She Will Build Him a City (21 page)

‘How have you been?’

‘I am fine, Doctor, just a mild fever.’

‘Have you seen any doctor?’

‘It’s nothing, it will go away, please sit down.’

She shows him to the only chair in her house. Sunlight drips through the crack in the tin roof, stains the wall, falls into a pool of shadow on the floor.

The bed is rolled up neatly along one side of the wall next to the kerosene stove and the lantern.

He takes his shoes off before he steps inside. It’s so hot that he reaches out to switch on a stand fan in a corner.

‘That won’t work,’ says Kalyani, ‘a few minutes ago, the power went off.’

‘That’s fine,’ he says, ‘no need.’

‘All well, sir?’

‘Yes, I have some news.’

‘What happened?’

‘Orphan left.’

‘Left means? Has he found a home?’

‘I hope so.’

‘Hope?’

‘He ran away.’

‘How can he do that? He hasn’t even learned how to walk.’

‘They found a hole in the wall and he wasn’t there, it was the morning after the storm, they suspect the wind broke the wall, someone came inside and took him away.’

‘Where were you when the storm came?’

‘I didn’t go to work that night.’

‘I don’t believe this. Maybe he’s hurt and he’s still somewhere there in Little House.’

‘No, no, they looked everywhere, Orphan’s gone.’

‘Then someone must have come and taken him away, he can’t walk away on his own.’

‘Mr Sharma is very angry.’

‘I can imagine that.’

‘They even suspect you since he went missing after you left Little House. They say you may have come and taken him away at night.’

‘They can come and check my house. Have they sent you to do that?’

‘No, Kalyani, never. And even if they do, I will never do that. I know you will never hurt Orphan.’

~

She lights the little gas stove to make some tea for him. He watches her move, the turn of her wrists, her fingers, as she opens a plastic box to spoon out the tea leaves, measures out the sugar, pours the milk from a small steel cup, adjusts the heat, leans back to see if the gas is right, so precise, as she pours out the tea into the cup a wisp of steam rises to touch her face.

~

Power is back, she shifts the stand fan to direct its draught towards him.

‘Where do you think Orphan is right now?’ she asks.

‘It’s been more than a week now,’ he says, ‘you think he’s alive?’

‘Please do not say such a thing.’

‘What thing?’

‘About the possibility of Orphan not being alive, let’s not even mention it.’

‘No, I am not so sure if he is safe.’

‘Where do we look for him in this city?’

‘They have put his name out on TV with a picture.’

‘But what about those who do not watch TV, what if they are the only ones who know where he is?’

~

Tea is over, Kalyani sits on the floor, her back pressed against the wall, her eyes are closing, the fever must be coming back. It’s time for him to leave.

‘I came to ask you something,’ he says.

‘Yes?’

‘I have been thinking about you.’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t know how to say it but I think of you a lot. After you left Little House, it’s been, how do I say it, very empty there.’

‘I had to leave, I need more money.’

‘I can give you money.’

The words tumble out on their own, he doesn’t want her to hear them but he cannot take them back.

‘No, no, I don’t want your money,’ she says.

‘No, that’s not what I meant, I am very sorry.’

‘Here, let me take your cup,’ she says.

He hands her the cup and saucer, both still warm from the tea.

Their fingers do not touch.

‘I will get going now,’ he says, ‘I need to be back at Little House for the night shift, you know how it’s like.’

‘It was nice of you to visit me,’ she says, getting up to see him off at the door. ‘And tell me about Orphan. I hope he’s fine.’

‘You should go see a doctor today,’ he says.

‘I think I should be fine by tomorrow,’ she says.

‘Let me know when you get a phone.’

‘Sure, Doctor,’ she says.

And he knows then that what he so badly wants is not meant to be. He steps on the same stones on his way out. The puddle has shrunk in the afternoon heat, and when he turns back to look, Kalyani is gone, the tarpaulin door still as in a painting.

MEANWHILE

Reporter from Little House at Her Child’s Nursery School

‘Welcome, parents, my name is Devika Bhattacharya, my colleague here is Megha Tripathi. We are class teachers of Nursery, Section E, New City International School, ranked first in Education World Survey for three successive years, 2011, 2012, 2013.

‘Congratulations. As you know, more than two thousand children applied for thirty-five seats in this class. You are the lucky ones, we are delighted to have you here today as we embark on a journey to your child’s future.

‘First of all, please fill out the forms you received in the Admission Packet you picked up at the entrance, we will have an interaction. After which the principal and the director of the Primary Section would like to share a few words with you, thank you very much. If you need any water, the cooler is in the hallway outside.’

Payal Wadhwa has filled out her form.

‘Nature of Work: Reporter
, Camera India’.

Then, questions and questions, so many she loses count.

Are you a working mother? If no, why not? If yes, what are your hours in the office?

What is your favourite activity with your child?

What are the values you want your child to imbibe at school?

What do you do when your child misbehaves?

Which books did you last read with your child?

What’s your view on children from the economically weaker section studying in the same class as your child?

She knows these answers by heart, an honest mishmash of some fact, some fudge.

She turns the form in, looks out through the window into the playground, a 7-foot-high wall with barbed wire that runs all around. So different from the crumbling wall she reported on yesterday, at Little House, the orphanage, after the freak thunderstorm, where a child went missing, a child, they say, younger than hers.

She looks around her, in the classroom.

So this will be where her son, her baby boy, who she has left at home since it’s his sleeptime, will play each day five days a week over the next year, five, ten, twelve years. This is what he will see from next week: stickers of starfish, sea anemone, crab, oyster and coral, all with smiling faces. Sea creatures in a city over 1,300 kilometres away from the sea.

Payal closes her eyes to find herself at the bottom of the ocean where these sea creatures live, miles of water pressing her from above. She doesn’t wish to swim back to the surface.

‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, now we begin the interaction segment of today’s programme. We would like you to share with the class an anecdote about your child. Please introduce yourself and mention your child’s name.’

~

‘Hello everyone, my name is Vanshikha, my daughter’s name is Zara. She is all ready to start school next week, I am sure of that. How am I sure? Well, yesterday, when I came home from work, she told me, Mama, you keep telling me that if I go to school, I can study and become whatever I want to be and then I can go to office in the morning, have my own car, come back every day just like you and Papa. Yes, I said.

‘To which she said, Mama, I start school next week. So when can I go to office, where is my car, where is my driver?’

Some laughter, some applause.

‘Thank you,’ says Devika, ‘that’s a very nice story, next one, please?’

‘Hi, my name is Natasha. Three months ago, we moved from Boston where our son, Aryan, was born. We lived there for three years. One day, soon after we arrived here, he asked me, Mum, why is everyone’s hair black here? In Boston, he said, it was white, gold, red, yellow, so many colours. I said, that is America, this is India, people in India are different, their hair is black. He said, Mum, we should buy colours for people in India because their hair is only one colour.’

~

Two more parents stand up and say something.

~

Payal buys a goldfish bowl for her son’s third birthday. With a pair of goldfish, fish food, a plant and a little plastic frog that blows bubbles. She sets it all up so that he can see it first thing in the morning. He’s delighted, he sits on the floor for one full hour, rapt, looking at the fish. The second night, she finds they have died. Both float up to the surface of the bowl, the water is clouded with dirt. She calls up the store and the man says, I am sorry, ma’am, maybe it’s the temperature change, at night the water may have turned cold. She empties the bowl out, washes the pebbles and the frog, wraps it all in newspaper and keeps it away. The two fish go into the trash can in the kitchen. When he asks her about the fish, she says, they came for your birthday and now they have gone to their mother who lives in the sea.

~

‘Let’s all begin moving to the auditorium,’ says Megha.

‘There will be a short presentation. Refreshments are kept at the entrance.’

The auditorium lights hurt Payal’s eyes. There’s a giant screen that shows the first page of a PowerPoint presentation.

‘The school joins with parents and community,’ the principal starts, ‘to assist the students in developing skills to become independent, self-sufficient adults who will succeed and contribute responsibly in a global community rooted strongly in the values that define Indian culture and family.’

The overhead lights are now switched off. The auditorium is dark. For the first time this evening, Payal feels a calm descend on her. Like what it feels under the ocean into the depths of which she swims down, the voice from the stage a rumble in the waves. ‘At this school,’ the principal goes on, ‘the learning process is seen as one that is both challenging and enjoyable. Our students are encouraged to develop sound ethical values...’ She gets up and walks out on tiptoe, closing the huge door behind her.

~

A group of teachers are huddled in the hallway.

‘Can I help?’one of them asks her.

‘Which way is the restroom?’ asks Payal.

They show her the way.

She walks out of the school to her car parked three blocks away. She thinks of her child, not yet four, fast asleep at home, her husband at work, the school starting next week, six missed calls from her TV station, they must be asking for a follow-up to the story about the orphanage and the missing baby. As she approaches her car, she can see, between her and the vehicle, her child’s years stretching ahead of her, Nursery, Class 1, Class 2, Class 3, Class 4, Class 5, Class 6, Class 7, Class 8, Class 9, Class 10, Class 11, Class 12 and then four years of college – and she wonders how she will pull through.

Without an ocean to dive in and sit on its floor, without the light streaming in through the miles of water above her, without the shoals of fish swimming past her eyes, the two goldfish searching for their mother, the coral tangled in her hair.

WOMAN

Shaving Blade

You will ask me when you wake up, Ma, why is this man, this student of my father, so important? You will ask me, Ma, why is he so special? Just because he says you can go to Father’s cremation, offers you a glass of water, helps lift you up when you slip down?

That’s why I need to tell you who this man is, how he is the only one who walks up to me when your father’s lying on the floor, the only one who stands by my side to tell everyone there that there’s nothing wrong in me wanting to go to the crematorium, that no one should stop me. He is the only one who offers me his arm, the arm I hold as he helps me get up from the floor. He is the one who sits next to me in the truck, next to your father’s body, holding the ends of the wooden cot with both hands as the truck lurches and sways. He waves the incense smoke away from my eyes, he is the one who is with me when they lower your father down from the truck, place him on a raised cement platform, begin piling wood on him. He is the one who gives orders to the priest, checks the papers, pays the fee, arranges the flowers, he is the one who lights the pyre with your father’s cousin, with whom I watch the flames, the smoke and, in the end, the embers. When a wind carries smoke and ash into my eyes, he moves a few feet in front of me to block them both.

He escorts me to my empty home.

He is the one who opens the door when Krishna walks in, carrying you, fast asleep. She says you woke up in the night saying you want to be with your mother and your father. She gives you to me, you sleep with your head on my shoulder.