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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Fishy Chronicles 61: Cooking The Goose

Photo credit: A. Peter

Genie got out of his room. We stood transfixed and then we smiled, but he ignored us and walked quickly to the front door and left.

I had tried to offer him breakfast, but hadn’t been able to get the words out. Anjali and I rushed to the door and looked through the peephole.

We saw my voluptuous neighbor Zeba, who was madly in love with Genie, intercept him. Now Genie was smiling and looked like he had never been a sourpuss in his life. Zeba moved closer to him. She was wearing another low-necked caftan – yellow with small blue flowers.

“Seriously, what has Zeba got that we don’t?” Anjali said, trying to get a better view.

“Mountainous boobs and oodles of charm,” I said. It bothered me that a minute ago Genie had been cold to us and here he was cultivating the enemy in the corridor… barely two feet away from my door.

“How does Zeba always know when Genie’s going to step out of the flat?”

“Sixth sense… spying from her peephole.” The same way Anjali and I had spied on our early teen crush Tony Mascarenhas. The strapping stud had been three years older than us in school, and we had watched and stalked him for years, even after he had had a string of girlfriends. Now he was married to a beautiful homemaker, had three pretty children and was a VP at a tech company. Sometimes we pulled out the school photo, that I had flicked from my cousin Rajiv’s school album, and we’d wonder what we saw in the then hairy teenaged Tony. We had moved on, but we still envied Tony his perfect life.

“You don’t say,” Anjali said with a trace of sarcasm. “She’s not even wearing a face mask. Neither is he. What do they think, their love will fob off the virus?”

“Can you do a revenge character in your next book... with Zeba as the villain, please.”

“What will that get you?”

“Salvation.” I pushed Anjali aside to look again. Genie had turned and was moving down the stairs.

“I doubt it. It’s a rare sort who can recognize salvation when it hits. You, my darling, are not that person. Come on, let’s see where he’s going,” Anjali moved quickly to the sitting room windows.

We watched Genie walk out of the building. A woman from the opposite building waved a dishcloth at him, smiling shyly. He nodded her way. A couple of women stepped out from ground floor apartments and chatted with him, he stopped to talk and then looked up. We were caught unawares. But not for long. We waved at him and blew kisses, but he looked away and the women with him glared at us. We continued to send noisy kisses and waved a small table cloth at them.

I looked up and caught Aunty Glory watching us from behind her potted plants and through the haze of cigarette smoke. I waved at her and she slowly raised an arm.

I moved back into the room, embarrassed at being caught trying to bully Genie.

“Are you mad? Do you think anyone can bully Genie… you of all people? But yes, we can piss off a saint if we want to.”

“Aunty Glory hates me bothering Genie… such a soft corner for him,” I muttered, peeping at her through a gap in the curtains. She stubbed out the cigarette and went into her sitting room. 

“Every woman in this housing society has a soft corner for Genie,” Anjali grumbled. She rushed into the bedroom, opened my cupboard and pulled out my father’s binoculars. He’d bought it on a trip abroad and we had spent many happy hours watching flamingoes in Mumbai. 

Anjali trained the pair of binoculars first on Aunty’s flat and then quickly moved out of sight behind the curtains. “Shit! Aunty and Uncle are watching us with binoculars from their sitting room.”

“Well, don’t be shy. Wave and smile.” I grabbed the binoculars and trained them across the courtyard into Aunty’s home. I felt shock jolt me seeing them beaming at me and I waved. Then I turned the binoculars onto the road outside our housing society. Genie was nowhere. I handed Anjali the binoculars.

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This is a fictional series about the 30-something narrator and her household, comprising a former man Friday and pet fish – both back from travelling the world.

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In the last month the spread of the corona virus was termed a pandemic and looking at the way it had decimated populations worldwide the Indian government announced a lockdown. We had been prepared and despite challenges, fresh milk, vegetables and fruits were available. 

I had also begun calling Aunty Glory and Uncle John every day. I needn’t have worried. Peaceful Society’s committee had swung into action and many of the buildingwallas had adopted an elder. I dropped off meals at the Gonsalves's door everyday and chatted for a bit standing at a safe distance.

But we were now stuck at home with Genie, who refused to respond to notes slipped under his door and awesome mutton curry. I had never known Genie to be so angry. And I felt like a real jerk. We heard music come from his room, sometimes some banging, and every now and then he stepped out to grab a book or the broom and dustpan. Often, when we came face to face, he’d flick the untidy living room or bedroom behind us with a disdainful look that screamed “PIG!” and would then turn and disappear into his room.

“How long can he stay cooped up in there?” Anjali asked me several times. His anger was unsettling and unfathomable. She had written him messages, stood at his door and apologized profusely. She stopped when the music’s volume was turned up. Plus, Fish were annoyed with us. They did not talk to me for a day, angry at our nosey behavior (A Step Too Far).

Anjali put the binoculars on the coffee table, pushed it to the side of the room and spread herself on the cool floor. I sighed. “Do you have a deadline, Anjali? Will this lockdown affect it?”

“No. I mean, I do have a deadline, but it isn’t immediate. And I don’t know how I will go for my meetings, or pay the ladies who clean my house.”

“I meant the writing…”

“Hmm. We’ll see.”

I dialled Aunty Glory's number. “Yes, my dear,” Uncle John picked up.

“See anything interesting through your binoculars, Uncle?”

“Plenty. Don’t you have enough of Genie at home to continue spying on him when he leaves?”

“Can’t have enough of him.”

“I’m sure. Why did you call, my dear?”

“Do you need any groceries, detergent, etc, etc, etc? I’m making my list.”

“Right. Anyone would be irritated with you for going through their personal belongings,” I froze. “You’ve got to let Genie be for some time.”

“Er, he told you?” I felt mortified.

“I think you’re taking him for granted. He’s not your man Friday anymore, doesn’t work for your parents or anyone. He’s his own person… always was.”

“Er.”

“I’ll write the list. But I’m surprised at you two, my dear. Especially at you.” The phone went dead.

In all my 30-something years, this was the first time Uncle John had scolded me – a kind, non-shouty scolding. My face and ears burned at the idea of Genie confiding about our evil deed to the Gonsalveses. 

But what did I expect, they were good friends.

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