Project Heart(h) ✓

Chapter Two

"Ah yes, I'll ask Dikhou to show you around." Grandpa turned to Junak. "Do you remember Dikhou? You used to play together as kids."

Junak bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head.

"Aiyo, it was so long ago, how can he remember?" Grandma broke in as she returned to the room. "And rather than playing, the two used to fight all the time." She brought a cup of tea for herself and this time, she took a seat at the table. "By the way, what is this project of yours that brought you here?"

The three friends shared a look.

"Um... it's a music video," Junak said, trying to give away as little as possible. "We'll be shooting a Bihu song."

"That's so great!" Grandma beamed. "It's so good to see youngsters like you take interest in their tradition."

Junak gulped down the faint ache of guilt in his chest. He had no reason to be guilty, he told himself. People here were homophobic; what he was doing was for a much bigger cause.

"You'll be bringing performers from Guwahati, I presume?" Grandpa asked.

"No, no," Niribili replied, "we're planning on casting some of the villagers. And Junak here will be writing the song."

"You'll be writing a Bihu song?" Grandma cried, her face lighting up instantaneously. Even her husband looked fondly amused. "This is so great." She got to her feet and went and threw her arms around Junak's shoulders. "My grandson, a songwriter! We always lacked an artist in the family and here he is."

Junak's cheeks hurt from the strain of his smile. His grandmother's hands were frail, the skin wrinkled and papery, but her embrace was tight and honest and warm. She smelled of coconut oil and something else that was strangely familiar though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Have you written songs before, Junak?" The man at the head of the table asked, his gaze softening as he watched his wife and grandson.

"Yes, koka, a few–"

"I'd love to hear them."

Junak nearly did a double-take; most of his songs were queer-themed with quite an explicit language. "I... mostly write other stuff though. Screenplays and all."

"You write plays and not once did you invite us to any of those?" Perhaps Grandpa meant only to kid, but the moment the words left his mouth, a cold settled over Junak's heart. His grandmother's hold on him slackened.

"I'm sorry, koka," Junak muttered, his throat dry.

"Aiyo, even if he had told us, how could we have travelled at this age?" Grandma said, chuckling. She let go of the boy and returned to her seat. "Tell us something about yourselves," she added to Niribili and Banhi. "What do your parents do? Where are they from?"

The familiar ache in Junak's chest grew as he listened to the girls talk about their families. Niribili's parents were originally from Assam. Her mother died when she was six, after which the family moved to Delhi. Banhi's family was a little more complicated but for the sake of keeping the conversation lively, she simply mentioned that she had a joint family back in Delhi while she lived in the US for her work.

Niribili removed her hand from where it laid on the table and Junak knew his friends well enough to know she was holding Banhi's hand under the table.

"I've never been to Delhi," Grandma said, shooting her husband a pointed look. "Junak's grandfather never–"

"Aita. O'aita!" A voice coming from the next room interrupted the woman who turned to the door and said, "In here."

Junak had his head downcast, nibbling at a coconut pitha, when he felt the curtains part and a pair of footsteps grew closer.