Fishy Chronicles 63: Lockdown Diaries: Tackling the Gs

“Where does Genie go every day?” I asked Fish.

There was a long silence in the fish tank and then Penaaz said, “Groceries?”

“The length of time he spends outside doesn’t justify the few bits and bobs he carries home.”

“Maybe he’s checking each veggie carefully,” Portas said, and a snigger made its way around the tank. I wanted to laugh too at the thought of Genie examining sultry fat tomatoes, but this was serious business. Be serious, I scolded myself. We hadn’t forgotten, or forgiven, how Genie had told the Gonsalveses that he had found Anjali and me rifling through his underwear drawer. Though we hadn’t, we were too embarrassed to show our faces to the elderly couple for several days until this morning when Uncle John ordered me to stop running away after I had left their breakfast at his doorstep and rung his doorbell. I was halfway to the lift when I heard his, “Wait! Come here… Now, my dear. This has gone on long enough.”

“Er, what?” I said, reluctantly shuffling back to his door. “What’s wrong, Uncle?”

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This is a fictional series about the narrator, her parents’ former man Friday Genie and former pet fish. They have returned from their travels and are staying with the narrator. 

Genie, the narrator and her best friend are stuck together in the lockdown due to the Corona virus pandemic but have not been talking for a few days. Uncle John helps her clear the cobwebs. 

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“What’s wrong is that you’re avoiding me. Tell me exactly what you did to annoy Genie… and why you’re behaving so oddly now.”

“Er, nothing. Nothing happened.”

“So why haven’t you been talking to Glory and me.”

“Really? I… must have been very busy.”

“We’ve been in lockdown for weeks. Everyone’s got all the time now. So what did you do to upset Genie?”

“What did he tell you?”

“You first. The truth.”

I tried to glare at Uncle but was too ashamed of myself to look him in the eye. But why was Uncle smiling that way? “Er, Genie caught us rummaging through his bedside table drawer.”

I saw shock on Uncle’s face, but it became bland in a couple of seconds. “Go on, my dear.”

“Er, then he wouldn’t talk to us for days even though we apologised over and over and over and made him mutton curry just the way he likes it, and those Bengali luchis he loves, and more. He ate it all, but still wouldn’t, won't, forgive us.” At this moment I felt a seething rage for Genie. I hoped his man boobs would sprout, if only to disturb him. But he looked trim and deeply content – if it was possible in this lockdown phase. Was it yoga? Tiny food portions?

“Go on, dearest,” Uncle’s voice dragged my attention away from Genie’s physique.

“There is nothing else, Uncle. It isn’t such a great sin, you know!”

“For a man, it means lack of trust.”

“For a husband, maybe.”

“For anybody!”

“Why are you acting as though you don’t know what happened, Uncle?”

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“Yes, my dear,” Uncle sighed. “Genie wouldn’t pass on any of my messages to you… when I asked why he was annoyed he wouldn’t say. But he did ask me to say you had looked through his drawers. It was a prank, he said. I was surprised he’d asked me to do so, but I went along with it. I told him the charade couldn’t hold for long. Perhaps Glory would have enjoyed stringing you along, but Genie felt you wouldn’t believe Glory. Anyway, we’ve had a good time at your expense. We have rediscovered the world,” he chuckled, “through our binoculars. It is such fun to watch young people fight. But you must stop now. By the way, what did you really do?”

I groaned silently, then sighed and counted to ten, hoping Uncle would get tired of waiting for my answer. But he waited patiently, smiling all the while. “We opened his desk drawer and looked at his things, handled his diary and his pen. Opened his paper clips box. That’s the sum of it.”

“Hmm. Not good. Did you read his diary?”

“Er, we had a look. But there was nothing in it,” I said, cringing. Heat rushed into my face. My shame wasn’t going to end soon.

“I hope you learnt your lesson.”

“This incident alone constitutes a lifetime of learning, for sure.”

Uncle smiled. “I must say, my dear, I think there are huge gaps in your story and Genie’s. But I don’t think I’m going to come any closer to the truth. Would you like to come in, maybe rustle up some masala chai and eat breakfast with us.”

“I might give you something. A virus.”

“Or we could give it to you.” He held out his arms, and though I thought of Mr Soshal Distan Singh, the current joke going viral on WhatsApp, I went to Uncle and laid my head on his shoulder and felt his hand pat my back. “Naughty, naughty girl. We miss you, you know.”

“I miss you too. Made your favourite today – Bombay Toast. I’ll make tea.” I pushed Uncle in, and waited for a few seconds. Door 502 opened. He waved and smiled and I smiled and nodded and went into Uncle’s house.

I started, feeling embarassed. Uncle and Aunty had been watching me from just inside the doorway and were smiling broadly. “Aren’t you going to ask us who he is?” Aunty Glory asked.

“W-Who?”

“The young man who’s just moved in to the flat at the end of the corridor.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let’s see,” Aunty started counting on her fingers, “he gets up at 9 and leaves out his dustbin rather noisily. He makes tea, then comes to the door to get his paper with his mug in hand. That’s when he says hello to us. Such a handsome boy. Pity he doesn’t live in an apartment opposite us, else he’d have been the focus of our attention. And… there are no newspapers these days, but luckily for you, there’s still the milk which gives him an excuse to open his door… just as you ring our doorbell.”

“Er,” I interjected.

“He doesn’t seem to have a wife,” Uncle John added mischievously.

“But he moved in before we could be acquainted,” Aunty Glory grinned.

And he hadn’t put a nameplate on his door and the watchman still didn’t know his name... or wasn't telling. Plus there hadn’t been any post to crosscheck.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were into young men, Aunty. I would have surely found out his details,” I countered weakly.

The Gonsalveses laughed and followed me into the kitchen. Aunty’s arms rested around my waist and she chatted about things. I made tea and sat at the dining table, watching them eat. I missed them. Until Genie and Fish had returned from their travels, I’d had some of my meals with the Gs. My eyes moved to the photo of my parents and me on a side table. And then to the one with Genie, the Gonsalveses and my family on a tiny lace table cloth, atop the old, black, well-kept baby piano.

I had to make peace, force a truce, with Genie. Today.

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