Under The Mango Trees

Chapter Fifty : In Between Ghosts of the Past

"How does he look?" My mum's eager face flashed as she shoved the phone on my face, its brightness on the highest level. I had to squint to look at the passport size picture of a man with buttons of his checkered shirt wound up till his chin that he resembled a dog on a leash. "Isn't he perfect for Pavitra? He works at Tata and he already has an empty two-bedroom apartment near the station. He was recently promoted too! And his parents are your second aunty's father-in-law's friends. They own a chemicals factory."

"Not bad," I said, turning away from the lurid screen. "If only he will have her."

"Why won't he have her?" she cried out, then her voice dropped to quiet desperation, "Look at Pavitra. She's so beautiful." At my sneer (not from unkindness, but honesty. Pavitra was dressed in rags and slouched like a sack of potatoes), she burst out, "It's been three years since her marriage! She's still so young. Anyone will be lucky to have her. Do you know she was smarter than you when she was young? She could count numbers till hundred when she was three!"

"That's how many sitcoms she has watched in these three years."

It was as if she never heard me, in fact, she needed to hear herself. The words that tumbled out of her lips in a strange, persuading fashion were for her to hear. To delude herself into believing that there was a future for a cheating sloth-like Pavitra. It had been three years since Pavitra had wrecked her marriage and still hadn't scrambled out of the pile of pity. Their divorce was finally filed, on the promise that she would remarry. A part of me prayed for the poor man who would fall into this calculated trap, but another part of me wished to help in baiting the prey in hopes that I wouldn't have to live with her. Three families fell apart because of her, yet she was as cruelly indifferent as a plant refusing to bear fruits after being tended to.

"I will talk to Lila's father myself and get her old job back," my mother said resolutely and my gaze flew to Pavitra like a mother bird seeing her chick being attacked by crows. But her body was still relaxed and uncaring, unlike mine. It had been a long time since I had heard that name and I never thought I would hear it again. This past year had been fleetingly beautiful, I chose to major in the subject that I loved the most, English Literature. Immersing myself in the world of stories, I discovered parts of me that I never knew existed. I never knew what stories could teach me about the real world, As Dev had put it the last time we met (two months ago since I had my finals and he his usual busyness), "Facts and fiction. Each hides each other in itself."

Even though I met Dev as infrequently as trains arrived at the outskirts of Mumbai, we were still as much in love as that day last year kissing under the rain. Unlike the last year where my mind was rotting with doubts and insecurities, this year I savoured the sweet love that ripened with time this year. At last, everything in my life began to make as much sense as I was capable of. More friendships in college opened up to me over a mutual love for books (since Jazz took economics to become a corporate lady and was acing at it), my father and I started to make peace with the two mad women in the house and spent whatever time we had at home together by playing chess or UNO and Dev had found permanent residence in my mind. Wherever I went with thoughts of him, I was at home.

The tiniest itch in my life was that after this summer, we would be separated not only by time but by space since I was hoping to move to Delhi for further studies. Dev knew about this, for him, it was an itch that would go away on its own. He never doubted anything. On the other hand, I scratched and scratched till it inflamed and agonised me and there was no cure, but his hugs and kisses.

"It'll be weird if you ask her father now," I said, keeping my voice steady. If Pavitra didn't have a heart to prevent our parents from knowing about her misadventures, I would do it for her. Not because she had kept my relationship with Dev a secret (God only knew why), but because I didn't want anyone to steal my cherished peace.

My mother's eyes narrowed into slits. "Why? I met Lila's mother yesterday at the fruits vendor. She's kind, she asked about you all and even remembered how you like her fruit custard. She invited you home. You should go and take the new chaklis that I made. Lila has come back from America and she'll want to taste more Indian snacks, not that pingles-shingles."

"What?"

"Don't you talk to her? All-day you're on your phone and---"

"Lila," that name was rough on my tongue as I heard it. Barely above a whisper. My voice was slow, patient, restrained as I asked, "She. . . came. . . back?"

"Do I have to repeat in English? Can't you understand your own mother tongue?!"

"I have to go," I muttered, getting up from the bed and absently grabbing my phone, loose change and whatever useful my hands could land on in the drawer.

"Where are you going suddenly? Go wherever you want after lunch---"

"I have to go now."

"I have prepared lunch since morning. I cooked two curries since you're so bored of dal now. If you eat after you come back from wherever you're going, the food will get cold and---"

"I said I have to go!" I exploded, storming out of the room and my mother was too stunned to stop me.