Under The Mango Trees

Chapter Twelve : In Between Paneer Tikka And Dry Okra

She compliantly did as I asked and I grabbed a book from my nearby shelf, laid down on my single bed and faced the bleakness of the wall. My head felt heavy against the soft pillow. I didn't know what was the title of this book, but I didn't dare to lift a finger, afraid of doing or saying something that I would regret later. I lay there motionless like a rotting corpse.

"I wouldn't have come here if it wasn't for the mess at my house," I heard her dolorous voice like the ache of a widow reminiscing her wedding days. Suddenly, I felt sad for her. But she didn't need me, she was still inclined towards that rich brat. "Is it okay if I stay the night here?"

"Can't you stay at your boyfriend's house?"

I heard her senseless giggles which aggravated me more. "He's not my boyfriend."

"So you just go around kissing anyone you feel like?"

"Everyone will be shocked if I stayed at his place." Her frivolous giggles continued, probably imagining the outcome.

"As if you care about everyone."

Her frivolous giggles turned to puzzled giggles. "What do you mean?"

I let her unanswered question drift in the air around her, stirring her, unnerving her. We didn't talk after that and I didn't know how many hours passed as I stared at the same words in the book, not once turning the yellowed pages. Occasionally, I heard shuffling from where she was sitting, but nothing else. I heard my mother inquisitively enter a couple of times, but nobody responded. I imagined Lila would have smiled at my mother in assurance.

"Dinner is ready!" I heard my mother's shout and got up mechanically, keeping away the unread book and heading straight towards the living room. Seeing me, she continued sarcastically in Marathi, "You know your brilliant father? He got these vegetables from Godrej Basket! Organic food! What nonsense! He has no brains! Why couldn't he buy from the vendor near the park? Why does he have to spend money unnecessarily? He can barely pay off the loan and . . . "

Lila silently sat on the chair opposite to me as my mother incessantly complained about my father (who wasn't at home now) in Marathi, thinking that Lila didn't understand. Lila couldn't speak in Marathi, but she understood perfectly well. I didn't look at her face to catch her amused expression, not from embarrassment, but irritation. I observed the food being served, a generous dollop of special paneer tikka masala on special Lila's floral ceramic plate (normally at home, we used steel plates). Whereas I got more of the dry okra, but I didn't protest.

"You didn't go to meet Jaspreet today?" My mother's sudden question alarmed me as I hastily got up, the dining table shaking from my negligence. "You could have taken Lila with you. After all, you three studied in the same class."

I couldn't have. Jaspreet disliked Lila because she thought Lila was vain and had an "attitude." That Lila didn't care about anyone, but only about herself. I could see today why she thought that.

Without sparing a glance at either of them, I headed straight to my phone which was kept in my room and anxiously checked the messages, expecting a bombardment of where did I disappear and all. To my astonishment, there were multiple messages by her which were all deleted on WhatsApp. Jaspreet never deleted her messages, however nonsensical they were. I called her promptly, but she didn't pick up.

"Your food is getting cold!" my mum vociferated from the living room.

I started typing, 'I'm so sorry that I couldn't come . . . Anthony came over and he's still here, having dinner with us. We had a major fight so I forgot because of all this, I'm sorry."

Fortunately, she came online, a minute after I sent her the message.

'It's okay. The waffles were yummy like always'- Jazz.

Holy hell. She did show up at the waffle place and I . . . If only I wasn't in my deep, pitiful hole because of Lila . . . If only Lila wasn't here.

'We'll meet soon, next week?'

'Sure . . . And hope you're okay?'- Jazz.

She was referring to the lie that she naively believed in and I typed, 'Yes, I'm sure he and I will resolve it soon.'

'Great'- Jazz.

'Yeah. Good night!'

'Good night'- Jazz.

* * *

Glossary :

Betaal- a ghost from the mythological story of Vikram and Betaal.

Godrej Basket- a grocery store.