Fifteen Lanes (23 page)

“I’ll be back in just a minute, Shami. You play with Deepa-Auntie.”

“I want to come. I want to see Ma.”

“She needs her tea first, Shami. You know she’ll be happy to see you once she’s had her tea.” I hoped this was true, but Ma’s moods had become as uncontrolled as her drinking. Even Aamaal, her clear favorite, could never be sure whether she was going to get a kiss or a smack. She’d taken to avoiding Ma altogether. She refused to even come inside to change her
clothes after school until I told her it was safe. Often I had to bring her clothes down to her and she changed in the washing room, not greeting Ma at all.

I left Shami in the lounge and walked down the hall, careful to listen for Pran. I could hear some of the other aunties in the downstairs room that was just below ours. I poked my head in their door to greet them as I passed. A large rat scuttled toward me. It noticed me at the last minute, turned tail and disappeared down the corridor back to the kitchen. I paused at the bottom of the ladder. There wasn’t the slightest noise from above. I should have asked if Prita-Auntie was still passed out as well. I quietly climbed the ladder and breathed a sigh of relief when I popped my head through the hatch. Prita-Auntie’s bed was empty.

I scrambled up the rest of the way and walked over to Ma, who didn’t stir, and watched her for a moment. Even in sleep the lines around her once-beautiful face drew her mouth into a perpetual frown. Several locks of lank, greasy hair had escaped from her braid and fell across her folded arm. Her body under the threadbare sari was little more than bones. It was hard to remember the way she used to be, so full of energy and determination. I used to pride myself on being like her.

Silently, I vowed that in three years I’d take her away from this life as well. I hoped it wouldn’t be too late for her to regain some measure of who she used to be. At least she could live her final years in peace and comfort. We wouldn’t need much, just a small room we could call our own, a kerosene cooker and, if we were lucky, running water and electricity. I’d seen rooms like that in Kamathipura, but my mother was not going to end her days among the men who had used her. I would take us as
far from these fifteen lanes as it was possible to go. As Gajra had so recently pointed out, India had no shortage of slums. We’d make our home where no one knew us.

I reached under the bed for our stash of food and pulled out the tea, powdered milk and spices. I took her mug and our single pot from her bedside stand and returned to the ladder.

Ten minutes later I was back at her bedside holding a steaming brew of masala chai. Cinnamon scented the air, briefly overwhelming the usual, less pleasant odors.

“Ma.” I gently shook her shoulder. It felt as if the bones rattled under my touch. She, on the other hand, didn’t move at all.

“Ma,” I said more loudly.

Her eyes peeped open. “Leave me alone,” she groaned. “What time is it?”

“It’s late, Ma, almost five. The men will be coming soon. Deepa-Auntie has already turned one away.”

This was a lie but it had the desired effect. Ma hastily dragged herself into a sitting position, resting her back against the wall. “You haven’t let her steal any of my regulars, have you?”

“Of course not, Ma, I would never do that.” There was no point trying to defend Deepa-Auntie, who had never once accepted one of Ma’s regulars, though many had approached her. Ma’s mind traveled in deep grooves like a train, impossible to derail.

I knelt down and pulled out the box that stored our clothes and took out a salwar kameez for Aamaal. “Shami’s doing well today, Ma. He’s running around downstairs.”

“I went to the temple last week. It’s already working. Have you been this week, Noor?”

“Yes, Ma. Shall I go again?”

“Yes, go tonight. We must give thanks. Have you done your homework?”

“I’ll do it now. I just need to feed the children first.” I didn’t tell her I was meeting up with Grace and Parvati, both of who were eager to hear about my first day back at school. Ma still didn’t know about Grace, or why the school had decided not to expel me. She thought it was her own appeal that had convinced the principal to let me stay.

“Don’t neglect your studies. You mustn’t give them any excuse to try to get rid of you again.”

I picked up the cup of tea she’d drained. “Would you like anything before I go, Ma? I could brush your hair or massage your feet.”

“No, just send Aamaal up. I never see that child anymore.”

I nodded, then leaned over and gave her a quick hug. She brushed me away.

I picked up Shami on my way out and found Aamaal, where I knew she’d be, still playing with Lucky. That goat was a better childminder than I’d ever be.

“Go inside and change, Aamaal. You can put your uniform away and give Ma a hug.”

“Is Ma okay today?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t have told you to go to her otherwise. Don’t ask stupid questions.”

She ran off and I immediately regretted my harsh words. It was my jealousy rearing up. The sight of Aamaal would cheer Ma in a way that I never could. I sometimes wondered if Ma actually knew Aamaal’s father, maybe even loved him. I’d never known Ma to have a serious boyfriend the way many of the aunties did. She said a boyfriend was just one more man
stealing your cash, which was true. Most aunties ended up supporting their boyfriends, even if the relationships didn’t start out that way.

One thing was certain. Ma never loved my father, black dung beetle that he must have been. Whatever Gajra said about the new India, my too-dark skin, several shades darker than Ma’s own, couldn’t help but disappoint her. It was no wonder she preferred Aamaal.

When Aamaal returned, we headed for the café where Parvati and I had agreed to meet Grace. Parvati was supposed to be waiting for us in an alley just one lane over from our house. She wasn’t at our meeting place, but I’d told her to go on ahead if Suresh was already on the hunt for her. I could only hope that was what she’d done.

The café we’d chosen was a long walk from Kamathipura. It was part of a large, modern chain, so a safe place for the foreigners to wait and the last place Suresh would think to look for Parvati. A single coffee there cost more than three times what a man would pay for our mothers. I wouldn’t be wasting any of Ma’s earnings on refreshments, so I bought Aamaal and Shami a couple of vada paav at a street stall on the way. The potato fritter in a bun wasn’t a favorite of either of my siblings but at only ten rupees it was a regular standby.

I was disappointed, thirty minutes later, when we finally walked through the door, sweaty and tired, to find Grace sitting by herself. No Parvati.

“You came alone?” I said, glad she’d left VJ Patel behind.

She was at a table with four chairs. Aamaal immediately plopped herself down in one and looked around with interest. This wasn’t the kind of place any of us was used to. I’d been
carrying Shami on the long walk over, so I was happy to drop him in his own chair. Only when I’d sat as well did I notice other patrons eyeing us strangely. Most of them were in western dress. The few in salwar kameez wore the plain, tailored, high-fashion kind that I’d usually seen only on billboards, so unlike the boldly colored, ill-fitting, street-stall kind Aamaal and I wore.

“My mom doesn’t know I came alone,” said Grace. “I had to take a taxi because I told her VJ’s driver was bringing us.”

“He didn’t want to come?”

“I didn’t tell him.” She smiled conspiratorially, but there was something forced about her smile.

I remembered VJ hadn’t been paying attention when we’d made plans to meet. It had been at the end of the day, after we’d visited his father’s studio. VJ had been lost in his own thoughts. It was obvious there was something wrong between he and his father. He seemed to resent it when his father showed off his studio, but VJ was the one who took us there, so he must have been proud of his father in some way. He’d seemed particularly angry when his father flirted with the young film star. I didn’t understand why that upset him. His father showed far more restraint than I was used to seeing from men. Still, I knew what it felt like to be ashamed of a parent and proud of them at the same time.

“Where’s Parvati?” asked Grace.

I hesitated. She didn’t really know Parvati. I’d done most of the talking when we were all together. Parvati’s English was good enough for scrounging a few rupees off foreigners on the street but not really up to serious conversation. Even if she’d had the words, Parvati would never have told them about Suresh.

“Perhaps she forgot.”

Aamaal reached for the small menu that was wedged between the condiments in the center of the table. I snatched it out of her hands and replaced it where it had been. Grace took a sip of her drink. It looked like coffee but it was in a tall plastic glass with ice and a straw.

“Do you want one?” she asked. “My treat.”

Aamaal and I said yes and no at exactly the same time. I repeated no and gave Aamaal a
watch out or I’ll hit you
look.

“Shami wants that,” said Shami. He pointed to a white frothy drink that was just passing our table in the hand of a chubby boy. But he spoke in Kannada. I was relieved that Grace wouldn’t understand.

“You want a vanilla Frappuccino, Shami?” she asked, to my surprise.

Aamaal and I said yes and no at exactly the same time again. Grace laughed and stood up. I stood too.

“They just had dinner,” I said. “They’ll be sick if you give them anything else.”

“I’ll take that chance,” said Grace, and she walked toward the counter.

I thought about chasing after her. Now that she was gone, the other customers were openly staring at us. I sat down and scolded both children until Grace returned. I was dismayed to see she was carrying two of the white mixtures and a third drink that looked like her own. She set that one in front of me and the white drinks in front of Shami and Aamaal.

I flushed with embarrassment. “I’m not thirsty.”

Grace looked disappointed. “I’ve paid for it, so no point letting it go to waste.”

I stared at the drink that cost many times the price of my mother, or as much as a month of medicine for Shami. Grace was right about one thing; I couldn’t waste it. I took one sip. After the long, hot walk, the drink was like cool rain on a sweltering night. I took another.

I realized too late that I’d offended Noor by buying her the drink. I wasn’t sure what I should have done. I couldn’t very well have sat there drinking alone, especially with Shami and Aamaal looking on longingly. I tried to come up with something I could say to lighten the mood. I was sorry she hadn’t brought Parvati and wondered if I’d done something to offend her as well. It was bad enough that everyone at school hated me; I wasn’t sure I could bear it if Noor and Parvati didn’t like me either. Maybe I should have brought VJ. Everyone liked him.

It was selfishness that had made me come alone. I needed a friend, a real friend I could talk to. I had to tell someone about the cutting. I wanted to stop but I wasn’t sure I could do it on my own. The desire, ever since Madison had called me a hag, was almost overwhelming. I just couldn’t get the word out of my head, and cutting had helped the last time. Maybe I wouldn’t
even have to tell Noor about the cutting. Maybe I could just tell her what Madison had said, and that would be enough to get it out of my system.

I’d tried to talk to VJ about it. He’d said that Madison was just lashing out and it was ridiculous to let it bother me. But VJ had never been anything but beautiful and popular. Madison may have been lashing out, but she’d voiced my deepest insecurities. Was I ugly? Was that why no boy had ever shown an interest in me? Her words had festered like an infected cut, far more painful than the ones I’d inflicted on myself. It had taken all my resolve not to add
ugly hag
to my previous inscriptions, but I wasn’t out of the woods yet. Even as I sat looking at Noor across the table, the desire to cut was a time bomb ticking inside me.

“How is Parvati?” I asked.

“She is well, thank you.”

Perhaps it was just her school-taught English, but the formality of Noor’s reply seemed designed to keep me at a distance. She wasn’t looking at me either, as she fidgeted with her straw. Parvati was definitely an uncomfortable topic of conversation. Maybe she’d told Noor she didn’t like me. Noor had to meet me as part of her deal with Miss Chanda, but Parvati didn’t. I suddenly felt embarrassed to have forced Noor into being my friend.

“How did your first day back at school go?” I asked, hoping she hadn’t also been bullied. It couldn’t have been easy walking into school with all her longtime friends knowing the truth about her for the very first time.

“It went well, thank you.”

Another formal response. I looked around the café, trying to think of something else I could ask.

“Asmi is having rabbit with six babies. Asmi is wanting give me baby,” said Aamaal.

“Really?” I could have hugged her I was so grateful someone wanted to talk to me. “That’s really wonderful.”

Aamaal gave her sister a triumphant look. “Noor say no.”

I grimaced at Noor. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”