PART 3 #9
Rabbani has been attacking me and complaining to Baba about Aanchal ever since she moved into the building.
Every time I have tried to bring it up with her, she quickly turns away from me, marches into her room and slams the door shut.
She squarely blames Aanchal for what happened between Amruta and me.
We haven’t had a conversation in weeks and it fucking breaks my heart.
‘Rabbani came to me with a game she wanted me to test,’ says Gaurav. ‘It was pretty good . . . I mean . . . for a beginner.’
‘She came to you? Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘She had asked me not to.’
I glare at him. ‘What did she say?’
‘Something to the effect that you are an innocent lamb, and Didi is the hairy, disgusting butcher with a sharp blade. That she will cut out your heart and leave you writhing to die.’
‘Don’t exaggerate. Tell me the exact words.’
‘Can’t call Didi a two-paise whore,’ says Gaurav.
I lean back into the seat and take a deep breath. And then I say, ‘She will come around. She’s a kid.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘What do you mean I’m sure? Of course, I’m sure.’
‘She’s not your little girl any more. Dada is no longer the best, and no longer amazing. Definitely not after you decided to start seeing Didi.’
‘I can’t let a thirteen-year-old dictate my dating choices.’
‘It’s hardly a dating choice, Bhaiya,’ prods Gaurav. ‘It’s a life choice and she has a right to have an opinion about it.’
‘She can have an opinion, but she can’t have veto power.’
‘And she’s right, to be honest,’ he says with a shrug. ‘You just upended her life by leaving Amruta. And Didi . . . she’s a handful. And the two of you . . . are kind of extreme with each other.’
‘Good to receive advice from two kids,’ I say and get out of the car.
Gaurav stays in the car while I go to fetch us rajma chawal and kadhi chawal. A handful of people recognize him, but none of them approach to get a picture with him. These days Gaurav is of no social value to anyone.
The food tastes just as good as it ever did, although the number of people around has skyrocketed since our last visit here. We eat until we are completely stuffed.
‘If Rabbani shares something with you, you come to me immediately, okay?’
Gaurav nods and says, ‘Of course, it will be much easier to get to you if I’m using a better phone.’
As per the instructions of the rehab clinic, he’s using a phone with a screen smaller than my thumb. No Internet, no messaging. But both Tejal and him, they think he’s ready. They think coming back to gaming and social media is a part of his healing process.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask him.
‘There’s no difference whether I do it now or later. As you said, the worst has passed,’ insists Gaurav.
‘There’s a lot of ugliness.’
‘I have seen death. What can be worse than that?’
‘Oye, don’t try to be philosophical with me.’
He raises his hands in mock anger. ‘I think I have seen enough shit to say a few heavy lines.’
‘No, please.’
‘Can I have it?’ he asks with his outstretched hand.
I warn him as I pass him my phone. ‘I need to know that you will be okay. Because this time if you enter a spiral, I swear I’m going to end your life myself.’
‘You worry too much, Bhaiya.’
‘If I had worried the right amount, we wouldn’t be sitting here.’
He takes the phone from me.
Saved in my Notes app is Gaurav’s Instagram password.
Going back online will bring in a torrent of hate; some of it he deserves, some no one does.
Having run his account for years and interacted with his fans online, I know what’s going to happen.
Hundreds of thousands of people are going to unfollow him immediately as soon as he reactivates his accounts.
His DMs will be flooded with abuses, angry voice notes, death threats.
He looks at me and says, ‘I know the things that matter to me. My family, you, Tejal. But I need to go out there again, to exist. To do that, I need to apologize and start afresh. There’s still a lot left in me. I will go back to the grind again.’
‘You think you can compete again?’
‘A few drug tests, clean blood. A few months of practice. I will be ready to chart my redemption journey,’ he says with a smile. ‘Just like you said.’
I keep my scepticism within me. It’s the only thing he knows to do so it’s natural that he would want to get back to it. But if he has to have an addiction, I’d rather it be this.
‘Sure.’
He takes out his phone. Then logs into his Instagram account.
I hold my breath wondering if he would be able to take all the hate that was poured into his Instagram account before he deactivated it.
He scrolls through the comments, the messages, the vitriol that had flooded his account.
I scan his face for reactions. After an eternity, he locks his phone and looks up at me with a half-smile so fragile it could break at any moment. And then he smiles, wide and bright.
‘Honestly,’ he says. ‘I thought it would be a lot worse.’
We finish the rajma chawal and no one disturbs us.
12.
Daksh Dey
We pooled our resources in the kitchen today. We had decided we would make an elaborate lunch before I leave for the Eurotrip next week. Both Rabbani and Baba don’t want me to leave.
‘It’s a boring midlife crisis,’ Rabbani had said.
‘Unnecessary waste of fuel,’ Baba had added. ‘And what’s there in Europe that’s not here?’
Baba, of course, has an ulterior motive for not wanting me to leave.
He doesn’t want to bear the wrath of Rabbani’s teenage angst all by himself—the unfinished lunches, the banged doors, the upturned shoes in the living room.
However, surprisingly enough, today the queen has kept her laptop aside and graciously lent her aid in the kitchen.
We have made roti, bharta, paneer sabzi, raita, papad, pulao and kosha mangsho.
‘You’re going to miss all of this,’ she warns me.
We are about to sit down to eat when the bell rings.
‘I’ll get the door,’ says Rabbani from the kitchen.
Baba and I start to serve ourselves. Baba doing so with one hand while texting on his WhatsApp running group with the other.
‘The way you’re using your hand, you might need a prosthetic for it soon,’ I joke.
‘And if I slap you with it, then you will need a prosthetic face,’ he counters. He plates for Rabbani. ‘What’s keeping her?’
We both turn to see her standing a few feet away, staring down at a ripped-up package in her hands. She is now studying the passports that she has taken out.
‘Rabbani . . .’
She looks up, nostrils flaring.
‘I wanted to tell you.’
I hadn’t found the courage to tell Rabbani about the last-minute addition to the trip.
There was too much planning going on, and I was in no mood to tolerate her tantrums. She has clutched the passports tightly in her hands, the nerve on her forehead is popping, and her anger is palpable.
She holds Aanchal’s passport out for me to see.
‘She’s going with you?’ she thunders.
I think about being nonchalant about it but then decide to be honest.
‘We are giving our relationship another try. We need to at least try.’
She lets out a huge, frustrated breath.
‘Dude! Don’t you realize how wrong this is?’
‘It’s the most natural thing to do!’
‘She’s going to leave you again!’ Rabbani shouts, her voice trembling with frustration.
‘Rabbani, calm down,’ I say in a stern tone. ‘I know what you’re worried about. This is not going to affect us.’
‘You must be kidding me! After everything she’s done to you, you’re going back to her? How dumb do you have to be, Dada!’
‘She has done nothing to me,’ I clarify. ‘Every relationship has—’
‘And what she did to Amu Didi?’ she grumbles.
‘I did that to her.’
‘You can’t just go running after her because your vibes match!’ she protests.
‘I’m pretty sure it’s more than just vibe.’
‘I will never talk to her!’
‘Rabbani, I understand why you’re so upset, but this is something that I need to do for me.’
She’s far from calm. Her face is flushed red.
‘I’m not going to accept it, no way!’
‘No one’s asking you to accept it,’ I snap.
‘Dude! Your decisions affect everyone!’
‘Stop calling me dude,’ I snarl.
‘I will call you whatever!’
‘Look, Rabbani, I need to do this one thing for myself. Chup ho jaa.’
‘What do you mean?’ snaps Rabbani.
‘I want to do this. That’s it! What’s so hard to understand?’
‘What do you mean do this one thing? Just say it clearly, dude, that you lost years of your life because of me . . . because of us.’
‘Both of you, shut up,’ scowls Baba.
‘It’s true, Rabbani, isn’t it?!’ I say, knowing I will regret the words.
‘When did I get to do something that only I wanted to do?’ I snap. ‘Let me do this!’
‘Fine. Fine!’ she says. ‘You don’t have to do anything for me! I will take care of myself! Just go date that—’
‘Don’t complete that sentence.’
She steps forward, tears streaming down her face. ‘And whatever we went through, it wasn’t just you, dude, it was all of us! Baba also went through it!’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. You know that.’
‘Of course you do! You walk around like a martyr!’
‘Rabbani, just stop speaking, okay?’
She doesn’t listen. ‘Someone who gave up so much for his poor sister and father! That’s what family does, Bhaiya. You stepped up and thank you but whatever . . . I don’t want to talk to you. Just stop making us feel like we are a burden!’
‘Rabbani, I never want you to feel like that. Listen to me—’
‘Don’t tell me what to do. I will do whatever I feel like. That guy, Arjun, I will go date him!’
‘Rabbani—’
‘Please keep quiet, Rabbani,’ Baba says.
‘Badtameezi mat kar,’ I warn Rabbani. ‘That guy is seventeen.’
Her eyes burn with anger. ‘I will do whatever I want!’
‘You can’t blackmail me, Rabbani. That’s not how it works.’
‘That’s exactly how it works!’