Part 5
Once as a young boy, Raghav had pushed a girl in his class for making fun of his shoes. They were old and worn, with a scuffed buckle and a small hole at the bottom that was always letting in tiny bits of gravel and dust. They were also at least one size too big – a neighbor’s hand me down that he hadn’t yet grown into – and his feet slapped against the leather as he walked.
She was fine, save for a small scrape on her elbow. His thighs burned from his punishment, squatting outside the classroom until the day was blessedly over.
But his real punishment came when he told his mother what had happened.
The idea that any son of hers would raise his hand on a girl – he winced internally as he recalled how long he had spent scrubbing the floors until they were sparkling clean.
And now, as he approached her all these years later, he couldn’t help but once again feel like the little boy waiting for a scolding he didn’t quite deserve.
“Amma, how are you?”
She assessed him coolly, her eyes filled with suspicion. “Why are you here, Raghav?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you lie to me – Keerthi told me what happened at Pallavi’s shop. Is this another one of your games? You’re here to harass the poor girl?”
Before he could answer, Pallavi appeared at his side. “Aunty! When did you get here? So nice to see you.”
Her icy demeanor thawed slightly. “Pallavi, I apologize on behalf of my son. For whatever he did to that man.”
He could feel Pallavi’s eyes on him as she put two and two together. “Oh no, Aunty,” she smiled at his mother. “I just spoke to our guest – it was just a mistake, the phone slipped out of Raghav’s hands. In fact, Raghav offered to buy him a new phone.”
He shot her a questioning look. Like hell he did, he thought, getting angry just thinking about that imbecile. She smiled at him sweetly.
“Really?” Skepticism colored his mother’s voice. “Well, I suppose that’s only fair.” She turned to Raghav, still hesitant. “I must have misunderstood.”
“It’s ok, Amma, anybody could have." He stumbled over his words, eager to make amends.
Pallavi beamed at him. “Typical Raghav,” she said. “So generous.”
Jaya eyed the two of them. “You…know each other?”
“Arre, we go way back Aunty.” She smacked his shoulder for effect. “Right, Raghav?”
What was it they said about karma? “Right,” he lied, rubbing his shoulder.
His mother glanced at them once more – clearly less than convinced – before taking her leave. No sooner had she stepped out of earshot than Pallavi turned to him, her eyebrows knitted together.
“Why didn’t you tell me Keerthi was your sister?”
The question surprised him. “What difference would it make?”
“Just – well, I mean..." she seemed flustered. "For one, it would explain why you bought out my landlord.” She paused and shook her head. “Actually, nothing explains that. What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”
Raghav stiffened. “Like I said, it’s none of your business. Stay out of it.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Oh, so here I am spilling my life story to you again, and you can’t tell me why you threatened me with eviction? Why you’re here crashing my cousin’s wedding?”
He could feel a headache starting to radiate from his temples. “I never said that. I mean, maybe I would bump up your rent…” he stopped at her look. “Honestly, your store is in such bad shape that it wouldn’t take much.”
Pallavi looked around furtively. “Keep your voice down,” she whispered angrily. “Who told you that?”
Her reaction puzzled him. “Isn’t it obvious? I talked to your vendors, and your landlord mentioned more than a few late payments. Plus you’re lugging around those packages on that ridiculous scooter…” A thought occurred to him as he took in the lavish decorations and the large crowd milling about. “Your family doesn’t know, do they?”
“They think everything is fine – and it will be,” she promised, poking him in the chest.
Her bluster amused him. “Trust me, you shouldn’t lie to your family. Let them help.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I think I’ll pass on taking advice about family from you. Especially considering you just lied to my Baba.”
And there was his temper, ready to spark once again. “I told you I don’t lie. Haven’t we known each other for years?”
“We met once,” she corrected. “Let’s be clear – we’re not friends.”
Her words stung, more than he was willing to admit. “So what, it’s ok for you to lie to my mother?”
“I was trying to help you! God knows why,” she added under her breath.
“So was I!” He leaned closer. “Honestly, your father-in-law might have a few screws loose. He looked almost ready to kill me.”
She glared at him. “You have no idea what he’s been through. Or what my family needs.”
He shook his head in frustration. “Suit yourself, Saree ka Dukaan. It’s a shame, really.”
“What is?”
“I’ll need a new nickname for you sooner or later.”
_____________
Pallavi inspected the fabric yet again under the bright lamp next to her bed. Satisfied, she folded the last saree and placed it alongside the others, exhaling in relief.
That was it. All she could do now was wait until tomorrow’s contest. She leaned against her pillow and shut her eyes. Despite her best efforts her mind continued to drift to the top prize for the best original saree design.
God, what she could do with that money…
Swap her outdated stock with the newest fashions, what young women really wanted to wear.
Put up a bright new sign, replacing the yellowed and faded lettering with an eye-catching color.
Pay off her suppliers, finally erasing the debt that had piled up from Mandar siphoning off the shop’s money over the years.
She opened her eyes.
Years ago, she had wandered into the shop and met a young Krishna minding the store. It had been a hard day in her new home. The house was eerily quiet, with her father-in-law bedridden after the shock of his son’s demise and the rest of the family silently shuffling around as if waiting to wake up from their collective nightmare.
Her mother-in-law (her Aayi, Pallavi reminded herself) did her best to keep the household together. Sometimes she would catch Aayi quietly sobbing when she came across another one of Mandar’s things – an old medal, a photo, a broken pair of glasses. She longed to console her – isn’t that what family did?– but her words felt inadequate, hollow coming from someone who had only known of him. She turned away, feeling like an intruder.
And instead of Pallavi unburdening her it was Aayi who fussed over Pallavi. Did she like the food? Then why was she eating so little? How did she sleep? Was it too hot? Too cold?
It must be the guilt, Pallavi thought.
But there was no one to tiptoe around at the store, just a young woman looking up at her with hope. “Are you here to help?”
Finally. “Yes.” Pallavi nodded vigorously. “Can you show me?”
It took her weeks to make sense of the books, having had no experience running a business. There was Baba’s careful writing, and then a shift to Mandar’s scribbles. At first the numbers followed a predictable pattern. But she soon found discrepancies that didn’t make sense.
And one day, wedged at the bottom of a drawer, she discovered a second book.
She went home that night and found Aayi sitting in her room, staring wordlessly out the window.
“Pallu? You’re home – I didn’t hear you come in.”
The book felt heavy in her bag. She clutched it tightly. “Aayi, I told you, you don’t have to stay up for me.”
“Nonsense – not another word.” She twisted Pallavi’s ear playfully. “It’s what parents do for their children,” she said wistfully. And Pallavi knew she was thinking of her other son, the one whose pictures were hidden in a cupboard to sell the illusion of moving on.
Well, she supposed, it would be her and Mandar’s secret.
What a relief that would be, to wipe the ledger clean with Aayi and Baba being none the wiser.
And maybe, if there was enough left over she could take a small trip, nothing extravagant of course…
That night, she dreamed of freedom.
_________
The murmuring in the room stopped when the announcer finally took the stage for the last time.
Pallavi tapped her foot nervously. This was it. She squeezed her eyes shut and said a silent prayer.
All those hours she had spent, late at night. Finally it would pay off. Finally.
The third place winner took the stage to applause, smiling graciously with a hint of disappointment.
The second place winner followed, nervously accepting her award and check.
And then – disappointment.
She watched the winner make their way to the stage, clearly ecstatic and in shock.
It just wasn’t her year, Pallavi thought. She stood up and clapped, the noise around her fading as she spied a tall familiar figure among the three judge panel.
Raghav Rao.
TBC
Book Talk
Cricket
