Nine
Anika
‘But why’s she sleeping in the other room and not yours, Vik?’ A strident female voice spoke in Konkani-accented Marathi. Konkani, being the local dialect of the people of Aronda.
I woke up with a jerk from the first deep dreamless sleep I’d had in months on hearing the voice. I took a deep, calming breath and looked at the room, logging in the details.
The room was a neutral cream in color, with one accent wall painted a stunning cerulean blue with a few bulbs and another free-standing lamp like the one in the patio-verandah. The windows were kept wide open and sunlight flooded in. And the bed was the most comfortable thing I’d ever slept on.
‘Viku, tell me?’ The female demanded.
‘I’m not going to discuss my wife with you, Ma,’ Vikrant said quietly.
So quietly, I had to strain to catch the words.
I pressed a hand to my heart, it beat wildly. What was Vikrant doing?
Why was he defending me now, when we were all but over? Worse, why was my stupid heart happy at the thought of him doing so?
Vikrant’s mother sniffed audibly. ‘But I was just trying to…’
‘Don’t, Ma.’ Vikrant spoke with a brusqueness in his tone I had never heard before. It sounded colder when he spoke like that in his native tongue. ‘Just don’t. Can you check on lunch? I’ll wake Anika up.’
I flopped back down on the bed and turned my back to the door, just as Vikrant opened it. I even tried to regulate my breathing back to a circadian rhythm, but it wasn’t easy.
I forced myself to lie still as I heard his rubber thongs strike against the terracotta floor and come to a stop next to the bed. Then, Vikrant touched me lightly on the shoulder.
‘Ani,’ he said softly. ‘Wake up. It’s almost lunch time.’
I fluttered my lashes open and blinked sleepily at him. ‘Hey,’ I smiled softly.
He smiled back and brushed a stray hair off my cheek. ‘Hey, sleepyhead. It’s lunch time. With all your favorites. Aamti rice with fried okra and fish curry and solkadi.’ He named all the spicy, fragrant dishes I adored, especially the slightly sour solkadi , a watery stew made from local spices I had consumed by the gallon last time I was here.
I swallowed against the hunger pangs playing cricket in my stomach. ‘ Yummy . I haven’t had any food since I sat on that bus.’
‘I know.’ His hand lingered on my shoulder. ‘You get terribly sick on buses.’
Memories, a million of them, coupled with feelings rose like a tidal wave between us.
And I had the physical urge to drag him down to bed and show him how much I missed him. It didn’t even have to mean anything, and I so wanted to feel alive…just for a moment.
I sat up and dislodged his hand from my body. ‘I’ll be down in a few minutes. Your parents are here?’ I asked the question playing with the edges of the bed sheet on my lap.
‘Yes, they arrived a few minutes ago.’
‘Oh. Why didn’t you wake me up then? I could have welcomed them with you.’ I raised accusing eyes at him.
Vikrant shrugged. ‘You needed to sleep more.’ He stepped back from the bed. ‘Get freshened up and come down when you’re ready. Uncle Ramesh and Smita Aunty are also joining us for lunch.’ He smiled. ‘So, you have a buffer.’
‘Thank you,’ I said quickly before common sense made me say something sarcastic. ‘I appreciate the gesture.’
He just looked at me a second more and then left the room.
***
I stared at his departing back in bewilderment. This was all playing out so differently from what I’d imagined in my head.
For one, Vikrant wasn’t the golden son anymore if that awkward conversation with his mother was any indication.
For another, I still couldn’t understand why his folks weren’t staying with him when that was the reason he’d given, for wanting to move back home.
My parents are growing old, Ani. And I’m their only son. They’ve done a lot for me. Sacrificed too much. What kind of son would I be if I didn’t take care of them now, when I can afford to? Please understand where I’m coming from.
Thinking about this changed Vikrant was giving me a headache so I resolved to not think too much.
I slipped out of bed, spied my bag under the bed. I picked out the clothes I’d decided to wear for the day. A simple geometric pattern tunic and leggings.
I bit my lip as a wayward thought struck me.
Vikrant had stood up for me now. He’d not insisted I go down and welcome his parents, saving me from an awkward conversation. An d he’d arranged for a buffer for my first family lunch with the in-laws.
The least I could do was dress appropriately.
I sighed and reached down for the sari and blouse I had also packed. ‘Fair’s fair, Anika. You owe Vik for being decent, right now,’ I murmured.
Although I would have preferred paying him back in a far more creative way.
***
If Vikrant’s mother had any qualms about having a daughter-in-law who lived hundreds of miles away from her son, she didn’t let it bother her during the family lunch. She was even cordial and almos t gracious when I came down in the mauve designer sari with contrasting three-fourths blouse.
Vikrant’s eyes widened at the outfit before he went back to serving his parents at the lunch table. And they almost popped out when I went straight to Kaka, Kaki and bent down to touch their feet. Then did the same with his parents.
They smiled and blessed me when I asked for their blessings.
I gave him a conspiratorial smile. He wasn’t the only one who could be the ideal child, especially when he was on my side.
‘Aunty, I love your earrings.’ I settled into a chair next to Vikrant’s aunt and uncle. And way away from his parents.
‘Thank you, Anika. Raghu got it for me from Thailand,’ Smita told her. Raghuvansh was her son who worked as the vice-president of a bank.
The second generation Pandits were all brilliant in their own ways.
In fact, Vikrant had the distinction of being the first doctor eve r in their family. A fact his mother had taken vicious pleasure in informing me when we first met. She’d not said it outright, but she was aware who Vivek Chakraborty was and how I had gotten a seat in medical college through a favor from the management.
Unlike her hard-working, merit-holder son.
‘They’re very pretty,’ I said, spooning some spicy-sour aamti lentil dal over my rice.
Vikrant sat next to me, and two seats away from his parents. His body heat licking flames down my side. Both at the unexpected gesture and because I was starved of his warmth.
Oh dear, that wasn’t going to go down well with Aai. I thought in consternation. I snuck a quick look at Aai-Baba. They continued eating blissfully.
I reached for the fish curry just as Vikrant did and he jerked his hand away.
I smiled and poured some for him first. ‘Enough?’ I asked him innocently.
His fingers clenched on the spoon he held, and he nodded.
My belly jumped at seeing his hairy legs under the shorts he wore. Apparently, he’d given up pretending to wear only full pants around his folks. Or maybe they’d come to some kind of understanding regarding decent outfits.
This was all s o confusing.
I forked a spoonful of the delicious food in and almost moaned in ecstasy. Marathi and Bengali cuisine were almost the same with just enough differences to keep things interesting, so food had been a major bonding factor for us. And I had not had this good a fish curry in ages.
***
‘So, the Ganesh statue installation will happen early tomorrow,’ Aai said abruptly. ‘Vikrant we have to mop and sweep the house and get the decorations in place.’
‘Anika and I will do it,’ he said shortly. ‘You all can rest after such a heavy lunch. Reena is also there and she’s sending her son Sagar too.’ He named the maid and her son.
‘But…’
‘Ma, you’re tired,’ he said firmly. ‘Baba also. You can make dinner with Smita aunty. That’s your job. Anika and I’ll take care of everything else. This is our house, and we will do the needful.’
I almost choked at his authoritative voice and the casual dominance behind it. And his use of the pronoun ‘our’. FUCK . Why did I have to find this stupidly hot?
Vikrant’s mother’s face fell.
I felt bad for the woman despite my best intentions. It wasn’t the way I wanted this week to begin, with Vikrant’s mother feeling hurt.
I touched Vikrant’s forearm and felt it tense under the tee shirt he wore. ‘Vikrant, maybe your mom can help us. She knows all the traditions better than me anyway.’ I smiled uncertainly.
He held my eyes a second longer, all intense and hot. And the spit dried in my mouth. ‘No,’ he said as shortly as before. ‘This is our festival now. We make our own traditions.’
Then he went back to eating his fish curry and rice like he hadn’t rocked my world with five little words.