Chapter 14
Let’s See How Much I Can Get Away With by Using My (Many) Achievements as Excuses
Pune, Saturday
The minibus is a twenty-seater, excluding the driver’s and conductor’s seats. The moment I get on, I rush to the very back,
snapping up a window seat. The others follow me, and as I slide open the window to let the night air in, I’m secretly hoping
Rudra takes the empty seat next to me.
Unfortunately, Charu flops down there, and I fight the urge to groan out loud. But then she shoots me an adorable smile, her
big brown eyes twinkling, and I melt. Fuck me. I’m the worst for not wanting this absolute sweetheart sitting next to me.
Priti and Rudra follow, Priti taking the other window seat and Rudra the one next to her. I get a whiff of his scent even
with Charu seated between us and shut my eyes, cursing myself because I’m down so bad.
Absolutely ludicrous, Krishna, Mummy’s voice echoes in my head. That’s what she always says when I’m being—well, me. If she knew the thoughts that were going on in her daughter’s head, she’d disown me.
Varun and Digha take the double seat right in front of us, while Jalaj takes the single seat, the aisle partitioning them.
As the bus rumbles to a start, my phone buzzes in my fanny pack. When I pull it out, I see it’s Mummy calling me.
Talk of the devil.
“Oh shit,” I say out loud. “Everyone, keep quiet for a minute. My mom’s calling.”
The noise inside the minibus levels off almost immediately, and the only sound that can be heard is the roar of the wind as
it rushes in through the window. It’s instinctual for all of us, because even brown girls with relatively cool parents, American parents, are always on the alert when there are boys involved. And Mummy, who I’m sure knows only what Nani must’ve told
her, would skin me alive if she knew I was traveling across cities just to go kiss a boy.
“Hello?” I say as everyone watches me, dead silent.
“Krishna Kumar.” Oops. It’s never a good sign when your parents call you by your full name. I wince, while Varun mimes getting
his throat slit. I quickly lower the volume of the call so they can’t hear whatever Mummy’s going to say next. “Do you not
think it necessary to let your mother know you’re alive?”
I’m not really the call-my-parents-every-day sort, but Mummy’s reaction is justified because I haven’t texted or called her
since before the house party.
“Sorry, Mummy Ji,” I say, biting my tongue. “I lost track of time.”
“So much time that you couldn’t even drop a text saying you’re okay? Do you know how worried Papa and I have been?”
“I know, I’m sorry. I just—”
“And what is this Nani has been telling me about you going off to a camping trip with Priti?”
“It’s this field-trip thingy organized by V. G. Vaze,” I say, sticking to the story Priti and I told Nani. “When Priti found
out my flight was postponed, she asked if I wanted to join her. Her friend’s on the volunteer team, so she was able to get
me a ticket.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it earlier?” Mummy demands.
“It was very last-minute. I—erm—forgot?”
“Or you knew there was a chance I’d refuse to let you go and risk missing your flight, so you decided the best thing to do
would be to let Nani know, go off on the trip, and get scolded by me later.”
Damn it. I’m not even surprised she can read me so well. She’s my mom, after all. That, and I’m a terrible liar.
I give in, realizing there’s no point in lying further. Like I said, I sort of suck at it. “I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me.”
Just to be safe, I add, “I got into JHU.”
Mummy snorts. “???????? ?????!* How many times will you use that excuse?”
I smile cheekily, even though she can’t see me. “As long as it continues to work.”
“Well, this is the last pass you get. All right?”
“Noted.”
“Also . . .” Mummy’s voice is laced with curiosity. “How come Priti took you along? Have you two finally resolved your issues?”
I glance once at the others, who are either listening to music on their earphones or talking in low voices. “Not really, but
since she was going, I guess she thought it’d be rude to leave me behind. Or maybe Mausi told her to take me along; I don’t
know.”
“The latter seems more believable,” Mummy grumbles. Even though she adores Mausi, she’s never really liked Priti. I mean, most of my relatives don’t, but their reasons are rooted in bigotry, unlike Mummy’s.
They find Priti rebellious and arrogant—which are labels plastered on every Indian girl who isn’t a vision of purity or obedient
of every rule and restriction her family sets for her. Priti’s septum piercing, outfits, nape tattoo, and dark complexion
never really helped either.
I’ve heard the comments aunties have made about her being ????? ?????,* too garish, too bold, too shameless. Honestly, it’s all part of the reason why I’ve always admired her so much, especially
when she turned up at that one wedding in a glittery black lehenga choli that exposed way more of her dark torso than it covered,
hair pinned up so her tattoo was visible for everyone to see, and makeup so bold it completed the most daring FUCK YOU fit I’d ever seen.
Mummy’s not like them. She doesn’t like Priti because of how she’s treated me. She knows how much Priti’s jibes and taunting have affected me over the years, how difficult it has been for me to set it
all aside and still look forward to my vacations in India. She knows how much I cried that one time Priti told me I couldn’t
wear a nath because I was American now.
I know for a fact Priti isn’t the problematic person she’d like me to believe. Someone who goes so out of their way to be
a misfit in a society that’s quick to judge yet continues to hold their head high isn’t someone who’d harbor the belief that
a diaspora kid like me isn’t Indian enough.
Priti said all that not because she meant it but because she knows my weak spots, knows exactly what to say to hurt me the most.
That doesn’t make any of what she said right, but the more I get to know Priti again and see how much she’s been hiding from everyone, the more I’m beginning to understand.
“She’s been better this time, Mummy,” I say, unable to believe I’m defending her as the words leave my mouth. “I don’t think
we’re going to go back to being best friends, but it’s better than it has been.”
“That’s good to hear,” Mummy says, her voice softening. “Don’t let her get to you, okay, baccha? You know she doesn’t mean
whatever she says. She just wants to trigger you. Mausi told us long back, remember?
“When we moved, she thought you had become too cool for her, and she mocked you for the very thing she was insecure about.
It was her defense mechanism. But she was just a child then. Now that she’s growing up, things are bound to improve because
she’s maturing. Give your relationship time and space to breathe.
“Sometimes, just the passage of time is enough to heal a wound. People think addressing the issue helps solve any problem,
but that can trigger the wound instead of putting a salve to it. If you let the wound breathe, it’ll learn to heal on its
own. It’ll be slow, but nothing comes without patience, hmm?”
I smile, feeling a slight prickle in my eyes. I don’t know why this conversation is making me so emotional, but Mummy always
manages to make things better, or at least seem better. “Thank you, Mums.”
“Tch, don’t thank me. Now go. Priti must be waiting for you.”
“Probably not, but yeah, I’ll go.”
“Take care. And please, at least text me an I’m alive message whenever you can. Is your passport with you?”
“Safe and sound,” I say, patting my fanny pack, feeling the shape of the document through the material of the bag.
“Good. Love you, beta.”
“Love you too, Mummy.”
As we wait near Xion Mall in Hinjewadi, where the rest of the trekking group will be picked up, I text Amrit again because
I need to get my feelings in check. That, and there’s something that’s been on my mind ever since we left the Sinhas’ house.
@notkrishnakumar
Hey
It takes a few minutes for him to reply, and while I wait, my leg bobs up and down urgently.
@amrit_ka_achar
Hey, I was just thinking about you
I read the message once, then again, and a hot flush creeps up my face, making me duck my head down to the phone. Charu’s
busy talking with the others, so she’s not looking, but I feel like I’m sexting Amrit; I’m so giddy and embarrassed.
This feeling can’t match having an unrequited crush on Rudra. Like, it’s not even comparable, right?
I glance over at Rudra, who’s leaning back with his head tipped over the headrest of the seat. His face is turned up, and
his eyes are closed, headphones propped against his ears. With his neck arched like that, his jawline is razor sharp and pronounced,
and his Adam’s apple sticks out in his throat. I have the sudden vision of pressing my lips to it, before I fling the thought
away at lightning speed.
Okay, maybe not, Krishna.
I can’t believe how quickly I’ve gone from resolving myself to crushing on one guy to thinking about kissing another! Something is severely wrong with me.
@notkrishnakumar
Stop. Also I wanted to ask you smth real quick.
Are u free tho? It’s the mehndi right?
@amrit_ka_achar
No I’m sorry I’m getting my palms painted rn
I’ll ttyl
I roll my eyes, a smile tickling the edges of my mouth.
@notkrishnakumar
LOL anyway . . . before Mulund you used to live in Powai right? And this cousin’s wedding you’re attending. Do they live in
Powai too?
@amrit_ka_achar
Um yeah. Why do you ask tho?
@notkrishnakumar
Priti was mentioning this fashion internship she did in Powai last year so I was wondering if by any chance your family knew
her.
@amrit_ka_achar
I mean could be possible but only Soumyaroop bhaiya still lives in Powai. He’s the groom. I’ve mentioned him to you before.
I could ask him if you want.
And the plot thickens!
I sit up straight in my seat, my hands shaking as they clutch the phone. I still have some digging to do before I can say
anything for sure, but at least I know I’m headed in the right direction.
@notkrishnakumar
No omg no! It’s not that big a deal.
@amrit_ka_achar
Gotcha! I’ll be back in a min, tho. I’m needed. There are damsels in distress here.
@notkrishnakumar
You mean ladies with mehndi all over their hands who need to be fed?
@amrit_ka_achar
Yep
@notkrishnakumar
Not sure if I like the idea of you feeding other women.
I reread the text after I’ve hit send and cringe inwardly. Oh god, why do I sound so possessive? And minutes after I imagined kissing Rudra. The hypocrisy is staggering.
@amrit_ka_achar
Oh don’t worry about it. These hands would be all for you if you were here.
This guy.
I smile stupidly at my phone, grinning from ear to ear.
But back to the pressing matter at hand: I need to do some stalking.
I head to Amrit’s Instagram and type Soumyaroop into the search bar above his following list.
The first name that pops up is Soumyaroop Maheshwari, @soum_papdi. The handle is witty, because it’s a spin on the wording
for soan papdi, one of my favorite desi sweets. I click on his profile, frowning at the screen. His page is public, and the
topmost picture on his feed is one where he has his arm around a pretty girl, underscored by a cheesy caption: Finding you was the best thing that happened to me this year, Mansi @_mxnsijoshi_
I tap on the bride’s profile, check what’s written underneath, and double back to Soumyaroop’s page to find the same thing:
Followed by amrit_ka_achar and pritigirlmantra.
Both the bride and the groom are followed by Amrit . . . and Priti.
Digha’s words replay in my head, and the nerves in my brain nearly frazzle. It feels like I’ve made the next big discovery.
Like I’ve found a cure for the common cold.
You’re still following each other, and it wasn’t even you who sent the re-follow request.
My heart speeds up in my chest as the realization washes over me, slowly at first, a gentle tide, before submerging me like a tsunami. The reason why Priti was so easy to convince and is so desperate to get to Goa on time is because she wants to stop the wedding.
Because the groom, Soumyaroop Maheshwari, is her ex-boyfriend.