Under The Mango Trees

Chapter Nine : In Between Marine Drive And Pani Puri

When I exited the room, I didn't anticipate to see Lila's father's face buried in his wife's chest as he broke out in tiny sobs. Lila didn't too as both of us stilled in the passage, hearing his shallow breaths like a drowning man pulled out of water. Her mother stood and held his head with a vividly distressed look on her face, trying her best to soothe him while her father sat on a chair at the dining table. And her quick instincts made her notice us, two girls awkwardly frozen like ice sculptures. She tore away from her husband whose bloodshot eyes then averted to the table, not daring to look up.

Lila strode to her mother and without sparing a glance at her father, she kissed her mother's cheeks like she always did. I trailed indifferently after her like a train-bearer holding the delicate train of pretence. From the corner of my eye, I saw her father's slumped figure and his red ears, reminding me of all the times when I stayed at Lila's place late and spotted him sitting right there by the dining table. He would wearily come home after work, pour himself a half glass of whisky and swirl the golden liquid without ever drinking it. At least, I had never seen him take a sip. The house would be ghostly quiet in the night like an empty vault made of gold, Lila and her mother's cheerful voices reduced to cautious whispers. Even their normal talks about 'what's there for dinner?' would be hushed like they were exchanging nuclear power secrets.

"I'll come back soon," Lila said, her light voice felt like a misplaced beam of sunlight struggling to find its way out of dense, dark clouds.

Her mother didn't fuss over her and in her silence, Lila and I stealthily slipped out. I pressed on the elevator button because whenever Lila was disconcerted or dolorous, she did the least amount of physical activity. But she launched herself towards the stairs and started sprinting down, seemingly impervious to the strange environment of her house. Startled, I ran after her, both of us madly racing each other. My longer legs enabled me to overtake her by the time we arrived at the fourth floor and laughingly, she tried pulling me back by my arm, shoulder, whatever could reach her desperate, flailing hands.

The sound of the slapping of our flip-flops against the concrete stairs and our childish giggles echoed in the vacant stairwell. We arrived at the bottom and with my leftover energy, I sped to the car, halting instantly when I couldn't hear Lila's short steps after me. I turned around to find her exasperated in a hands-on knees posture. I advanced towards her and hesitantly placed my hand on her shoulder since she was gasping for breath. "Lila . . . Are you okay?"

Suddenly, she swatted my hand away and dashed towards the car, shouting, "It's so easy to trick you!"

Manu was befuddled to see well-bred girls of eighteen running around like wild horses. Lila flashed an unapologetic grin, conveying that it was her, Lila, a girl who made eccentricities seem normal. Because it was normal to desire to play like a kid and fulfilment of that desire was also normal, had it not been for the standards of normalcy defined by societal expectations. We were all unconventional- unconventionally beautiful, smart, what not, pretending to be conventional. To pretend to be normal was to confine oneself. To pretend was to not live. This was the philosophy of Lila, yet here she was, pretending that everything was alright as she sighed- almost longingly. Longing for what?

After our little game, she quietly gazed out of the window of the car and sighed. Lila had never uttered a word about her father in our four years of friendship. On the other hand, she would talk garrulously about her mother, right from the new chic saree she bought to the peach pancakes she made. Perhaps, there were problems in his work life that she didn't wish to share . . . I never shared the amount of debt that my family carried like a row of ants marching with food. It was absurd how protective we could get about our families, trying to bury our failures deeper than personal ones.