Monsoon Memories (18 page)

‘Wait and see,’ she replied.

‘Tease...’ Vinod said, swatting at her with his
Financial Times
.

* * *

‘You can come in now,’ Shirin called, eyes shut tight against her reflection in the bedroom mirror.

She had not wanted Vinod to be present while she donned a sari for the first time in eleven years. What if she had forgotten how to wear it? Once she’d put on the blouse and underskirt, she unwrapped the sari—the emerald of the Arabian sea at Pelam beach, placid after being whipped to a frenzy by the monsoons; the gold green of the Varuna River on a humid, rain-parched morning.

For a few minutes, Shirin simply sat on the bed in her blouse and underskirt, caressing the smooth silk of the new sari, revelling in its familiar feel. When she did start to dress, she heard Madhu’s voice, telling her exactly what to do: ‘This is the side that you tuck into your stomach. Now do the pleats. Gently does it, don’t mess up the folds...’

When she’d finished, she looked up and found herself gazing at a girl from the past—a girl she had thought was lost forever. Images trotted in front of her, one after the other in quick succession. She closed her eyes, sat on the edge of the bed and called out to Vinod.

When she heard him come into the room, she stood, opened her eyes.

‘You look beautiful,’ Vinod’s voice was soft with awe. ‘Saris suit you. I had forgotten just how much. And this colour, it’s perfect...’ He came up behind her, put his arms around her. Shirin watched her reflection flinch, saw the quick flash of hurt in Vinod’s eyes before they both ironed out their features. Vinod did not move away to give her space as he would have done once. Instead, he waited. And gradually, she leaned back, relaxed into his embrace.

‘Why did I agree to do this, Vinod?’

‘Because it was either a sari or a corset?’

She laughed. ‘Seriously...’

Vinod bent down, whispered in her hair, ‘You’ll be fine, Shonu. You needed to do this sometime. ‘

‘I...’

‘You’ll have fun.’

‘Do I really look okay?’

‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

She smiled, looked at herself critically in the mirror. ‘Do you know what would go wonderfully with this sari?’

‘What?’

‘My gold.’ And for a brief moment, as was so often the case these days, she was transported. To Canara Bank, Taipur’s only bank. Smelling of money, gold and old secrets—a dank, wet smell. Jacinta, wringing hands in front of the portly, sweaty bank manager: her stoic mother nervous! ‘I would like to get my gold out of the safety-deposit box, what with my girls now approaching marriageable age.’ Gold twinkling up at them in myriad shapes: bangles, bracelets, necklaces, earrings; tucked into her mother’s underskirt and transported carefully home. Gold, padlocked in the Godrej wardrobe next to the altar, the key in a knot at the end of Jacinta’s sari, with her at all times. ‘For when you get married, Shirin. Gold as part of your dowry.’ ‘Where is it, do you think?’ She wouldn’t look at Vinod.

‘Gathering dust in some vault in Bangalore, I expect. It was registered in my father’s name, at his bank. When we left, I couldn’t...’ He paused, waited until her gaze met his in the mirror. ‘Do you resent having had to leave everything behind? You could have had your pick of saris, instead of having to buy a new one...’

‘Of course not! A small price to pay, in the circumstances...’ She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation, now, after skirting the topic for so many years. She paused. Should she? Yes. ‘Do you...? Resent it?’

He looked at her, ‘The truth?’

She watched their reflection: she in a sari, caught in a strange eleven-year limbo; he in his usual present-day uniform of stripy shirt and black trousers; his arms wrapped around her, her head resting on his chest. ‘Yes.’

‘Sometimes I do.’

‘Oh.’

He caught the flash of guilt in her eyes before she could mask it. ‘Shonu. It wasn’t your fault. None of it.’

Eyes. Empty. Accusing. A mother’s wails. A mother’s anger.

‘I don’t even know why I thought of the gold.’

‘I’m glad you did.’ Vinod gently released her from his embrace and went to the wardrobe. ‘When you told me you had to wear a sari, I got you this.’

He held her palms in his and deposited a little box in them. She opened it with tremulous fingers and discovered a thin gold necklace nestling on scarlet velvet, a little heart-shaped pendant that had the letters S and V engraved.
Frolicking waves kissing a duet of initials encased within a heart: T loves S. The roaring of the sea loud in her ears. The roaring of desire loud in her body.
Where had she gone, that young girl? Why was she thinking of that now, when her husband
had just given her a gift?

‘Shall I put it on for you?’ Vinod asked.

She nodded, unable to speak.

She watched as he tenderly secured the clasp, his touch the merest whisper on her skin.

He looked up, asked, ‘What do you think?’

She fingered the little heart, ran her thumb over their entwined initials. ‘It’s perfect.’

* * *

‘Shirin, you look great in your sari! Even more beautiful if that is possible. Come, let me introduce you to everyone.’ Kate looked gorgeous in her outfit, the green of her shirt bringing out the green in her eyes, her hairdo making her look very elegant. When Shirin told her so, she laughed. ‘Have you met Jyoti? She’s from PricewaterhouseCoopers, who do our accounts. Jyoti, this is Shirin, one of the most valued members of my team.’

Before she could thank Kate, she had disappeared amongst the crush of people and Shirin found herself facing a smiling older woman wearing a marigold sari with saffron flowers set in a gold border and absolutely dripping with jewellery. She reminded Shirin very much of Aunt Winnie.

‘Busy, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Have you got a drink? No? Come with me.’

Afterwards, armed with drinks and canapés, they found a relatively quiet corner to sit and chat. Jyoti was from North India originally but had lived in the UK for nearly thirty years. ‘This is my home now,’ she said. ‘My relatives in India have passed on. The kids are settled here. What about you? Do you go back often?’

Shirin took a big gulp of her drink. ‘Not as much as I would like.’

‘Do you have any family here?’

‘No, they are all in India.’
Please don’t ask me any more questions.

Jyoti reached across and patted Shirin’s knee, her myriad bangles jingling with the movement. ‘Beti, don’t get me wrong. I am telling you this as an aunt...’

Oh, God, has she guessed? Did I give something away?

‘...since you have no relatives here, nobody to give you advice. And men, they are useless in such matters.’

Shirin carefully laid her glass down on the low table beside her. She crossed her hands on her lap to stop them trembling.

Jyoti touched the thin necklace Shirin wore, light reflecting off the gold rings adorning her every finger. ‘This is well and good and with churidars it would be perfect. Did your husband give it to you?’

Shirin nodded, relief flooding as realisation dawned.

‘You felt you had to wear it, so as not to hurt his feelings. I understand.’

Shirin grinned widely. She knew exactly what Jyoti was going to say next.

‘Your sari, Beti, it is so grand. What it needs is gold. Lots of it. Not this flimsy little necklace. No offense, mind.’

‘None taken,’ laughed Shirin, reaching for her drink. Her first impression had been right. Jyoti was very much like Aunt Winnie. Being in her company was like being among the aunts back home.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Chats on the Veranda at Twilight

‘T
hey are in chronological order. That means...’

‘I know what it means.’ Eagerly, Reena took the precious parcel from Aunt Anita’s hands—a sheaf of worn blue envelopes, held together by a rubber band.

‘I don’t know if you’ll understand some of the things she...’

‘Aunty! I’m eleven!’

‘I know...’ Aunt Anita’s eyes twinkled. ‘Look after them. They mean a lot to me.’

‘I will.’ And, with a quick peck on her aunt’s cool cheek, ‘Thank you.’

Hiding the letters in her history textbook, Reena went to her room and closed the door. Once inside, she gingerly pulled out the rubber band and opened the first letter. Shirin had a neat, slightly sloping script. Reena tried to picture the young woman she imagined Shirin to be, writing it. She couldn’t. She lay on her stomach on her bed and began to read.

Progress so far: This detective is in possession of letters Shirin wrote to Anita when Anita was away at college. This detective assumes Shirin was around twenty-two?
Check this.
She has a cursive handwriting that would have made Eugene Ma’am, this detective’s English teacher, very pleased.

Some extracts from the first letter, which this detective has carefully chosen as they might provide clues into what happened some time—a year?—later:

1) This extract shows that the subject misses her sister and brother who are both away at college:

Anu, if you are missing home, I can assure you, you are not missing much. Everything is pretty much the same here, just as you left it, except that it’s not as vibrant, not as lively without you around. I miss your voice, the mischievous glint in your eyes, the way laughter bursts out from inside you like a waterfall. I miss Deepak with his practical jokes, his loud laugh, and his boundless appetite. It is quiet here without the two of you.

Do you remember the evening before you left, how we sat on the veranda watching the rain pouring down in frenzy? The coconut trees in the front courtyard swayed wildly. Little streams formed in the paddy fields, churning the freshly dug soil ready for sowing into a muddy mess until all we could see were fields of water. In Ananthanna’s field, women bent double against the rain and sang as they sowed paddy saplings, their makeshift cane shelters making them look like giant question marks. They sang a haunting melody and from where we sat, sheltered and warm, drinking hot tumblers of sweet tea, we could just hear it. Do you remember how happy we were to just sit there in companionable silence? I miss that.

Yesterday, I sat on the veranda again, when I got back from college. I sat there with my accounts book, ostensibly to study, but really to daydream. I sat till the day started to wane and the setting sun swathed the sky in many shades of pink and the crickets started their nightly orchestra. Madhu came out and collected my plate. She had made bhel puri for me, with potatoes and green peas and chaat masala—just the way you like it. Are you jealous? She chided me for sitting outside in the dusk. ‘The mosquitoes will have a nice juicy feast,’ she scolded. ‘Come on in.’ ‘In a minute, Madhu,’ I mumbled, feigning interest in my notebook. ‘Don’t act like you are studying. It’s dark. You can’t see a thing,’ she said. I was glad she couldn’t see me blushing. She switched on the veranda light and went back in. The light bathed me in a warm, rosy glow and attracted the flies. I watched the more intrepid of them get too close to the light and die with a buzz and a sigh. I wondered what you and Deepak were doing.

NOTE: Look up meaning of the word intrepid.

Intrepid (adj.) fearless; daring; bold: as in—Reena Diaz was an intrepid sleuth. [This detective plans to impress Eugene Ma’am, her English teacher, when she uses the word in class tomorrow. This detective has been trying to copy the extracts in Shirin’s cursive style, and she has to admit, her handwriting is already much improved.]

2) She envies her sister her freedom:

Anu, are you missing home? Or are you enjoying the freedom, savouring the joys of being on your own—of not having to get up for mass, or say the rosary every night, no nuns and no guilt trips, no confessions and long sermons.

I can imagine what your argument will be. You still have to get up for class, share a room with a stranger, and stick to hostel rules. But you are away from home! On your own! You can talk to boys without the whole village knowing and telling Ma you are running wild. You can stay out till late, or stay up all night if you want to. You can have midnight feasts. You can dance in the rain without the village gossips starting rumours. You can paint the town red. You can have a boyfriend. Will you? You must have a long line of admirers to pick from already. Knowing you, though, you will choose someone different, someone unique. Have you found him? Who is he?

NOTE: Did Shirin get so tired of the rigid, unyielding routine of home that she rebelled (like this detective feels like doing sometimes) and did something so drastic that it caused her to be wiped out of her family’s lives forever?

3) News of what’s happening at home:

Anyway, the whole point of this letter was to tell you that Da is coming home for good. You should see Ma. She can’t stop smiling. I mean, you know Ma. She’s so aloof most of the time. Anyway, she’s walking around with this permanent, goofy grin on her face now.

NOTE: Da coming home caused something, perhaps? Did she and Da clash?
Find out.

4) This detective thinks this extract is the most important clue:

At the rate at which Ma is hunting proposals for me, I should be married soon, and living with my in-laws this time next year. That is her plan, anyway. But someone has to agree to marry me first...

You know, Ma is starting to get so worried that, for her sake, I wish someone
would
marry me, even if the chances of that happening seem remote, what with prospective grooms complaining about my weight, my complexion, my hips, you name it...

On the other hand, all those dreams I had of falling in love—what of them?

NOTE: Based on this extract, this detective concludes that perhaps Shirin ran away—eloped with someone highly unsuitable. But to ban her from their lives, pretend she never existed… Isn’t that too dear a price, too harsh a punishment? And this detective comes again to the fact that Anita married a Hindu and was spared. So, why not Shirin? Because she was the eldest, perhaps? Find out.