XI. Travel & Living #2
I touched my forehead with the heel of my hand, my heart was racing and I felt chilled to the bone. She must have worked hard, cooking, waiting for me and Ruhee all by herself all day. I hadn’t even called. Suddenly the party felt too loud, too irritating, why did there have to be so many people?
“Well,” Priya said, putting a hand on my shoulder and suppressing a smile, “You know she’ll blame Ruhee―let her. It can’t be that her favorite child forgot, is avoiding her, no way.”
“I’m not her favorite child,” I said.
“You’d think so,” she said cryptically.
She saw someone she recognized behind me, exclaimed in surprise and went away to say hello.
The cake was strawberry, there was ice cream.
I forgot all about not calling my mother.
We might’ve had too much to drink, Ruhee and I; when we finally went to bed, the stragglers sent away, the house a mess, at the door she kissed me and told me it was the happiest she’d felt in a long time. Me too, I said.
For a few moments after I woke up in the morning, I forgot everything. Ruhee was asleep, breathing softly. She looked so peaceful, so content. I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Sorry,” I said.
“No, I need to be up,” she said, refusing to open her eyes.
“What time is it?” she said.
I checked the bedside clock, “Nine.”
She groaned and made herself get out of bed. She only had alternate weekends off, despite the late night she had to go in, she was already late.
Because the maid didn’t come on Sundays, the house was a mess. I had to fix things today―I resolved to go over to my mother’s as soon as Ruhee left for work; I made Ruhee breakfast and saw her off at the door.
The entire length of the kitchen counter was littered with empty bottles, plates, glasses, food wrapping papers. The warm months were already on us, and I knew that if I left the kitchen like this, by evening everything would be crawling with ants.
I brought a garbage bag and cleared the counters, walked through the apartment and picked up every empty bottle and paper plate left on the floor or on window ledges.
When that was done I brought out the dustpan and swept the house.
While I was at it I could mop the floors just as well.
Then I sprayed and wiped the kitchen counters, did the dishes.
In the bedroom I made up the bed, then changed my mind and stripped it, tucked in the corners of the fresh sheet, fluffed the pillows.
When I took the garbage bags downstairs, I took the stairs; I didn’t want to stink up the lift.
By the time I came back I was sweaty and out of breath.
But it was nice to return to a clean apartment.
I opened the windows, feeling satisfied with my work.
I took a long, hot bath. When I came out I saw the laundry pail was full.
Might as well, I thought and loaded up the washing machine, began the cycle.
In the kitchen I made myself an omelet and toast and switched on the TV, flipped to the news channel and didn’t pay any attention to the newsreader.
I changed into my office clothes because they were the cleanest ones not in wash, wore my socks and set my shoes near the door.
When the machine beeped, I briefly considered leaving the clothes in, but Ruhee always complained that the maid left the clothes in too long and it made them smell off-putting.
I took the clothes out of the machine, put them in the pail, and took the elevator to the roof.
It was very sunny, I was sure the clothes would dry in a couple of hours if not less. I’d forgotten to bring the clothespins but someone had left a whole pile of them on the line, and I got to work.
I was going to go back downstairs, put on my shoes and go to my mother’s but then I saw the overhead water tank.
On a whim, I climbed the metal ladder and went to edge of the water tank.
I took in the view. The air smelled clean, what a simple pleasure it was to have clean air filling my lungs.
It was as if I’d never smelled such clean air before.
Suddenly I was glad that Ruhee was working today, it was nice to have a moment to myself.
Just as well, I sat down and dangled my feet over the edge of the roof.
Our building was ten stories high, and I could see quite far, I knew the general direction of the old neighborhood, Ruhee’s hospital, the market, the railway tracks, the water office.
I looked up. Last I heard, the eagles were dying.
There were no more eagles in Hyderabad, because of pollution.
No more Deccan rocks, boulders split by thin streams, no deciduous brush or silty soil suitable for grape growing, because of development.
The eagles were dying and it was saddening.
I’d been there too long. Because all of a sudden the sun was setting, and everything was tinted orange.
The nearby mosque was beginning the call to evening prayers.
Children let out from school were running up and down the apartment parking lot.
And instead of fresh air, what was entering my lungs was the evening creeping dread.
The train dreams would come back tonight, I just knew.
I hadn’t had them since graduating from college, lining up that job in Bombay.
Ma asking me not to go. Really the train dreams were ridiculous.
Nothing happened. I’d be at the abandoned station from Dil Se.
On and on again the trains would tear across the rails, not once stopping.
Each time it left I wanted to scream, it was so painful to be left behind like that.
I wanted to scream. I’d wake up covered in sweat, wishing it would stop.
In the morning I got dressed in my office clothes, made us breakfast, dropped Ruhee at work, but instead of the water office I returned to our apartment and tried to sleep for a little while.
Later I cleaned the house, did the dishes, cooked.
All day I put off doing the clothes until the very end.
It was too tempting. When finally I had no choice, I ran the machine, let Travel both left before I answered the door.
One day I opened the door and the milk boy was still there. He said he needed to be paid, he held out the bill. “My name is Puli Raja,” he said. “You can tell Ruhee-garu. She knows.”
“Puli Raja?” I repeated and burst out laughing.
He glared at me.
The phrase must have brought up some unhappy memories for him, I could tell. Surely, with a name like that, he must have been bullied cruelly at school. Rumors and whatnot.
“Puli Raja ki AIDS vasthunda?” I said. I laughed again. I waited for him to join in the joke, but he just glared at me.
Of course, I was sorry. I paid him twice the amount owed but he snatched the money and left without counting the notes, tossing the crumpled receipt at my feet.
After he left, it occurred to me that I must have misheard him, he might have said his name was Raja or Raju; both very common names.
Who would name their child Puli Raja? Of course his name can’t have been that.
But I didn’t go after him to apologize or ask him to clarify, I would have appeared insane.
Better to be mistaken for cruel, rather than crazy.