‘But we used protection. And how does it work with girls? Are they always on time?’ I asked. Nothing in the world was always exactly on time.
‘Mine are. Normally I don’t care. But now that I am with you, even a slight delay scares me. And the anxiety creates more delay.’
‘Do you want to see a doctor?’ I was desperate to suggest a solution.
‘And say what? Please check if I am pregnant?’
Another P-word to freak men out. No, she did not say that. ‘You can’t be pregnant?’ I said.
Sweat erupted on my forehead like I had jogged thrice around the ATIRA lawns. I rubbed my hands and took deep breaths.
‘Why not?’ she retorted, her face tense. ‘And can you be supportive and not hyperventilate.’
‘Let’s sit down,’ I said and pointed to a bench. I threw the packet of groundnuts in the dustbin. She sat next to me. I debated whether I should put my arm around her. My being close to her had caused this anyway. She kept quiet. Two tears came rolling out of her eyes. God, I had to figure out something. My mind processed the alternatives at lightning speed. (a) Make her laugh – bad idea, (b) Step away and let her be – no, (c) Suggest potential solutions like the A word – hell no, (d) Hold her – maybe, ok hold her, hold her and tell her you will be there for her. Do it, moron.
I slid closer to her on the bench and embraced her. She hid her face on my shoulder and cried. Her hands clutched my shirt.
‘Don’t worry, I will be there for you,’ I said.
‘Why, why is it so unfair? Why do only I have to deal with this?’ she cried, ‘why can’t you get pregnant at the same time?’
Because I am biologically male, I wanted to say. But I think she knew that.
‘Listen Vidya, we used the rhythm method, we used protection. I know it is not hundred per cent but the probability is so low…’
Vidya just shook her head and cried. Maths is always horrible at reassuring people. Nobody believed in probability in emotional moments.
A family walked by. The man carried a fat boy on his shoulders. I found it symbolic of the potential burden in my life. The thought train started again. I am twenty-two years old. I have big dreams for my business. I have my mother to support. Come to think of it, I have to take care of my friends’ careers too. And Vidya? She is only eighteen. She has to study more, be a PR person or whatever she wants to be. She couldn’t move from one prison to the next. Ok, worst case I have to mention the A-word.
She slid away from me. The crying had made her eyes wet and face pink. She looked even more beautiful. Why can’t men stop noticing beauty, ever? We stood up to walk back after a few minutes.
‘Let’s wait for a day or two more. We’ll see what we have to do then,’ I said as we reached the auto stand.
‘It’s probably a false alarm. I’m overreacting. I should have waited for a day or two longer before telling you,’ she said. She clasped my fingers in the auto. Her face vacillated from calm to worried.
We kept quiet in the auto for five minutes. Then I had to say it. ‘Vidya, in case, just in case it is not a false alarm. What are we going to do? Or should we talk about it later?’
‘You tell me, what do you want to do?’
When women ask you for your choice, they already have a choice in mind. And if you want to maintain sanity, you’d better choose the same.
I looked into her eyes to find out the answer she expected from me. I couldn’t find it.
‘I don’t know. This is too big a news for me. I can’t say what we will do. Pregnancy, abortion, I don’t know how all this works.’
‘You want me to get an abortion?’
‘No, no. I said I don’t know. What’s the other option, marriage?’
‘Excuse me, I am eighteen. I just passed out of school,’ she said.
‘Then what?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t want to think. Please don’t talk about it,’ she said.
We kept quiet for the rest of the auto journey.
‘Here, take this maths guide to show at home,’ I said and passed her a book when she reached home.
Vidya and I exchanged ten ‘are you asleep’ and ‘not yet’ messages that night.
‘What’s up?’ Ish said as I laid my head on the cashbox early morning.
‘Nothing. Couldn’t sleep well,’ I said.
‘Why? Thinking of Pandit-ji’s daughter,’ Ish laughed. I ignored him. Every few hours I had the urge to send Vidya a ‘did anything happen’ message. But she would tell me if something happened. I opened a calendar and tracked all the past dates of our intimacy. Apart from the first time several months ago, I had used protection every time. Could they be late for any other reason? I didn’t know and I could not ask anyone. Ish and Omi probably didn’t even know the P-word. And there was no other woman I knew apart from Vidya. And I couldn’t ask mom anyway. I picked up my phone again. ‘How is it going?’, I sent a neutral message. ‘Nothing yet’, she replied back.
The next night I did get some sleep. I sprang out of bed early morning to SMS her again. I had an SMS from her already, ‘a bit of pain, nothing else’.
I threw the phone away. I wanted to reach the shop early to take out supplies from the godown. Somehow, I hated being late anymore.
Eighteen
‘Are trains ever on time?’ Mama’s loud voice interrupted us while we were at work. Ish dragged out a heavy box of wickets from the godown.
‘Mama, you here so early?’ Omi said.
Mama kept two pink paper boxes on the wicket box. He had a tikka from the morning prayers on his forehead.
‘I had bought hot kachoris for my son and other sevaks. Their train was supposed to reach at 5 a.m. But it is five hours late. Now what to do? Thought I will have them with you,’ Mama said and took out a kachori.
‘So leftover breakfast for us?’ Omi said and laughed.
‘They are absolutely fresh. I’ll get more when they come. Eat them while they are still hot, come Ish, Govind,’ Mama said.
‘Didn’t know you boys come here so early,’ Mama said. The shop’s clock said eight o’ clock.
‘Had some work in the godown,’ I said and took a bite of a kachori. It tasted delicious.
We ordered tea and sat on the stools outside the shop.
Mama talked to Omi about their relatives. Ish and I discussed the delivery plan for the day. The shop didn’t open until nine. We could eat in peace.
‘Third round of tea? Ok? Yeah good,’ Mama said and called for the tea-boy again. I had two kachoris and felt full.
Mama stood up to leave at 9.30 a.m. I wrapped the boxes back for him.
‘Keep them,’ Mama said, ‘I’ll get more any way.’
‘No Mama, we have had enough…’
Mama’s phone ring interrupted me. Mama picked up the phone. His face became serious. His mouth opened and his eyes darted around.
‘I don’t know the coach number, why are you asking me?’ Mama said.
‘What’s up Mama?’ Omi said.
Mama put his hand on the phone and turned to Omi.
‘It is a junior party official in Ayodhya. He put our sevak team in the train the day before. Now he wants the coach number. And he isn’t telling me why,’ Mama said.
‘Wait,’ Omi said and went inside the shop. He came out with a notebook.
‘Here, I had noted the PNR number and other details while making the booking,’ Omi said.
Mama took the notebook and spoke on the phone again.
‘Ok listen, they were in S6 … yeah, it says S6, hundred per cent S6, hello listen … why are you praying while talking to me? Hey, hello…’
The person on the other end hung up the phone. Mama tried to call the number back but no one picked up.
‘What’s going on?’ I said.
‘I don’t know. I have to … I’ll go to the station,’ Mama said.
‘I’ll come with you?’ Omi said.
‘No, it’s fine. I had to go anyway. I’ll find out,’ Mam
a said and left.
Two hours later the whole country had found out.
‘Stop flipping channels,’ I screamed at Omi, ‘they are all showing the same thing.’
We stopped at NDTV. The newsreader repeated the news for the tenth time.
‘At least fifty people died and more than a dozen injured when miscreants set fire to a bogie of the Sabarmati Express near the Godhra station in Gujarat on Wednesday morning.’ The channel dialled in a railway official from Godhra on the phone.
‘Can you tell us what exactly is going on sir?’ the newsreader said.
‘We are still getting reports. But at around 8.30 in the morning Sabarmati Express arrived at Godhra station,’ the official said as his voice waned.
‘Hello, can you hear us?’ the newsreader said several times.
‘Yes, I can now,’ the official said and continued his story.
From what the channels knew at that point, a mob stoned a bogie of the Sabarmati Express. The bogie contained kar sevaks returning from Ayodhya. The passengers shut the metal windows to protect themselves from the stones. The mob threw petrol on the bogie and set it on fire.
‘What mob is this? Does it look premeditated?’ the newsreader asked.
The railway official avoided controversy.
‘The police has arrived and are investigating the matter. Only they can comment on this.’
Ish, Omi and I watched TV non-stop. We cancelled all deliveries for the day.
‘Mama’s not picking up, I’ve tried ten times,’ Omi said and threw his phone aside.
TV channels had reached Godhra station. We saw the burnt bogie. The rest of the train had already left for Ahmedabad. A tea vendor revealed more than the railway official.
‘The mob had Muslims. They had an argument with the Hindu kar sevaks and burnt everyone – women, children,’ the tea vendor said.
‘We have fifty-eight people dead and over twenty injured, as per reports from the Godhra hospital,’ the newsreader said, ‘and we have just received confirmation that the burnt bogie was S6.’
‘Did she say S6?’ Omi said, turning to me.
I kept quiet. I didn’t want to confirm the bad news.
‘Did she? My brother is in that bogie.’ Omi said and ran out.
We came out of the shop. Every shopkeeper had a tense expression.
‘They burn little kids, see what kind of a community is this,’ a florist said to his neighbouring mithai shop owner.
‘Early morning in a railway station. Look at their guts,’ another shopkeeper said.
‘They struck America in broad daylight too. Now the fuckers have reached Gujarat. And Delhi will suck their dicks,’ the florist said. One rarely heard curse words in the temple, but today was different. Of all the days in my life, today was different.
Omi came out of the temple with his father, mother and Mama’s wife. All shopkeepers, Ish and I gathered around them.
‘Get my Dhiraj. I say get my Dhiraj,’ Mama’s wife’s wails echoed against the temple walls.
‘I’ll go to the station and find out,’ Omi said. He tried Mama’s phone again, but it did not connect.
‘Don’t go, the city is not safe,’ the florist said. Omi’s mother clutched Omi’s hand.
‘There could be a curfew soon. Let’s shut shops and go home,’ a florist said.
The shopkeepers dispersed. Dhiraj’s mother’s tears didn’t stop.
‘Don’t worry, Mama will call back. The news is sketchy. We don’t know what happened,’ I said.
‘Come home son,’ Omi’s father said to Omi.
‘I’ll help them shut the shop,’ Omi said.
We went back to the shop. We had no customers that morning, and didn’t expect any more.
‘Do you have gloves Ish bhaiya? Mine are worn out,’ Ali’s voice startled us. We had packed the shop by one o’clock.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Ish said.
Ali was taken aback. He wore a yellow T-shirt and an old pair of jeans. Luckily, he wasn’t wearing his skull cap.
‘I am getting ready for practice. We have one at 4.30 today no?’
‘You haven’t seen the news?’ I said.
‘We don’t have TV,’ he said.
‘And your abba?’
‘He took ammi to her parents in Surat. He will come at six.’
‘And you didn’t go?’ Ish said.
‘How could I? We had practice. Don’t want to do hundred push-ups for missing practice,’ Ali said and laughed, ‘hey why are you shutting down the shop? My gloves…’
‘Nothing, you come with us. Don’t be alone at home,’ Ish said as he downed the shutters.
‘Us?’ Omi said in a firm voice.
‘You go Omi, your parents and aunt need you,’ Ish said.
‘And you?’ Omi said.
‘Am taking Ali home. I’ll drop him off when his parents come back.’
Omi looked at me to say something. I shrugged my shoulders.
‘You want to come to my place?’ Ish said to me. We walked out of the temple compound.
I wanted to see Vidya. But it wasn’t the best time, and Vidya would not be in the best mood anyway. I wondered if I should SMS her again.
‘No, my mother would be worried too,’ I said. She’d probably be in the kitchen, preparing dough for the evening dhokla.
I reached home. Over lunch, I told my mother what had happened at Godhra. My mother made me swear that I’d never fall in love with a Muslim girl. I felt tired after the two sleepless nights and the events on the TV, and took an afternoon nap. Omi’s phone call woke me up.
‘Hey what’s up Omi? Got in touch with Mama?’ I said and rubbed my eyes. The phone’s clock showed it was 5.30 p.m.
‘I lost my brother Govind. He died on the spot,’ Omi said and his voice broke. He started crying. I lifted myself off the bed and stood up.
‘Mama called. He is devastated,’ Omi said.
‘Is he at home?’ I said.
‘No, he went to the party office. All the workers are with him to support him. He told me not to tell his wife or anyone else. Like they haven’t guessed.’
‘It’s horrible. Omi, it’s horrible,’ I said. I shuddered to think we almost took that trip.
‘I can’t keep silent at home and not show it. I have to get out,’ Omi said.
‘Then come home,’ I said.
‘Where is Ish?’ Omi said.
‘I don’t know, can you stay on the line?’ I said. I put Omi’s line on hold and called Ish. He picked up after ten rings.
‘Ish, where are you? Why do you take so long to pick up?’
‘I am at the bank. I came with Ali to practice.’
‘Is this the time to practice?’
‘What? I became sick of staying at home all day. And dad gave me dirty looks because Ali was with me. So I said, screw it, let’s hit some balls.’
‘Ish, horrible news. Dhiraj is…,’ I said and stopped mid-sentence.
‘Oh no,’ he said, ‘really?’
‘Yeah, Omi told me. Mama told him to keep quiet at home. He wants to get out.’
‘Come over here then,’ Ish said.
‘Ok,’ I said. I hung up on Ish and switched to the other line.
‘Come to the bank. Leave now before it gets dark,’ I said to Omi.
‘Mom, don’t cook for me. We’ll make something at the bank,’ I said as I left the house.
‘Trouble has started in the city. I heard a mob burnt two buses down in Jamalpur,’ Omi said.
We came to the tuition area of the backyard to have our dinner. Omi had cooked potato curry and rice.
‘Rumour or true?’ I said.
‘True, a local TV channel showed it as I left,’ Omi said, ‘It’s strange at home. Mami is still praying for Dhiraj’s safety.’
Omi’s body shook. He broke into tears. I held his hand as he hugged me.
Ali looked at us. I smiled back at him. I went to the room where we kept books and brought back three Pha
ntom comics. I gave them to Ali as he happily read them with his meal.
We sat away from Ali so he could not hear us.
‘The mob that burnt the Jamalpur bus, Hindu or Muslim?’ I said.
‘I don’t know, I’m really scared,’ Omi said.
We finished dinner and cleaned the kitchen by eight. We were planning to leave when Ish’s phone rang. It was his dad. Ish hesitated to pick it up and did so only after half a minute.
‘I had dinner. I’ll be back in half an hour…,’ Ish said, ‘what?’
We turned to look at Ish. I could only hear his side of the conversation.
‘Ok … Ok … listen, I am at the bank. We are safe here. Yes, I promise we won’t walk out on the streets … yes we have bedding here. Don’t panic.’
I gave Ish a puzzled look.
‘A building in our pol caught fire,’ Ish said.
‘Wow, which one?’ I said.
‘The Muslim one at the corner,’ Ish said.
‘It caught fire? By itself?’ I said.
‘That is what dad is hoping. But it could be a Hindu mob. Dad said stay wherever you are.’
‘Our moms will worry. Govind’s would too,’ Omi said.
‘Call them,’ Ish said, ‘I can’t take Ali to his home too. His parents don’t even have a phone,’ Ish said.
I called my mother and told her I would be safe at the bank. We had slept over at the bank several times in the past. Many booze parties had ended with us passing out on the mattresses in the branch manager’s room on the first floor.
We sat on couches in the cashier waiting area and played cards after dinner. Ali slept soon. Ish brought a quilt from the manager’s office and tucked him in on a separate sofa.
Omi dropped three cards. ‘Three aces,’ Omi said with an extra-straight face. He sucks at bluff.
I tapped the cards. I wondered whether to turn them. Loud chants disrupted my thought.
‘What’s that?’ I said. I saw the time – 10 p.m.
‘Those are Hindu chants,’ Omi said.
‘Angry-Hindu chants,’ Ish said.
Calls to Shiva and Rama combined with drumbeats. We climbed the stairs two floors to reach the bank’s roof. The city glowed orange in the thick winter night. One, two, three – I saw three balls of flame across the pols. The nearest flame came from a building fifty yards away. A crowd of people stood outside. They threw stones on the burning building. I couldn’t see well, but could hear the screams of the people inside the pol. The screams mixed with celebratory chants. You may have heard about riots several times or even seen them on TV. But to witness them in front of your eyes stuns your senses. My neighbourhood resembled a calamity movie film set. A burning man ran across the road. The Hindu mob chased him. He stumbled on a stone and fell, around twenty yards away from us. The mob crowded over him. Two minutes later, the crowd moved away while the man lay still. I had witnessed someone’s death for the first time in my life. My hands, face, neck, legs – everything turned cold. My heart beat in the same irregular way as it did on the day of the earthquake. Nature caused that disaster, man made this one. I don’t know which is more dangerous.