Fishy Chronicles 97 – The Webs We Weave (29)

Joys of school
(Photo credit: A. Peter)

At lunch I managed to sit in the chair next to Jimmy (FC96) just as Mobby lowered himself into it. The breath squeezed out of me, I became lightheaded and things blackened as Mobby’s butt pressed my chest and stomach.

“Hey!” Jimmy pushed Mobby with both hands. Mobby jumped off – too shocked to be his usual rude self. Jimmy shook me, and I took in a deep quavering breath and the room stopped looking grey. Unfortunately, the incident only excited more looks of annoyance among some of the elders, notably my mother, grandmother and father’s sisters. I ignored them. A little body pressed into my side, and I groaned. Rita and Eva, Sarojmama’s daughter – a pestilential 11-year-old, sat beside me. But in the next instant, Roma hauled Rita off her chair and flopped into it. Rita protested and tried to pull Roma off, but it looked like she was trying to budge a massive bull. In the end, Eva scooted to the next chair and Rita sat next to her sister. This was awful, like a silent inquisition, a surveillance in progress – I felt like a fly knowing a swatter was over its head.

I couldn’t ask my questions. Despite Roma disliking Jimmy she wanted to know all that we were doing. Anjali had once suggested that Jimmy might be interested in Roma and so never looked at her because he felt shy. But he talked and joked with other girls – so bashfulness wasn’t the reason for his disinterest.

Then Anjali suggested that Roma might be interested in Jimmy and was miffed by his inattention. That was an interesting point of view, so I watched the two at Sunday School, until I felt cock-eyed and decided to stop. Stopping had to do with the realization that I was overanalysing everything and clearly barking up the wrong tree.

“Masticate your food,” Jimmy muttered.

“Eh?”

“Eat! You’re attracting attention.”

I wanted to tell Jimmy that cows masticated their food, not humans, but he was probably learning a new word with all the livestock at his grandparents’ home. I could see what he meant when I looked up, so I mixed the sambar into the rice, my mouth watering with the aroma, and waited till his mouth was full. “Who’s C?” I whispered in his ear.

I acted innocent until Ashok stopped slapping Jimmy’s back. He had choked on a piece of fish and was red in the face. He blew his nose into his brother’s handkerchief, because of course he hadn’t carried one or had lost his, and gave me a filthy look. That day in the church courtyard (FC95), when Nidhi whacked me on the head, I knew who had written the love letter that dear ‘love pigeon’ Nidhi ferried about the church and school courtyards. I just could not figure out who ‘C’ was or why Jimmy was calling himself a humongous lover T and writing such rot. Anjali’s theory was that Jimmy was fronting for someone else.

I didn’t think so. Could it be the impossible had happened and Jimmy had fallen in love with someone in school?

He was grim all through his meal, though it did not affect his appetite. But I was forced to keep quiet because all the adults’ radars were trained on me now.

I used the ensuing quiet to work on my strategy. Jimmy was going to fob off every question I had. I had lost the advantage of surprise by asking him at lunch – where there was no privacy. Now he would build his defenses in anticipation of my next set of questions.

Whenever I glanced at him, he was eating stiffly, and his brother Paul’s eyes darted from Jimmy to me, forcing me to stay quiet.

Maybe I could use the telephone tonight. I had finally discovered the code – Appachan had been making a call and I was standing nearby. I had spent the rest of that day memorising it and celebrating the discovery. 

                                                            ******

Anjali and I couldn’t figure out why Jimmy was using the initial ‘T’.  Was he using an alphabet from his surname. Was he writing the notes to throw off anyone who’d intercept them? It was all farfetched. Why would someone make Jimmy write a note that his girlfriend might not be able to read? Jimmy’s handwriting was worse than a doctor’s.

Plus, it was too elaborate for Jimmy, who liked to charge ahead first and then think. He wasn’t middle-man material.

And then the letter explained Paul’s interest in it. Did he think his baby brother had a love interest? Paul should never know. Jimmy would tell me. In his own time. Maybe. Maybe later. Maybe never.

At the gate, while bidding them goodbye, I told Jimmy, “So you’re going to act as if there are no C and T and that you don’t know what the note is about?”

“Shhhh!”

“Why? I have nothing to hide!”

“Shhh!”

“Don’t shhh me! Anyway, Paul’s been asking me about the note.”

Before he could reply, his father grabbed his arm and hustled him into a rickshaw. As the yellow and black rickshaw hurtled down the uneven road, he looked dismayed and did not wave goodbye.

“What did you say to Jimmy?” Roma said softly, her breath tickling my neck.

I turned and walked back to the house. A few steps from the doorway, a sharp pain shot through my shoulder – Roma’s fingers were digging into my flesh. She pulled me away from the door and slammed me against the wall, her arm jamming my throat.

“You idiot. You dare fool around with me!” Roma thundered in my face, her breath smelling of sambar and pickle. There was a bit of curry leaf stuck between her bared teeth.

There was nothing for it… I pinched her breast hard. She screamed and let me go, grabbing her chest but feeling embarrassed to rub it. I darted into the house, and looked for a hiding place. None was available, so I sat near Pilipochyan, and pretended to be interested in a Malayalam magazine. Roma rushed in and stopped. I looked up nervously. She gave me a dirty look, but seemed intimidated by Pilipochyan’s presence, especially when I held out the magazine and pointed at an article. Roma marched off. She would be waiting for me, sometime and somewhere, probably with her minions.

                                                            ******

“I tell you, Anjali, he’s hiding something! He’s probably T!”

“No way! There’s no girl in school who could make him interested in her.”

“What rubbish. There are hundreds of pretty girls in school. It’s a paradise for boys.”

“But you know Jimmy, na. He doesn’t like ordinary girls.”

“Kuch bhi. He talks only to ordinary girls.”

“Why are you whispering? And why are you calling me so late at night?”

“Everyone’s sleeping and I’m not supposed to be using the telephone here. They’d skin me if they knew I was making a long-distance call. Why haven’t you been replying to my letters?” My cries of desperation in longhand, I wanted to add.

“Er, I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“You know Trevor?”

“Trevor Mascarenhas, your brother’s friend?” And Anjali’s latest crush.

“Yes. He’s got a new girlfriend.”

“What! Who’s your source?”

“It’s not important.”

“Of course it is.” It was the difference between reliable and unreliable gossip.

There was silence on the other side, so I asked, “How is Anita taking it?” Anita was Trevor’s erstwhile girlfriend. She was a year our senior in school and only became our focus because she and Trevor had become close walking up and down the shady corners of the school during recess. Their break-up had been a hot topic for days in our class, because many girls had a crush on Trevor. And, unfortunately for Anita, she was in our school bus. Not that she spoke about Trevor, although when she did speak to her friends about him it was in whispers. We tried to catch every word despite the sounds of whooshing air and Mumbai traffic coming in through the bus’s open windows. We closed the window next to us, and suffocated in the heat while listening to the whispered conversations going on in the seat in front of us. We heard snatches, mostly cuss words and expressions of sympathy from Anita’s friends.

For this privilege, we had to dislodge the kids that were already in the seat behind Anita, which led to a one-sided scuffle. One sided because we were bigger than the younger kids, although we had to get through some loud wailing and the occasional well-aimed kicks to our ankles. Things settled down soon, when the children couldn’t get a rise out of us – our efforts at eavesdropping meant we stayed hunched unresponsively in our seats for most of the long ride home.

“I think Anita has taken the breakup very well. She’s hooked up with Benny Wong.”

“What!”

“And Trevor took Sarita Kumar to Juhu Beach.”

There were too many things going on. Suddenly Jimmy was unimportant. Trevor-Sarita, Benny-Anita – the mind boggled. All the girls wanted to be friends with Benny, because he was clearly a foreigner, though his family – originally from China – had been in Mumbai for over 60 years. He was very cute and a flirt. A charmer, a girl’s boy. Anita was the unattainable hottie, and Trevor’s ex.

“So where are we on ‘T’…?” I spotted the bunch of keys dangling from Appachan’s drawer. He rarely forgot them at his desk. At night he dropped the keys into the top drawer of the chest of drawers in his bedroom. But tonight they were innocently stuck in a keyhole. I pulled the drawer’s handle – it was open. I moved the lamp closer to the edge of the desk – papers, envelopes, official-looking letters, printed pamphlets.

“You’ll have to try harder with Jimmy,” Anjali said, startling me. This was easier said than done. Anyway, I had probably run up a large telephone bill for Appachan. Would he ask the telephone exchange for a bill with all the telephone numbers listed, like the cops did in American TV serials? Or maybe he’d call all the telephone numbers and verify them for himself. “Will ring you another day, Anjali.” I hung up before she could reply.

Anjali would be annoyed, but there was Appachan’s desk to be explored. I listened for a sound around the house, then used the keys to open the other drawers – files, bundles of cash – 100s and 500s and smaller ones of lower-denomination notes, a little filigreed silver bowl containing small change, a pair of spectacles. In the lowest one, I found some dried flowers sticking out of a dictionary, big fat books that seemed to be encyclopedias but were ancient telephone books, some smooth white stones that I suspected were the ones that were found in the flower pot in Sarayumama’s room and had likely been in my jhola the day I damaged Bobby (FC72, FC73), and irrevocably spoilt relations with my eldest aunt at the start of my vacation here. In the lowest drawer, there were some albums, yellowing documents and leaves of loose paper, and… I gasped, feeling the adrenaline rush through me faster, the photographs from the loft – the ones of the handsome Sardar and Sarojmama (FC69, FC70). How had Appachan been able get up into the loft and retrieve them?

I pulled out the envelop and looked at the photos. They were a handsome couple. The colours in the photos were fading. There were some photos taken in a garden against a large flower bush. Sarojmama had a large red rose behind one ear and her long plaited hair rested on one shoulder. There was a photo of them holding hands with the Taj Mahal in the background, just one photo – a polaroid snap. I had a strange sad feeling looking at the pictures. I looked at them over and over, wondering what had happened to their romance, why they hadn’t stayed together. I put the pictures back into their cover reluctantly and then saw the letters addressed to Sarojmama, tied in a bundle, right at the bottom. I tugged one out from the side, but it was likely to tear. I knelt on the ground and reached in. My heart jerked at the sound of a door opening.

I shoved the envelop and its photos back on top of the bundle of letters and moved the rest of Appachan’s papers over them and locked the drawer as quietly as I could. I stayed under the table, switched off the lamplight hurriedly, and gently slipped the key back into the top right-hand drawer of Appachan’s desk. I wanted to come back and read the letters, but I didn’t want to risk taking Appachan’s keys – he would raise hell if he couldn't find them. But it was unlikely this opportunity would come again. I wondered if I should have kept one of the photographs, if I needed them. For purposes of blackmail or to put my aunt in her place in an argument.

The door to the bathroom in the corridor opened, and closed noisily. I keyed the locking code back into the telephone and ran back to my bedroom.

                                                            ******

The narrator makes a long distance call to her best friend and is apprised of new developments. 

This is a work of fiction and is the latest episode of the Webs We Weave series. You can read the earlier ones here   FC69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80,81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96)

                                                            ******

#younglove #jimmy #sarita #trevor #juhubeach #breakup #trevormascarenhas #love #cops #americantvserials #crimeserials #americancrimeserials #youngadult #fiction #keralastories #keralavillage #kerala #farmanimals #youngboy #younggirl #teenager #teenageescapades #teenagestories #fishychronicles #websweweaveseries #websweweave #bombaymalayalis #syrianchristianmalayalis #syrianchristians #bestfriends #friends #breath #rita #oldphotos #roma #oldromances #oldloves #brokenlove #lovestories #mol #paul #jimmy #oldphotos #loveletters #teenagelove #teenromance #teenagers #adolescence #romance #failedromance #sardarji #sardar #tajmahal #love #polaroid #silverbowl #filigree #coins #money #cash #bull #youngadultfiction #mumbaitraffic #mumbai #mumbailove #loveletters

                                                            ******

Fishy Chronicles 94 – The Webs We Weave (26)

Photo credit: A. Peter

In a couple of days my cousins Rebecca and Roy left Kunjappachan’s home. There were tears all around and a grand farewell. It seemed a mob was in and out of both households and no one mentioned or joked about cousins kissing. I was still confused by what it meant.

On their last day at home, Roy had visitors. A pair of foreigners visited Kunjappachan’s house and some of the younger kids went over to gawk from the doorway. I felt my face turn red at the sight of the very handsome Japanese man, but shuddered at the cold look his partner – a mannish-looking Scandinavian woman – gave all of us. ‘All of us’ were the girls, of course. Word had spread that a blond woman was in the village and I could see my male cousins hurrying over from next door.

It was normal for us to stare at visitors. We peeped through windows and open doors or nonchalantly lolled on the broad ledge that ran around the front of our granduncle’s house. You could tell we were bored out of our minds.

Anyway, Roy and his father soon left to drop off the couple at the nearest railway station, much to our intense disappointment.

Things had become dull. We had to stay indoors whenever it rained. That meant many chores. I loved the rains here. It swished and poured, one moment it would turn grey, because of the sudden darkening of the skies, and then you could see sheets of white pouring rain in the distance. I saw this in Mumbai too, but grey shabby buildings interrupted the beauty of it all. Here the trees bent from side to side with the rain and wind and shook themselves, their leaves dancing. They shone and glinted. They looked nourished with a newfound green. If we were lucky, some mangoes fell off and we might find them intact the next day. In the mornings, my father, his brothers and Appachan did a recce of the fields and the rattan trays in the kitchen would be full of assorted vegetables and fallen fruit. I sorted through them every day, finding small chillies, the occasional cashew fruit. One day there were even wilting white nutmeg flowers, that an aunt had washed and offered to the youngest child. The flowers often gave the tongue a nice zing!

I thought of Romeo (Mob Justice) often, but resisted the idea of getting close to another animal as I would be leaving for Mumbai in a few weeks. I didn’t want to pet another animal either in case someone turned on it out of spite for me. But every now and then I stood under my favourite guava tree during a downpour, and under a wide umbrella and felt pure bliss – even though the effort drenched me. It was in moments like these that I didn’t need to talk to or be with anyone.

One day my father gestured to me, “Do you want to go with me to the village market?” It happened once a week.

“Yes!”

“Ok, change your clothes and go and tell your grandmother and mother.”

I hesitated. “What mol?”

“What if Ammachi says no.”

My father sighed and went to the kitchen. He came back in a few minutes and I dashed off to change. I wore the kurta salwar I had worn yesterday, and scraped a comb through my tangled hair. It poked out oddly in places, but it didn’t matter.

I rushed out of the door, with Rita screaming at my back demanding to know where I was going. Appa and I were out of the gate before she could finish her questions. I waved my dupatta in the air, let the breeze man it like a sail, and then flapped my wings like a bird. What joy to be out of the house.

The men had gone to the market earlier in the day, so my father was likely on a personal errand. I wondered if I could get him to buy me a meat puff or an icecream. But then thoughts of the handsome Korean, not Japanese as I had thought, entered my mind and I forgot food. Maybe it was worth studying hard and going abroad to the US. There might be a romance in it. I shivered at the thought of my cousins hooking up… and my thoughts drifted to my male cousins. Hooking up with any of those idiots was a fate worse than death. Anyone planning a future with them needed to be warned. I hoped anyone planning a future with any one of my cousins had a premonition about it. Then I ticked myself off for those thoughts. Them marrying had nothing to do with me. Maybe they were not all bad. Maybe.

Appa braked hard at one of those signals that are rarely seen in villages in Kerala. Our road was laboriously tarred, narrow for a main road, and with space for very large puddles. As children we sailed paper boats in them. But for any soul that wanted to walk alongside the road, there was no kaccha path in spots but steep drops into the lush green overgrowth of someone’s estate. I would have said bowels of the estate, but with everyone owning a toilet now we rarely saw a stranger’s bare defecating bum.

A large car braked near us as well and I lowered my flailing arms self-consciously. I could see the amused looks and then the faces turned away. I leaned into my father’s back and whispered at his ear, “Appa, don’t turn. Johnnychyan and his family are in the car next to us!”

But of course my father had to look, and after an uncomfortable few seconds Johnnychyan nodded, tried to smile, and said, “Hello, Uncle.”

Appa smiled back, “Hello, mon (son).”

Johnnychyan looked my way and gave me a broad smile that faltered near his eyes, and my good mood of the last 10 minutes evaporated. It felt awkward and I couldn’t drag my eyes away from Johnnychyan.

“How are you, mol?”

I was tongue tied. What do I say? I stared aghast for a long time and then heard Appa murmur, “Say, fine, thank you.” I looked at the people in the car – his parents and an aunt. They looked ahead as though they didn’t see us.

“Er, good Achacha, and you?”

He nodded many times, like his neck was jelly and he couldn’t stop. “Very good.” He held out something. He reminded me of those bobble dolls that we kids wanted but couldn’t convince anyone returning from America to get us.

Appa murmured again, “Be kind. Remember your manners.” There was a bar of chocolate in Johnnychyan’s hand and he was trying to drop it in my lap.

“T-Thank y-you Johnnych-chyan. Th-Thank you.”

Suddenly the car shot forward and immediately swerved to avoid a scooter coming from a side road. Johnny’s father just about avoided hitting a lamppost, before braking to a hard stop. The passengers looking stunned. The scooterist drove up to Uncle’s window and swore at him. Uncle began to apologise profusely. Appa rode near the scooterist to see if he was hurt, but the man ignored him and drove off at top speed.

“Are you okay, Chetta (older brother)?” Appa asked Johnny’s father.

“Y-yes. I’m fine. Just got a fright. We’ll be okay, thanks.”

Appa took in the shaken passengers, nodded at them, and then slowly accelerated away.

“Why did they drive ahead when the signal hadn’t changed, Appa?”

Appa’s shoulders shrugged.

“Why, Appa?”

“Difficult situation – meeting your ex to-be in laws at the signal. Hard to avoid in a small village like ours,” Appa smiled. That was true. Random neighbours even remembered I had worn the same dress two days in a row. And I didn’t even know who they were!

Only outside Appa’s friend’s office did I realise that the chocolate in my hand was now squished into a shapeless mass. Nevertheless, I sat in a corner of the office and licked the chocolate wrapper clean and marvelled at how my dad could stay so cool and polite in a state of siege. Well, not siege, exactly. Maybe war-like conditions. Or, a state of duress. There, that was better.

Afterwards we inspected baskets of wares on the roadside. People jostled each other along the narrow rough concrete paths and everywhere you looked there was red earth and puddles. We walked in and out of the small streets down the main road. I took care to walk slowly, because I had worn white pajamas, and mud stains were difficult to scrub off. I had stopped washing my clothes everyday, and wondered when my parents would discover what I was doing. They were probably just ignoring it. A few days ago I had tried putting some of my clothes in my absent-minded cousin Shyla’s bucket of soaking clothes, but at the washing stone she had thrown a hissy fit and had tossed my clothes into the wet mud, which had led us to argue.

“Why didn’t you scold them, Appa?”

“Scold who?” Appa asked. 

“Johnny and his parents!”

“For trying to run through a red light?”

“For the broken engagement!”

“It is over. There’s nothing to be said.”

“But why? They looked guilty.”

“Rubbish. Things are just awkward. Life is not a bed of roses, you know. There is no happily-ever-after. If you read fewer romance novels and tried to read the good books I give you, you would know better.” Appa gave me a dirty look. This discussion popped up quite often.

Did Appa know I was currently ploughing through a Georgette Heyer. If he knew I was finding it tiresome he would have been happy. Roma had told me the best way to handle a dull book was to skim-read the boring parts and then slow down when the juicy bits arrived. Luckily, someone had decided to pencil in crosses on the corners of the important pages, and our reading had sped up. Some of the older girls had brought many such books with them and were passing them around. Even Rita was reading one which had sex in it. Everyday Roma and I expected a question from her, but strangely she stayed silent. Had she understood what she was reading? Probably not.

“And what is this I hear about you not attending Sunday School? Where do you go when you leave the house?” Appa was pissed now and was in his ‘stream-of-thought-pick-a-fight’ mode.

“Eh?”

Appa’s lips pursed, “Joychyan told me that Roma and you have been skipping Sunday School. Where are you girls going?”

“Er… to… the river.” We loafed about in the fields, around the junction, and near the river, but Appa didn’t need to know such details.

“Why?” Appa demanded.

“It’s all in Malayalam and very boring. Besides, I have to go back and do Sunday School in Mumbai. It is a waste of time doing it here.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong choice of words! “You let me decide what is a waste of time! When we are here, in this house, we do what Ammachi and Appachan want. And if I tell you to go to Sunday School you jolly well do it. Understood?”

“Y-yes.”

“And if I see that filth in your hands again, I will tear it. Clear?” Appa was referring to the Mills and Boons, Silhouettes and Harlequins hidden in various nooks of the house, some even in Appachan’s book case.

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, er… Sir?”

Appa snorted, and chuckled, shaking his head. He put his arm around my shoulders and said, “If I thought those kinds of books were good for you, I’d have got you many. But all it does is lead you to think there’s a good-looking man out there waiting to sweep you off your feet and take care of all your troubles. That’s not true. You’ll have to troubleshoot and fight fire all by yourself. I’d rather you learnt to do these things yourself than assume some silly boy will come to your rescue. Don’t wait. He’s not going to come.”

That one line made me feel glum. What good was life if there wasn’t any romance in it and, worse, no handsome boyfriend quickening your pulse.

“There will not be a handsome man lying in wait for you… to rescue you. There will be a thousand other beautiful girls he will try to rescue before you.”

Thousand? Now Appa was rubbing it in! “But Johnnychyan is handsome!”

“Yes, and look what happened. And Sarah is extremely pretty, many handsome men will make a beeline for her. So what? Do good looks or money guarantee a happy life?” Appa dared me to argue.

Was Appa asking me to ignore good-looking guys and only aim for ugly ones? I was very confused. I nodded like I understood and agreed with what he was saying. If this lecture ended on a good note, I might still get my meat puff.

“Where do you go when you bunk Sunday School in Bombay?” he said suddenly.

The corners of my lips sank to my crotch.

“Mrs Jeelu Kurian called me. Apparently your group stays away regularly.”

ILU (I Love You) Jeelu was a pain. We called her that because she preached about loving your brothers and neighbours all the time. But never about loving your sisters. Our last Sunday in Mumbai before our vacation began, Roma, a couple of Sunday School classmates who were also in school with us, and I had gone to see a morning show with my best friend Anjali. It must have inflicted some pain on Jeelu, because it was the first time she had ratted on me.

“You will not be able to get married if you don’t pass Sunday School or have full Sunday School attendance,” she had made the outrageous claim one day. When I checked with Appa, he confirmed it was a new dictat, which was still being debated in church. This was a huge source of amusement for him.

“What’s the connection, Appa!”

“Just a way to bring you closer to God. You go into a marriage prepared for a life of service. Of course, you can get married any way you want, but you should know the scriptures and at least know what the basic tenets are about. You should be able to instruct your children. By the way, you don’t know anything. You would have to cheat to pass. I am not sure you will be allowed to marry.”

Appa laughed till the tears fell. He had to blow his nose and hold his breath for a few minutes to compose himself, while I hopped on each foot feeling appalled and enraged in turns. I don’t know why, he was merely stating fact. It took me a while to locate the books in the Bible and I could barely keep awake in class. Each exam was touch-and-go only because I wouldn’t study for it.

Appa caught my hand to his chest, and said hoarsely, “Promise me you will never run away to get married. That you will make an effort to pass those exams.” He laughed some more.

I walked ahead. I didn’t feel like eating a puff. Now I was sure I would never get a handsome husband, and Appa had just ruined romance for me. Also, for all her preaching, ILU Jeelu did not love some of us Sunday Schoolers. So much for loving your brethren.

I heard Appa shout, but ignored him. Another shout. I hesitated. I wondered how to have a tantrum and get away with it. But I was at fault here, I had played truant at Sunday School. I would be forced to attend the Malayalam version here and the Hinglish (Hindi and English) version when I returned to ILU Jeelu.

If I kept walking, it would make Appa angry and force him to give me another lecture. The most popular theme now was my lack of manners. I exhaled and turned, marching back.

But… ahead … I could see my father’s good friend Sam… and my footsteps began to slow. My breathing became laboured and my heart raced. As was usual my tongue felt too big for my mouth but I couldn’t take my eyes off the two people with Sam Uncle.

“Come quick, mol. See who’s here!” 

                                             ****** 

The Webs We Weave series follows the travails of a 14-year-old narrator on a family vacation. An innocent incident spirals out of control and one thing leads to another. 

You can read the full series,  at FC69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80,81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93

#lovemarriage #marriage #roy #rebecca #rebeccaandroy #cousins #kissingcousins #joy #love #grandparents #humour #fiction #kerala #keralavillage #keralastories #loveinkerala #cousinsinlove #cousins #korean #japanese #scandinavian #blond #puff #summervacation #caller #syrianchristians #youngadult #car #scooterist #scooter #romancenovels #smut #sex #goodbooks #literature #bombaymalayalis #bombay #keralamonsoon #rains #bowel #kaccharoad #puddles #paperboats #chocolate #visitors #sundayschool #malayalam #hinglish #johnny #neighbours #church #dictat #bible #scriptures #georgetteheyer #fishychronicles94 #websweweave26 #millsandboons #m&b #silhouette #Harlequin 

Fishy Chronicles 91: The Webs We Weave (23) – Black sheep

My heart beat loudly in my ears and throat. When Rita began to squirm I realised I was holding her too tightly. My arms loosened and she stepped back a little. We stayed quiet, listening for noises in the corridor. 

I put my finger to my lips, mostly to stall Rita’s questions and to think of an excuse. I had serious thinking to do.

A phone call to Johnny was out of the question now, not that I agreed that Sarah’s engagement needed to be broken. Johnny was a prick for making Sarah fall in love with him and letting her go – a maha prick.

But Sarah… maybe we had to leave her alone now. That was what everyone else was doing. She had more or less hidden herself since the news broke. For a while things at home had been subdued. I wondered often if Sarayumama had had a hand in it, but I didn’t think her intelligence stretched so far.

But how would she have known about Rebecca and Roy. Whenever I could, I watched my aunt. When her gaze settled on Sarah she sometimes smirked, but as the days passed her joy too diminished.

A door opened and we heard footsteps, they approached the store room and Rita and I crouched behind the table in the store room. It was Rita’s mom Elsamama. I put my finger on Rita’s lips and shook my head. Aunty was going to start working on tea and snacks. Soon a couple of other footsteps followed. The low murmurs were hard to decipher, but I heard Sarah mentioned, and when they paused by us in the storeroom my mother’s arm was around Anniemama’s shoulder. In a few minutes, Anniemama straightened, wiped her face with the pallu of her sari and they walked into the kitchen. We tiptoed to the doorway and looked out carefully into the corridor.

We touched our palms in a silent high five and disappeared in different directions. But at my door I found Mobby and Bobby in their room’s doorway. They gave me filthy looks and Bobby kicked the door shut.

I sighed in relief. It saved me some explanations. My father was fast asleep on his side and I lay gently on my mother’s part of the bed.

“Where did you go?” Appa asked, turning onto his back. I shot up, fright coursing through me.

“Appa!”

“Where did you go?”

“O-out in-in the-the compound,” I stuttered, my heart in my throat.

“Where were you planning to go?” my father was on his side now, facing me, his expression guarded.

“Er, er, nowhere.”

“You don’t know or don’t want to say?” My father’s look was uncompromising. There was no way I could lie. I looked ahead, at the ancient faded calendar on the wall. It had a picture of Jesus on it and so the calendar stayed on the wall, turning more yellow over the years.

“Mol… what do I keep telling you?”

“Er,” my mind raced. Appa gave me all sorts of advice all the time. “Er, not to lie or steal or cheat?”

His nostrils flared and his hard look relaxed somewhat. He shook his head. I tried again. “Er, not to eat other people’s food without asking?”

This time Appa chuckled. “Have you been eating other people’s food without asking?”

“No!”

“Do you know who visited me just before you came into the room?” (FC90)

The air emptied out of my chest and heat suffused my face, but I could only stare at Appa helplessly. I closed my mouth and straightened my back.

“Well, mol?”

“I think I did all the errands Ammachi wanted me to do today…” I looked at my hands.

“That is not what I asked.”

“No… I… don’t know who came to meet you.” Maybe one of the two men who came in through the front door about 20 minutes ago. In all probability my two eldest uncles, whom I would try hard to avoid today and until they lost interest in me.

“Rajanoopapan said you were spy…er… listening to their conversation from behind the shed.”

“I did not spy on them!”

“Then what were you doing behind the shed.”

“I was waiting for Rita and I saw Georgiechyan and Rajanchyan coming towards my spot near the tree and so I ran behind the shed because I didn’t want them to ask me about why I was there.”

“Why were you there?”

I gritted my teeth and glared at my dad. I was fed up of this bullshit cloak-and-dagger stuff. “I was waiting for Rita.”

“You just told me that. What were you going to do?”

“We were going to the junction to make a phone call…” 

Appa looked irritated. “How many times have I told you not to leave the compound without us knowing, and taking Rita too! She’s only eight years old!”

“Ten, Appa, 10! And we did not leave the compound.”

“But you have before!”

“Er, not really. Never alone, Appa. But I do go to Kunjappachan’s house alone, which you know about because I always tell you.”

“But you have stepped out of the compound without telling us.”

“Mostly with Sarahchechi.”

“Mol, just tell me the truth about why you were roaming about the courtyard when you were supposed to be in the house.”

“I-I wanted to call Johnnychyan and ask him why he broke the engagement.”

My father’s brow knotted, his mouth tightened and he inhaled very slowly. “What did I tell you about interfering in things that do not concern you.”

“I know Appa, but they are in love. They spoke every night after the engagement, for a-a long time.” Hours really, but Appa didn’t have to know.

“What?”

“Er, how can you just break an engagement?”

“One can, all the time. But you don’t need to go and set things right because you think you have a stake in it?”

Stake? What did he mean? “Appa, Sarahchechi didn’t know why Johnnychyan wouldn’t call her. I just wanted to know why. Doesn’t she deserve the truth?”

“Yes. But if Johnny doesn’t want to level with her, after… he talked to her, every night you say?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?” 

I hesitated. 

“Your TV business?” Appa said, with sudden clarity.

“Yes, Appa, I wanted to watch TV. I walked in on Sarahchechi soon after the engagement and I thought my ear would come off my head.”

“Serves you right. If Johnny doesn’t want to talk to Sarahmol then that is what she will have to accept.”

“But that’s cruel!”

“Yes.”

"How can that be okay!”

“It isn’t, but that is the way things are.”

“Aren’t we going to ask his family?”

“And lose our dignity over it? No.”

“But why not!”

“They are not worth the effort.”

“If it was my daughter I’d go over there and beat the shit out of them!”

Appa grinned, his teeth showing, and just as quickly the smile disappeared. He held out his arms, and I crawled across the bed and we leaned back against the headboard. A thought struck me. “If someone broke his engagement with me would you stay quiet?”

Appa stiffened, “I’d want to know why this boy didn’t want my beautiful, brilliant daughter. But then I’d think it was probably for the best – perhaps you were better off without him.” Appa looked at me, “What do you think, Mol?”

“If I fell in love with him, I’d want to break his legs for ending things with me.” Appa laughed. “But I hope someone never does that.”

Appa body moved when he nodded. “You know that listening to a conversation is bad manners, right?”

“I’m sorry, Appa.”

“You will have to apologise to your uncles.”

“No! No, Appa, please don’t make me! I will die of shame.”

“Good. It will teach you something I haven’t been able to. And whatever you heard, stays with you.”

I remained silent, feeling glum and embarrassed. When he threw off his bedsheet and started getting up, I held his shoulder. “Mol, I cannot let it go, you have to tell Rajan and Georgie that you are sorry.”

“Er, no, Appa. I wanted to ask.. did you know about Roychyan and Rebecca chechi?”

Appa let out a sigh. “Not until Rajan told me this morning.”

“What will happen now?”

“Nothing.”

“Er, I meant about Roychyan and Rebecca chechi?”

“Nothing.”

“But, but will Georgiechyan and Anniemama be angry? Will they force them to divorce?”

Appa turned and held my hands. “No, Mol. We cannot divorce for such silly reasons. I imagine Georgie will be talking to the two, but there’s nothing both sets of parents can do about it. Georgiecha and Anniemama and the rest of the family will have to make peace with it.”

“Er, what about Kunjappachan and Ammachi?” I asked about Roy’s grandparents.

“Maybe they will be just as angry as your Appachan and Ammachi. We’ll have to wait and see. Don’t share any opinions, be quiet at all times.”

I glared at Appa, it didn’t sound polite. He saw my angry look. “It’s not our business, and all of the family will be under tremendous stress. So, stay out of everyone’s line of vision. Don’t offer an opinion, don’t resurrect broken engagements, leave Sarah and Johnny alone. If Johnny thinks he can get better, he is welcome to. Now come on, that smell is wonderful.”

“You eat etheka appams almost every afternoon!”

“Yes, but today it smells especially good. I want your apology out of the way by tonight.

“Okay,” I said feeling very small.

                                         ****** 

In the dining room, I was less than thrilled to see my eldest uncles seated together. They looked up, Georgiechyan’s eyes instantly narrowing and Rajanchyan’s crinkling in a smile. I couldn't understand why. He waved at my father and Appa’s hand pulled my elbow along. Did he want me to humiliate myself in full view of the family?

Appa made me sit next to Rajanchyan and he sat at my other side.

Uncle smiled and put a faded quarter plate in front of me and two etheka appams on it and asked me if I wanted tea. I nodded, looking at him from the corner of my eyes. I needed to be on my guard. Plus, I had to fit in an apology somewhere. The sooner I could slide it in the better.

“I believe you are in the company of adults now, Mol,” the etheka appam was too hot and I unceremoniously spat out the large bite, dropping the appam in a hurry into my plate. There was a gasp from my grandmother, followed by her and her eldest daughter screwing up their faces in my direction. I put the piece of appam back in my mouth, after making sure it had cooled. That elicited another few murmurs of disgust from the ladies, but no one else seemed to have noticed.

“What do you mean, Rajanchyan?” Why did these adults talk in circles? Pilipochyan always wanted me to glean a moral out of whatever he said, so too Appa, and if I was slow in understanding any of what Ammachi said, I was sure to understand better with a beating – even if I didn’t understand. There had to be an expiry date for beatings. I looked at Appa, he was looking at me oddly. So I looked back at Rajanchyan, rather my eyes veered away from his to his ears which seemed pointy at their topmost tips like Mr Spock’s.

“What you heard was only meant for the adults, ok, yes?” I felt shocked, but nodded vigorously.

“I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to listen to what you were saying… but I was waiting for Rita a-and didn’t want to be found by anyone else. So I hid behind the shed.”

“I believe you, Mol.” I didn’t believe him, but bobbed my head some more. Nobody believed me. My stock was at an all-time low here. I felt relief quarrel with suspicion. “Can’t tell anyone though.”

What did he think I was! “Of course. Er, but… but isn’t everyone going to know soon?”

Appa tapped my shoulder and Georgiechyan looked at me menacingly. He always seemed a pussycat in front of his daughters. I looked down at my appams, which were fast losing their charm.

But Rajanchyan chuckled and despite myself I looked up at him. “Yes. Very soon. But it’s best you leave any news breaks to the adults.”

“Okay.”

“Any questions?”

“Eh?”

“Aren’t there anymore questions.”

“Yes, but you said I can’t ask.”

“I did not say that.”

“Okay. Appa or someone else must have.”

“What do you want to ask me?”

“What’s going to happen?”

“What’s going to happen where?”

I took a deep breath. Rajanchyan’s eyes were laughing and Georgiechyan’s face was hardening. Appa was listening raptly.

I pulled Rajanchyan’s face nearer mine and said, “What’s going to happen to Rebecca chechi?” I turned my ear towards his mouth for his answer.

“Nothing really. There will be a lot of drama here, crying, threats, some blackmail, mostly from the elders and Sarayu. But no one here can break the marriage.”

“So then, what’s the problem?”

“They are second cousins, things will be uncomfortable for the immediate family for some time. But things will blow over after a while.”

“Will we be forced to stop talking to Rebecca?” That had happened to one of Appa’s cousins. My aunt had eloped with a Hindu man and only a few years later did the family allow her to visit. One year, Ammachi would not open the front door, despite the visitors knowing we were at home. Kunjappachan had never had any such issues.

“Will Kunjappachan have a problem? And Thomaskuttychyan?” Thomaskutty was Kunjappachan’s second son and Roy’s dad.

“Probably. But we’ll have to wait and see. Anything else?”

“If there can’t be anything done about it, why the fuss?”

Rajanchyan threw back his head and let out a bark of laugher. His arm squeezed my neck and I started tapping it for him to loosen his grip. He loosened his arm and pulled me closer to him and laughed some more. His children looked surprised. When he had composed himself, he said only so I could hear, “I agree, Mol. Why the fuss. It will be a novelty only for a few days. They are not exactly siblings, though if it were a marriage between outsiders, it would be an excellent match.”

That was true. Both Roy and Rebecca had beauty, brains and ambition. And from the little I understood of family connections, they were well placed.

“And after I heard the stories about you, I thought this family was missing its black sheep and keen to find a replacement.” He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned.

Me, a black sheep? I shook my head several times. They had it wrong. Black sheepery was for more serious crimes.

“Do you know what a black sheep is?” Rajanchyan asked softly, placing another snack on my plate, and pushing my tea closer.

“Er, yes, sort of.”

“Do you consider yourself one?”

“No!”

“Good. Don’t bother about what other people think or say. Just be yourself.” He paused, “Do you think I’m one?”

I hesitated. All the stories I had heard pointed to him being one in his youth. He had been a rabble rouser – part of the student union, disappearing from home without notice for days due to local political campaigns, his activeness in church, and he was very handsome in his early pictures. Plus, he failed a year in college. But all that changed when he met Sisly Aunty. His family had made peace with all this, but his parents couldn’t forgive him for following his heart. “No. I don’t think you are one.”

“Anyone here look like one?”

I looked around the table. My family ate noisily and bantered loudly, while the kids ate with their mouths open and spilled tea on and around the plastic place mats that Ammachi insisted we use. Most of them were undiluted idiots, including Rajanchyan’s kids, but how to be impolite and say so. And how could a sheep be wicked because its fleece was black. He was just being a normal sheep. Clearly his colouring was due to his genes – a black daddy or mummy. When my father and Uncle started laughing, I realised I had said it aloud. I was also thinking of the black cat that people were afraid of in the village. My neighbours considered it evil. What was wrong with its black fur? The villagers and even people in my neighbourhood in Bombay took torturous routes around the black cats they encountered or threw stones at them. But Kunjappachyan next door loved the black cat and it often lolled under the shade of a jackfruit tree near the window of his room or on his window sill.

I watched my family looking at us with interest and my grandmother frowned, her eyes on me, for sure assuming I was the villain. Rajanchyan continued to murmur in my ear, “Well, for now, you and I have been displaced by dear Rebecca.”

I heard a car pull up outside the gate. It squeaked steadily as it was opened and the tyres of a car churned the gravel in the courtyard, slowly and heavily. We heard car doors shut and about a minute later the doorbell rang. A sudden silence fell on the group in the dining room. And then as one, chairs scraped backwards and people began to scramble towards the main door.

                              ******

This series is fictional and follows the narrator who is remembering events related to a family vacation in Kerala. 

Mol's father confronts her about eavesdropping on her uncles' conversation.

Read the entire The Webs We Weave series here FC69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80,81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94

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