Jasmine Skies, page 6
‘I suppose so . . . Have you ever asked Anjali why she and Mum lost contact?’
‘I did, when you and me started Facebooking, but she just said that they were both so busy.’ Priya shrugs, as if she hasn’t really thought that much about it.
‘You won’t tell your ma about me taking the letters, will you? I’m planning to put them back when I get home so she’ll never know I took them.’ I smile nervously.
‘My lips are sealed!’ Priya says, sticking her tongue through her most enormous bubble yet and making it pop. ‘Look at us! You’ve only been here for a few hours and we’re already, what’s the phrase . . . thick as thieves? Keeping secrets is something I can do . . . you’ll see!’ Priya smiles mysteriously and then collapses back on to the bed. ‘You know, this is the best thing that’s happened to me in ages, having you here, and I love that we made it happen ourselves – with a little help from my Didima.’
‘I can’t wait to see her again. Does she live in this block?’ I ask Priya.
‘Ma would love her to, but she’s far too independent. Anyway, this place is not her style at all – far too retro for Didima, you’ll see!’ Priya laughs. ‘She’ll probably take you to her apartment. She’s on cloud nine since she heard you were finally coming. Like you being here is her personal triumph or something. I suppose in a way it’s is, because she wouldn’t stop going on at me until I Facebooked you!’
So Lila is behind me and Priya getting together. I suppose Lila must know about whatever it is that happened in the past. Grandad must have known too. Perhaps that was also why he didn’t want to come back to India, until Lila came to see him.
‘You know, my big plan is to make this a regular gig! Next time it’s my turn to come and stay with you in London,’ says Priya, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. ‘We could hit the clubs, make some contacts.’ She laughs.
As if! I think to myself. Like my mum would let us go out clubbing together!
‘How was your dance rehearsal?’ I ask, changing the subject.
‘OK! Same as ever. The choreographer’s a total dragon!’
‘But you like doing it?’ I point at the photos pasted all over her wall.
‘The hours of training I could do without, but when I’m actually performing I love it! Do you dance?’
‘No!’ I never feel comfortable dancing, even in a really crowded place, unless I’m with Jidé. He’ll make a joke of it and prance about, dragging me around with him.
‘Well, to start to learn Kathak you don’t even have to move! Here, I’ll show you. It begins with the eyes. Stare at me without blinking for as long as you can!’
After a few seconds I’m blinking already, but Priya goes on staring for ages. Then she does one huge blink, and starts flicking her eyes from left to right, up and down until I can’t help laughing.
‘I call it the “Demented Goddess” exercise. It’s supposed to strengthen the muscles in your eyes!’
I can see how she would be an amazing dancer, because she’s got this brightness playing about her face, and an easy grace in the way she moves that makes you want to watch her. If she was an animal she’d definitely be a cat – you get the feeling that at any moment she could spring from a standstill to a great height.
‘Anyway,’ she carries on, ‘no rehearsals tomorrow. So shopping, shopping, shopping all day long . . . bliss! Then where do you want to go?’
The truth is, I want to see everything I can in this city, but the place I want to see more than anywhere else is the house in Doctor’s Lane, and now reading the letters has made me want to go there even more, but after what she’s told me, I don’t feel like I should ask. Not straight away anyway.
‘I circled loads of places,’ I tell Priya, handing her my guidebook.
She flicks through. ‘All the usual suspects! I knew you liked art, so I guessed you’d want to check out the galleries.’
I nod. There is so much I want to see. I can already tell from the tiny glimpses of the city I’ve seen so far that three weeks will never be enough time here.
‘After the mall I’ll take you to somewhere that’s not on your list,’ says Priya mysteriously. ‘It’s going to blast your mind! And Janu says he’ll take you to Kumartuli, where they make all the clay idols for pujas . . . gods and goddesses. Janu’s into all that. You should have seen his face light up when I told him you’re a proper artist!’
‘Not really!’ I mumble, feeling terrible that I haven’t asked after Janu yet. In fact, I’d almost forgotten all about him. Grandad mentioned him a couple of times, and Lila showed us a photograph when she came to see us, but really all I know is what’s written in the leaflet Anjali sent me. It says that he was the first baby Anjali took in at the refuge and that now he’s graduated to working there.
‘Is Janu here?’ I ask, feeling slightly stupid for not knowing.
‘He lives half here, half at the refuge these days. He’s a work addict like Ma. Never stops. I’m always telling him to lighten up a bit . . . act his age! He’s sixteen going on twenty! Anyway you’ll meet him soon enough.’ Priya shrugs. ‘But while we’re on our own I want to hear all about this love of yours. No one I know has been going out with a boy since they were twelve years old. It’s like you’re married or something! He must be more than a pretty face!’ Priya sits on the bed and crosses her legs in a yoga position, both feet resting easily on the tops of her thighs.
I sit on the edge of the bed next to her, I’m not sure what to say. ‘He’s sort of my best friend,’ I start, trying to find the right words to describe what Jidé is to me.
Priya raises her eyebrows as if to say, ‘Yes! AND . . .’
‘Well, we’ve been through a load of stuff together, and he knows me better than anyone else . . . and now I’m here I can’t believe how much I miss speaking to him every day.’
I can tell by the look on Priya’s face that I’m not doing this very well, but I’ve never tried to explain to anyone before how I really feel about Jidé.
‘Me and Bacha have been through stuff together!’ she laughs.
‘Well, he’s . . . he makes me laugh, he’s clever and he’s got this gentle smile . . . and a good heart, and I told you we’re best friends. Here!’ I say, rummaging in my bag. ‘It’s my favourite photo of him. I carry it everywhere.’ I hand it to Priya.
‘Sweet! But he’s changed a bit since this!’ Priya laughs, ‘More juicy details please!’
‘He’s a good kisser!’ I giggle and now Priya jumps up on the bed, pulls me up too and starts to dance around.
‘Now you’re talking. AND . . . ?!’
‘He does sweet, thoughtful things like load random songs on to my iPod.’
‘If music be the food of love . . .’ laughs Priya. ‘And . . . ?!’
‘What?’
‘Is it love?’
‘I think so.’ It’s what I’ve always thought but neither of us has actually used the word.
‘OK, I’ll try again. Is it forever?’
‘How do I know?’
I’ve never really thought of that before, but just the idea that it might not be forever makes me feel odd.
‘Let’s Skype him and I’ll interview him! See if he’s good enough for you,’ she jokes.
‘We can’t. Not for nearly two weeks anyway. He’s gone on this Geography field trip to the Alps. And they’re not allowed to take mobiles or laptops. He gets back a week before me, so you’ll have to wait till then!’ I say.
‘Shame! But what’s that saying? “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,”’ she teases, her eyes pirouetting around their sockets in a suggestive ‘You know what I mean’ dance! But suddenly I can’t bring myself to laugh any more because the image of Jidé’s lost love note floating somewhere between here and London fills my mind and right now I would do anything just to hear his voice.
Priya must sense that I’m close to tears because she squeezes my hand and changes the subject.
‘So what’s your favourite song right now?’
‘This one. I was listening to it before I fell asleep.’ I hand her my iPod and shuffle to ‘Summer Breeze’. I’ve only just heard it, but somehow the fact that Jidé chose it for me makes me feel closer to him.
Priya takes one earphone and hands the other to me and we listen to the track together. She closes her eyes and her body sways. When she listens to music, she seems to slip away somewhere else. She starts to sing along and I join in. It’s a while before I realize that she’s taken out her earphone and is listening to me.
‘You didn’t tell me you can sing!’ She smiles. ‘My ma said Uma had a great voice too.’
‘I don’t know. I’m not that sure about it yet. I only started singing lessons last year,’ I tell her. ‘But what I like best is writing my own stuff.’
‘Take it from me, you can sing!’ She laughs, standing on her tiptoes, reaching out through the window and plucking a tiny cluster of white flowers from a vine, which she hands to me.
‘Jasmine, just like in the song . . . smell that!’ she orders. ‘Janu grows it on the balcony upstairs.’
So that’s the sweet smell that’s been wafting through the window.
‘You know sooner or later you’re going to have to sing for me, like it or not. I want you to write me something with that sort of beat. I could use it . . . Give me a few days to experiment, then I’ll record you and mix it all up. I think it could work. The drop could come right . . . here. Let me just listen a few more times.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never been recorded before,’ I mumble, but my words are lost on Priya because she’s already plugged herself back in. I watch her sink into her pillows, close her eyes and roll on to her side. After a while I think she’s fallen asleep.
There’s a gentle knock at the door and Anjali walks in. I feel as if guilt is written all over my face.
‘That bed’s supposed to be for you! Typical of Priya – she’ll go on and on and then suddenly she’s out like a light!’ Anjali whispers. ‘It’s all the dancing she’s doing, it wears her out.’
‘I’m fine sleeping on the roll-up bed,’ I whisper back.
‘I Skyped Uma for you earlier, because you were fast asleep. She was happy to hear you’ve arrived safely. She wanted to know if you’ve got her ‘sorry’? She said you’d understand.’
I put my hands up to feel my earrings still in place. I smile and nod at Anjali. At least I don’t have to face Mum tonight.
‘Want anything to eat or drink?’ Anjali asks me.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Well, sweet dreams then!’
It’s midnight and the whole neighbourhood is quiet now. I watch Priya sleeping on her bed. I don’t know if it’s just because we’re family that I already like her so much. Maybe when someone is family, even when you come from different worlds, you’re just not so scared to give a bit more of what’s really inside you. That’s how I already feel about Priya, and I would hate not to know her from now on. Mum and Anjali obviously once have felt like that too, and so it must have taken something really big to have pulled them apart.
The words of Anjali’s letters scroll down and down through my mind, and somewhere in my gut I know that the answers to my questions are buried in the house in Doctor’s Lane.
Abra-Kadamba
I look over to Priya’s empty bed, with the covers thrown back. By the light coming through the window it feels quite late. The last thing I remember hearing is the dawn chorus in the tree outside the window.
‘Get down, Bacha!’ I hear Priya shout from outside.
I stand on her bed and watch Bacha’s front legs resting on Priya’s shoulders as he dances around the garden with her!
‘Hi!’ I call from the window.
‘Ah, the sleeping beauty awakes!’ Priya pushes Bacha off her and legs it up the stairs. The way she runs at everything reminds me of my brother Krish. As she disappears up the second flight of stairs I reach out to touch the spreading leaves of the tree.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ says Anjali, coming into the room. She places a hand on my shoulder and sits on the edge of the bed beside me. ‘You know, that was the reason we bought this flat.’
‘What kind of tree is it?’ I ask.
‘It’s called a Kadamba – a tree of truth . . . people say it even has some health-giving properties. Every day I wake up I’m thankful to live under its shade – it makes me feel so far away from all the chaos of the city.’
‘It’s my magic tree!’ says Priya, springing into the room and launching herself, limbs splaying in all directions, on to her bed. ‘Abra-Kadamba! Make a wish, Mira, a secret wish.’
I wish . . . I wish that I get to see the house in Doctor’s Lane.
Anjali takes my hand and one of Priya’s. She has an effortless warmth about her that you’re just drawn towards.
‘I used to make up stories about the magic powers of the Abra-Kadamba for little Priya,’ says Anjali, ‘because I could never get her to sleep. Still can’t! What are you organizing now?’ she asks Priya, but she’s completely zoned out as her fingers move at lightning speed over the keypad of her mobile phone. She’s the fastest texter I’ve ever seen!
‘No, Priya’s never been much of a sleeper. Even now, she’d spend half the night texting her friends if I’d let her!’ Anjali confides in me. ‘Who are you texting?’ she asks, tapping Priya on the shoulder to get her attention.
‘Just arranging for the others to meet us at the mall later,’ Priya says, throwing her mobile on the bed.
‘Sari shopping first, for Mira’s welcoming party, remember?’ Anjali reminds Priya as she wanders out of the bedroom.
‘Ma’s got it into her head that you’d like to go to one of those Park Street sari shops. I don’t know why. I could understand it if your ma was here, but it’s not as if you’re going to wear a sari, is it? Just say the word and I’ll put her off,’ Priya whispers.
‘I don’t mind what I do,’ I say with a shrug. I feel like my little sister, Laila, when I take her to a toyshop! I just want to see everything. I’m actually really looking forward to seeing all that coloured cloth in the same place. I imagine it would be like walking through Mr Bird’s art shop, which is one of my favourite things to do at home. I love just taking in all the colours. But I don’t want Priya to think I’m weird!
‘Ma’s just desperate to show you off to Didima and Prem uncle and all the cousins. Are you sure you’re up to all the admiration?!’ Priya laughs and squeezes one of my cheeks.
Anjali reappears in the doorway holding an old wooden case the size of a tool box. It’s covered in smears of paint.
‘Janu thought you might want to borrow these to make up for losing your case,’ she says, placing the box on the low wooden table. She undoes the rusty catch and opens the lid to reveal pastels, charcoals, gouache and oil paints all neatly arranged in a colour-coded rainbow arc.
‘These belonged to your grandad’s brother, Shudi.’
‘The one who carved the door . . . Grandad used to talk about?’ I ask, probably a bit too keenly.
Anjali nods. ‘He made so many pieces of beautiful furniture. It’s a shame we don’t have more.’
‘Ma . . . Mira wants to see the house. I’ll take her if you want,’ offers Priya in the gentlest of voices, as if she’s afraid of upsetting her.
Two deep furrows appear between Anjali’s eyes. ‘There are so many places to take you, Mira. That old house is nothing like it used to be. It’s just a ruin now. No point going there.’
‘It’s just . . . Grandad was always talking about it . . . and Mum does too sometimes,’ I lie.
Anjali’s expression suddenly hardens. ‘Well, it’s a very long time since your mum or grandad saw that house,’ she snaps.
Something about the way her mood has switched reminds me of Mum, the day she snatched her letters away from me. I’m not going to argue with Anjali, but the truth is, ever since Grandad started telling me stories of living in that house I’ve wanted to see it.
Anjali takes a deep breath before she speaks, as if she’s trying to compose herself. ‘You know, Mira? My Uncle Shudi left his art box to me – in those days I was a keen artist. Priya’s not interested and so Janu uses them now, but he says you’re welcome to use them while you’re here.’ She’s staring down at the box. ‘You can buy a sketchbook and some paper when you go shopping later.’ Her voice sounds a bit shaky. She smoothes her hands over and over the quilt on Priya’s bed as if touching it calms her.
‘We’re not doing that sort of shopping, Ma!’ Priya groans.
‘There’ll be time for everything!’ Anjali says with a sigh, a sharp edge creeping back into her voice. Then she smiles and turns to me. ‘Sorry, Mira. Priya always acts as if the world’s about to come to an end today.’
‘Fine, we’ll buy some paper, but I’m not having a new sari dress or anything. All I need is a new pair of skinny jeans, maybe some trainers and a few CDs.’
‘Is that all?’ Anjali laughs. ‘Remember you’re supposed to be shopping for Mira! I washed that orange salwar-kameez for you last night, Mira, so at least you’ll have something of your own to wear until you get some new clothes.’
‘Thank you.’ I could put on my miniskirt, but after Creepy Guard staring at me I’ve sort of been put off wearing it.
Anjalia walks out of the room and Priya calls after her, ‘Ma, just so you know, I’m not buying anything trad!’ It’s weird watching the two of them locked in all these little tug of wars that are so like Mum’s and mine.
I take out one of the paints and squeeze a tiny bit of gold on to my finger. I wonder if these were the same colours used on the door in Doctor’s Lane. What did Anjali write that the colours were? Orange, green and gold. The same faded colours as on Priya’s trophy cupboard. They must have been Shudi’s favourites.
‘Typical of Janu.’ Priya sighs. ‘So thoughtful, but I don’t know when he thinks you’ll have time to use this stuff. Kolkata is for experience. You can take photographs and paint them when you get home!’
