Beauty and the Boy from the East

Chapter 1- Truths

~

“Truth or dare,” the girl said to me.

“Truths, I’ll always pick truths,” I replied, because telling the truth was easier.

“Tell me about your first memory.”

~

“Akash, Akash wake up quickly!” My mum calls me at 5am in the morning, in Hindi because she doesn’t know English well. She smiled and I got to see the rare dimple cut across her face.

“What is it?” I open my eyes wide, replying in Hindi also.

My dad smiled, “Happy 5th Birthday son.” He spoke in English; he was the one who forced me to learn it, even though not many of the villagers spoke it.  It had only been a week after we moved. 

I eyed the box wrapped in good newspaper suspiciously. “Did you buy this? You shouldn’t buy stuff for me. Mum, don’t encourage him!” Already at the age of 5 I knew what my parents could afford: nothing.

“It was nothing, I found it outside in the dump,” lied my mother.

Still not satisfied, I carefully unwrapped the newspaper and opened the cardboard box. Inside was a small golden chain. Plain and simple to the ordinary person but to me it was amazing.

“It was your grandfather’s; he won it in a bet. I think it’s time you have it.”

I nodded as my mother placed the chain on my neck and it slowly slid under my torn shirt.

“Now go to school with Aditya! You don’t want to go alone so hurry!”

I nodded distractedly as I ran out of our tiny home.

~Adit was there, waiting for me by the tree as usual.

“You’re late,” he replied coolly, “we’ll have to run now!” Even though he was four years older than me, he sometimes acted younger. We became friends on the first day of school straightaway, especially because we live only a few slum houses away. I quickly learnt you needed friends when you didn’t have much.

We raced until the school gate and after we ran, we held each other’s hands and began approaching our small classroom…which actually was more like a roof with four sticks holding it together.

We squatted with a book and a pencil in one hand as we copied out English words from the blackboard.  English classes were easy for me: most of the words I already knew. My father said “You can’t expect to get a job these days without knowing English. I want you to get a good education and job. I don’t want you to suffer like me.” Many of our classmates, especially the older ones, skipped school frequently, usually to work to help support their families.

“Akash, what does ‘nadi’ mean in English?” asked the female teacher.

“Uh….water...wait no, river!” I replied.

The teacher smiled. “And how old are you?”

“Panch, or as you like pretending you’re white, five to you Miss,” I replied. Behind me I heard echoes of laughter, most noticeably a girl who was opposite me and winked. across the room. I was confused.

The teacher turned to an older boy, “So Mr.Mallik how come this young boy knows what ‘nadi’ is but you don’t?”

“Well it’s simple…He’s not Muslim. He’s obviously going to know more English.”

The teacher opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead she busied herself with other English words.

“Adit,” I began to ask as we walked back home, “what did he mean about being Muslim?”

“Well there’s Hindus and Muslims keep fighting you see, keep blaming each other…”

“Oh…alvida!” Adit offered me a small, sad smile as I turned into our house.

“Mother, I’m home, sorry I was a bit late I was looking for scraps and- Mum? Are you there?”

I need not look around our house to know she wasn’t. Our single room comprised of two areas : sleeping areas with think bubble wrap and old cloth as bed sheets and the other side was our kitchen, laundry and toilet. It was a bigger slum than most, but even in the dead of night you could smell the urine from the dry toilet. If you looked at it carefully, you could see gleams of the remainder of our excrements. But I’d long gotten used to it. In fact, having the toilet was just enough for us. I knew numerous kids who had to go in public places. The humiliation was especially worse for girls. One of my friends, Naima, told me how she was physically scared for her life when a lone farmer caught her. He made unwelcoming advances on her and was scared oh what would have   happened if for not some kind stranger who pretended was her father. My mother was clearly not home. I ran to several of our neighbours.

“Have you seen my mother?” I asked in Hindi. All of them shook their heads. A few offered to help, but I declined until I got to Aditya’s house. His father and mother looked fearful at the news. Aditya went with me to go to look for her. Our feet dragged us to the near water hole, the only fresh water place we had. It was the ‘safest’ water to drink for us. It was there we found her.  She was carrying a large bucket on her head and I ran up to help her but she instantly put her hand in front of me.

“No.” Her eyes were unfocused and she was looking at the ground. 

I felt a small throb in my heart and it started to ache, like when I hadn’t had food for days, but I wasn’t hungry this time. Aditya just shrugged and helped carry more water. I didn’t realise my mum’s sari had been recently dirty and her pale skin was now darker in certain parts of her. I didn’t know men could be evil, twisted manipulated creatures than. How could I? My father was kind, considerate and hardworking…

Just before we got to the door of the house my Mum suddenly turned to us.

“Don’t tell...your parents,” she whispered, “just say I dropped some water or something. Please.” The hurt it her voice was enough to make her agree, but still I had my doubts...

As I was sweeping the house our father was already at home, listening to the television set while the fan was whizzing above him. The Indian Cricket was on with us winning so far. My lips curved upwards and my I was laughing. India is winning! A few seconds later and advertisement had come up.

“There has been a murder of a young girl in the slums east of Delhi.” My father quickly changed the channel as I saw a grotesque mutated body. 

Slums. It was the first time I had heard that word.

“Father, what is a slum?” For a long time he need not answer as he continued to stare at his wife.

“They are…what people call what we live in. Houses not as, uhm, rich as theirs.”

“Accha.” It felt weird. Being told you weren’t good enough or that you were somehow inferior. I didn’t see myself as a dirty, poor street kid. I was just normal. I was me.

For a long time, I didn’t know what life outside was like…I touched my necklace, grateful that I was here. 

~(To be continued...)