Fishy Chronicles 51: A Nasty Encounter

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. 

The next thing I knew Anjali had balled her right hand into a fist, raised it up and with her other arm supporting it, jerked her fist upwards twice. I grabbed her arm and pulled it down before she could repeat the rude gesture a third time. But it was too late, the ex was in a rage and charging towards us. People turned around to watch, wondering what was going on.

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.

                                                        ****** 

Fishy Chronicles 36: It's Complicated

Dear Diary,

What a mess the last three days have been.

I fought with Ashok, Arief and Nidhi a number of times. We never seemed to get off on the right foot.

Eva patched up with Ashok, making all the uncles and aunties happy. Ashok and Arief seem like brothers from different mothers. Nidhi and Arief seem to be an item, but Roma and I are not sure. Arief is always around to give Nidhi a hand with steps and things. I don't understand why she didn't use the pristine white running shoes she brought with her - she has pock-marked Pretty Villa Hotel's lovely garden with her stilettos. A couple of days ago her stilettos wedged themselves deep into a wet portion of the garden and it was funny watching her kneel to pull out both heels. For some reason Arief was looking elsewhere then and Uncle looked exasperated. Some news article soon caught his attention. Truth be told, just watching us must have been like a high-speed police chase drama. The oldies watched us all the time.

While pfaffing about at tea today, I impulsively invited Ashok and Eva for appams and stew. Arief cleared his throat and I felt cornered. So I asked him home too. In a minute, Aditya stood in front of me and Roma told me that she and the boys were turning up as well.

I felt someone stare at me. I tried to ignore Nidhi until Genie murmured into my ear that I was being rude. If anything, he said, I could watch a new romance ferment (his words) over appams. I was surprised at the speed of Nidhi's assent.

On the drive to Mumbai from Lonavala, I did the sums - the number of cups of rice and coconut milk I'd need for the appams. Would my old/young yeast cooperate? I wrote the math on the back of a toll challan. Arief and Ashok ate like sparrows - they worked out and watched their weight, Eva said. Nidhi needed to balance on chopsticks, making her Starving Sparrow No. 3. If Georgy followed Roma, more worried about Genie's influence on her, he'd make Sparrow No. 4. The boys would eat like one hungry full-grown man. I made no allowances for Eva. It was doubtful she ate - being on a diet perpetually. 

With that done, I started thinking of the tattered recipe book I was trying to mend - my mother's and her mother's.

"Why don't you put out some of those recipes in a book," Genie loudly interrupted my thoughts. The car's windows were down and we were enjoying the breeze through our hair. 

"Done to death," I said in a guttural voice, trying to imitate Genie's deep voice. 

He didn't notice. "Plus anecdotes."

"I don't know any."

"Sure you do. Remember that recipe your granny taught you - you said you had to soak the ingredients several weeks for the liquor to give all the nuts a kick?"

My words exactly. "I think you're referring to the Christmas rum cake. My great grandmother taught me that family recipe when I was eight and keen to bake. I even wrote it down with her and my mother's help." And that fragile, lined piece of paper was in my mother's recipe book, tattered but full of Great Granny-Mummy love.

"And she told you not to share it with anyone."

"Yes." I thought of my poor great grandmother. Her daughter-in-law, my grandmother, had hated her and I once heard my granny tell someone that she hoped my great gran would die fast. Luckily, my great gran lived another 15 years and died just short of 100 years. 

My unhappy gran moved to the US to take care of my uncle's family, learnt to wear pants and play bingo. She returned to India eventually, to another son and daughter-in-law, and steadfastly remained unhappy.

I took another challan and jotted cooking instructions to myself. I started when Genie shouted over the noisy breeze, "What do you think?"

"Of what?"

"The book idea."

"It's a good idea. I have to fix Mama's recipe book. Something might come to me."

Who knows, something might come of it. On that note, and conversations reproduced almost verbatim, I shall end my journal writing for tonight.

                                         ******

This is a fictional series about Fish who return to their former owner - the narrator. They are joined by her former manservant, and now friend, Genie.  

They return from a tense holiday with the narrator's relatives. Fish lay some rules and issue the narrator an ultimatum. 

                                         ******
At home I fixed a khichdi for Genie and I. Nobby went off to suck blood in Peaceful Society and Fish settled down to their garlic-liver-shrimp meal.

After dinner, Genie stretched out on the divan to look out of the window at the stars in the sky. I soon dozed off on the sofa. 

The voices woke me. Genie was breathing evenly and seemed to be asleep. There seemed to be an argument, or maybe loud conversation, going on in the tank.

"... Arief... Nidhi..."

"Roma... cigarettes... Georgy..."

"... ******* bad influence..."

I struggled to hear without moving. Clearly Fish thought I was sleeping. 

"She needs to steer clear of that lot. Especially Nidhi! And she's gone and shot off her mouth and invited Nidhi home!" Penaaz almost shouted. I tried to stay calm and concentrate on breathing slow.

"Nidhi will come here and look down her nose at everything. We've got to tell Genie to tell her to hide the heirlooms - she'd never listen if we said so!" Pervez said of me. 

"The heirlooms are classy. Elevate the home. They should stay where they are," Gregory said. The heirlooms they were referring to were a couple of very large brass uralis (wide-mouthed shallow vessels) that were more than a 150 years old. One was my great grandmother's and the other my grandmother's, both gifts to my mother. These days Genie filled them with flowers or potpourri.

Dimitri's voice distracted me. "Maybe things may thaw between them," he said of Nidhi and me.

"Hah!" Gregory snorted, "That will be the day. And I don't know what Arief is playing at! One moment he's playing hopscotch with Sleeping Beauty here and in the next he's canoodling with Nidhi!"

I laughed before I could stop myself. 

"Really!" Penaaz said annoyed. "If you're awake you might as well join us. We're talking about you!"

"You've got to stop mixing with people bad for you," Portas said. 

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You had a rotten time in Lonavala, yet you've invited that bilious lot home for more punishment."

"Don't you think you're being harsh? I mean we became friendly toward the end. And Ashok is married to my cousin and he's good fun."

"There was drama and you were unnecessarily wrung out by it all!" Penaaz said angrily.

That was true. I had been out of my element with a group that thought they were superior. And I had rubbed them all the wrong way and not been apologetic - or so Eva tried to tell me. Plus, at tea, loosened by the snacks and banter, Ashok had teased me about how we were related and that he still hadn't eaten a meal I had prepared. 

"It's not a bad thing - inviting my cousins over for a meal. Long overdue, I think. Besides, I like Ashok."

"Yes, yes, but think of the consequences. They'll make mincemeat out of you. By the way, you should make a beef stew," Penaaz said.

"What are you expecting to happen?" I asked.

"Trauma... for all of us," she said with unnecessary theatrics.

I laughed and then stopped. Fish were serious. They shared a point. I liked Ashok and Arief. I thought it a cosmic joke that Arief would turn up in Lonavala as Eva's boyfriend and walk smack bang into his friend and Eva's then-estranged husband Ashok. And look how things turned out - Arief and Ashok rekindled their friendship and Arief couldn't back away from Eva fast enough.

"And Nidhi?" Penaaz prodded, when I had stayed silent too long.

"I don't know what her problem is. I'm surprised she wants to come."

"If she's rude to you again, she's out of our lives forever!" Gregory said, trying to loosen his bow tie and adjust his glasses at the same time. Now his tie was askew and his glasses were on the tank's floor. 

"Or at least lose her at sea," Portas said.

"Just drown her," Penaaz said forcefully. 

"I'll try," I said, "to set things right." I turned to look at the divan. Genie was now on his side, his head propped up on his elbow, listening to our conversation. "What do you think, Genie?"

He got up and joined me on the sofa, stretching his legs out. "This should be her last chance." He held my hand and absently tapped my knuckles with his forefinger, making a point. "You shouldn't let people disrespect you constantly. It means they don't care... and nothing good comes of putting up with it."

I nodded. I never seemed to learn. Now I had to gather my tender heart and guard it with my life. Nidhi had a choice - she was going to stay in, or out forever.

Fishy Chronicles 35: Au Revoir, Lonavala

There was a gentle tap on my hotel room door. I'd bathed, dressed and packed. Our holiday was finally over and we were checking out of Pretty Villa Hotel in Lonavala by 11am.

Nidhi was still sleeping and would likely miss breakfast again today. The younger, more intrepid, lot was planning to have tea first, walk around Charlotte Lake and then go to a nearby Parsi hotel for breakfast.

Genie smiled and took control of the tank and Fish listed out the various horrors they'd endured during the night.

Downstairs, we met Arief, Ashok, Eva, a grumpy Georgy, Roma and their kids and Georgy's sisters and their families. This was unusual as Georgy's sisters rarely liked to mingle with outsiders. Genie, Arief and I were considered outsiders, even though we were insiders and knew enough to not to want to know more.

I felt a hand pull my ponytail. "You went skinnydipping in the pool last night," Arief said, grinning mischievously.

"Probably got me mixed up with someone else."

"Nope. I saw you."

"Something wrong with your eyesight then."

"Nothing wrong with my eyesight. I saw you and Roma smoking in the pool."

"Ah!" I casually slapped Arief on the chest. "We were modestly covered. And you're not supposed to say we smoke in front of our relatives."

"Why not?"

"Because it's secret. Hence, our midnight swimming session."

"I see."

He didn't really. But I didn't want to explain the time warp in which our families existed. "So, did you have a good holiday?"

His eyes widened and blinked. He smiled slowly, "In a manner of speaking."

"It's me you're talking to. You can be honest. 'A manner of speaking'... you might as well have said you didn't have fun."

"I did have fun." I opened my mouth to argue but stopped when Arief gave me a brilliant smile. "Just not in the way I expected."

"Oh."

"You could have woken up Nidhi and got her out with us," Arief said, spoiling the moment.

"I could have. But I didn't want to punish myself more than necessary. By the way, you could have woken up Nidhi too. She would have welcomed your sunny morning greetings with a 200-watt smile. Why didn't you?"

"I thought I'd leave all that to her beloved cousin, sleeping in the next bed."

"She's not my beloved anything."

"On par with what you feel for your ex?"

I looked at Arief wondering why he suddenly brought my ex husband into the picture. I wondered what to say. Whatever I said I wouldn't be able to recall it. And later I'd realise it was inadequate. I often had speeches for what I wanted to say to my ex, but they never saw light of day. My parents and well-meaning relatives had told me I'd regret what I said – even if I was right. Not saying what I felt had never worked well for me. But it didn't work well even when I did say them. The best solution, I eventually realised, was to walk away.

I took a sharp uncomfortable breath and started walking faster until I was next to Roma. I put my arm into hers. I didn't turn back. Somehow I didn't want to talk to someone who was going to constantly bring up my ex or Nidhi. He could have them both.

                                        ******

This is a fictional series about the narrator, her  opinionated former pet fish, and her parents' former manservant Genie, who is now her friend. 

They are wrapping up a rather eventful holiday with the narrator's cousins and in laws. There is palpable relief in the air.

                                        ******
"Why are you avoiding Arief? He seems to like you," Roma said while we were navigating our way around Charlotte Lake. I say navigating because Georgy's older sister lost her balance while we were walking on a path leading downhill. She grabbed my arm and we rolled a little way. We stopped – with her on top of me and a large stone in my side. It was bloody painful. I gasped for breath, coming to the conclusion those were my last.

But someone lifted the heavy woman off me and I could feel Genie and Arief pull me to my feet. Genie made me sit. I couldn't bear to look at Georgy's sister. It would have to wait until I'd mastered the rage born of my soreness. My churidhar was torn at the knee and I could see a trickle of blood. But it was nothing compared to the pain in my side and my embarassment at it all. Roma clucked with worry and finally pulled me toward Pretty Villa Hotel.

"Very sorry," Georgy's sister said embarrassed. There was not a scratch on her, though Georgy kept brushing some dust off her. My nice white kurta had turned a dark clay brown and there was a tear at the side.

Roma, Arief and I were now back at the hotel and I was unpacking to see which of my previously used clothes I could reuse. Nidhi was awake and yawning. Her face screwed up as soon as she saw me and then changed for the better when she saw my disheveled state.

"Rolled around in the dirt, did you, doggie?"

"Woof!" I replied, finding no real answer on me.

"Shut up, Nidhi!" Roma said. "How dare you call my sister a dog!"

"Er, Roma, I didn't see you." Nidhi jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom. I heard the lock turn. I could think of several swear words – none of which did Nidhi justice.

I finally found a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and I had quick shower in Roma's room.

Downstairs Arief looked me over. "Let's take my car to the hotel."

"No parking there. Let's just walk it."

"Is Nidhi awake?" he asked.

"Yes. She was asking for you. Maybe you should go up." I felt Roma grab my arm and give it an angry shake.

"No, Arief," Roma said, "Just ignore her. Come on. Let's go."

"Are you in pain?" Arief asked. I was grimacing from where my knee had scraped the ground and the hotel was a 15-minute walk away.

"Why do you always mention my ex and Nidhi when you know I don't like it?" I turned on Arief.

Arief smiled involuntarily. It died when Roma glared at him. "My bad. It draws the worst reaction from you – childish of me. It's just that... I used to know your ex from Pink Sun. I attended your wedding..."

"What?" Roma and I stopped in our tracks. 

"Yes. I'm sorry for being nosey. I have so many questions running in my head - about your ex, Mr Poonawala and the fish."

"I won't be answering any of them," I said coldly. I felt Roma's hand gripping my upper arm in warning.

"Er, yes, of course," Arief nodded and we walked silently. I seethed. There weren't enough nosey buggers in this world. Fish were right about him. I looked through the corner of my eyes. It was an absolute pity he looked like a delicious walking icecream.

                                        ******

Genie pointed to the spot next to him and I hobbled over. I ignored the voyeurs. We had spent three days here and even though they hadn't talked to us much, the entire family had watched us like hawks. I should have sat on Genie's lap a few times. He might have jumped out of his skin. Perhaps I could have sat on any random man's lap. No. More problems than I needed.

Genie ladled scrambled eggs into my plate. This was an authentic Parsi breakfast with the eggs almost runny. I remembered Uncle Nigel showing me how to make it, while singing a ditty he had created. That day he hadn't invited my ex and it had led to a fight between us. Uncle had shown me some of his family albums and it had made me forget my husband in a few minutes.

"How did you learn to cook so well?" I had asked. He had shown me some traditional dishes and I had picked up fast.

"Oh. My mother was a wonderful cook and cooked for a rich Parsi and I'd help her. He eventually paid for my boarding school and the rest of my education."

"That's good then."

"I don't know. I thought so, but my mother was always unhappy working for the family."

"Why is that?"

"She never said."

"And you don't know?"

"Today, knowing what I do of the world, I could wager a guess."

I held my tongue, feeling slightly sick. A few days later Uncle came to my parents' home. I had invited him to try my mother's appams and stew. The ex was in a very good mood because of the visit. But I felt good because my parents and Uncle had hit it off. Somewhere we had a common thread, all of us, except for the ex.

You see, to everyone I had lied about who had actually inherited Fish. Everyone thought it was the ex. And we let them because the ex's ego had been hurt. But I attributed Uncle wanting to give me his fish to an extraordinary whim. Plus, there had been perks.

I understood why Ashok and Arief had so many questions. Why they constantly watched Fish, Genie and me. There had been rumours. Some of Uncle's relatives had even raised a stink but he had warned me about it. And his lawyer, S. Iyengar, had assured me the will was iron-clad.

Now more than ever I wondered about Uncle Nigel's motives. Why did he leave Fish to me. Was I all wrong about his feelings for the ex? 

I wondered why I remembered him so much during the trip. I turned to look at Fish. They were treading water watching me. What an incredible coincidence Genie ended up working for my parents and we shared the same feelings for Fish.

I stood up and rummaged in my bag. I had managed to get them something special today. Raw chicken liver. The broiler shop owner had cut it into slivers. I fed Fish slowly, chatted while they ate and then sat down to my cold breakfast. Everyone stared, their eyes twice the size they had been 15 minutes ago. 

Genie removed the plate covering my half-eaten breakfast, put another large spoonful of the beautifully soft eggs and a freshly buttered piece of toast on my plate. We joked about returning home to Peaceful Society and tried to imagine the gossip our joint absence would have elicited.

"Next month, that public holiday, could I come and stay with you guys?" Roma leaned over and asked. I could see her little son Aditya stand up in excitement. Georgy cleared his throat, but Roma ignored her husband.

"Yes! Of course!"

"There will be two young men following me."

"The more the merrier."

"Roma..." Georgy said warningly.

"Relax, Georgy. Just going to chill with my cousin. Not a problem, is it?" she gave him her most winsome smile. I saw Arief and Ashok grin.

"Er, no. I'll check the calendar and talk to Mummy. It should be okay," he said unhappily, all the while staring at Genie.

I dared not look at Genie. From the reflection in the glass door opposite us, he was giving Georgy his most winsome smile.