand, spending two weeks hiding from people, hoping and praying that I would disappear off the face of the earth... unable to deal with the mess my life had become. She had spoken to me, put her work on hold, walked about with me endlessly, understanding of my nervous, tortured energy, and then sat in the train with me on my journey home. And all through she had told me to “leave him".
I hadn’t.
And I had paid for it dearly.
******
This a fictional series about the 30-something narrator. She is making her way back to Mumbai with her best friend Anjali when a person from her past reappears. She seems predestined to cross swords with him again.
******
“Can you believe it. The connecting flight’s been delayed again!” Anjali stomped off to speak to an airport official. She looked at peace when she returned. “The guy at the counter said we’d have to wait two hours. He wouldn’t say why. But I’m guessing it’s that,” she said tilting her head at the tall windows. Outside, the tarmac was barely visible under a thick haze. Probably smog. I was glad we were in the airport and not venturing out because the air was very bad.
We walked about Indira Gandhi International Airport and had a leisurely meal at one of the restaurants and then settled into a couple of seats near our boarding gate. My attention drifted to a small boy who was spread-eagled on the floor. He was screaming and refusing to be picked up by the elderly woman, dressed in a sari and bulky sweater, accompanying him. Something about the woman seemed familiar, the fat bun, the gait, the perfect teeth bared in a snarl. And it struck me just as Anjali sat up straight and grabbed my arm. A tall, well-built man immediately went up to the child, yanked him off the ground by one arm and shook him angrily. Anjali’s grip tightened. I felt sick, and sorry for the child.
A young woman, holding a baby, stood up and tried to pull the child away from her husband. People watched silently as the man bent and spoke menacingly into the child’s face all the while shaking him. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat, reluctant to get up and do something. The elderly woman looked around casually and exclaimed, pointing in our direction. Her husband stood to have a better look at us. The young lady holding the child looked distressed and I felt intense pity for her.
Anjali and I stared back at them. We sat still. I felt numb and then anger slowly invaded my being. Relieved too that he wasn’t my husband any more. He stared at me, giving me a dirty look and then I heard and saw the people near us titter and smile.
I couldn’t believe what Anjali had just done. She had formed her mouth slowly into an exaggerated pout and a loud kissy sound emerged. She grinned mischievously at my former family some way off. Disbelief spread over my ex's face and those of his parents. I couldn’t help it, I grinned too.
I stood up in fright, but Anjali stayed seated, one leg over the other, staring calmly at the bull-headed pig. “Come on, Anjali, get up. UP! GET UP!” I screamed in fright, memories of this man’s evil temper rushing back. I tried to pull her out of her seat, but she was unmoved and pushed my hand away.
I stood still. I could not run away from my friend. My ex was by our side now, but Anjali’s calmness had thrown him and though he was livid he stood a respectful distance away.
“You bit… you! How dare you!” And he tore his gaze away from Anjali and glared at me furiously.
“You-you married again?” I stuttered, trying to deflect his attention from Anjali.
“What does it look like, you moron!” he snarled, spittle trying to escape his mouth.
“Just thought it’d have been a good idea if you’d got a vasectomy first.”
There was a stunned silence, and then someone laughed and he roared abuse and lunged at me. I screamed and jumped out of the way and in a couple of seconds he had tripped and fallen hard on his face. I realised soon that it was Anjali’s foot that had tripped him. He flailed in the small space between the chairs, trying to disentangle himself from the straps of various bags. Anjali threw my knapsack at me, grabbed her bag, stepped on his back and we ran as fast as we could.
But we needn’t have worried.
Some men had now surrounded him and I could hear raised voices and someone shouting for security. We stood and watched from a distance. When a policeman started walking towards the crowd, Anjali pulled me away and we moved into a toilet and stayed hidden. About 15 minutes later, I held out my compact to see what was happening. There was still a group standing, though things had quietened considerably. I could see an airport security official giving my ex and his family a stern lecture and some male passengers standing close by and listening.
When the ground staff called out our flight number, we watched people walk into the gate in single file. I could see the ex looking around him, trying to catch sight of us. His mother pushed her daughter in law and grandchildren ahead of her, her husband followed and then, reluctantly, her son. But the crowd around my ex husband looked at him coldly, and I could see the wariness in his body. A rare emotion.
A hand slapped my bottom and Anjali grabbed my arm and pulled me along with her. We smiled and nodded at the lady scanning the holograms on our tickets.
I felt tense. “We’re on the same flight.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not scared, Anjali?”
“No. Why should I be?”
I stopped and glared at her. Anjali threw her head back and laughed. “What’s he going to do to us? Hit us? Shout at us? Scream? He’ll get arrested. How will he show his face to his neighbours and in church if he does, huh?”
Brilliant girl! “But what if he does come to our seats and…” Anjali’s index finger pressed my lips shut and she was smiling.
“Try to stop thinking, darling. If he wants to let off steam, he can. It would be fun to hear him. Do I think he’d do it in a crowded plane and court chances of an arrest. Absolutely not. So, if he comes around give him a spiel on a double vasectomy – as softly as you can, with a smile on your face. If you can. Okay?”
I nodded. That I could do. I had a repertoire I had perfected over years, always hoping I’d meet him one day and share it with him. Today seemed to be the day.
******
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