by Deepti Dilip Kumar
Minu grabs her little red-and-yellow bag, takes a last swipe of her peach-flavoured lip balm, and is ready to leave.
“Bye, Ma!” she calls as she frantically pulls on her heels. “What a whirlwind!” her mother thinks in fondness.
“Be safe,” her father says gruffly. “If you’re going to be late, you should be driven–”
“–Yeah yeah yeah yeah!” she interrupts. “Bye!”
Her father goes back to his dinner, but his eyes are on the door that has just been slammed shut. Ever since his daughter returned from her trip to Japan a few weeks ago, she has been quieter than usual. He loves her stories about her travels, but he can sense an undercurrent of emptiness in everything she narrates from this trip and he cannot put his finger on it.
“Good evening, Bangalore, the outlook for the new year looks good as the temperature stays at a steady 22 degrees, reaching a maximum of 29 over the next few days and a minimum of ….”
Minu and her little gang of friends have taken up seats at the bar. The pub, The Vibe, is full to bursting on New Year’s eve, but the actual vibe has taken a hit with some terrible news. There’s been a massive bomb blast at a mall not too far from where they are. The Vibe does not want the rising panic of its clientele to escalate into something larger, so a large-screen TV near the bar, meant for watching matches, has been switched on to deliver the breaking news. People have gathered around the bar, craning their necks to watch the headlines. Couples huddle into each other and read the words out loudly, argue in raucous tones, or comfort one another in soft whispers.
Aman and Kaya seem wrapped up in each other, but suddenly, his eyes latch on Minu’s – and he doesn’t break the stare. Minu’s head throbs to life all of a sudden and she averts her gaze hurriedly. “Come outside for a smoke?” she asks Sharon. Minu and Sharon link hands and push their way to the outer chamber, which gives way to the terraced area meant for smokers. Throwing herself against the cool concrete wall, Minu lights her cigarette with a shaking hand. She swallows self-consciously as she recalls Aman’s gaze. Aman’s eyes locked into hers. The eyes of an animal in pain, ready to make a run for it when you’re not looking.
“God!” Sharon exclaims, taking a deep breath. “To hell with the nicotine inhalation. This is breathing, and breathing’s good for you.” Sharon chuckles low and throaty and leans against the parapet. She is barely tall enough to look over the ledge, with its neat row of potted plants, which seems to be getting fertilized solely by the copious amounts of cigarette ash tapped into it.
The road that runs by the side of the pub is deserted, the bikes of pub-goers parked in reverent silence. Above the tops of the buildings, Minu can see a giant wheel in the distance. A temporary children’s fair. Lights from the fair wink and blink, dutifully calling out to children at 10 p.m. To the east of the fair is the mall. Minu can’t see much of the mall, but she can make out its red lettering – Zenith Mall – blazing outward. That whole area must be cordoned off now. The blast had happened just about half an hour ago. She feels a bit of regret that she couldn’t hear anything, but the pub was noisy and she had other things on her mind.
“You know,” she says, breaking the silence. “Every city we visited in Japan had its own tower and giant wheel. Every town we visited. It was like a welcome board on the skyline. You saw the giant wheel before anything else.”
“Hmm,” Sharon replies.
“And the weather was like in Bangalore.” A definite breeze, goosebumps on her arm. This is 20-degree weather.
“Bangalore,” repeats Sharon, as if in a dream. “You’re comparing Japan to Bangalore.”
“Yeah, Bangalore.” The word makes Minu very sad all of a sudden. She wishes she were on that giant wheel, and she wishes she weren’t here. She wishes she were on that giant wheel she rode in Kobe, spinning softly up and down. Kobe, a city that was rebuilt from the ground up after its massive earthquake, and still not as desolate and hopeless as Bangalore looks tonight. On that giant wheel, nothing mattered. The moment spun in circles, the moment was suspended in the vortex. The restless tension between her and Aman was translated into the hum of the machine. It became liveable. It didn’t demand clarity. It just took them with it on the ride, provided they were up for it, and she leaned thankfully into it, knowing it would be her last with him.
But here, here in this loud city with frightening alleys and constant questioning, everything forces itself into utterance. Existence here depends on outward show, because the outside is as ugly and untrue as the inside. She stares at the deserted street in front of her, and sees her own reflection in the uncovered potholes.
Sharon finishes her cigarette and wants to return inside, but when she looks around, Minu has already gone downstairs.
“Your mother has been up all night!” Minu’s father paces up and down the hall. “What were you thinking, wandering around in this situation?”
It is just past 6 a.m. and Minu’s parents have opened the door to their daughter and her friend Aman standing sheepishly at the door. Minu’s father vaguely wonders what that boy is doing there but his anger is directed mostly at his daughter.
“Ram, the kids are back. Let’s get them something to eat,” Minu’s mother pleads.
“Irresponsible little girl!” he shouts. “Luckily your friend was there to drop you.” Minu’s father shoots a critical gaze over Aman. “I don’t know what you two are up to, but ever since you hared off to Japan together, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
Aman stares at the ground, locking and interlocking his fingers. “Uncle, we weren’t really in danger. There are police at that area, and diversions…”
“Police!” Minu’s father spits. “Police are of no use. If you had been found anywhere in the area they’d have picked you up.”
“The pub was closing, Daddy,” Minu says faintly. “Where was I supposed to go next?”
“And your friends?” Her father stops short, glaring at her. “That short girl and that whiny one?”
“They went home together, Daddy. Sharon has a car.” Minu feels slightly ill. Being alone with Aman again is not something she bargained for. Is she so transparent that her father can see through her? Can he also see the hollow apology in her eyes when she looks at Aman? Can he hear the unspoken curses that fly between them? She clenches her fist. Why is Aman making this so difficult for her? Why can’t he accept that she wants to move on?
Aman emerges from the bathroom after his shower, his hair wet and his eyes looking less tired.
“Thanks, though,” Minu mumbles, a crooked smile on her lips. She doesn’t dare to question why Aman did it. Why he left Kaya in Sharon’s care and brought her home on his bike. The night had been silent save for the important beeps and wails of police sirens. The wind had screamed in her ears as they rode away from the heavy burdens of the night, its sighs and unspoken threats, into the light and warmth of home. Why did he ride away from it all with her?
“Remember the giant wheels in Japan?” Aman says , his eyes lighting on the Tokyo calendar on the wall. “There was one…”
“… in every city!” Minu finishes, and they both share an awkward laugh.
“I loved them,” Aman says. “All I could think was, ‘Here I am, high up in the air, a hundred feet from the ground, and yet I won’t fall because I’m just an extension of the centre of that machine.’ It was flinging us out, asking us to be fearless, yet it held us in its grip all along, the clever thing! Telling us we’d always come back to our original spot.”
The anger builds up in her fists. She wishes he got her frosty message, when they were sitting knee-to-knee in the giant wheel. Unspoken, yes, but loud and clear all the same: “We are together but I don’t love you!”
“The machine was throwing us outwards, Aman,” Minu says, her voice more sharp than she intended. “It was a sign to move on.”
Aman hangs out his towel in silence with his back turned to Minu. Picking up his helmet, he turns around and nods slowly. “You’re right. Thanks, Minu.” He is not smiling. “Thanks for that one last ride.”
Minu does not follow him downstairs as he says bye to her father and leaves.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Minu tests the ground beneath her feet. It is just as solid and secure as it was when she got out of the cabin of the giant wheel. It was easy to delay the truth in a country where ground and reality shifted together. Her city, she knows, is not so forgiving.
Deepti Dilip Kumar is a school-teacher by day and writer, reader and dreamer by night. While teaching children is her passion, she also loves to study more about history, sociology and the intercessions between psychology and teaching. She enjoys fiction that deals with the new generation and their voice, and is particularly interested in the effect of the city space on the development of the psyche.
