Chapter 27
A fairy godmother
JIMMY
“Where is he? Where are you hiding, my boy?” The stern female voice brings forth a smile. I had dissuaded Priya, but she insisted on visiting. So now, three days after I woke up, she is here at the hospital.
Before I can ask Kiron to straighten the bed, Priya walks in.
Her sunglasses are perched on top of her head.
A striped red and white scarf is around her neck, and a pink top over black trousers peeks through a paisley-printed overcoat.
She adjusts her matching bag on her arm.
The three other patients in the room sit up on her entry.
The city memsahib, spreading her signature jasmine fragrance, intrigues the simple town folk.
“What are you doing here?” I croak. My throat is still dry after the doctors took out the tube.
I am still not sure how I survived. When the kerosene smell invaded the cabin, I stepped out to investigate.
Jatinder and Yoginder jumped me, but I took them on despite the three cans of beer in my belly.
The time at the gym and boxing helped for once in my life.
However, a drunk man against two hate-filled monsters proved a big task.
Until help arrived. The memory makes me cringe.
Aditya has not stepped inside my room, but I heard him speaking with Sahil outside the hospital ward yesterday.
“How rude. I travel from Delhi to visit my sick friend, and what does he say to me?” Priya rolls her eyes and perches on a stool beside the bed.
She surveys the room and scrunches her nose.
“Why are you hospitalised here? We are moving you to a single room in a private hospital down the road. I have already hired a male nurse who will be there with you at the hospital. Once you are discharged, he will continue at your home till you recover.”
“Priya, I can't afford the private care.”
Priya looks at me, horrified. “How dare you say such things? Am I dead?”
“I don't want any money from the book,” I grumble my protest. Most of the money is still stashed in my bank account. Before the attack, I had made up my mind to return the advance and all subsequent payments. The debt will push me back, but Bhatia Ji has promised to help. I am firm in my decision.
Priya shakes her head and swats the only part of my arm visible beyond the plaster cast. “Don't throw your attitude at me, young man. You will do as I say. Money is not a problem. Your next modelling assignment has agreed to pay a handsome advance.”
The client must be crazy. “What am I modelling? Bandages and plaster casts?” I nudge her elbow with the cast.
“Shush. The shoot is in three months, which gives us plenty of space to work with.” Priya looks me over again. “You need healthy, nutritious food and someone to pamper you to get the glow back on your face.”
I roll my eyes at the maternal love Priya is showering on me.
The way she is dictating her terms reminds me of my birth mother.
Ma had always fussed about my health ever since I landed in the hospital at four years of age, dehydrated and weak from diarrhoea.
How things changed in a single night four years ago.
Did Ma have any inkling about this attack?
Did Bapu instigate Jatinder? These questions now haunt me day and night.
“Is he eating properly?” Priya asks Kiron. The traitor shakes their head in a big no.
“All the more reason to shift. I will speak to the new hospital admin and arrange so you can get him home-cooked food.” Priya types a note on her phone.
Ever the diligent worker, she keeps lists for every task.
But this caring avatar is a revelation. Priya has always maintained high professional standards in our interactions.
“Stop mothering me around,” I grumble.
Priya clutches her chest. “You hurt me, Mr Jimmy. Here I am, worried sick, and you keep throwing a tantrum. I can't be your mother, but I dressed like a fairy.” Priya sways her hand from side to side.
Kiron sniggers. I glare at them. “I don't need private care. My friends are here.” My grumbling does nothing.
“How mean of you. Expecting them to put their lives on hold and serve your royal highness twenty-four-seven. They have their lives, Jimmy. Besides, you are in no position to make decisions. We, as your caregivers, will discuss and take a final call.”
She turns to Kiron. “Where and when can I meet the gang? I am here till tomorrow afternoon. Please set up a meeting with your group of friends.”
“Sure, madam.” Kiron salutes Priya and shoots off a text.
“This is mutiny. You are ganging up against me.
Don't I have a say?” I make a last effort to get Priya to back off.
Unfortunately, involving the gang means Aditya will be included.
I am still conflicted about the whole situation with him.
Keeping him away after he came to my rescue would be ungrateful, but how can I forgive him for withholding the truth?
None of these matter to the two people hovering near my bed.
“I so love your creations for Jimmy. Will you design my dress?” Priya's attention is on Kiron.
They look at me, eyebrows raised, eyes simmering with fear, but I would be a fool to ignore the stronger longing reflected in them.
A gentle nod from me triggers a cheek-stretching sunny smile on Kiron's face.
“Do you have time to visit my shop?” Kiron bounces on their heels.
“After we shift Jimmy, I am all yours, honey.” Priya holds Kiron's extended hands. They sashay out of the room, chattering with Priya.
Watching the two walk out, I realise what I need to do.
I must let go of my past — the lies and the people who hurt me.
Instead, I should embrace this family gathered around me.
One chair is empty on this imaginary table of people who love me for who I am, strumming the notes of a lone, melancholy strain.
Is my resolve firm enough? Making a place for Aditya in my life is a steep mountain to climb. Unless...
***
“How is he doing?”
The words are hushed, but even with a muddled head from the medicine, I recognise the mellow, no-nonsense, stoic, professor-like voice.
Since shifting to this private hospital, my awake periods have increased over the last few days.
I use the solitude my friends give me to put together the events of the attack.
But, despite my best efforts, only bits and pieces emerge from behind the cloud.
Not enough for the police. Frustrated, they have stopped coming for my version of events.
“Better. But weak. He doesn’t eat much,” Sahil complains.
“Give him time. The medicines must be playing havoc with his appetite. He did finish the chicken soup, right? I will send more.”
The words from across the door elicit an immediate ping in my brain. And my heart.
“Shh.” I exhale and shush my inner voice. I am not ready. The heart doesn’t listen. The faint words filtering through the door stir up the cauldron I tried to bury before the attack.
Will Aditya step inside my room today? Do you want him to?
What will you say? I loved him. I love him still.
Will I be able to hold back? He had lied.
Will I forgive him? No easy answers. I turn my head away from the door, hoping to mute the discussion between Sahil and Aditya.
I lie still, heart pounding, watching my heaving chest, ears straining to pick up any hint of movement.
The door squeaks, and my heart stutters to a stop. The chair scratches the floor. I turn at the grating with hope lodged in my throat and gulp down the disappointment at the sight of Sahil. My fake smile can't hide the pang.
“Aditya has gone. You can relax.” Sahil studies me.
I avoid saying anything for fear of revealing my hurt. The shake of my head does not stop him.
“You should meet him.” He pleads with his eyes.
“He is a liar,” I repeat the words. Hoping, if I say them enough times, they will help me move on. How many times will be enough? Sahil shakes his head. Disappointed. “Why did Aditya come here?”
He studies me, his silence calling me out on my diversion.
“Aditya had gone to the police station in Hissar.”
“Why?” The information both startles me and plucks a string of fear. Aditya should not be involved more than he already is. My family cannot be trusted. If they harm Aditya, I will never be able to forgive myself.
“Why?” Sahil scoffs. “Why did he put his life at risk? Why did he spend an entire week sitting on the floor outside your room? Why is he so worried about your recovery? Why is he working night and day to ensure those bastards are behind bars? Why did he go to Hissar for the identity parade?” Sahil’s exasperated voice has my attention.
He drives home his point. “More than any one of us, you have the answers to all these whys locked in here?” Sahil taps my chest.
I am a stubborn donkey. “Aditya does not need to get involved. None of this matters.”
Sahil squeezes his eyes and huffs. Even I am disgusted at my behaviour.
I do not want to compromise Aditya’s safety.
My family is a toxic quagmire. The other issue bothering me is how the police will treat him.
If one is queer, any interaction with the police is not easy.
Aditya may not come across as gay, but the officer who came to take my statement had smirked at the mention of my ‘friendship’ with Aditya.
He did not stop the probing questions about our relationship.
“Jimmy, not all lies are evil. Not all liars are criminals. Not every lie deserves the same punishment.” Sahil places his hand on my shoulder, giving me a gentle squeeze. “The spectrum of greys may be easier to discriminate, but if you look closer, even whites have shades.”
I stare at him in disbelief. Sahil never came across as a thinker.
”Jimmy, I am not trying to negate your teenage experience.
Those scary hours and days will always live with you.
I can't even imagine what I would have done if I were in your place. But life gives us multiple experiences. Each is different. Each stone skids through the waters, creating distinct ripples, lest we become a decaying pond.” He releases his grip but holds my gaze.
“I will never ask you to forgive Aditya. But if you try, you can lessen your hurt. And his pain.” He picks up the sports magazine lying on the side table and hides behind the pages, leaving me to mull over his profound words.
Avoiding Aditya is my punishment, too. I clutch the bedsheet in my fists. How do I let go? Will Aditya stop at one lie?