Fifteen Lanes (3 page)

“You can go on from here,” she said.

I looked down the road. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. I stared straight ahead and made my eyes wide so the air dried my tears before they could jump out. I knew I should be grateful that Ma was sending me to a fee-paying school and not a government school like all the other children in my neighborhood. “Why would I send her to a school where the teachers never show up and there aren’t even any toilets?” Ma responded to the many who questioned why she was wasting money on a girl-child.

Ma wanted the best for me, even if it meant I was going to a school where I wouldn’t know anyone. Maybe if I thanked her she would walk with me the whole way and not make me go alone.

I started to speak but Ma had already turned away. I didn’t even have time to ask her if she would fetch me at the end of the day. I wasn’t sure I knew the way home. Ma walked quickly. In seconds she’d created a distance between us that seemed too wide to carry my small voice, though perhaps it was the set of her shoulders that silenced me.

I trudged the final few steps. When I reached the schoolyard, it was already crowded with children and their parents. Some children had not just one parent with them but two.
Papas and mamas held their children’s hands and talked to them in soft voices. They didn’t shout, even when it was time to go into the classroom and some children cried. I looked at my shiny shoes. They didn’t make me feel like laughing anymore. I knew if Ma had been there she would have told me to stand up straight and pay attention, so that’s what I did.

Teacher told the parents they needed to leave, so the children could “get settled.” This made the crying children cry louder, and some who hadn’t been crying joined in. Things got very noisy, and I thought Teacher had made a bad decision sending the parents away because there was no one to hit the children to quiet them. Still, I was relieved to see the parents go. I was the only child without a parent, and several of them had been eyeing me strangely.

Teacher stood at the front of the classroom and held up her hand, just like a traffic cop, so I understood this meant stop what you’re doing. It took a bit of time for the crybabies to control themselves. Finally, they took notice as well. Teacher said we’d made a good start to the year. I wondered what a bad start looked like.

Then she said we were going to take our seats according to
the alphabet
. I was frightened because I didn’t know what
alphabet
was, so how could I know where to sit? There were so many desks, in perfect straight rows, side by side, from one end of the classroom to the other. Their shiny wood surfaces beckoned, and I imagined if I sat at one I would already be smarter. I was certain the children who came from mama-papa homes would know
alphabet
, and my ignorance would be discovered. Teacher would send me home and tell me not to return.

All the children clustered at the back and I hid behind them.
Teacher called out the name of the first child and pointed to a seat at the front, right next to the window. I was glad I didn’t get that seat because the window was very large and looked out on a cement playground with three leafy mango trees on one side. If I sat there I would be tempted to look out the window all day long. We had only two small windows at Binti-Ma’am’s and both were enclosed with bars. If you looked out those windows, men in the street shouted rude things. Our street was always crowded, especially at night when the bootleg bars opened, and there was not a single tree in sight. It was never enticing to look out our windows.

An empty playground with three mango trees sparked the imagination. I could picture myself sitting on a wide branch, though I’d never climbed a tree in my life. I’d shimmy along to the plump mangoes and pluck all I could eat. At home I plucked only spoiled mangoes from the trash that had been discarded by the fruit-wallah when they were too rotten to sell. Perhaps I would even see a parrot or a monkey perched in the branches above me. Ma said parrots were common in Mumbai, just not in our neighborhood. Monkeys and even leopards could be found on the outskirts of the city. Ma said I was lucky not to have to worry about leopards but I thought it might be nice to see a leopard. They couldn’t be any more frightening than Pran.

Teacher called out the second name and that child took the seat immediately behind the first. By the time she came to Noor Benkatti, I knew exactly where to sit. Before I took my seat I counted rows and desks so I wouldn’t forget where it was the next day. I already knew how to count from running errands for the aunties. I was second row from the window, third seat from the front. I felt very proud and grown-up as I walked
straight to the desk behind Gajra Bawanvadi. I smiled at her just before I sat down and she smiled back. I still didn’t know
alphabet
but I’d learned something even more important. School was not so different from home. I just had to keep quiet, watch carefully and do what everyone else did.

The rest of the morning passed swiftly. I didn’t understand much of what Teacher said but Gajra sat with me at lunch and gave me a samosa because her mother had packed not only dahl and a thick, flaky paratha but two samosas as well. I told her I forgot my lunch. I wish I’d told her I always ate so much at breakfast that I never had room for lunch. That would have saved me from having to think up a new lie the next day and the day after that.

But I really wanted that samosa. It had meat in it. I never got meat at home. That morning, like every other, I’d had only a handful of rice for breakfast. My stomach, usually resigned to the meager scraps it received, roiled when confronted with dahl, a paratha and meat samosas as well. If I hadn’t filled it with Gajra’s samosa I’m quite certain it would have made itself heard in the afternoon lesson.

After the first few days, Gajra didn’t bother to ask if I wanted to share her lunch, she just divided it in half as if we were sisters. She even started bringing an extra paratha so I could share her dahl. It was the most wonderful food I’d ever tasted, but my stomach wasn’t used to such vast quantities. For almost two weeks I had constant diarrhea. One day Ma followed me into the latrine and watched as I squatted over the hole and did my business.

“What’s that?” she demanded, pointing at the foul-smelling pile I’d just expelled.

“It’s my shit, Ma,” I said. Sweat beaded my forehead. I hoped she wouldn’t notice in the tiny, dimly lit confines.

“I know that, stupid girl. Don’t try to trick me. What’s that in your shit? Have you been stealing food?”

The smell of the room was making me dizzy. I scooped a cup of water out of the bucket and cleaned my bottom, then I scooped a second, planning to wash down the evidence. Ma seized the cup. She held it aloft, not even minding that she was wasting the water that splashed down, soaking the blouse of her sari. She smashed it three, four, five times on my back and shoulders. I bent over, shielding my head. As long as she didn’t hit my face none of my new school friends would ever know.

Finally she grew tired. She had a new baby weighing heavily in her belly. She cradled it and panted. “If Pran finds out you’ve been stealing food you’ll get far worse. Do you understand?”

I nodded, keeping my eyes down.

“Answer me, Noor. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Ma.” I didn’t look up, or let the tears fall, until I heard the door close behind her.

The next day she got up before I left for school. I’d rarely seen Ma awake before noon. She couldn’t have had more than an hour of sleep since her last customer left. She handed me a small packet of biscuits as I went out the door.

“For your lunch,” she said.

I ate them on the way to school and was already hungry again before the lunchtime bell, but I told Gajra the lie I should have told her in the first place. “I ate so much this morning, four dosas and dahl makhani and eggs. I almost fell asleep in our lesson I was so stuffed.” I puffed out my flat stomach and rested my hand on it. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”

Dinner that night was an awkward affair. My parents were trying their best to engage me in conversation but fifteen years of being
the quiet one
was a habit that was hard to break. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. They’re great people. But we’re as different as strawberries from a lima bean. They’re smart, good-looking and athletic. Sound familiar? If I didn’t have my dad’s hazel eyes, I would have been sure I was adopted.

“How was school?” asked Mom.

“Fine.”

“Did anything exciting happen?” asked Dad.

“No.”

“What was the most interesting thing you learned?” he persisted.

That Madison hated me. “Nothing.”

“So, who are you eating lunch with these days?” My dad’s not a quitter.

“Just a bunch of girls.”

“It must be hard without Tina,” said Mom sympathetically. “Have you heard from her recently?”

This was a sore point. Tina had missed our last two scheduled Skype chats because she was hanging out with new friends. She had a boyfriend now too, which made me feel even more left behind. “A couple of weeks ago. We’re both pretty busy.”

There was a long silence. My parents exchanged glances. They were debating whether to challenge me. I’d been home directly from school every day since term started and I was home every weekend as well. I was the walking definition of
not
busy.

“I got a message from Kyle,” said Mom. “Only that he arrived safely.” She couldn’t keep the wistfulness out of her voice though she was putting on a brave face. “I imagine there’s a lot going on. He’ll write more when he settles in.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Dad. “And he’ll start football practice soon. He’s going to have to work hard to keep up his grades.”

“He’ll be fine,” said Mom. “He’s always been good at managing his time.”

“I bet he has a girlfriend before long,” said Dad.

“It will be strange not to know his friends,” said Mom.

“We can always meet them when we go home on vacation this summer.”

“That’s true, but I wish we’d taken him to school.”

“We can Skype him this weekend.”

They continued like this for the next fifteen minutes, talking about the kid who wasn’t there, instead of to the one who was. I didn’t blame them. Mom and Dad wanted nothing more than to talk to me. I was the one who pushed them away. I always
felt bad about it afterwards but I couldn’t stop myself. The way they hovered over me, always worried I’d have no friends, or do poorly in school, drove me crazy. I was the sole reason they’d decided to stop moving. It was my academics and social isolation they were concerned about. Even when I had Tina, they went over the top trying to make her feel welcome, like they didn’t trust me to hang on to her friendship by myself. Of course, it turned out they were right.

I sat for a few more minutes listening to them talk about Kyle. Finally, using the homework excuse, I retreated to my room. Bosco, the family Bichon, was already asleep on my bed. Someone must have put him there. Bosco was way too lazy to jump up on furniture by himself. I didn’t care how he got there; I appreciated it. Kyle was Bosco’s favorite, but with Kyle gone I was happy to take his place.

“Shove over, Bosco,” I said, flopping down beside him and reaching for the TV remote. Friday used to be my favorite night of the week. Tina and I had a well-established routine. We’d sleep over at my house or hers and watch old Bollywood movies long into the night, then all day Saturday we’d hang out at the club. One of the weird advantages of Mumbai being such an overcrowded city, with few public facilities, was that everyone who could afford it joined expensive health clubs, with everything from swimming pools to tennis courts. Our families were no exception.

My room felt unfamiliar without Tina in it, as if all the furniture had been slightly rearranged to hide a major theft. Even my bed felt wrong. I switched on the TV, a present from my parents two Christmases earlier. It was bigger than the one in the family room. They, too, had loved my Friday night
routine—it was more proof that I had a friend and was happy. The TV was a bribe to make Tina enjoy spending time with me. It was one of many. For three straight years our fridge was stocked with fresh sushi, even though Tina was the only one who ate it. And she and I always got first dibs on rides. That used to bug Kyle. Even if he’d asked for the car first, if we decided at the last minute that we wanted to go somewhere, he had to cadge a ride with a friend.

For the next few hours, I watched TV while trying not to think about Madison. It was an epic fail. Our conversation replayed in my mind at least a hundred times. I imagined a million things I should have said to calm her down before she demanded I never sit with them again. Why did I have to go and mention Anoosha? Why didn’t I immediately reassure her that she was every bit as hot as Anoosha? Who cared if it would have been a big, fat lie?

“The fact is, I’m not sure anything I said would have helped, Bosco.” I know exactly how lame it is that I talked to my dog but it’s not like I had anyone else. “I think she was looking for an excuse to get rid of me. She didn’t like me.” I hated the way my voice cracked when I admitted that out loud. “They never included me, not in conversations, not in weekend plans. It wasn’t getting any better.”