Under The Mango Trees

Chapter Eleven : In Between WowPhal And Kappuchinu

I woke up hating Lila. I slept late last night and woke up at one in the noon. Before I could drowsily brush my teeth and eat my lunch, I received a video from her on WhatsApp. She was wearing a purple bikini bottom with her bare legs smooth and golden under the sun next to the blue pool. That prick's pool and he was foolishly flaunting some strokes, his annoying gasping for breaths, splashing of water and woohoooo's followed by Lila's giggles echoing in the video.

I shut my phone and bitterly tossed it on the other end of the single bed, not bothering to send a reply. That egoistic boy was bound to do something when they were alone, half-naked by the pool and Lila simply went along? I highly doubted if she even liked him- a guy who gave cringy compliments like your hotness was the reason for global warming? He would pester her with cheesiness forever, drawing analogies between her tears and the routine flooding of the railway station during monsoon (tears because she would never be happy with that pest).

My sensitive gums bled when I brushed my teeth hard and only a hot shower which pierced my skin like little darts soothed the overwhelming rage and confusion in me. I would fail as a friend if I didn't protect her from him especially when she was so vulnerable due to the mess in her house. I knew that she would laugh it off even when someone would terribly hurt her, heck, after four years of friendship, she had finally mustered the strength to open up. Beneath all those silly giggles was a girl trying to not let the dimming light of hope to extinguish.

When I came out of the shower, my hands nearly reached the phone to text her, but did she ever listen to me? I had warned her repeatedly about Raul, but she dismissed it, making me feel like a clown desperately trying to entertain the circus. It was her nonsensical choice, none of my business, so I tossed the phone again, this time on the sofa in my living room. To prevent me from texting her, I sat beside my mother on the cold, white tiled floor and began helping her with packing the snacks.

"You know these chaklis are going to America. Sheila Aunty's daughter who studies there loves them," she said, her eyes drooping with pride and busyness as she put the chaklis in their covers. I was a hundred per cent certain that she was more proud of those chaklis than of her children, her chaklis giving her a sense of fulfilment that went beyond the financial rewards. Rightfully so, her chaklis were delicious and I occasionally popped one broken piece of chakli in my mouth when she wasn't looking while putting the covered ones in the plastic bag. However, the noise that my teeth made while biting into the crunchy treats exposed my innocent theft all the time.

But today, I was in no mood to eat them. "Yeah? That's great." And realising my flat tone, I added further, "Your business is going international, huh!"

She fought a blushing smile and then grumbled, "And your father doesn't even take me to Chowpatty on a weekend."

My father peeked from above the Marathi newspaper that he was reading, giving us a quizzical expression as to how he got dragged into this unrelated conversation.

"Chowpatty is overrated anyway," I muttered, sourly remembering last night at Marine Drive.

"What are you doing?" My mother snapped, catching me off-guard. "You'll break those chaklis if you drop them like that. Already I'm worried that they'll break in the flight to America."

I shamefully peeped into the bag, not realising that I was being overtly aggressive. "Won't do it again." My phone's notification sound rang and remembering Lila's text, the plastic crumpled under my hand and I horrifyingly let it go. "Sorry."

My mother probably insulted me under her breath since all I could hear was incoherent mutters. "You go, I'll do it myself."

"But I won't break them---"

"Jaspreet had called in the morning when you were sleeping. I said that you won't wake up even if a baraat passes by."

I ignored her comment and said, "Oh Jazz . . .  she must have called to go to some new waffle or cake shop."

"Jajh . . . Children these days just ruin the beautiful names their parents give them." Her forehead creased in distress. "And what's this wowphal?"

I got up, feeling mildly irritated. "Waffle. It's sweet like a cake." I was going to show her a picture, but stopped myself, recalling the last time when she had called a pancake, a dosa. "I'll meet Jaz-Jaspreet in the evening."

"And what will you drink? Pappuchinu?" My father quipped, finding an opportunity to join my mother's bandwagon as always and gain her approval.

"Don't be ridiculous. Everybody knows it's Kappuchinu," my mother retorted, not finding him funny. My father brandished the newspaper and quietly went back to reading. Cappuccino. I bit my tongue from correcting and grabbing my phone, I went to my bedroom.

'Don't touch my clothes' - Pavitra.

I hadn't heard from her a long while so I was surprised that she had texted me, for this. 'How did you get to know?'

'Aai'- Pavitra.

I hollered, "Aai, I'm not wearing Pavitra's clothes! Stop lying to her!"

"You both wear the same kind! Pants and shirts like a boy! How am I supposed to know?!"

Fair enough. Just to spite my sister, I wore one of her favourite hoodies that she would come back to collect in the winter and sent her a selfie with a sarcastic peace emoji. Immediately, I received a middle finger from her. So I sent her another picture with my cup of chai dangerously close to the white fabric of her hoodie. 

'Aai will kill you if you make her wash that'- Pavitra.

I obediently set away the cup of chai and slipped out of the hoodie, texting Jaspreet next. 'Let's meet today.'

'WOAH. It's going to rain in summer! Look who texted me'- Jazz.

'Do you want to come or not?'

'Is that a question?'- Jazz.

'Yes.'

'Of course, I'm coming'- Jazz with a duh emoji.

'Cool. Five? At the new waffle place?'

'I CAN NEVER GET TIRED OF THOSE. I CAN PAY THEM WITH MY SOUL'- Jazz.

'Money will suffice. See you.' I shut my phone and not knowing what else to do till five, I flopped on the tempting bed. The softness lulled me into a nap and I lost track of time, dreaming of my school days. After school, amongst the boys would be Lila, shaking and spraying water on everyone in her beige pinafore uniform. Giggles bubbling everywhere. The old watchman would come rushing to disperse the hullabaloo and everyone would scatter like ants on the street. Suddenly, I felt droplets on water sprinkled on my face and squeezed my eyes, alertly opening them a second later.

Lila's grinning face and damp hair was hovering over me.

* * *

Glossary :

Chowpatty- a public beach adjoining Marine Drive in Mumbai.

Baraat- groom's wedding procession in India (extravagant with a band, music, people dancing etc).