The 3 Mistakes Of My Life (11 page)

neck out. Just one corrupt banana republic marketed by the leaders as this new

socialist, intellectual nation. Tanks and thinktanks, nothing else,' Ish said.

'And guess who was at the top? Which party? Secular nonsense again,' Omi

joined in, opening one eye.

'Well, your right-wing types didn't exactly get their act together cither,' Ish said.

'We will, man. We are so ready. You wait and see, elections next year and

Gujarat is ours,' Omi said.

'Anyway, screw politics. My point is, that the clueless Sixties to Eighties

generation is now old, and running the country. But the Nineties and the, what

do they say...'

'Zeroes.'

'Yeah, whatever. The Zeroes think different. But we are being run by old fogeys

who never did anything worthwhile in their primetime. The Doordarshan

generation is running the Star TV generation,' Ish said.

I clapped. 'Wow, wisdom is free at the Team India Cricket Shop.'

'Fuck off. Can't have a discussion around here. You think only you are the

intellectual type. I am just a cricket coach,' Ish grumbled.

'No, you are the intellectual, bro. I am the sleepy type. Now can we rest until

the next pesky kid comes,' I said, closing my eyes. Our nap was soon interrupted.

'Lying down, well done. When rent is cheap, shopkeepers Will sleep,' Bittoo

Mama's voice made us all sit up. Now what the hell was he doing here?

'It is slow this time of the day, Mama,' Omi said as he pulled out a stool. He

signalled me to get tea. I opened the cash box and took some coins.

'Get something to eat as well,' Mama said. I nodded. Now who the fuck pays for

Mama's snacks? The rent is not that cheap, I thought as I left the shop with a

fake smile. I returned with tea for everyone.

Mama was telling Omi, 'You come help me if it is slow in the afternoons. Your

friends can come too. Winning a seat is not that easy. These secular guys are

good.'

'What do you want me to do, Mama?' Omi said as he took the tea glasses off

the crate and passed them around.

'We have to mobilise young people. Tell them our philosophy, warn them

against the hypocrites. During campaign time, we need people to help us in

publicity, organising rallies. There is work to be done.'

'I'll come next time, Mama,' Omi said.

'Tell others, too. If you see young people at the temple, tell them about our

party. Tell them about me.'

I stood up, disgusted. Yes, I could see the point in targeting temple visitors,

given the philosophy of the party. But when someone comes to pray, should they

be pitched to join politics? I opened the accounts register to distract myself.

'You will come?' Mama turned to Ish.

'Someone has to man the shop. At least one person, even if it is slow,' Ish said.

Smartass, that was supposed to be my excuse. 'And you, Govind?' Mama said.

'I am not into that sort of stuff. I am agnostic, remember?' I said, still reading

the register.

'But this isn't about religion. It is about justice. And considering we gave you

this shop at such a low rent, you owe US
something.'

'It is not your shop. Omi's mother gave it to us. And given the location, the rent

we pay is fair,' I said.

I alone am enough, Mama. Dhiraj will come as well, right?' Omi said, to break

the ever escalating tension between Mama and me.
Dhiraj was Mama's fourteen-

year-old son and Omi's cousin.

'Look at his pride! This two-bit shop and a giant ego,' Mama said. 'If Omi wasn't

there, I'd get you kicked out.'

'There will be no need. We are leaving soon anyway,' I said without thinking. I

couldn't help it. I wanted to tell him only at l lie last minute, just before we moved

to the Navrangpura mall. Hut I was sick of his patronising tone.

'Oh, really? Where, you will pull a hand-cart with these bats and balls?' Mama

said.

'We are moving to Navrangpura mall. You can take your shop back then.'

'What?' Mama exclaimed.

'We will make the deposit next month. Possession when it opens in three

months. This two-bit shop is about to move to a prime location sports store,' I

said.

Mama's mouth remained open. I had dreamt of this expression lor months.

'Really?' Mama turned to Omi.

Omi nodded.

'How much is the deposit?' Mama said.

'Forty thousand. We saved it,' I said.

'You pay one thousand a month for this shop. If you were paying the market

rent of two, you wouldn't be able to save this much,' Mama said.

I kept quiet.

'What? Now you are quiet, eh?' Mama stood up.

What was I supposed to do? Jump and grab his feet? I was also giving his

nephew employment and an equal share in my business. Sure, Omi was a friend,

but given his qualifications, nobody would give him that stature. A cheaper rent

was the least he could do.

'Let me know when you want me, Mama,' Omi said.

'Good, I'll see you,' he said, 'continue your rest.'

Ish raised his middle finger as Mama left. Then we lay down and went back to

sleep.

Seven

'Have you done the sums I gave you?'

Vidya nodded. I couldn't see her face as we sat side by side, but I knew she'd

just cried when she lifted a hand to wipe an eye.

I opened her tuition notebook. I am a tutor, not a consoler. 'You did them all?'

She shook her head. 'How many did you do?'

She showed me seven fingers. Ok, seven out of ten weren't bad. But why wasn't

she saying anything.

'What's up?' I said, more to improve communication than the sight of her

smudged eyes.

'Nothing,' she said in a broken voice.

A girl's 'nothing' usually means 'a lot'. Actually, it meant 'a lot and don't get me

started'. I thought of a suitable response to a
fake 'nothing'.

'You want to go wash your face?' I said.

'I am fine. Let's get started.'

I looked at her eyes. Her eyelashes were wet. She had the same eyes as her

brother. However, the brown was more prominent on her fair face.

'Your second problem is correct too,' I said, and ticked her notebook. I almost

wrote 'good' out of habit. I normally taught young kids, and they loved it if I made

comments like 'good', 'well done' or made a 'star' against their answers. But Vidya

was no kid.

'You did quite well,' I said as I finished reviewing her work.

'Excuse me,' she said and ran to the bathroom. She probably had an outburst

of tears. She came back, this time her eyeliner gone and the whole face wet.

'Listen, we can't have a productive class if you are disturbed. We have to do

more complex problems today and....’

'But I am not disturbed. It's Garima and her, well, forget it.'

'Garima?'

'Yes, my cousin and best friend in Bombay. I told you last time.'

'I don't remember,' I said.

'She told me last night she would SMS me in the morning. It is afternoon

already, and she hasn't. She always does that.' 'Why don't you SMS her instead?'

'I am not doing that. She said she would. And so she should, right?'

I looked at her blankly, unable to respond.

'She is in this hi-fi PR job, so she is too busy to type a line?'

I wished that woman would SMS her so we could start class.

'Next time I will tell her I have something really important to I talk about and

not call her for two days,' she said.

Some, I repeat only some girls, measure the strength of their friendship by the

power of the emotionally manipulative games they could play with each other.

'Should we start?'

'Yeah, I am feeling better. Thanks for listening.'

'No problem. So what happened in problem eight?' I said.

We immersed ourselves into probability for the next half an hour. When she

applied her mind, she wasn't dumb at maths as she came across on first

impression. But she rarely applied it for more than five minutes. Once, she had to

change her pen. Then she had to reopen and fasten her hairclip. In fifteen

minutes, she needed a cushion behind her back. After that her mother sent in tea

and biscuits and she had to sip it every thirty seconds. Still, we plowed along.

Forty minutes into the class, she pulled her chair back.

'My head is throbbing now. I have never done so much maths continuously in

my life. Can we take a break?'

'Vidya, we only have twenty minutes more,' I said.

She stood up straight and blinked her eyes. 'Can we agree to a five-minute

break during class? One shouldn't study maths that long. It has to be bad for

you.'

She kept her pen aside and opened her hair. A strand fell on my arm. I pulled

my hand away.

'How is your preparation for other subjects? You don't hate science, do you?' I

said. I wanted to keep the break productive.

I like science. But the way they teach it, it sucks,' Vidya said.

'Like what?'

'Like the medical entrance guides, they have thousands of multiple choice

questions. You figure them out and then you are good enough to be a doctor.

That's not how I look at science.'

'Well, we have no choice. There are very few good colleges and competition is

tough.'

I know. But the people who set these exam papers, I wonder if they ever are

curious about chemistry anymore. Do they just cram up reactions? Or do they

ever get fascinated by it? Do they ever see a marble statue and wonder, it all

appears static, but inside this statue there are protons buzzing and electrons

madly spinning.'

I looked into her bright eyes. I wished they would be as lit up when I taught her

probability.

'That's quite amazing, isn't it?' I said.

'Or let's talk of biology. Think about this,' she said and touched my arm. 'What

is this?'

'What?' I said, taken aback by her contact.

'This is your skin. Do you know there are communities of bacteria living here?

There are millions of individual life forms -eating, reproducing and dying right on

us. Yet, we never wonder. Why? We only care about cramming up an epidermal

layer diagram, because that comes in the exam every single year.'

I didn't know what to say to this girl. Maybe I should have stuck to teaching

seven-year-olds.

'There are some good reference books outside your textbooks for science,' I told

her.

'Are there?'

'Yes, you get them in the Law Garden book market. They go into concepts. I

can get them for you if you want. Ask your parents if they will pay for them.'

*Of course, they will pay. If it is for studies, they spend like crazy. But can I

come along with you?'

'No, you don't have to. I'll get the bill.'

'What?'

'In case you are thinking how much I will spend.' 'You silly or what? It will be a

nice break. We'll go together.' 'Fine. Let's do the rest of the sums. We have taken

a fifteen-minute break.'

I finished a set of exercises and gave her ten problems as homework. Her phone

beeped as I stood up to leave. She rushed to grab it. 'Garima,' she said and I shut

the door behind me.

I was walking out when Ish came home.

'Hey, good class? She is a duffer, must be tough,' said Ish, his body covered in

sweat after practice.

'Not bad, she is a quick learner,' I said. I didn't know why, but looking at Ish

right then made my heart beat fast. I wondered if I should tell him about my plan

to go to Law Garden with Vidya to buy books. But that would be stupid, I

thought. I didn't have to explain everything to him.

'I figured out a way to rein in Ali,' Ish said.

'How?'

'I let him hit his four sixes first. Then he is like any of us.' I nodded.

'The other boys get pissed though. They think I have a special place for this

student.' Ish added.

'They are kids. Don't worry,' I said and wondered how much longer I had to be

with him and why the hell did I feel so

guilty?

'Yeah. Some students are
special, right?' Ish chuckled. For a nanosecond I felt

he was making a dig at me. No, this was about Ali. I didn't have a special student.

'You bet. Listen, have to go. Mom needs help with a big wedding order.'

With that, I took rapid strides and was out of his sight. My head buzzed like

those electrons inside the marble statue in Omi's temple.

★

She was dressed in a white chikan salwar kameez on the day of our Law

Garden trip. Her bandhini orange and red dupatta had tiny brass bells at the

end. They made a sound everytime she moved her hand. There was a hint of extra

make-up. Her lips shone and I couldn't help staring at them.

'It's lip gloss. Is it too much?' she said self-consciously, rubbing her lips with

her fingers. Her upper lip had a near invisible mole on the right. I pulled my gaze

away and looked for autos on the street. Never, ever look at her face, I scolded

myself.

'That's the bookshop,' I said as we reached the store.