After All This Time (10 page)

When Shourya pulled up in front of the tattoo parlour, he had doubts about getting inked here. The place looked dingy and dark, and not at all impressive from the outside.

‘Are you sure this is the place?’ he asked Lavanya.

‘Ha! Chicken.’

‘This does not look hygienic at all. We can look around for another place, can’t we? What’s so special about this one?’

‘It’s the one closest to my place on Google Maps,’ Lavanya said simply.

‘And that’s it? I thought someone you know got inked here or you have some reasonably good testimony about the place at least. We can’t get tattooed here just because it is closest to your place.’

‘Why not? Watch me.’

Lavanya stepped out of the car before he could protest. Strands of her hair shone red under the morning sunlight. She had confessed that she was not pleased with it, but he thought her hair looked much nicer than the vivid red she had initially planned on getting done. By the time he parked and got out, she had already entered the parlour. He had no option but to follow.

‘Let me see . . .’ she was telling the guy at the reception. ‘I want to get one word tattooed, here,’ she pointed to her forearm. ‘Can I see some font styles, please? Something in cursive, possibly?’

The place had dim lighting and red walls, one of which was covered entirely in pictures of tattoos the place claimed to have done, held in place by push pins. There were some exceedingly grotesque ones there too, which did not do anything to convince Shourya that this was not a bad idea.

There were numerous tattoos of skulls on the wall, but one of them was especially monstrous. One skull tattoo seemed to have three heads, and six eyes, positioned in a manner that made zero sense. But then, how could he expect sense from a man who got a giant skull inked on his back?

‘Lavanya, we need to go,’ he whispered in her ear.

‘Aw, you leaving?’ Lavanya asked loudly, looking at him straight in the eye. ‘I thought you wanted to get one too.’

The man at the reception and the other three people in the room looked up at him, waiting for his reply. ‘I think I will,’ Shourya finally said.

‘That’s more like it. Have you decided what you are going to get?’

Shourya was a little annoyed at Lavanya’s behaviour. She knew he was not comfortable with the shady place, but she wouldn’t let him look up some other, better establishment. And she was enjoying putting him on spot, speaking loudly with everyone around listening in.

‘Definitely not a skull,’ he muttered. ‘What are you getting?’

‘I am going to get “always” written on the inside of my right wrist in this font.’ She showed him a basic calligraphy font.

‘Hmm. Book phrase? Isn’t “always” a Harry Potter thing?’

Lavanya nodded. ‘Severus Snape’s eternal love for Lily Potter. And don’t you dare make fun of me for getting a young adult fantasy book reference tattooed. I have not grown out of HP. I never will.’

‘No, of course not. Potter’s the best. This gives me an idea too.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ Shourya said. ‘Are you familiar with John Green’s
Looking for Alaska
? There was this amazing concept in it.’

‘Is this the same John Green who wrote
The Fault in Our Stars
? It is supposed to be really good, right? I have not read anything for the joy of reading since school, so I do not know much of the present reading trends.’

‘Same guy. But I personally think
Looking for Alaska
is a much better book; leaves you with more to think about. You should read it.’

‘Have you both decided your designs?’ a young tattoo artist interrupted.

‘Umm, I have,’ Lavanya looked up at Shourya. ‘You have decided too, right?’

‘I’m not sure . . . How is it gonna look to people?’ Shourya hesitated.

‘Come on. If it means something to you, get it. Who cares what others think?’

‘You can come this way,’ the tattoo artist motioned Lavanya before turning to Shourya. ‘Please go into that room. Michael will take care of you.’

‘Thank you.’ Shourya leaned in and whispered into Lavanya’s ear, ‘Are you sure, though? This place does not look very hygienic to me. It is okay if you don’t want to do this. I mean, you don’t
have
to, just because it’s on your list. Or we could find a better place, maybe?’

‘Relax,’ Lavanya murmured, much to Shourya’s relief was glad Lavanya was speaking softly too. ‘It will be over before you know it. Don’t think too much.’

‘Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?’

Lavanya shook her head.

‘Fine! It’s decided then. We are getting Hepatitis or AIDS, or I don’t know . . . some other kind of blood-borne infectious disease today. Let’s face some needles,’ Shourya patted Lavanya’s back and nudged her towards her cubicle.

‘At least we are in this together. See you on the other side!’ he called, as he drew the curtain to the small room where Michael was supposed to take care of him.

Lavanya was steered into a dingy stall in a corner of the tattoo studio. The artist who would ink her introduced herself as Zia and asked her if she was ready. Lavanya did not respond in any way; no words, not even a nod. Zia did not seem to care. She started setting up the workstation.

Lavanya slumped into the reclining chair, her body curling inwards. It was as if her spine could not be bothered with keeping itself straight.

‘You can relax. It is a relatively small tat. Not gonna take long.’ Zia was wearing a translucent white tank top, her purple bra completely visible underneath, with neon green nylon shorts. Lavanya noticed how her entire right arm and whatever was visible of her chest was covered in one tattoo—a vibrant, red and gold snake coiled itself around her arm, all the way to her shoulder, its mouth open to reveal its fangs above Zia’s chest.

For some reason, the snake’s fang was pink in colour. Lavanya could not stop staring at it, not even when Zia caught her at it. A thin, sharp fang, almost like a needle.

Lavanya’s eyes were drawn to the small machine that Zia was holding. Her fingers were around the coil of the tattoo gun, through which a thin needle emerged, inching closer to Lavanya’s skin. It was not one needle. There were five very fine needles disguised as one, but Lavanya was looking close enough to notice.

It was the only thing she could see. In that moment, it was the centre of the world. As she felt the first sweet prick of the needle, she was transported back to another time.

There was darkness. There were lights—red and blue and green—but they did not do anything to brighten up the room in the least. They did not need light anyway. They had enough of their own, inside.

Once they had white magic flowing through their veins, who needed light bulbs?

Her cheek was resting against something hard, and cold. Soon it did not feel cold any more. Whatever little warmth was left in her body was transferred to the cold tile, warming it. Her feet were freezing. She tried to pull them towards her body, but they refused to move. Not even an inch.

Her throat felt parched, her mouth dry. Except for the loud trance music blasting through the speakers, there was absolute silence. She had a funny feeling in her gut. Something terrible had happened.

She managed to push her body up, resting her palms flat against the floor. She had to sit like that for a minute, wait for her head to stop spinning, prepare her body for the next step—getting to her feet. It proved more difficult than she had expected. In the end, she settled for pushing herself back against the couch and resting her head on the worn edge. It was hard—the foam had given away and the woodwork was showing. Fortunately, comfort was the least of her concerns at that moment.

She looked around for her cell phone. Her head stayed still, only her eyes moved, scanning the room. She thought she saw the silver edge of her phone under an arm. With enormous effort, she crawled to it. The arm was large and hairy, just like the body it was attached to, its big belly rising and falling evenly, repeatedly. There was nothing lying around to cover it with.

She pushed the arm away, only to reveal a needle, some loose white powder, and a credit card. Those rectangular pieces of plastic had proved very useful that night. And also the needle. The silver of the needle glinted red, then blue, then green as the disco lights flashed. Red, blue, green. Repeat.

Lavanya jerked her arm away. The sweet pain shooting through her right arm did not cease. It was concentrated in one tiny point on her wrist. She gaped at it. A minuscule
A
sat there, red and throbbing.

‘Is everything okay, ma’am?’ Zia asked, looking at Lavanya with concern.

Lavanya’s eyes shot up and met Zia’s. ‘Needle,’ she muttered.

‘Ah, it’s no big deal. You’ve got to relax a tad. I’m going to be done before you know it.’

Zia pulled Lavanya’s wrist back and tried to put it back in position, but Lavanya jerked it away again.

‘Ma’am, it’s okay. It won’t hurt any more than the first letter, and that wasn’t that bad, yeah?’ Zia looked nervously at Lavanya, who shook her head. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

Lavanya shot to her feet all of a sudden.

‘Ma’am, please. Tell me if I did something wrong. My manager will kill me. He’s always looking for an excuse to yell at me.’ Zia’s expression was terrified.

For a second, Lavanya almost sat back down. But her eyes fell on the needle again and she ran out of the stall, as if she could not leave fast enough. Her sneakers made a strange squeaky sound against the tiled floor.

‘What’s going on?’ the man at the reception asked as Lavanya flew past him.

‘ZIA! What did you do?’ she heard him thunder.

Lavanya tried to turn back, to tell him that Zia had not done anything wrong, that it was the demons of her past that had chased her away. She could not be rescued any more, but she could help Zia keep her job. Even knowing that, her legs did not stop long enough for her to turn back.

She walked briskly towards Shourya’s car. Too late, she realized she did not have the keys. She paced around the car, like a lunatic—round and round and round. She should have known better.
What was she thinking, getting a tattoo?
She had HIV.
HIV
. She was a threat to others; she could not risk getting her blood on a needle. She could infect someone if it wasn’t sterilized properly. How could she have been so reckless? So thoughtless? She brought her wrist close to her eyes, looking at the tiny
A
. It was swollen, and red. The black ink was covered with her blood. Such an innocuous murder weapon.

Round and round and round.

HIV.

What if her immune system was not strong enough to heal the tattoo wound? What if it grew, and kept getting bigger till it covered her wrist, and then her hand and arm, slowly spreading across her body. What if she never got better again?

Round and round and round.

She needed answers. She could not keep running from it. What if the time she had wasted ignoring her condition made it too late for her? What if her condition kept worsening and there was nothing that could be done?
Doctor.
She needed to go to the doctor. She needed to get some tests done. She needed treatment. She chuckled. Who was she fooling? There was no cure.

Round and round and round.

Lavanya kept walking in circles around the car, her feet refusing to stop. She was getting dizzy, her legs were becoming wobbly, her armpits sticky. She pushed her hair back from her face angrily and was surprised to find it damp. Her cheeks were damp too.

Round and round and round.

She could not let Shourya anywhere near a needle. She had to stop him. She had to rush back in and drag him out with her. She had to tell him how stupid she was. What she had done.

Round and round and—
bump
.

Her knee collided with the car’s bumper and a sharp pain shot through her leg. She buckled down to the ground, clutching her leg, her hands tightly wound around her knee, trying to block out the pain. Stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
.

It was one thing to destroy your own life, but forcing the only friend you’ve ever had to participate in your stupid schemes, endangering his life? She was disgusted by herself. She craned her neck to look back at the tattoo parlour. Shourya had had his doubts about the place; he had asked her repeatedly if she was sure. If something were to happen to him . . .

Her head was bursting with
what ifs
. Her body had stopped trying to get back up. She sighed loudly, and bowed her head in defeat. Her eyes rested on her tattoo and she had the overwhelming urge to scratch it out. Her cheeks were still wet, and she did not know what to do about it.

Lavanya was living a lie. Keeping a secret that was killing her inside. She could not handle it, she now knew. It was too much. Every second that passed made her realize that she was one second closer to dying, and she was doing nothing to stall it. Nothing except pretending to be fine. Of ‘protecting’ those who loved her, as if the pain of her death would be easier than dealing with her sickness.

She was tired of pretending.

‘What do you mean, she ran away?’ Shourya asked the guy at the reception.

‘She got up and ran away! I swear I did not do anything wrong. I asked her, but she did not say anything!’ the young tattooist was saying animatedly.

‘Where did she go?’ Shourya went to the door to see if his car was still there; Lavanya couldn’t have driven off since he had the keys. He pulled out his cell phone and dialled her number.

‘Sir, sir . . . your bill,’ the man at the reception called after him. ‘And I will have to put madam’s expense on your bill too?’

‘Did she get her tattoo? You said she did not get it.’ She was not taking his call. He dialled again.

‘She got some of it—’

‘Fine, put it on mine,’ Shourya said. He paid the bill and rushed back to his car. Where could Lavanya have gone, without telling him? She was the one who had insisted they get this done. Her to-do list seemed important to her. It was unlike her to get up in the middle of it and run away without a clue. His car was sitting only a few yards away from the tattoo parlour. He looked around. Maybe she’d gone to a coffee place nearby to wait for him. Or maybe she’d gone back home, and was too ashamed of panicking and bolting to take his calls. She’d chickened out! He looked at his tattoo. It was still red and swollen, but it had turned out well. He had had his reservations about the place, but Michael turned out to be good at what he did. After the first few minutes, it was not bad at all.

On the inside of his left arm were the words ‘great perhaps’ in an old-school typewriter font. The main character in
Looking for Alaska
follows the words of the poet Francois Rabelais, who said, ‘I go to see a Great Perhaps’, and embarks on a pursuit of his own great perhaps. The idea of having a sense of purpose and connection to a grander cause had stayed with Shourya long after he’d finished reading the book.

Shourya could not wait to show off his tattoo to Lavanya. He walked around his car and . . .

‘Lavanya?’

She was sitting on the pavement next to his SUV. She looked up, squinting in the sunlight, her face white like a ghost’s. There were purple bags under her eyes, every vein visible under the thin translucent skin there. Her cheeks were red, the kind of red caused by an abrasion. To most people she would appear stressed and worn out, but not many would conclude tears. Except Shourya. He had seen her biting the inside of her lower lip far too many times to not know that she did that to keep her lips from trembling, a tell-tale sign of crying. It was obvious that she had been crying now. But there was also something in her eyes. Something . . .
more
.

Lavanya’s eyes were squinted against the sunlight, but were gazing intently into Shourya’s. Her lips were closed together, but her eyes were asking something of him, something he did not understand.

He dropped to his knees and crouched in front of her. ‘What is it? What is wrong, Lavi?’ He knew it wasn’t about some stupid tattoo she’d chickened out of getting. She was hiding something from him, and if this was the condition her secret had left her in, he had to find out what it was.

‘I want to go home.’

‘Come on.’ Shourya took both her hands in his and pulled her up with him. He deposited her in the passenger’s seat and walked around the car to the driver’s side. She would try to fight it, he knew. She never did give in easily. But this time he was not going to back down because he could see that she needed help.

He climbed into the car and slid the key into the ignition, but didn’t turn it.

‘Tell me,’ he demanded softly.

Lavanya’s eyes darted around the car, and she blinked several times before she turned towards him and met his eyes again.

‘Seven years,’ she said.

‘What?’ Shourya asked softly.

‘That’s how long I had not been home in. This is the first time I have come back since I left.’

No!

Shourya was thrown. He did not know how to respond at first. He tried to put all the pieces together. He had always known about her issues with her father and the troubles she faced with letting go of them. When he learned that she still had not been able to move on from what had happened with her father years ago, he was surprised. But now it made more sense. She had not been home in seven years—the trouble had not gone away. She had found it exactly as it was when she walked back in.

She could not move past it because she was still living in the past.

‘It is the same . . . all still the same,’ she muttered. ‘Exactly how I left it. Only, Mom is older, and lonelier.’

‘Why didn’t you ever come back?’

‘I could not . . . It wasn’t like I didn’t try. I called Mom sometimes and asked her how she was doing. I always made sure she was okay. But I could not come back here, Shourya, I could not. It was too hard and ugly and painful for me. ’

‘It did not need to be. I know you feel like you had to run away, Lavi, but you really did not. That was never the solution.’ Shourya saw the pained expression on Lavanya’s face and stopped.