Chapter 10 Komal #2
“Beta, is that you?” Mamma screeches over the blaring Bollywood soundtrack as I shut the door behind me.
“It’s me. Is there any food left?” As I cross the foyer, I toss the various shoes scattered across the floor into the shoe rack so that the wheels on Papa’s chair don’t get caught up. Mamma’s jacket is in a heap on the back of the sofa, so I hang that, too.
“What a silly question. This is a desi house. Of course there’s food left.
But don’t head out into the conservatory unless you want to get involved in a very serious dance-off.
” Mamma sweeps into the lobby, but freezes when she sees Papa.
“Chirag? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the hospital. ”
“I couldn’t miss Social Night.” Papa grins up at her. “Diya, you are a dream.” She’s wearing her favourite red sari, the same colour as the flowers, and I can see the love brimming in his eyes.
“Oh, Chirag,” Mamma scolds him, but I can tell she’s pleased to have him home. She reaches for the handles of the wheelchair. “You will do yourself damage. I’d better get you some tea.”
“I’m leaving.” Augustin bows his head to me. “You’ll have to sneak him back yourself.”
“No. You stay.” Mamma beams at him. “If you want to be mayor of this village, you will talk to everyone at this party and find out what they need.”
“Mamma, what are you doing?” I hiss. “You can’t invite him. He’s my rival. I’m running for mayor!”
“What?” Mamma folds her arms. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I was going to tonight. I’m running for mayor and Papa’s helping me.”
“I’m so proud of our girl,” Papa beams. “She’s going to bring all of my ideas to life.”
“Gods help us,” Augustin whispers. I glare at him.
Mamma huffs out her lip. “You shouldn’t encourage her, Chirag. Komal has enough to do with her business and helping the family. She doesn’t have time to be mayor.”
“She’ll be amazing,” Papa says. “Everything Komal does, she excels at. I know she can win this.”
Papa’s glowing praise washes over me, and a new resolve settles in my gut.
I will win this. For him, because fuck cancer, but also for myself.
Because after the disaster that has been my life for the last five years, I need a win.
Augustin will just have to deal with my help in vampire negotiations, because I’m not stepping aside.
“Damn right I’m winning.” I shove Augustin towards the door. “So get out of here.”
“I think I’ll stay.” He touches his fingers to his watch, the way he does, as if he draws power from the diamond-encrusted face. “It’s important to talk with every potential voter. Mrs Ahuja, I’d love to hear what you think could improve our village?”
“Yes, stay! There is plenty of food, and perhaps you can talk my daughter and her father out of this madness!” Mamma shoves Papa’s wheelchair at me and grabs a stack of her real estate pamphlets, which she brandishes in Augustin’s face.
“And speaking of madness, Mr Durant, it’s downright absurd that one of our village’s most important residents is stuck in a tiny cottage in the middle of the dreary woods.
I have this stunning Tuscan-style villa in the countryside with your name on it.
It has a pool and double-glazing for all-day sun—”
“Durant doesn’t want a pool and all-day sun,” I roll my eyes. “He prefers more secluded spots.”
He lives in a cottage in the woods?
Somehow, I can’t picture Augustin with his fancy suits, fastidious grooming, blood-drinking club, and blingy watch living among the dirt and trees and wild animals.
“You mean like that new Sanctus development?” Mamma rubs her hands together. “I’d love to get a look inside that place. You’re friends with the owners, aren’t you, Beta? I’d love to meet them.”
Note to self: Never introduce Gideon to my mother.
“They won’t let just anyone buy a home there,” Augustin says stiffly. “I was unsuccessful.”
There’s a hint of something in his voice.
I remember the video I saw of Augustin losing his shit outside the gates of Sanctus, and how Gideon is so sure that he’s not the husker.
Is this what it’s all about? Did Augustin help Gideon in exchange for a place at Sanctus?
Why wouldn’t Gideon give it to him? Gideon is a scoundrel, but he’s not cruel.
“Chirag, you’re home!” Dolly Auntie rushes in, dropping a pile of toys to give Papa a suffocating hug.
Dolly isn’t really my mother’s sister. I can’t actually remember if we’re related or not.
‘Aunties’ are what we call any female relatives or friends of my parents who hang around together in a clan of meddling trouble.
“And who’s this you’ve brought with you? ”
“That’s Augustin Durant, Komal’s very handsome and extremely single mayoral opponent.
” Sunita Auntie appears under Augustin’s elbow.
She winks. Panic races through me. What has she got planned?
“Tell us, Augustin, don’t you think Komal looks absolutely ravishing in red?
Red for victory! And for love, yes? Mmmm. ”
Sunita elbows him so hard in the ribs that I swear I hear his bones creak. Her handbag slips off her shoulder and clatters to the floor. “Oops, so silly of me!”
As Augustin stoops to pick up her handbag, business cards cascade onto the floor, which is odd because Sunita Auntie works in the kitchen at Chirag’s Takeaways and doesn’t need a business card, but then I realise the photograph on it isn’t of her.
It’s me.
It was taken at my graduation from RAF training. My hair and makeup are perfection (if I do say so myself), and the wings pinned to my dress uniform sparkle with promise. On the back, Sunita Auntie has written:
Komal (my lovely niece)
Helicopter pilot. Veteran. Kind. Adventurous. Infectious laugh. Good at solving problems. Passable roti. (But don’t ask her to make pakoras. They are like tiny rocks.) Big loving family (so lots of aunties for babysitting). Warning, she does talk back!
Serious marriage proposals to Sunita. But hurry, Komal won’t be on the market long!
Horror grips me as Augustin picks one up. “What are these?”
“Half of matchmaking is in the marketing.” Sunita grins. “I’m helping your parents find you a husband. Take one, Augustin, but I’d put in your resume quickly. We have lots of excellent applicants.”
I glare at my auntie. “ ‘Komal won’t be on the market long’? I’m not a two-bedroom semi!”
“No, you’re an accomplished young woman with your whole future ahead of you.
” Sunita scoops up the cards and shoves them at any male guest walking past. “And I don’t understand why you’re still single and living in your parents’ back garden.
You could be like Preeti, with a proper job and beautiful children.
What happened to that lovely fellow you brought home for Diwali a few years ago? ”
What happened is that Sam wasn’t so lovely.
And that is exactly what I don’t want to be thinking about on Social Night, after I’ve broken my father out of the hospital and Augustin Durant is staring at me like I’m a critter in the zoo.
Preeti didn’t have a happy marriage, so I’m not sure she’s who I want to be.
And I came back because my family needed me is what I want to say, but I don’t, because I won’t embarrass my sister and family in front of our guests.
And I won’t shout at my auntie that she can stop wishing for more grandchildren.
Which means I have no choice but to stand here, wallowing in my shame, while Sunita Auntie goes on about all my failings.
Augustin stares down at the card. “You forgot to list argumentative, infuriating, stubborn—”
“I’m not stubborn.” I snatch the card from his hand. “And these are not seeing the light of day. Ever. Got it? Sunita, hand over that stack.”
“Here you go, dear.” She shoves them into my hands. “I’ve got five boxes at home.”
“What—”
“Augustin, why don’t you come with me? The men are out in the conservatory, and they’d love to meet you.” Sunita Auntie hooks her arm under Augustin’s and drags him deeper into the house. I follow, reluctantly, as Nikhil bounces through the living room, his face smeared with ice cream.
“Did you fix our helicopter yet?” Nikhil dumps a handful of dinosaurs onto the table and kicks a pile of ice block sticks the kids use as fences across the floor. “We’re making a dinosaur park, and we want to give it its own shed.”
“Sorry, I’ve been a little busy with the mayoral stuff. I’ll get on to it this weekend. The shed is called a hangar, and unlike planes, helicopters can’t taxi into a hangar, so we’ll have to build a heliporter to move it—”
I trail off as Nikhil tackles his brother into the china cabinet. I wince as Mamma’s Royal Doulton plates rattle on their stands. Thankfully, nothing breaks. The twins roll away, giggling.
The sound delights me and makes me want to vomit. I am a woman of many layers.
“That’s very naughty of Komal Massi not to fix your toy, isn’t it?
” Mamma appears at the door of the kitchen, a warm cup of chai in hand, which she hands to me.
“You should never be too busy for family. And you shouldn’t turn away nice Indian men with segways because they do not grow on trees.
If you running for mayor wasn’t making your father so happy, I’d make you give it up.
Rishi says you haven’t called him back after you stood him up the other night. ”
I haven’t called Rishi back because he owns a segway.
Mamma and I watch Papa grinning as he bounces cousin Charles on his knee and regales his friends with tales of his hospital shenanigans. “My Komal is running for mayor in my stead, and she’s going to make all of my ideas happen!”
In the kitchen, I duck under Priya Auntie’s gesticulating arm to check the still-warm pots on the stove. The scent of Dad’s famous biryani hits me as soon as I lift the lid, and I scoop myself out a generous-sized bowl. Sunita must have brought over the pot after closing.