Chapter 25
Raghav
The scooter’s engine is a high-pitched cough.
It’s the only time I have wished for an internal combustion engine to blow up.
My hands are gripped tightly on the handlebars, as I push the small engine faster than it’s meant to go.
I should slow down because this is stupid.
And I’m trying my best to do it . . . but .
. . Each gust of air slaps my face like my father’s voice—chinki—that word he threw out intentionally, meant to hurt me, to hurt her.
Even after her death. It’s fucked up that for all the deeply flawed and unkind people we see in the world, there’s no barrier preventing them from becoming parents.
Behind me, Aditi is a solid, grounding weight.
Her arms are wrapped tight around my waist, her helmet pressed against my back.
She isn’t screaming or telling me to slow down.
Maybe she’s scared she will slip off. Little does she know, right now, she’s an anchor.
The only thing keeping me from flying apart.
The rage burns hot. But no fire burns forever.
Eventually, it flickers and sputters, and I find myself tired.
My arms ache. My head throbs. My eyes burn from the wind.
The speed looks dumber. I ease up and drive to the side.
I kill the engine. The silence is immense.
Deafening, almost. We are out of the city, on a small hill of some sort.
When I look into the distance, I see the crash of waves far below.
Aditi gets off the scooter slowly, steadying herself.
I should apologize to her, but I can’t muster the strength.
She pulls off her helmet. She doesn’t look at me.
Just walks to the low stone wall at the edge of the cliff and sits there.
I stay by the bike, my legs trembling, my fingers paining from how tightly I’d gripped the throttle.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, my voice unsteady, my body still vibrating with leftover anger. Shame prickles under my skin. For losing control. For dragging her into this. ‘I shouldn’t have driven this fast.’
She doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t speak for a while. Then, she looks back at me, smiles and says, ‘Tejal was right about one thing. I have been suicidal since that day,’ she says sadly. ‘. . . but a part of me knew that I would never do it. Today, I was sure of it.’
I breathe a little easy hearing her voice. ‘All the more reason I shouldn’t have driven this fast.’
She shakes her head. ‘It’s not your fault, Raghav. I heard him . . . it reminded me of my family. Of how they were. Of how they are. I’m sorry you had to go through whatever you had to.’
I walk up to her and sit next to her. ‘It never stopped,’ I say. ‘It was just fucking constant. The humiliation. The jibes. The shitty things they said. After they said they would never accept her. I kind of lied to them that I would think about it . . . I just thought they would come around . . .’
‘They never do, do they?’
‘They would send pictures of her in family WhatsApp groups,’ I tell her. ‘. . . make fun of her people. Racist slurs. Some uncles would say at least I had practice on her. Can you imagine it? Grown men!’
My throat tightens. The memory rises like bile.
She keeps her hand on me. ‘That’s terrible.’
‘What can I do, right? Fucking family.’
She shakes her head. ‘You know what my breaking point was?’
I turn to look at her. Her eyes are glazed over.
She continues, ‘When my Jiju slapped me. At their house too. Not even mine. And when I cried, he slapped me once more. In front of strangers, he slapped me. My parents, my brothers, my Bhaiya. Like I was nothing. Like he owned me. Like who the fuck was he? How could he slap me? But he could. That just broke me.’
‘Fuck him.’
‘My sister,’ she says, ‘she said later that I deserved it. For what I had done.’ She blinks away her tears. She continues, ‘They don’t know that I can obliterate their lives.’
‘Your Jiju’s affair?’ I ask.
‘I can send pictures in every group,’ she says. ‘But also my brother. I can kill him. He’s on Grindr,’ she says. ‘I have proof too.’ She snaps her fingers. ‘Five minutes and I can destroy them both.’
‘But then, we would be just like them,’ I tell her. ‘Not that I want to be nice. But I don’t want to encourage you because right now it’s extremely easy to fall into that trap.’
Her lip curls slightly. She nods. I know she won’t do it. That time has happened.
‘So,’ I say finally, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes. ‘Our families are shit. And we are—’
‘Collateral damage.’
That breaks the tension. I find myself smiling.
‘We need to remind ourselves it’s them,’ I say. ‘It’s about them. It’s about their control.’
‘That’s true. How could I not see that all they wanted was to own me?’ Aditi says. ‘My choices, my future, my happiness. The second I chose something for myself, I was not just disagreeing with them, I was stealing from them.’
‘The second we show them that their way of living isn’t the only way, that their rules aren’t laws, they can’t stand it.’
‘They should have a licensing system for being a parent,’ she says.
‘Absolutely,’ I say. And then add, ‘What do you think should be on the list?’
She thinks for a while and says, ‘Module One should be not viewing your child as a long-term investment, retirement plan or the source of all pride. Module Two, understanding that “because I said so” is not a valid argument after the age of four.’
‘Half the country would fail,’ I say.
She raises an eyebrow. ‘Only half?’
We fall quiet again. I glance at her. She’s still facing the ocean. Her arms are relaxed now. Her jaw unclenched.
‘We will get through this,’ I say.
‘What option do we have?’ she says.
A long silence. Then finally, I say, ‘Come on. Let’s go back.’
She nods. We put on our helmets. I start the scooter. She gets on behind me, her arms slipping around me again. Familiar. Anchor. The ride back is slow, steady, and silent. It doesn’t feel like I am escaping any more.