Under The Mango Trees

Chapter Forty-Three : In Between Coke And Frooti

The sweltering heat during the summer caused everyone in the house to click their tongues, the little sounds like a typewriter wrote elaborate complaints about the weather and life in general in everyone's minds. We didn't dare to visit our village this summer for fear of relatives enquiring us about Pavitra. At home, conversations still hadn't livened up, the dark veil of Pavitra's ruined marriage cast over my parents that everything looked gloomy to them. Especially, my mother who never left the kitchen, drowning herself deep in chickpeas batter. At least, summer here made more drops of sweat trickle down than tears of sorrow.

Much to the dismay of my relatives who "cared" about me, I had enrolled in swimming classes with Jazz to pass my time, get browner and piss those relatives. After class, I loitered around in the malls with her, returning home when we felt drowsy after looking at the same, unaffordable dresses over and over again. I tried my best to stay away from my house, especially Pavitra who watched the same sitcoms over and over again. Over and over again, that was how I would describe that long and stifling summer. Each day was without any real warmth that made the blazing hot summer, lifelessly cold.

"What are you both still doing here?" my mother barked and I alertly sat up, her annoying voice like an alarm clock, reminding me of the chores to do. My dear older sister got up too, lazily so she could assert her coolness, but getting up because she knew to never challenge our mother. "I have fifty different orders! What will I do when neither of you gets the ingredients?"

"I'll go," I volunteered readily, wanting to get away from this house and her yells.

"Both of you go! You can't carry everything with those arms like sticks," she said, leaving without any opportunity for negotiation. My eyes flickered to Pavitra who dragged herself out of bed, flicked my forehead with a smirk and quickly disappeared into the bathroom before I could throw the vilest insults at her. The way she carried herself was indifferently and haughtily sloppy as if her body was made of jelly. She attached herself to the wall like a reptile when we waited for the elevator and burst into a fit of irritating giggles when the elevator door stuck halfway (a usual occurrence, nothing laughable), making us squeeze ourselves to slide in.

The little journey till the rickshaw was exerting with her lunatic behaviour and it took every muscle in my body to not start a fight on the street. We sat at the two opposite ends of the rickshaw, she scrolling through rubbish and I waiting for a text from Dev. The second year of my college where I learnt nothing would start in a week and I was eagerly counting days just because I could see him again. FINALLY.

A text from him popped up, the notification sound making my heart somersault in rhythm. "I read four chapters of 1984."

"You're supposed to WORK." I texted back immediately, yes, I had become shameless in my desperation. In my defence, he was doing some cursed internship which kept him sleepy during the day and cursed studies which kept him awake during the night. Still, he texted regularly and just the way I loved, proper grammar and no emojis. His dry humour was enough to carry him through without using any annoying, quirky stickers for support.

A picture popped up of the book 1984 lying open on his lap and his laptop with a game on the screen was placed on the desk in such a way that I got the tiniest glimpse of the Level 12- unlocked."Here, I'm working."

"Sure, on level 12 :)"

"Goal is level 20 for today. Wish me luck."

"All the best!" I was so consumed by the joy of catching him doing something childishly fun that I didn't notice Pavitra leaning over and flagrantly reading my chats.

"I'm surprised he's giving you attention," I heard her speak and I abruptly shut my phone. "He's handsome, smart, his family was rich from what I saw those few days I stayed there. Shiny silver plates and a TV bigger than the wall. He has balls too, gutsy to speak up that day in front of everyone. Whereas you . . . " She trailed off, smiling like crazy.

Anger was rising like a tornado within my being, I was ready to lash out at her. "What?!"

"You have none of those things." She leaned back, smiling in satisfaction. That was her agenda, to derive her sick pleasure from toying with me. After all, that was what she knew best, destroying not only herself but everyone around her.

"I'm glad I don't have balls," I said, shrugging as apathetically as I could. But she had succeeded in her mission because the entire time at the supermarket while she threw all sorts of unnecessary things in the trolley, I trailed it absently, wondering if he liked me the way I did. I recalled the scenes in the trains, memories that had been a refuge to me this summer suddenly blurred into troubles and uncertainty. Did he keep a distance between us because of him being a respectful gentleman or simply disinterest? Did he talk to me out of mere friendliness? Formality?

No, no, it couldn't have been a formality. But there was a strong possibility that it wasn't likeness either. He hadn't met me once this summer, only texted. Not even called. What had I been daydreaming about all this while?

I was a fool, love made a fool out of everyone, especially me. As I stood in the line at the cashier scolding myself for such foolishness, it was a stroke of luck that my eyes darted from the fifty Frooti boxes that Pavitra had picked up to a familiar figure at the exit. He held a coke can in his hand and carelessly shoved money in his jacket pocket. Only Raul was stupid enough to wear a thick jacket to look cool in this hot weather.

I left everything and impulsively dashed after him, hearing Pavitra shout, "I didn't bring money!"

"I didn't either!" I yelled back and the moment I stepped out, I saw him unlocking his car. Without a second thought, I ran up to him and gripped his arm in victory. I had finally caught the thief, the one who robbed me of all happiness. My world. "Where is she? What did you tell to her parents?"

"Crazy bitch, move!" He was startled by my suddenness and I was going to take advantage of that momentary fear.

I pressed on, boldly and unabashedly, "What did you tell her parents? Are you afraid to tell me now? I knew you to be a coward for sneakily reporting us, but this is downright shameful. What? Aren't you going to say anything?"

"It wasn't me who told her parents," he spat out, making me snort. With a strong jerk, he wrenched free from my grasp, trying to recover as coolly as possible.

I sneered, crossing my arms against my chest. "Sure, it wasn't you."

His lips curled in spite, his arrogant nostrils flaring and his head nearing mine, atrociously invading my personal space. "Lila told her mother everything. Then they called me to ask and that's how I got to know. Fucking bitch, it's because of you she's not here! Now leave lesbo, unless you want to die."

I staggered back, not from the spitting insults, but from this new information that he had most kindly shared with me. He was the last person I should trust . . . Yet, there was a truth to his words. Lila did tell her mother everything, she trusted her more than anyone else and considering how her mother was . . . Turning me away that day as if she would catch a contagious disease from me . . . God. But to send away her own daughter? The daughter whom she loved more than herself, her only family . . .

"He was sexy," I heard Pavitra say as she chewed the straw of the Frooti and stared provocatively at the receding car of Raul's. "My little sister sure has a lot of game. Playing with so many handsome boys . . . "

"Learned from the best," I fired back, squeezing the box of Frooti so the juice sprayed in her eyes like a sprinkling fountain. "Enjoy!"

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