Cobalt Blue Read Free Page B

took her to the bathroom . . . I still remember that scene.
    No one had made me want to ask that question. Not Shrikrishna Pendse with whom I stole some moments in empty classrooms; not Amit Chowdhuri who lived alone behind Sharayu Maushi’s home; not Girish Sir who kept me back after rehearsals when all the other kids had been sent away.
    After we made love, I felt a delicious lassitude creeping over me. When consciousness returned, I realized that you were still with me; you hadn’t turned your back and edged away.
    Later, I was awakened by the warmth of the sun, filtering in through the window, and a delectable aroma in the air. It was you, after a bath, your hair wet, sitting in a chair, looking at me.
    ‘Why the lines on your forehead? Why that look of pain?’ I cleared my face, consciously letting happiness through.
    A thought: what if the ground were glass? I would be able to see a bunch of friends talking about their children. And Aseem’s hidden stash of
Debonair
with its photographs of topless women would fall out from among his books. A cousin was being gheraoed by a circle of relatives; he had published his mental and physical needs in the newspapers. Now it’s Aseem’s turn, they shout. Now Tanay’s. In the other room, Aai and her friends are looking at the jewellery that has been reserved for Anuja. Aai tells her friends that she has been scrupulously fair: whatever she has made for Anuja, she has had identical pieces made for her future daughters-in-law. In the next room, two colossal cradles have been hung. In them are two babies whose naming ceremonies are about to commence. Ashwini’s husband of three days cannot take his eyes off me. The turbulence of ritual swirls through the house. The women are jostling for place and for priority. When I see Ashwini’s husband standing near the dark wall of the station, he blushes and laughs. Having trapped the woman who has delivered herself of two children and grown fat, the men dance in a ring in a maidan. Happiness, happiness, everywhere happiness. Even the woman who has had two children and has grown fat is happy.
    I want to go and say something in each of these places and see what effect it has. But in this kerfuffle, who will hear my voice? So I sit silently in a corner. It occurs to me just as suddenly: what if everyone suddenly looks up, through the transparent glass ceiling, at us?
    I woke again—Baba shouting for me. I drew the curtain on the hostel side. I sorted out my clothes from yours and slipped into them and ran downstairs. I thought I was going to be upbraided for laziness, for sleeping until eleven. But it wasn’t that. It was only that the prasad he had brought from the Swami of Akalkot had not been sent across to the Ranade family. Mischievously, he said, ‘This is your punishment.’ Then he pushed a cup of not-very-good tea into my hands. When I drank it, he told me he had made it himself. From scratch. Sting was singing ‘Fields of gold’ deliriously from Anuja’s room. Aai was making onion thaalipeeth. The first one went to Aseem, as it always did. As he ate it, he looked at me and laughed.
    Perhaps the night had gone well for everyone.
    Everyone reacts differently to alcohol. Quiet men shout their protests against the world. The aggressive turn humble and polite. It’s different with you; alcohol makes you ask questions, the odd questions only you can ask.
    When your glass was empty, you picked up an ice cube and began to look at me through it. You did this fairly often because my glass was usually empty as were the bottles. Then you rubbed the cube on your face, on your eyelids and you asked, ‘So tell me. Why do you call your city the cultural capital of the state?’ I tried to remember what we had learned in school: that there were some great colleges here, and a famous university that attracts students from across the country, from across the world. We had some of the state’s finest writers, poets, musicians, singers