Fishy Chronicles 69: Lockdown Diaries – The Webs We Weave (1)

When you go long periods without a goal in life, something gives. Maybe things about life become clearer. Or the muddle in your head gets worse. Do you learn to navigate the confusion? Does one adjust and forge ahead?

I did have a goal. Travel. Some, anyway.

My resignation from the Bombay Sentinel newspaper had been impulsive. I had not told anyone about it, except my best friend Anjali. Being unemployed is a rude reality, especially if you’ve worked for many years. The unnatural feeling is often heightened by unsympathetic family. 

I once overheard Joy Uncle tell his wife Elsa that I had deserved it. I assume he was referring to the punishment of losing the bulk of my savings when the Reserve Bank of India froze the assets of my rogue bank. It meant that my hiatus would end sooner than later. Uncle didn’t know that crazy unfounded fears gnawed at my gut almost all the time. Being a journalist, I knew the chances of getting back even a small portion of that money were slim.

Joy Uncle’s offhand remark had riled me. Later, when I had analysed the statement to death, I thought Uncle was a hypocrite for many reasons. One of them was the successful engineering of a very good marriage for his daughter Roma. It was understood that she would never go to work and the MBA she had acquired just before she married, apparently a precondition for increased and prosperous marriageability in our community, would be better utilised in creating and nurturing a set of accomplished offspring and keeping house.

But Roma, as hot-headed as her father, found her in-laws suffocating and her husband a stuffy stethoscope that also functioned as the mouthpiece for the Charter of Chauvinists. In an extreme act of rebellion, Roma found a job and worked through both her pregnancies despite various threats and entreaties to be a stay-at-home mother. The job helped her to escape her family and maintain sanity, she told me several times, and the income meant she had a say in her own fate.

So, I reiterate, Joy Uncle is an unalloyed hypocrite.

But, I was still unemployed and I was still being reminded that I had made a huge mistake giving up my job.

For instance, yesterday Saroj Aunty, my father’s youngest sister and mother of Eva (Mutiny At Pretty Villa, Noises In The Dark, etc) called me up. She said she was sorry I didn’t have a job, when was I going to get one, how would I survive without one, I was so imprudent with money I had to get married so that my new husband would give me some good sense, and why had I alienated that nice young divorcé boy Danny (Uncle's Man) that Joy Uncle had made me meet, a nice husband would make me see what I was missing and handle all my money, make it grow, give me children and all I had to do was marry, go to work, give my salary to my husband and I wouldn’t have to worry about a thing and if I married a rich man things would be even better.

I felt numb – the thousands of exclamation marks ricocheting in my cranium during the conversation attempted mass hara kiri.

How does one talk to the Sarojes of the world. She was another hypocrite. I made a noise every now and then lest she thought I was rude and complained about me to Joy Uncle, but my mind wandered to an incident in my childhood.

I was spending the summer vacation with my paternal grandparents in Kerala and my grandmother had ordered me to follow her to the storeroom. It was a dark room in the middle of the old house, with no windows, but surrounded by other rooms with two doors – one leading into a large room adjoining the kitchen and the other into a corridor. The storeroom’s utility had changed over the years, sometimes becoming a servants’ quarters, but eventually staying a storage space.

My grandmother pointed at the loft-like space that ran along one wall. It was about three feet high. I went into the dining room and dragged one of the old rickety teakwood chairs into the storeroom and placed it on the table. The impression I got was that the table would become useful to a family member someday, but years on it still hadn’t found another use. I climbed the table and then the chair and was able to hoist myself onto the loft. It was a dusty cobwebbed section and I started coughing.

“Cover your nose and mouth with your handkerchief, child!” Ammachi (grandmother) shouted from below.

“Don’t have one, Ammachi.”

She grimaced but went out and returned. I managed to grab the balled-up handkerchief as it flew up in the air for the fourth time. I tied it around my nose and mouth. It was my grandfather’s. Only he used pristine white Irish linen handkerchiefs that he often asked relatives to get him from abroad. Now, I wondered how he and Ammachi had got together. Perhaps they had only met at the altar – and she had never had to open her mouth until after the wedding.

“Stop dreaming! Here’s the broom!” It sailed through the air, narrowly missed my head, smacked the wall instead and landed on my ankle. It stung, but I grabbed the broom and waved it through the cobwebs about me and they disintegrated. I had to remove the webs sticking to the broom, which made me feel icky, but a look at my grim-looking granny kept me going. 

I swept what I could in the poorly-lighted haze of dust. There were many plastic bags stuffed with possessions, and boxes, holdalls and appliances. The appliances needed fixing. My orders were simple – to hand down all the bags to Ammachi. As the hour passed, Ammachi changed tack. She ordered me to open all the bags, have a look, tell her what to expect and then toss the bags down.

It was slow and very boring. I opened cardboard cartons tied with brown string or rope, rummaged through old clothes, torn sheets, papers and toys. Several piles rose on the floor below.

While Ammachi sorted, I opened a peeling rexine holdall that revealed nice colourful folded and ironed clothes. This was unusual. None of the other bags had ironed clothes. I felt a box underneath the clothes and fished out a Butter Cookies biscuit tin. In it were old beads and jewellery, the kind that dominated the 1960s and 1970s and were now trying to rot in landfills. A fat, ageing envelope lay under the jewellery. I pulled out a couple of faded photographs and saw Saroj Aunty with a handsome man, his arm around her, and she in a figure-hugging salwar kameez. She looked happy and beautiful.

Only, this wasn’t her husband Pilipochyan. The man in the photo was a very handsome Sardarji. My aunt had, unusually for our very conservative family, attended college in Delhi. She had been allowed to then because my parents were stationed there and she had moved in with them. But in the last year of her bachelor’s degree, my father had been transferred elsewhere and Saroj Aunty moved into a hostel.

I knew that she had wanted to do the civil services exams –this I gleaned from a long-ago conversation with Appa. But she had returned to Kerala as soon as she had graduated and married almost immediately. I trained the torchlight on the box’s contents – nothing. I removed the envelope of photographs, closed the box gently and slipped it back into the holdall. I moved to the edge of the loft and dropped the bag on the table below and waited to see what would happen.

Ammachi looked surprised and her hands, hovering over the bag, trembled a little. “This looks like Saroj’s.” I held my breath. She opened it, paused at the sight of the clothes and immediately her hands dived in and fished out the cookie box. She looked at the old tin for a couple of seconds and then pried it open. My eyes moved to the closed side zippers. I had forgotten to look there. Ammachi was now using her index finger to push a few things around the box. I leaned back when I saw her raising her head to look at me. “Was there anything else in the bag, kochumol (granddaughter)?”

“No, Ammachi, only clothes and that tin. I didn’t look in the side pockets.” She immediately tore one of the side pocket zips open. There was nothing in either side. “There are only three more bags to go through here.”

“Well, hurry up. We need to finish before lunch!” Ammachi pushed her hands inside the clothes and felt around thoroughly and then sat on a chair waiting for the next bag.

“You don’t want to throw it out?” Those clothes wouldn’t fit Saroj Aunty. She had thickened everywhere, though she was still beautiful and very stylish. Her daughter Eva would never want the clothes. And there had been no saris in the bag, only salwar kameezes.

“We’ll ask Saroj if she wants it,” Ammachi said.

“Do you want to keep it with you till she arrives next week?”

Ammachi hesitated, “No. There’s no space in my room. We’ll pull it out of the loft when she’s here. Give me whatever is over there,” she pointed at the dark corner to my left. There was a large black spider in the corner, with its eggs in a white mass under its belly. Due to the weight of the eggs, these spiders often made a plopping sound when they fell off the walls. I had never actually seen the eggs hatch or the babies.

“Quickly!” Ammachi ordered.

“The large pregnant spider is there.”

“It is not pregnant, it’s got its eggs under its tummy.”

“Same one.”

“Use the broom to chase it away.”

I jabbed the broom’s feathery bristles at the cobwebs and they gave way, but the spider only crawled upwards, nearer the ceiling, and stayed put. I looked down at my impatient grandmother. I had had enough, but now was not the time to tell her I felt weak with fear. She looked like she’d throw a leg on the chair, climb up into the loft and thrash me. The family, with the exception of my gentle father and even gentler grandfather, was filled with human firecrackers.

I jabbed at the spider again, closing my eyes. When I opened them, the black spider was still in place. I stretched and grabbed the edge of a dusty old holdall and pulled it towards me slowly. I exhaled the tension and slid the bag's stiff zip open.

“What have you got?” Ammachi’s voice said from below. My hands felt about the bag. Only men's clothing. I dropped the bag on the table.

Before she could say anything, I inched towards the spider again. If it attacked me I was going to use the broom to toss it off the loft. The spider watched me drag away the last two bags.

One bag had old shoes, slippers and more clothes – all worn out and meant to be thrown away – and the other books.

“What do you have there?”

Ammachi was now standing and had once again emptied the contents of Saroj Aunty’s bag onto the table’s top. She was behaving so strangely. I emptied the bag with the books, looked quickly at random pages and put them back in the bag. They were all textbooks. I stopped when I came to a diary and saw handwriting. Most of the entries were in Malayalam. I shone the torch on the pages in the middle and back and found some in English.

“How much more is there, kochumol?” Ammachi asked from below.

“Two bags, Ammachi. One sec.” I hurriedly shoved the rest of the books into the bag, wiped the dust off both bags and dropped them carefully onto the table below. I swept the loft absently, wondering how I could remove the diary and photos from the loft without Ammachi noticing. They were too big to stuff into my dress.

I looked over the edge and waited for Ammachi to finish looking at everything. She was shaking the books. Bits of paper flew out. She picked them up, looked at them and frowned.

“Do you want me to come down and read them to you, Ammachi?”

“Eh? Yes… yes. These are in English. I don’t have my glasses either. Go fetch them.

I sat at the edge of the loft, let my bare feet feel the seat of the chair, got on to the table and jumped to the ground.

I picked up the slips of paper. “You look beautiful” was scrawled boldly across a small, yellowed chit of lined paper. The paper had been folded and opened many times and was tearing off at the creases.

“What does it say?” Ammachi asked from over my shoulder.

My heartbeat hammered against my chest. “Oh, it is the title of some textbook.” This morning Amma had told me we would ask Roma for her old text books for my new school year. I picked up the rest of the chits from the floor – all of them were similar. “I love your hair. Don’t ever cut it.” “Come to the cafeteria at 4pm…” “You look lovely in yellow. Yellow is now my favourite colour, I want you to wear it tomorrow too.” How absurd it all sounded! But it screamed of illicit romance. Many of the older girls and boys were passing around love notes in school. Were their notes like these?

“Well? What’s written on those pieces of paper?”

“Ammachi, this one says, “Come to the library at 4pm”. This other one says… oh... I can’t read the handwriting. Looks like rubbish. I’ll throw them away.” I gently crushed the pieces of yellowed paper in my hand and dropped them into the dust pan. Ammachi’s mouth opened in shock and then closed, her mouth set in a thin stern line. I hurried out of the storeroom before she could protest, fished out the balled pieces from the dustpan when I was out of her sight and pushed them into my bra.

My aunts were in the kitchen, I smiled at them and emptied the pan’s contents into the dustbin. I hurried back to the storeroom because my grandmother hated being kept waiting.

She made me pack up the text books and good clothes in separate bags. The rest was to be thrown away, after it was inspected by its previous owners.

“How do you know whose stuff it is?” I was curious.

“From the clothes. The boys didn’t want any of the books. Can’t say so with the girls. I have to let them decide what they want to keep?”

That was news. Ammachi never let anyone else’s opinions matter. But she was a little afraid of Saroj Aunty.

I felt a push. So I climbed back into the loft. The spider was still guarding its corner. Ammachi placed the bags on the chair and table. I stacked the bags against the wall and hid the photos and diary and climbed out of the loft.

I was going to come back for them when everyone was asleep and before the rest of the families turned up next week.

                                                            ******

This is a fictional series following a 30-something Mumbai-based divorcée. She is remembering an old family vacation that starts innocently but skews family relationships in the most unimaginable way. The Webs We Weave series begins with this episode. Read the rest here 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91.  

 

Fishy Chronicles 45: Genie Gives Gyaan

“What's happening to your Amritsar plan?” Genie opened the lid of the big pot and drew the aroma deep into his lungs. I could see his mouth water.

“If you wait 15 minutes, you can have the chicken stew with bread,” I told him.

“Trying to change the subject?” he said, putting the lid back on the pot.

“What subject?”

“Your trip to Amritsar."

I shrugged and shook my head.

“Do you know, you're not a good liar.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Okay. Let me put this in perspective for you. A few weeks ago Roma told me your tickets to Amritsar were booked, including hotel stay. This was before the bank collapsed. Yesterday she asked me if you were all packed.”

“Couldn't she have asked me?” I felt angry at my cousin Roma. I had fobbed her off a couple of times regarding my finances, my trip, etc. I felt I had to face up to everything on my own. Plus, I didn't want to hear sanctimonious lectures from my relatives.

“Do you remember giving Roma a straight answer?” Genie asked. I turned away and sliced some Madras onions for the final seasoning. Roma and Genie tackling me together seemed like an onslaught. Whose side were they on?

This is a fictional series about the narrator, her former pet Fish and former manservant Genie. The narrator is preparing lunch for her Lonavala group (refer to FC 27 and FC 36) and Genie advises her to continue with her sabbatical and travel plans despite her current personal setbacks.

Genie nudged me and continued to do so until I was pinned to a wall. “Pushing me about is not going to work, Genie. It really is none of your business.”

“Aha! So Roma was right. There is an Amritsar trip all planned and paid for. So why aren't you going?”

“Ask Roma!”

“I'm asking you!”

“I don't have the money now.”

“I'll lend it to you.”

“You've done enough. Besides, how long will you subsidise me? Do you know that some of the money in the bank was your back wages that I'd consolidated and put into a fixed deposit. How many times have I tried to give it to you!” I felt my temper rise. I felt sudden panic. What if Genie asked me for the money.

He put his arm around my shoulders, “Once and for all, I am not going to take that money.”

“Why not?”

“I never asked for a salary.”

“But Papa said he paid you!”

“We had an arrangement.”

“Sorry. I don't buy that.”

“Well, it has nothing to do with you.”

I pushed Genie, but nothing happened. I felt pain in my side, a combination of my bruises resulting from our ill-fated day at the bank (read about it here) and being pressed into the wall now. “Can you stop pushing me? My body is aching.”

I felt him laugh and glared at him. He smiled, “When is your trip, my dear?”

“Why?”

“I'll lend you the money... only because you will gain nothing out of backing out of the trip. You might as well go and enjoy yourself.”

True. I wasn't going to get a refund. And I had to get used to the idea that the world hadn't stopped moving and that I had to move on. My parents had lost money this way and history had repeated itself despite me knowing better.

But the other thing was I needed to stretch the little I had and didn’t want to borrow until I had no choice.

“If you feel badly about it,” Genie's voice interrupted my thoughts, “you can pay me back.”

“I don't have money, remember.”

“It's a temporary situation. You'll get a job eventually. No point wasting an opportunity to travel.”

“Yes, but what if I don't get a job or my money...”

“Silly girl! How did you become so pessimistic. It's a setback – one of many. It’s only a matter of time before it will stop affecting you.”

I knew that was true. Hard times don't last, Papa had said even when things were bleak.

Genie looked into the vessel again. “Shall I make you a few appams... before the guests arrive, Genie?” He contemplated the contents. Genie and I always waited till our guests had eaten until we had our meal, so I said, “Just a couple so that it keeps you till the guests finish eating.”

He shook his head, slowly – a rare moment of indecision for Genie. I immediately put two appa chattis on the stove to heat.

“No,” Genie said, feebly.

“Why stay hungry.”

“But we should wait till the others have eaten... what if we fall short?”

“Hah!” I had made enough batter for 14 people times ten appams and some more in case there were surprises. One could never tell when appams and stew were on the menu... as I had cause to experience.

I rolled the batter gently around the sides of the chatti and Genie took out his plate and had another sniff of the chicken stew.

Fishy Chronicles 39: Genie Throws A Googly

"Well, hello there. Just where have you been?" a cold, honeyed voice asked from behind me. I dropped the eggs on the counter of the shop.

"Madam! Be careful!" The shopkeeper felt the bottom of the paper packet and handed it back to me. But my thoughts were very far from any fractured eggs.

I turned. I had no choice. I could feel my Genie-hungry neighbour Zeba's abundant bosom heave into the back of my shoulders. She was slightly taller than me but the very high heels she chose to wear created the mischief. I cleared my throat and tried to wriggle out of her chest. She pushed into me with a vengeance. I ducked and squeezed out through a narrow gap between Zeba and the egg shop counter. I gasped for breath and my face felt hot. I backed away several steps from the warrior princess. I could see several men stop to look. She had that kind of effect on men, so I wondered why Genie was immune to her charms. He was immune to her and I was suffering for it.

"Where did you disappear to?" She repeated, a tad louder.

"I disappeared?" If you recall, some days ago we, Genie, Fish and I, returned from a trip to Lonavala with my cousin Roma's in laws and some of our relatives. 

"The two public holidays and the weekend," Zeba reminded me. "Genie went with you," her eyes narrowed and she looked at me like I was nasty business.

"Really?" I backed away some more. "Let me see. I went off with my cousins. You're right, Genie joined us. And Fish. I figured they'd be lonesome without me!"

Zeba's mouth opened and closed. I grinned and walked away quickly.

Walking towards my building, my phone rang. "Yes, Aunty Glory?"

"You weren't at home?"

I looked up at Aunty's balcony involuntarily. Aunty Glory had been my parents friend and was mine too now. Despite her advanced age her heart was like that of a crazy teen and if she could have moved faster, she would have been absolute trouble. My parents had had nothing in common with Aunty Glory except being of a similar age.

She was looking at me. "No, Aunty. I went out to buy eggs. I met Zeba. She asked where Genie and I had disappeared to."

Aunty snorted into her phone. "Well, she's thorough. I just saw her leave Genie. She sat there for an eternity. He made her tea. How long does it take to buy eggs from next door?" Aunty was upset. It came through in her voice.

"Er... I went for a walk. And had to buy groceries."

"Why isn't Genie doing that?"

"He's my guest..."

"Bunkum! What's going on between you two?"

"You too, Aunty? I'm coming up. Er, is Genie still at home?"

"Yes."

I wanted to ask why she was spying on Genie, but who didn't in Peaceful Society. Sometimes I was tempted to put up see-through opaque glass around my balcony and on my windows. But then I'd think of how it would shut out the light and air. Plus, it all cost. Peaceful Society residents were welcome to eyeball us.

                                        ******

This is a fictional series about a 30-something Mumbai-based narrator whose former pet fish and parents' former man Friday have returned to stay awhile. Personal equations are different now.  

In this episode, the normally cool and can't-put-a-foot-wrong Genie does put a foot wrong. Unusually, and unwittingly, he creates a situation that the narrator is forced to face head on. 

                                        ******

"Are you in love with Genie?" Aunty Glory asked from my shoulder. Uncle John and Aunty Glory were standing on either side of me near the stove in their small kitchen. I felt Aunty's thin arm around my waist. The gesture blunted the force of the interrogation.

"No, Aunty. You know Roma made Genie and me join the family on the Lonavala trip because she couldn't handle the extra drama."

"You mean your cousin Eva bringing a boyfriend..."

"... and her husband Ashok also there..." Uncle John added.

"It's a good thing I went. Not only did Eva bring a boyfriend, he, Arief, happened to be a friend of Ashok!"

Uncle and Aunty made polite rude noises. I continued. "But the good thing is that Eva and Ashok kissed and made up."

"Oh, so sweet," Aunty said.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" Uncle exuberantly spat at the back of my ear. They were true romantics and believed there was a love story at the end of every tunnel... even if Aunty G went to great lengths to rubbish it.

"And we're not sure if something is brewing between Arief and Nidhi," I said, knowing Uncle and Aunty would want to hear about the great Indian tamasha that was our Lonavala trip.

There was silence and I felt the slight movements in their bodies when Uncle and Aunty looked at each other. They knew Nidhi well. She had once hit me on the head with a pencil case in Sunday School. My parents had been upset but her parents had sought out mine in church and apologised. In school, one of Nidhi's bully friends had pushed me against the lavatory wall and told me Nidhi's father had yelled at Nidhi and her mother had given her a good shake. My only thought at that moment was of all the germs that were crawling into me from the smelly loo wall I was plastered against - I wouldn't be able to disinfect myself until I reached home. When I thought hard about it, I think I developed OCD and some of my current paranoia in that moment.

I had tried to avoid Nidhi since. When we moved away from that area Nidhi slipped out of my mind. Sadly, she came back into my life like a persistent rash when her brother Ashok and Eva (my father's sister Saroj's daughter) fell in love and married. 

I remembered I was with Aunty Glory and Uncle John, making them tea and upma. "And how did the holiday go?" Uncle said.

That question felt forced - like it was filling an uncomfortable silence. Uncle John was not curious. My head tilted to the side and it dawned on me that there was a snitch in my household. Someone had leaked my fizz, stolen my thunder and filled in the Gonsalveses on what would have been a juicy horror story the telling of which would have stretched over some weeks. "Genie told you?!" I said in disbelief.

Aunty's thin, wrinkled hand was on my mouth, trying to shut it, and then stroking my chin - I do not know why. She held me tightly. I couldn't believe she was afraid Genie could get hurt. Stay calm and focus, I told myself. I strained the tea and quickly made the upma. I then stood at the kitchen window and phoned Genie and asked him to come to the Gonsalves home for breakfast.

"Oh dear. You're going to give him the third degree. Men don't like that," Uncle John shook his head over his pretty rose-patterned plate. 

"Don't be a shrew, dear," Aunty said, sitting opposite her husband. "We were curious and Genie made it all sound hilarious."

"What did he say?" I was curious too. I could barely get out a whole sentence from Genie, but here he had apparently given the Gonsalveses fulsome details of everything and everyone at our Lonavala trip. I felt heat creep into my cheeks. Did he tell them about my troublesome episodes with Arief, Ashok and Nidhi? I wanted to pump out my chest and claim to have brought Ashok and Eva back together, but that would sound cheesy now.

In any case, in the few minutes it took Genie to rush across the courtyard, mostly to avoid the women suddenly emerging into the courtyard and blocking his path, I got a brief rundown of events in Lonavala (dear reader, please refer to previous Fishy Chronicles 22 to 36 to know what transpired). And Uncle and Aunty snorted and laughed. I felt mortified in places, but added my two bits by telling them how I snored at night to scare Nidhi and how she attacked me in my bed. Her penchant for violence had not abated in her adulthood.

We heard the door open. Yes, Genie, or rather we, had a key to the Gonsalves home for practical purposes.

Genie listened to Uncle and Aunty and smiled at me, his horrible dimples showing. He showed me the peace sign when the others weren't looking. When they got up to wash their hands, Genie sat near me and said, "Are you annoyed with me?"

"Grossly."

"Oh, that's a pity." He grinned, his dimples disturbing my peace of mind. "I did my best to make you look good. Avoided the messy bits. I should have warned you though." He took my hand and kissed it, his eyes twinkling all the while.

It was hard to stay angry. "Aunty's version seemed sanitised. And luckily for me, despite my role in annoying Nidhi, they still think she's pure evil." Genie laughed. "Why did Zeba visit?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

"Aunty said you had a long chat." Genie made to get up. I grabbed his arm, "What did Fish say?"

He grinned, "They gave me an earful when Zeba left. Said I was 'colluding with the enemy', called me 'an enemy of the state' and said they were calling in a 'commando' to deal with me."

"Which movie is the Commando?"

"An old Arnold Schwarzenegger one. Was on TV last night. You've got to do something about all their TV bingeing."

"Why can't you tell them?"

"They don't listen."

"What makes you think they'll listen to me?"

"You feed them and take them out. For some reason, they watch you all the time," Genie said.

The flattery loosened me. "They crib about everything I do."

"Maybe."

"No thanks whatsoever."

"Hmm..." Genie got up and moved to the kitchen with his plate.

I waited till he washed it. He came out, wiped his hands with his handkerchief, smiled broadly at me and the Gonsalveses and began to move to the door.

"Wait," I said. Genie was behaving oddly. Unnecessary smiling. He didn't chat with Uncle and Aunty. He didn't offer to make us tea! "Why are Fish so angry?"

He turned at the door and I saw his teeth in a rare smile. "They're pissed off, for sure."

"Please elaborate." 

"It's got to do with Zeba."

Fish hated my neighbour Zeba. "Yes?"

Genie scraped at a spot on the door with his index finger and concentrated his gaze on the ceiling.

"No cobwebs there, Son. We cleared them on Friday. Why don't you just tell us why Fish are upset with you," Uncle John said.

Genie straightened up from the doorway and looked me in the eye. "I should have asked you..."

"What?"

"... but things got out of hand..."

"Er, you were making out... on my sofa?" I sounded shrill. I was going to remove that cover and wash it under cover of darkness! No wonder Fish were distressed. He was definitely an enemy of the state.

"No, of course not!"

"Then what?!"

"I invited Zeba for appams and stew... on Saturday," Genie watched me, expressionlessly. For a big man that had a dangerous past, I was surprised at his fear. Aunty and Uncle were looking back and forth at me and Genie in shock. I had invited them for lunch too and Saturday promised to be pure fireworks.

I felt gobsmacked, but my rage gave way to amusement looking at Genie hiding behind the main door.

"Are you angry?" he asked finally.

No 'sorry for inviting the she devil'. "I don't know," I said.

He stared at me, a bit confused. "What do you mean? You're okay with her coming?"

"I don't know." I could see Aunty beginning to look annoyed. But whichever way I looked at it there was fog in my brain.

"Why don't you let Genie fob her off," Aunty suggested testily.

"That's very rude, Glory. It's unnecessary. Let Zeba come. Things may be different. I've never really spoken to Zeba. I'd like to have a chat. What do you say, my dear?" Uncle turned to look at me.

"Sure, Uncle. I don't see any sense in hurting Zeba's feelings. We'll try and make sure she has a good time."

All three of them looked at me strangely. Mostly incredulous at my volte face - I would have been taken aback too.

"Uncle and Aunty, I do not plan to poison the appams or stew. Genie, God help me, between now and Saturday I will have to relearn some good manners and make peace with Zeba."

"Sorry," Genie said.

"Oh, never mind. We'll have fun watching people mingle."

"Doesn't sound like fun."

"Maybe."

The three continued to stare at me. But all I could think of was the sudden brainwave I had. I couldn't stop smiling at them. I knew how I was going to play Saturday's game of chess. I couldn't wait.

"Just one question, Genie."

"Shoot."

"If you spent a considerable amount of time with Zeba this morning, including making her a cup of tea, etc, etc, why is it you didn't tell her that we went to Lonavala?"

The door slammed and I laughed.

Revenge was probably going to be sweet, easy and good fun, after all.

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.