Neighbour

My brother and I sped down the concrete staircase to be greeted by the usual gang — Harsh, Anvesh, Ritu and Rahul — playing a game of dodgeball.

There were too many times we’d gotten in trouble for launching the ball at the cars parked in the basement. So, it was only after a cursory scan for uncles who would wag their fingers and scold us in impressively high decibels that I decided to join them. My brother sat on the ground to watch. 

“Hey, catch.”

Rahul gently threw the ball to me, and I felt hundreds of butterfly wings in my stomach.

I lifted the ball and looked around at my opponents; all their eyes were trained on me and their torsos bent, ready to sprint this way or that. I took my aim and feigned a swinging motion with my arm.

Harsh sprinted to his right, fooled. He was caught off guard and this was a perfect moment for me to adjust my aim quickly and swing the ball at him, hard. He squealed as the ball thumped into him, and I pumped my fist in joy. After a walk of shame, Harsh was seated next to my brother.

One by one, I took out my opponents until it was just Rahul left. We faced each other. The air was tense and the audience that I had taken out of the game was suspiciously quiet. I narrowed my eyes and lifted my arm to feign another throw, but the ball slipped and lamely rolled towards him. He picked it up with grace.

Oh no.

I began jogging around in circles in an attempt to confuse him. His eyes glimmered with the opportunity he had at hand, but I could tell his confidence waned as I pranced around foolishly. He aimed and threw hard — but I saw it coming. I jumped away, the ball whizzed past me and hit a car.

Without saying a word, we grabbed the ball and ran outside before an uncle could smell the freshly-planted scuff on the Ford.

“You’re good at dodgeball. It’s crazy. You run like a rat.” Rahul said to me, in between huge breaths, winded from the sprint we just ran to reach the street.

My thoughts that night were different than usual. I lay awake replaying the game and Rahul’s little quip in my head. I am good at dodgeball. I fell asleep dreaming of a swordfight, a long and epic battle that was abruptly interrupted by the sound of Ma shouting something about curry leaves and drumsticks out the window. With groggy eyes, I glanced at the wall clock. 8 AM.

 

An hour later, I sat in the dining chair as Ma combed my hair. She was wearing a white kurta and a red bindi on her forehead. Her thick black hair was in a long braid. I always thought that she was the kind of pretty that could easily end up on billboards and in movies, and wondered why she never tried to.

On our way to the stationary store (I needed supplies for a school project,) she was expectedly distracted multiple times. She stopped to ask the flower vendor about the latest and freshest of flowers she could gather for Ganesh Chaturthi. She came across Rituja aunty who wanted to talk about the relentless heat. She was stopped by Raj uncle who enquired in detail about the school I was attending.

Every time she stopped, I would zone out and stare at the trees that canopied the street, the kolams drawn on verandas, the rusting gates and lamps around us. I never got bored of these sights. As I looked around, I spotted Rahul at a distance. He was standing outside his apartment with what appeared to be a couple of friends from school. There were two boys and one girl. She was tall and sporty-looking, and wore a tight blue T-shirt and denim shorts.

I felt an emotion I couldn't put my finger on, when I realised that she was the same kind of pretty I thought my mom was.

In my room cutting the thermocol we had bought, I thought about Rahul and the girl he was talking to. Is she in his class at school? What’s her name? Maybe they like each other, but I don’t think they are boyfriend and girlfriend. I struggled to get the scissors’ blades to cut the thermocol smoothly, and my frustration mounted. After a minute or so, I gave up.

The afternoon seemed to pass painfully slowly, but Pa provided a welcome respite that evening. He asked my brother and me to get ready so we could head to the auto repair shop. Though his goal was to get our battered Tata Indica to the shop, we knew he would let us enjoy the journey by playing songs on the dash stereo and buying samosas and fruit juices for us.

After I washed my face and towelled it dry, I came to my room where I found my brother spraying an ungodly amount of deodorant on himself.

“Hey”

“Yeah”

“Do you know if Rahul likes a girl from his school?”

Why did I just say that!?

My brother paused the spraying and looked back at me. His expression was both puzzled and slightly disgusted. It was the first time I had brought up anything of the kind — crushes had been a kind of unspoken prohibition from the list of topics we could talk about with each other.

 

Though my heart beat fast, I tried to look nonchalant.

“Um, yeah I think so.”

“Ah!”

Before he could ask me about the origin of this question, I quickly turned on my heel and walked to the kitchen with long strides as though I had forgotten something important there. I heard the deodorant-spraying resume.

Nestled in the car, my brother forgot, or at least pretended like he did, about the question I posed. I sat in the passenger’s seat while dad tried to teach us about something called car insurance, a futile attempt since my brother sat distractedly fiddling with his game boy in the backseat and I sat staring out the window. The world’s colours seemed a shade darker.

I felt a nasty feeling, one that gnawed at my stomach and left a sour taste in my mouth. Why can’t I be like her? The single thought haunted me and threatened to chew up my little brain as the Indica trudged along the city’s roads. The songs we played on the stereo sounded monotonous and the samosas my dad bought, with extra green chutney, tasted bland.

I had a dreamless sleep that night and woke up late the next morning. Ma had graciously let me sleep till 9 AM. Maybe she sensed that I was going through something, or maybe she had just decided to let it go for a day. The former was likelier. I looked up at the bed my brother usually occupied and found it empty, with the blanket neatly folded up at the foot.

After a long bath, I took a deep breath and sat down on the cold floor to busy myself with the project.

The intricate cutting and gluing was demanding work, and 3 hours later, it was finally complete.

I got up, walked to the kitchen and stood in front of Ma who was kneading dough in a fat bowl in the kitchen. Her hair stuck to her face with sweat. When she spotted me, she hastily rubbed her hands on her faded red nightie.

“Ma, I finished.”

“Really? Show me, Aishu.”

With an evident spring in my step, I took her by the hand to the room to show her the marvel I made. It was a little replica of a farm, with farmers I’d fashioned out of thick paper wearing pink turbans and soiled dhotis, holding whips in their hand for the huge cows that ploughed through the soil. Thin, long rice crops lined the soil, and I’d managed to sneak in a few yellow flowers on a small bed near the farmer’s house that was made out of ice-cream sticks.

 

Ma smiled and patted my back, bending down to examine the little flowers and the cows. I grinned ear to ear, making no effort to hide the satisfaction I felt. This will surely win the prize on Project day.

Ma carefully laid a thin cloth over the model and put it on top of the cupboard to keep it safe and away from our butter fingers and toes. I went downstairs a little early that evening. As it turns out, my brother had spent the day playing video games on Rahul’s computer as his parents were out of town. They arrived now, holding the ball we played dodgeball with, and chattering about some cricket match.

The butterflies in my stomach were fewer in number today, but still prominent seeing his smile. I tore my gaze away and asked Ritu about her day.

“Okay everybody, let’s play!”

We took our places dutifully. The five of us paused, sizing each other up like cowboys in a gunfight. Soon enough, we began jogging around.

My brother held the ball and tried his best to aim it at someone, anyone. He flung it forcefully and missed Harsh by an inch. Harsh grabbed the ball next and speedily threw it at me. It was predictable. I almost ran towards the ball just to catch it. Haha, my turn.

I looked around. Rahul wore a white jersey and his shoes looked more scuffed than usual. He was grinning as he pranced around. I raised my arm, turned my torso and took aim.

Wham.

Before he saw it coming, the ball whacked his stomach. Rahul instantly bent down, his toothy grin was now replaced with a grimace. We all ran towards him, and my brother placed an arm on his back and bent down to level with him.

“Are you alright?” he said, sounding panicked.

“Uh..yeah. That was just strong.” Rahul responded, rubbing his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” I said, in a small voice. My brother looked up and glared at me.

Rahul’s face was now a light shade of red and he patted his tummy aggressively, but he held up a hand as if to say he would be fine. We quietly turned around to take our places.

I smiled to myself. That felt good.