have to hang the clothes, Akka. I left them lying outside in a bundle in the basin.”
Akka waved impatiently at me. “Tchah! Sit for two minutes, nothing will happen that hasn’t happened already to those sheets.” She turned to Anu. “Did I hear you say something about stories? I could tell you plenty.”
“In that case, I will be here every day,” Anu laughed.
I made for the door. “Oh no! Look at the time! The children must be wondering why I am not there.”
“Suman, Varsha is old enough to bring her brother home from the bus stop on her own,” Akka said firmly. “For goodness’ sake, she’s thirteen. I don’t know why you need to go every day all the way there and wait. It is not as if there are twenty confusing roads from there to here! Sit. They will be all right without you.”
“They will be upset,” I insisted. “Hem expects me to be there. And Vikram is particular about it.”
“He can stop expecting for one day. And we won’t tell Vikram. You spoil those children, give in too much to everything they want. Sit, I say, I will tell them it was my decision.” She turned back to Anu. “Now tell me about yourself and why you want to sit in a hut in this Jehannum all summer.”
Anu did not complain about anything. Even when she entered our glorified shack—for that is what it really is—she was full of enthusiasm.
“How pretty it looks,” she said, noticing the effort I’d taken to turn the place into a home of sorts with colourful cushions and good pots and pans, which I’d bought when Vikram took us all to town for our weekly groceries the Saturday before. I even found some ancient fashion magazines inside an unused cupboard, which I assume belonged to Vikram’s first wife.
Anu was like that—never failed to say somethingkind about everything I did. In those warm summer months she would come over often, to chat or tease Akka, her voice bright and happy as she talked, or potter around in the back garden while I cooked in the kitchen. At first we never told Vikram about her visits—neither Akka nor I—we had a pact of silence about certain things. I don’t know why Akka kept quiet, but I did because I didn’t know how Vikram would react. He might have objected. It wasn’t included in her rental contract, he might have said, to be entertained by her landlady. And somehow Anu had understood that she was not to mention her visits either. I had worried about Varsha reporting to her father, the way she is given to doing, to get a pat on the head from him, his approval. We all do it. Anything to avoid his anger. All of us carrying tales to him about each other, falling over ourselves to be in his good books, I as childish as my stepdaughter.
In the end it was Akka who came up with the idea of telling Vikram, if he asked, that she was responsible for Anu’s visits in the afternoon. “I’ll tell him I don’t feel very safe alone in the house when you go off to fetch the children,” my mother-in-law said, patting my arm one morning when I was helping her with her bath. “I’ll say it is comforting to have Anu here with me. He won’t object to that, you’ll see.” By the time the summer holidays began, everyone had gotten used to Anu’s frequent presence in the house, taking tea with Akka. In any case, even before that it never came up, and now it does not matter. Akka is in hospital, tethered to her bed byintravenous tubes, lost inside the ruined corridors of her brain, waiting for death which hovers over her, fills her lungs with rattling stones, her eyes with grey mist.
And Anu is gone.
Anu’s Notebook
June 10 . The Dharma house is truly isolated. The only inhabited building for miles around. The neighbour’s place, the abandoned-looking structure I passed on my way down Fir Tree Lane, has been lying vacant since its owner’s departure a few years ago. Suman is worried, I think, that the wilder local kids from Merrit’s Point come out to smoke and drink there—there
Akka waved impatiently at me. “Tchah! Sit for two minutes, nothing will happen that hasn’t happened already to those sheets.” She turned to Anu. “Did I hear you say something about stories? I could tell you plenty.”
“In that case, I will be here every day,” Anu laughed.
I made for the door. “Oh no! Look at the time! The children must be wondering why I am not there.”
“Suman, Varsha is old enough to bring her brother home from the bus stop on her own,” Akka said firmly. “For goodness’ sake, she’s thirteen. I don’t know why you need to go every day all the way there and wait. It is not as if there are twenty confusing roads from there to here! Sit. They will be all right without you.”
“They will be upset,” I insisted. “Hem expects me to be there. And Vikram is particular about it.”
“He can stop expecting for one day. And we won’t tell Vikram. You spoil those children, give in too much to everything they want. Sit, I say, I will tell them it was my decision.” She turned back to Anu. “Now tell me about yourself and why you want to sit in a hut in this Jehannum all summer.”
Anu did not complain about anything. Even when she entered our glorified shack—for that is what it really is—she was full of enthusiasm.
“How pretty it looks,” she said, noticing the effort I’d taken to turn the place into a home of sorts with colourful cushions and good pots and pans, which I’d bought when Vikram took us all to town for our weekly groceries the Saturday before. I even found some ancient fashion magazines inside an unused cupboard, which I assume belonged to Vikram’s first wife.
Anu was like that—never failed to say somethingkind about everything I did. In those warm summer months she would come over often, to chat or tease Akka, her voice bright and happy as she talked, or potter around in the back garden while I cooked in the kitchen. At first we never told Vikram about her visits—neither Akka nor I—we had a pact of silence about certain things. I don’t know why Akka kept quiet, but I did because I didn’t know how Vikram would react. He might have objected. It wasn’t included in her rental contract, he might have said, to be entertained by her landlady. And somehow Anu had understood that she was not to mention her visits either. I had worried about Varsha reporting to her father, the way she is given to doing, to get a pat on the head from him, his approval. We all do it. Anything to avoid his anger. All of us carrying tales to him about each other, falling over ourselves to be in his good books, I as childish as my stepdaughter.
In the end it was Akka who came up with the idea of telling Vikram, if he asked, that she was responsible for Anu’s visits in the afternoon. “I’ll tell him I don’t feel very safe alone in the house when you go off to fetch the children,” my mother-in-law said, patting my arm one morning when I was helping her with her bath. “I’ll say it is comforting to have Anu here with me. He won’t object to that, you’ll see.” By the time the summer holidays began, everyone had gotten used to Anu’s frequent presence in the house, taking tea with Akka. In any case, even before that it never came up, and now it does not matter. Akka is in hospital, tethered to her bed byintravenous tubes, lost inside the ruined corridors of her brain, waiting for death which hovers over her, fills her lungs with rattling stones, her eyes with grey mist.
And Anu is gone.
Anu’s Notebook
June 10 . The Dharma house is truly isolated. The only inhabited building for miles around. The neighbour’s place, the abandoned-looking structure I passed on my way down Fir Tree Lane, has been lying vacant since its owner’s departure a few years ago. Suman is worried, I think, that the wilder local kids from Merrit’s Point come out to smoke and drink there—there
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