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47.1 - Framed

47 – Framed

Maya Sumedh

 

 Most of our initial days in Boston were spent sleeping at odd times and getting used to the jetlag. We spent time in Boston Commons and Zania Mausi nudged me in the elbows periodically when any post-pubescent boy with a hint of muscle jogged past where we sprawled on the lawn. Yes, they were very attractive. But sometimes there were a bit too dirty-blonde, maybe too close to six-one. We also frequented the Theatre District and a bunch of museums which Ma found more interesting than I did. Routine was pretty fixed. I read the Boston Herald in the morning, in which most of the news didn’t make sense to me. Then I went for a jog. I never met Mausi’s neighbours on the tenth floor. In the evenings we went walking, but mostly in and around the neighbourhood. I felt pangs of homesickness, but with Ma and Dad around it was okay. I knew that when they left, it would get worse. And at night I frowned at the guest bedroom ceiling and crossed my arms against my chest, wishing I had someone (him) to talk to, someone (him) to be with me, someone (him) with whom everything would feel okay.

 One Saturday evening, Zania Mausi was frying an egg in the kitchen and Ma and Dad had gone for a walk downstairs. I had taken an afternoon nap so I was a bit disoriented.

 “Hey. Mausi.”

 “Hey, Maya. Want an egg?”

 I perched on the bar stool in front of her.

 “No, thanks. Listen, do you have a map I can borrow?”

 She raised an eyebrow at me over her glasses.

 “What kind of map?”

 “Like a roap map. A tourist map of Boston, with subway routes and stuff.”

 She flipped the egg messily and cussed under her breath. Then she said, “What for? I can drive you wherever you want to go.”

 I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to go anywhere in particular. I just want to…go out. I’ll be back soon, promise. I won’t stay out late.”

 I didn’t actually know why I wanted to go just somewhere. But I wanted to get out of the apartment for a while, and just be alone.

 She gave me weird look but put off the stove anyway. From the living room, she gave me a slim book with a folded map and a few phone numbers inside.

 “Here. Don’t stay out late, please. And charge your phone.”

 I took the book and nodded.

 “Okay. Thanks.”

*

 I felt like I was slipping through the cracks, but in a good way. In the crowd of one of the biggest cities in the world, I went completely unnoticed, slipping between jostling shoulders and slippery American accents. I took a few random trains on the subway to get accustomed to the system, although it wasn’t very different from the Delhi Metro. It was a bit dirtier, and a lot busier. Eventually, after looking through the book I had, I realised that going everywhere I wanted to wasn’t possible, not to mention safe. I decided on Downtown Crossing, which was quite close to where Zania Mausi stayed. I had enough money to get something to eat – I hoped. I still wasn’t fully used to gauging how much a couple of dollars was worth. I had taken about a hundred anyway, to be on the safe side. I hoped I didn’t look too touristy. Despite the chill I wore as less winter clothing as possible – there were guys on the subway in Harvard t-shirts and shorts, and I was controlling the urge to shiver. The cold bit more because of my hair – it was now much shorter than I normally kept it – I had chopped most of it off in May, so it was more like a longish bob. It looked okay, but it sucked at keeping the cold out.