Savitri tai served us daal and subzi with chapatis.
‘Litti-chokha is for dinner, when Ma arrives,’ I said.
'Sounds great,’ Riya said with no noticeable enthusiasm.
‘Everything okay?’ I said.
‘Dad’s been unwell for a while.’
I did count. This was the first time she had shared something
substantial with me.
‘What happened?’
‘He’s a heart patient. The last by-pass didn't go well. It’s not
looking good.’
‘Will you need to go to Delhi?’
‘Probably. I don’t know. They hide things from me,’ she said. I
guess hiding things from one another is a Somani family tradition.
She was looking down at her food, her spoon circling the daal.
Perhaps it was Jobs’s speech that gave me the courage to stand up and
move to her side. I put my arm around her shoulders.
She stood up and hugged me back, though not too tightly.
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.The best doctors in Delhi must be looking
after him,’ I said.
She nodded and sat back down.
‘Sorry.’ she said. ‘I’m such a bother.’
‘It’s not a bother, Riya. It’s okay to be down now and then. And to
talk about, it.’
‘No, it’s not,’ she whispered, more to herself than to me.
We finished our meal. She picked up the plates.
‘Where’s the kitchen?’ she said.
I pointed towards it. I tried to imagine her living in my house
forever. She would never adjust to living in Dumraon, of course. My
crumbling haveli could never be her 100, Aurangzeb Road.
I went to the kitchen and found her washing dishes.
‘What are you doing?’ I said, surprised.
‘Relax, I do this in Patna, too,’ she said.
‘My mother should see this,’
‘Why?’ she said.
‘Nothing,’ I said.
*
‘Is she here?’ my mother said.
‘Yes,’ I said.
I met my mother in the courtyard as she came back from school. I
took her bag filled with notebooks.We walked into the house.
‘Where is she?’
‘In the guestroom.’
‘Girls are also strange these days. Go live in whichever boy’s
house.’
‘What are you saying, Ma? She is a friend from college. I invited
her over.’
‘Do her parents know?’
‘I don’t know.’
My mother shook her head.
‘Be nice, Ma,’ I said.
‘You like her?’
‘What kind of a question is that? You get people you dislike
home?’
‘Answer straight.’
‘I need to bathe.’
*
The water in the bathroom tap was a mere trickle. It took me fortyfive
minutes to fill a bucket and bathe. I changed into shorts and a Tshirt
and came down to the living room. Riya and my mother were
already there.
‘You met already?’ I said.
‘Hi,’ Riya said. ‘I was just chatting with aunty.’
‘You played basketball with her?’ my mother said, sounding
betrayed.
‘Sometimes.’
My mother didn’t respond. I felt guilty. I needed to give a longer
answer.
‘Well, she was in the team too. Girls’ team,’ I said.
'You never mentioned her. You used to talk about basketball so
much,’ my mother said.
‘I didn’t?’ I said, pretending to be surprised.
‘No,’ my mother said.
‘We only played in the first year,’ I said.
‘Why?’ my mother said.
I paused to think.‘Our groups changed,’ I said.
Riya and I looked at each other. Savitri tai brought nimbu paani for
all of us.
My mother turned to Riya.
‘So how long were you married for?’
My mouth fell open. How did my mother know? Riya sensed my
shock.
‘We were chatting earlier,’ she said.
About your divorce? I thought. She never spoke about it with me.
‘A year and a half,’ Riya said.
‘Kids?’ my mother said.
What the hell? What is Ma talking about?
Riya shook her head.
‘Why did you get married so early?’ my mother said. She
obviously had no filter in her head on what to ask or not. Of course, it
was a question I wanted to ask Riya too.
To my surprise, Riya didn’t filter her responses either.
‘I was stupid. They were family friends. Everyone thought it was a
good idea. But mostly, I did it because I was stupid.’
‘Where are your parents?’
‘Delhi.’
‘You’re a Punjabi?’ my mother said, like all grown-up Indians do.
They just have to know your community.
‘Marwari. I’m Riya Somani.’
‘Ah,’ my mother said. ‘They let you come to Bihar and work?’
‘They don’t let me do things. I wanted to. I can decide for myself,’
Riya said, her feminist feathers beginning to flutter.
‘You can?’ my mother said. I sensed a tinge of sarcasm in her
voice. Riya did too.
‘I mean, those decisions don’t always work out so well. But I do
like to make my ovvn decisions,’ she said.
'They have a big business in Delhi, Ma,’ I said.‘Infrastructure.’
‘Marwaris are a rich community,’ my mother said. ‘Why are you
working?’
'I want to be independent,’ Riya said.
I realized this whole conversation was not flowing like the river of
inilk and honey I had hoped it would.
‘Riya loves litti-chokha. In fact, I called her home for that,’ I said.
My mother’s frown vanished at the mention of her favourite
cuisine.
‘Really?’ she said. ‘When did you have it?’
‘Here in Bihar. Madhav takes me to Maurya Complex in Patna all
the time.’
‘All the time?’my mother said, one eyebrow raised.
‘Well, a few times,’ I said, my tone guilt-ridden again. 'Twice or
thrice. Classes keep me so busy, I don’t get the time.'
Ma took a big sip of her nimbu paani.
‘I thought you go there to study,’she said. ‘Is the speech ready?’
‘Going on. Riya is helping me,’ I said.
‘Is she?’ my mother said. I wished 1 had told her more about Riya,
but I could never gather the courage. I decided the only way forward
was to change the topic.
‘Should I ask Savitri tai to lay the table?’ I said.
‘I can do that,’ Riya said.
My mother looked at her.
‘If it’s okay? I know the kitchen. I can help Savitri tai.’
My mother did not respond. Riya took it as assent and left.
'Now I see why you go to Patna,’ Ma said.
‘It’s not what you think. Riya is just a friend. An old classmate,’ I
said.
‘How come she’s already married and divorced?’
‘That surprised me too. I ran into her in Patna by chance.’
‘And she latched on to you,’ Ma said.
‘Not true. I can’t study English all the time, Ma. I need friends
there. Besides, she helps me practise. Her English is excellent. She is
from a high-class society.’
‘I can see the class,’ my mother said.
‘I don’t know the details of her divorce. Her father is sick. Be nice
to her.’
'I am nice. She is staying in my house. What else do you want me
to do?’
I rolled my eyes.
‘Why is she wearing such tight pants?’ she said next.
‘I have no idea, Ma,’ I said, my voice loud. ‘I don’t know why she
got married or divorced or wears tight pants. Can you let her be?’
‘You are shouting at your mother for her?’
My mother looked away from me. It was Rani Sahiba’s classic
sulky face.
‘I’m not shouting,’ I said, my voice still too loud to classify it as
anything else. My mother looked away.
I realized I needed her cooperation to have a peaceful dinner.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
Ma sniffed.
En route to the dining room with a stack of plates, Riya smiled at
me. I smiled back.
‘I said sorry, Ma,’ I said after Riya went back to the kitchen.
My mother glared at me
'I've suffered enough in life. Don’t add to it,’ she said.
‘I’m not,’ I said.‘By the way, have you heard of Steve Jobs?’
I explained how watching speeches on YouTube had helped me, as
had many of Riya’s unconventional techniques.
‘I have to think in English, Ma. Like high-class people. Their
English sounds different, no?’
‘We are not low class either,’ my mother said.
‘Dinner’s served,’ Riya said, clapping her hands in the dining
room.
We had a peaceful dinner, with no major retorts, taunts or sarcasm.
When two women don’t share the right vibe, a peaceful hour together
is a minor miracle.
‘I ate too much,’ Riya said and held her stomach. ‘This was one of
the best meals I have ever had.’
‘We eat like this every day,’ my mother said, and stood up and left
the table.
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