sonu kumar
Posted On: 09-04-2019
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Three mistakes of my life

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Fifteen

Vidya. Vidya. Vidya - her name rang like an alarm in my head. I ran through
tomato sellers and marble playing kids to reach her house on time.
I had tons of work. There were waiting suppliers, stuck stocks and unattended
orders. However, Vidya's thoughts dominated them all. A part of me, the logical
part, told me this was not a good idea. Businessmen should not waste time on
stupid things like women. But the other irrational part of me loved it. And this
part controlled me at the moment. Where is Vidya? I looked up at her window as
1 pressed the bell downstairs.
'Govind,' Vidya's dad opened the door. I froze. Why does every male in the
family of the girl you care about instil a fear in your soul?
'Uncle, Vidya ... tuitions,' I said.
'She is upstairs, on the terrace,' he said as he let me in. He picked up a
newspaper from the coffee table. Why do old people like newspapers so much?
They love reading the news, but what do they do about it? I went to the internal
staircase to go up to the terrace.
He spoke again as I climbed the steps. ‘How is she? Will she make it to the
medical entrance?’
'She is a bright student,' I said in a small voice. ‘Not like her useless brother,’
uncle said. He buried himself into the newspaper, dismissing me.
I climbed up to the terrace. Vidya stood there with an air-hostess smile.
'Welcome to my al fresco tuition place.'
She went and sat on a white plastic chair with a table and an extra chair in
front 'I had so many doubts,' she said, flipping through her notebook.
Smoke came out from under the table. 'Hey, what's this?' I said. 'Mosquito coil,'
she said.
I bent under the table to see the green, smouldering spiral coil. I also saw her
bare feet. She had her trademark pearl-white nail polish only on the toenail tips.
'The coil is not working,' I said as I came up, 'I see a mozzie party on top of your
head.'
'Mozzie?'
'It is what they call mosquitoes in Australia,' I said.
'Oh, foreign returned now. How was Australia?'
'Great,' I looked at her. I tried to be normal. I couldn't, not after that call. I had
opened my cards already. No matter how close I held them to my chest now, she.
had seen them.
I noticed her dress. She wore a new purple and white bandhini salwar kameez
today. Her necklace had a purple teardrop pendant and matching earrings. She
had freshly bathed. Her hair smelt of a little bit of Dettol soap and well, her.
Every girl has a wonderful smell right after a bath. I think they should bottle it
and sell it.
'You brought my gift,' she said to break the pause, or rather to fill up the
silence as I checked her out.
'Yeah,' I said.
I stood up to take out the match box from my jeans pocket.
'Blue Orange Cafe, cool,' she said. She took the box and slid it open with her
thin fingers.'Wow, an Australian beach in my hands,' she said. She held it up with pride as
if I had presented the queen's stolen diamonds.
'I feel silly. I should have brought something substantial,' I said.
'No, this is perfect. Look there is a tiny shell inside,' she signalled me to lean
forward. Our heads met in a dull thud as we looked into the matchbox's contents.
Her toes touched mine as we inched closer.
'Ouch,' she said as she pulled her feet away.
'What?' I said.
'Nothing, the mosquito coil,' she said, 'I touched the hot tip.'
I sat back upright. Water droplets had passed from her hair to mine. Half the
mosquitoes hovering over her head had shifted over to mine as well.
'Why am I so cheap?' I said.
'It’s fine. The call would have cost something.'
'Yeah, five dollars and sixty cents,' I said and regretted talking like an
accountant the next second.
'There you go. Anyway, life's best gifts are free,' she said and pulled her hair
back to tie them with a rubber band.
I nodded. Ok, enough is enough, my inner Mr Logical told me. Time to study.
I opened the books. She asked the dreaded question. 'So how come you called?'
'I told you,' I mumbled.
'Did you really miss me?' she said and put her palm on my hand.
I pulled it back in reflex. She looked surprised.
'I am sorry, Vidya. I shouldn't. I have my business to focus on and this is really
not my thing, but...,' I said and turned away. I couldn't talk when I looked at her.
Or rather, I couldn't talk when she looked at me.
'It's ok, you don't have to be sorry,' she said.
'It's not ok. I don't have time for emotions,' I said in a firm voice, 'and this is
not the place anyway. My best friend's sister? What the fuck ... oops, sorry.'
She giggled.
'Be serious, Vidya. This is not right. I am your teacher, your brother trusts me
as a friend, I have responsibilities - loans, business and a mother. You are not
even eighteen.'
'Two months,' she wiggled two fingers. 'Two months and I will turn eighteen.
Time to bring me another nice gift. Anyway, please continue.'
'Well, whatever. The point is, significant reasons exist for me not to indulge in
illogical emotions. And I want...'
She stood up and came to my side. She sat on the flimsy armrest of my plastic
chair.
She put her finger on my mouth. She cupped my face in her palms.
'You don't shave that often eh? Ew,' she said. She threw a tiny spit ball in the
air.
'What?' I said and looked at her.
'I think a mosquito kissed me,' she said and spit again, 'is it still there in my
mouth?'
She opened her mouth and brought it close. Her lips were eight millimetres
apart from mine.
Soon the gap reduced to zero. I don't know if I came towards her or she came
towards me. The tiny distance made it difficult to ascertain who took theinitiative. I felt something warm on my lips and realised that we have come too
dose, or maybe too far.
We kissed again. The mosquitoes on our respective heads re-joined.
I'd love to say I saw stars and heard sweet, music during my first kiss. But the
dominating background sounds were (a) Vidya's mom's pressure cooker whistle
from downstairs in the kitchen, (b) the campaign sounds from the autos of
various parties for the upcoming elections and (c) the constant buzz of the
mozzies. But when you are in the middle of a kiss, sound and sight get muted I
checked once to see if the other terraces were empty. Then I closed my eyes.
'Vidya, what are we doing,' I said, not letting her go. I couldn't stop. Probability,
algebra, trigonometry and calculus - the passion held back in all those classes
came blazing out.
'It's fine, it's fine,' she kept reassuring me and kissing me.
We broke away from each other because even passionate people need oxygen.
She looked at me with a big grin.
I packed my pens and books. No maths tonight.
'Why aren't you making eye contact?' She remarked, mischief in her voice.
I kept silent.
'You are older than me and a hundred times better than me in maths. But, in
some ways, I am way more mature than you.' 'Oh, yeah?' I challenged weakly,
collecting the textbooks. She pulled my chin up.
'I am turning eighteen. I can do whatever I want,' she said. The loudspeaker of
a campaign auto continued in the background. 'I can vote in that election,' she
continued, 'I can have a bank account, I can marry, I can...'
'Study. You can also try to get into a good college,' I interrupted
her.
She laughed. We stood up and walked over to the watertank on the terrace. We
leaned against the tank and saw the sunset. We talked about everything other
than maths. I told her about the academy, the dinner with Fred, the blue
Australian sky and the loamy water on Bondi beach.
She listened in excitement. She said she wished she could have a home on the
beach and how she would colour the walls inside pink and yellow. It is amazing
how specific girls can get about hypothetical scenarios. 'Want coffee?' she said.
'You'll have to go down?' I said as I held her hand on instinct. A voice in me
still protested, but now that voice had no volume.
'No, I have a secret stash under the water tank. Come,' she said and pulled at
my hand.
The five feet cubical cement water tank was raised from the ground on
reinforced concrete pillars. Between the tank and the ground, there was a gap of
four feet We could sit on the ground under the tank.
'This is my favourite place since I was a kid,' she said. I bent on my knees and'
slid inside, following her. She pulled out a picnic basket. It had a thermos flask,
red plastic cups and Marie biscuits.
'Welcome to Vidya's rooftop cafe" sir,' she said and passed me a cup.
I looked at her. She is too beautiful to study maths. Maths is for losers like me.
I took a sip. My lips still felt the sensation of her lips. I rested on my elbow but
the concrete surface hurt.
'I'll get cushions next time,' she said. 'It's fine,' I said.We finished our coffee and came out. We switched on the terrace bulb. I flipped
through the textbook to forget the kisses and coffee. The symbols of integration
looked dull for the first time in my life. At one level, maths does suck.
'Thanks,' I said.
'For what?' she said.
'For the coffee and the ... you know.'
She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. 'Thanks for the gift, the gift of true
close friendship.'
True-close-friendship, another hyphenated tag. It meant progress.
I came down the steps passed through the living room on the way out.
'What a good, responsible boy. Ish hasn't learnt anything from him,' Vidya's
father was saying to his wife as I shut the door behind.
★
I could have done my accounts much faster if I didn't have the parallel SMS
conversation. My phone beeped a fifth time.
'Who the hell are you SMSing?' Omi asked from the counter.
It was six in the evening, almost time to shut the shop. Ish had gone to one of
the KVs and Omi had to leave soon for the evening aarti. Two dozen invoices,
notebooks, pens and a calculator surrounded me.
'Nothing, I am bargaining with a supplier,' I said. I turned the phone to silent
mode.
'Call him,' Omi said.
'I'll look desperate. I'd rather he calls first.'
'Do the accounts first, Govind. So many unpaid orders, it is a complete mess,'
Omi said, popping a candy from the jar into his mouth. I let it pass. Anything to
get his mind off the SMSs.
My phone flashed again.
itz my bday.
i celebr8 my way.
u'll get cake or not??
I had saved Vidya's number as 'Supplier Vidyanath' in my phone, in case
anyone picked it up. Also, I deleted her messages as soon as I read them.
'I hope you are staying away from Ish's sister?' Omi said. My hands froze as I
manipulated the messages. I told myself, It is a coincidence. Omi doesn't know
who I am messaging to. Be cool.
I replied to the SMS.
Ok, u win. will get a small 1
now let me work, you study 2 
I kept the phone aside. Smiley faces had entered my life.
'I teach her, Omi. Just a few months for her entrance exams,' I said. I dug
myself deep into the paperwork.
'Does she...,' Omi began.
'Can I do the accounts or should we gossip about my students?' I glared at
Omi.Mama came running to our shop. 'Switch on the TV fast.'
'Two planes crashed into the World Trade Center Twin Towers located in New
York,' the BBC news channel reader said. The live visual was incredible even by
sci-fi movie standards. The hundred-storey tall twin towers had deep incisions in
the middle, like someone had cut through loaves of bread.
'Two planes in a row suggest a planned .terrorist attack,' a military intelligence
expert said on the TV. 'The world will never be the same again,' the Israeli prime
minister said.
We half-closed the shutters. Everyone in the temple gathered around TV sets
where the towers crumbled down again and again in replay. Smoke, soot and
concrete dust filled the streets of New York. Reports said thousands may be dead.
'What the...,' Ish said as he returned to the shop.
'Muslim terrorists, I guarantee you,' Mama said as his phone rang. He saw the
number and stood in attention.
'Parekh-ji?' Mama said, his voice subservient.
I couldn't hear Parekh-ji's words.
'I am watching it,' Mama said,'They are turning into a menace Yes, yes sir we
are ready for the elections Parekh-ji, yes,' Mama said, wiping sweat off his chest,
'Belrampur is not a problem ... yes, other neighbourhoods need work but you
know Hasmukh-ji. He doesn't spend as much time...'
Bittoo Mama stepped away from us. Parekh-ji gave him tips on the elections
next week.
Later at night, pictures of the first suspects were released. Four Muslim boys
had joined a flying school a few months back. They had hijacked the plane using
office box cutter knives and caused one of the most spectacular man-made
disasters of the world. A stick-thin old man called Bin Laden released an amateur
video, claiming it was all his big idea.
'What's up?' Omi asked Mama as he ended his call.
'Hasmukh-ji takes everything for granted. He doesn't pound the streets of his
constituency.'
'Parekh-ji is not happy?' Omi said.
'He is fine with me. He isn't too worried. The bye-election is only for two seats
in Gujarat The real elections are next year.'
'Mama, so next year,' Omi said and patted Mama's back, 'we will have an MLA
in the family.'
The temple bells rang to signify time for the final aarti. Omi and Mama stood
up to leave.
'I have to show Parekh-ji I deserve it. Winning this seat will help,' Mama said.
'You need any more help?' Omi asked. 'You already did so much,' Mama said
and kissed Omi, 'but we must put extra effort next week. Parekh-ji said these
attacks could work in our favour, Let's tell everyone at the puja.' They left the
shop and went inside the temple.
'Your phone flashed. Is it on silent?' Ish said. He collected all the invoices
scattered on the ground. We were closing the shop for the night.
'Oh, must be by mistake,' I said and picked it up, 'a supplier is sending me
messages'.
I opened supplier Vidyanath's message.
when I study, I think kisses
u and only u, v missesI put the phone in my pocket
'What? Trying to sell you something?' Ish said.
'Yes, wooing me, hard,' I said as I locked the cashbox.
I knew it, that old man wouldn't listen,' Mama said.
His mood alternated between anger and tears. It was hard for a tough, grown-
up man like him to cry. However, it was even harder to work for months and lose
an election. We stood outside the counting booths. Electoral officers were still
tallying the last few votes, though the secular party had already started rolling
drumbeats outside.
'Look at the Belrampur votes,' Mama pointed to the ballot boxes. 'Clean sweep
for the Hindu party. That's my area. The two other neighbourhoods given to me,
we won majority votes there, too.'
His group of a dozen twenty-something supporters held their heads down.
'And look what happened in the other neighbourhoods. That Muslim professor
has nothing to do all day. He even met the old ladies. But Hasmukh-ji? Huh, chip
on shoulder about being upper caste. Cannot walk the lanes and feels he can win
elections by waving from the car. And look, he ran away two hours into the
counting.'
Mama wiped his face with his hands and continued. 'Am I not from a priest's
family? Did 1 not go to the sewer-infested lanes of the Muslim pols? Aren't there
Hindu voters there? Why didn't he go?'
The secular party workers jeered at Mama's team. Tempers rose as a few of
Mama's team members heckled the drum player.
'It's going to get ugly,' I told Omi in his ear, 'let's get out of here.'
'I can't go. Mama needs me,' Omi said.
A white Mercedes drove up in-front of the vote-counting station. A jeep of
bodyguards came alongside. The guards surrounded the area as the Mercedes'
door opened. Parekh-ji stepped outside.
Mama ran to Parekh-ji. He lay down on the ground and 'I am your guilty man.
Punish me,' Mama said, his voice heavy.
Parekh-ji placed both his hands on Mama's head. 'Get up, Bittoo.'
'No, no. I want to die here. I let the greatest man down,' Mama continued to
bawl.
Parekh-ji gave the youngsters a firm glance. Everyone backed off. Parekh-ji
lifted Mama up by the shoulders, 'Come, let's go for dinner to Vishala. We need to
talk.'
Mama walked towards Parekh-ji's ear, his head still down.
'Come son,' Parekh-ji said to Omi. Ish and I looked at each other. Maybe it was
time for Ish and me to vanish.
'Can Ish and Govind come along? They came to Gandhinagar,' Omi said. I
guess he wanted us to have a treat at Vishala, normally unaffordable for us.
Parekh-ji looked at us and tried to place us. I don't know if he could.
'Hop into the jeep,' he said.
The Vishala Village Restaurant and Utensils Museum is located at the outskirts
of Ahmedabad, in the village of Sarkhej. Along with a craft museum and village
courtyards, there is an ethnic restaurant that serves authentic Gujarati cuisine.We took a semi-private room with seating on the clay floor. Parekh-ji's security
staff sat outside, near the puppet show for kids. Their guns made the guest's
importance known to the waiters and insured us good service. Within minutes,
we had two dozen dishes in front of us.
'Eat, and don't get so sentimental about politics. Emotional speeches are fine,
but in your mind always think straight,' Parekh-ji lectured Mama.
We gorged on the dhokla, khandvi, ghugra, gota, dalwada and several other
Gujarati snacks. I felt full even before the main course arrived.
'Now, listen, Parekh-ji said as he finished his glass of mint chaas, 'things are
not as they seem. Hasmukh-ji's defeat has a back story. We expected it.'
'What?' Mama said while Omi, Ish and I made valiant inroads into the food.
'Hasmukh-ji's seniority in the party earned him a ticket. But he is part of the
old school. The same school as the current chief minister. Our high command in
Delhi is not happy with them.'
'They are not?' Mama echoed stupidly.
'No. We might be a Hindu party, but it doesn't mean we preach religion all day
and do no work. Gujarat is a place of business, it is not a lazy place. The high
command did not like the way the administration handled the earthquake. People
lost a lot in that, I know you boys did too,' he turned to us.
We nodded. The mention of the earthquake still hurt.
'The by-elections for these seats came as a boon. The old school put their
candidate. We knew they were weak. Of count, hardworking people like Bittoo
tried their best But, a dud candidate is a dud candidate. So we lost both the
seats. With the main election in twelve months, the entire party machinery is
shaken up. And the high command finally gets a chance to make a change.'
'What change?' Mama said.
"They are replacing the chief minister.'
'What? For losing two seats?' Mama said, 'the total number of seats is...'
'A hundred and eighty plus,' Parekh-ji said as he broke his bajra rati, 'but like I
said, it gave a reason to change. And Gujarat is vital to our party. We can't afford
to lose it.'
We gorged on the dhokla, khandvi, ghugra, gota, dalwada and several other
Gujarati snacks. I felt full even before the main course arrived.
'Now, listen,1 Parekh-ji said as he finished his glass of mint chaas, 'things are
not as they seem. Hasmukh-ji's defeat has a back story. We expected it.'
'What?' Mama said while Omi, Ish and I made valiant inroads into the food.
'Hasmukh-ji's seniority in the party earned him a ticket. But he is part of the
old school. The same school as the current chief minister. Our high command in
Delhi is not happy with them.'
'They are not?' Mama echoed stupidly.
'No. We might be a Hindu party, but it doesn't mean we preach religion all day
and do no work. Gujarat is a place of business, it is not a lazy place. The high
command did not like the way the administration handled the earthquake. People
lost a lot in that, I know you boys did too,' he turned to us.
We nodded. The mention of the earthquake still hurt.
'The by-elections for these seats came as a boon. The old school put their
candidate. We knew they were weak. Of count, hardworking people like Bittoo
tried their best But, a dud candidate is a dud candidate. So we lost both theseats. With the main election in twelve months, the entire party machinery is
shaken up. And the high command finally gets a chance to make a change.'
'What change?' Mama said.
"They are replacing the chief minister.'
'What? For losing two seats?' Mama said, 'the total number of seats is...'
'A hundred and eighty plus,' Parekh-ji said as he broke his bajra rati, 'but like I
said, it gave a reason to change. And Gujarat is vital to our party. We can't afford
to lose it.'
'No dessert here or what?' Parekh-ji said as there was a delay after the main
courses were cleared.
'Who will get the aamras for the sahib?' Mama screamed at the waiters.

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