Attraction

The telephone rang. It was him. Again. She knew by the way her mother’s features softened and the way she avoided looking at her children as she reached hesitantly for the phone. Her eyes, which for a long time had been dull, sparkled again. And Vanya felt embarrassed. She rose from the table, taking her breakfast into the living room. Her mother didn’t try to stop her. She had turned around so that her children couldn’t quite hear what she was saying to the caller, while she absent-mindedly stirred the boiling milk in the aluminum vessel, blackened at the bottom through prolonged subjection to the fire.

Varun sat at the table, a half empty mug of milk placed on the table mat beside him, munching absently on a slice of toast as he tried to prove two triangles congruent. At thirteen, he was too young to feel discomfited by his mother’s attraction to a man, but old enough to realise that his mother had been happier these past two months than she had been in three years. And he had a vague notion that Gaurav Kapoor had something to do with it.

Vanya sat cross-legged on the couch in the sitting room, the television on low, the bowl of cereal lying untouched beside her. From her position, she could see into the dining room and the kitchen beyond. She watched her mother cradling the silver cordless phone between her ear and shoulder as she lifted the hot vessel off the stove with the red kitchen cloth. A gentle smile played on her lips, her head slightly bowed; and to Vanya she looked no different from her sixteen year old friends, thrilled when the boys they had a crush on, called.

Her eyes turned to the photograph on the wall, encased in a silver frame. The camera had captured her father perfectly. Vanya couldn’t remember when the picture had been taken, but this was how he was etched in her mind, a gentle but distinguished face, compassionate eyes behind rectangular shell frames, the grey hair at the temples lending an air of distinction to the handsome face. Her eyes still brimmed when she looked at him.

She remembered the night they were entertaining the Ghoshs. Dr. and Mrs. Ghosh had been her father’s best friends since school. The two had left the city as undergraduates, both brilliant students- Ghosh for MIT and his to-be wife, Aditi, for Berkely. Ever since Ghosh’s parents had passed away and Aditi’s had moved to Bangalore, the two had had little reason to visit Kolkata. Two months ago they had emailed her father to let him know that they would be stopping at Kolkata for a week before going to Bangalore. Her mother had hired a cook to prepare typically Bengali food for their old friends - something she knew they didn’t get enough of in America. Neither Vanya nor Varun could prefer chingri- maancher malai- curry to Hariyali Kababs, and so their father had promised to pick up Vienetta chocolate ice-cream for them on his way back from work as compensation.

He was supposed to have been home by seven-thirty. The guests arrived punctually at eight. Their father did not. At eight-thirty Mrs. Chaudhri called her husband to urge him on his way, knowing that he was inclined to get caught up in his work. There was no answer. By nine she was irritated. At nine-thirty she was worried. Vanya hadn’t thought there was anything to worry about; Papa was probably caught in a rally somewhere and his cell phone was out of range. Nothing could prepare her for the shock of walking into the kitchen to find the dal burning on the stove and her mother seated at the table, staring unseeingly at the wall in front of her, ashen-faced and trembling. Vanya knew then. She disconnected the phone whilst a police officer was bellowing on the other end. She never saw the mangled state of her father’s body. He had been crushed to death while crossing a road, by a cargo truck running a red light from the wrong direction. A column was dedicated to her father in every newspaper. “Successful Businesssman Mowed Down”..... “Unhappy Death of a Gentleman” It was no different from the many accidental deaths mentioned in the papers every day. Only this time it happened to be her father.

Financial difficulties were the least of the tribulations that followed. Realizing that it was imperative that the family not fall apart at this critical juncture, Vanya’s mother strove hard to provide her children with the support they needed. But Vanya, unable to sleep at night, could hear her mother sobbing in the next room, weeping for hours before a cold silence fell on the house. After a fitful night Vanya would awaken to join her mother in the kitchen, neither saying a word, the silence saying it all Through all of it Varun had displayed remarkable maturity for a boy of ten, though his childish innocence had left him forever.

Two years had passed and the pain had dulled to a fond memory. There was still a terrible void during family events and special occasions. On Varun’s birthday, the three of them had celebrated at the new Thai restaurant on Park Street, painfully aware of the fourth empty chair, each of them carefully avoiding the dishes which had been her father’s favourite.

One monsoon day Vanya had awoken to find the sky overcast with black clouds threatening to explode any moment. Thunder portended a deluge. Vanya, grimacing at the thought of wading through mud and floods to go to school, dived under the sheets again, determined to take the day off, while Varun leapt out of bed, yelling with joy. There was nothing he enjoyed more than galloping through mud-covered streets whilst it poured relentlessly.

His exuberance must have got the better of him, because a couple of hours later Vanya opened the door to a tall man, quite drenched and supporting a disheveled and muddy Varun, also soaked and looking utterly shamefaced. It turned out that Varun, after having lost his footing following a particularly enthusiastic leap, had tumbled to the ground, toppling off the pavement, dangerously close to the wheels of an approaching Honda City, which screeched to a halt inches from his head. Vanya’s mother listened in horror, applying ice on her son’s ankle. Varun had escaped with a mere sprain and Gaurav Kapoor had insisted on driving the boy home. Vanya offered the man some tea and her mother thanked him profusely. He refused both with an air of nonchalance, ruffling Varun’s hair and walking out into the rain, sliding into his gleaming new Honda and backing soundlessly out of the driveway. It occurred to Vanya that not many men could look good, sodden with rain, hair plastered to the scalp and wearing only a loose shirt, Bermuda shorts and flip-flops. Yet, the man who had walked out of their house as suddenly as he had appeared had managed to do just that. She ran into him again, a week later as she emerged from the changing rooms of the club swimming pool; her hair still wet from the shower, her body giving off the sweet fragrance of lavender body mist. He was dressed in sports gear, on his way from the tennis court to the pool. It struck her that he was unfairly attractive for a man approaching middle age. There wasn’t an ounce of extra fat on him and the T-shirt soaked with perspiration was evidence of a well worked out body. He smiled at Vanya, recognizing her immediately and she told him, taking in the laugh lines on his face, that she was on her way to the ice cream parlour where her mother was waiting for her. He accompanied her there and insisted on signing them both ice creams-Cookie Craving Sundae for Vanya and a Butterscotch cone for her mother. He lounged on the plastic chair which was too small for him, stretching his long legs in front of him. Vanya and her mother spent more time than they had planned to at the club that day, and they were late picking up Varun from tuition. Suddenly he became a regular part of their lives. From occasional meetings at the clubs, they started inviting him to nights out or even a weekend movie. Varun had crept to Vanya’s room one night and sat at the edge of the bed. She looked at him in trepidation, remembering that the last time he had sat at the edge of her bed, shuffling his feet, it had been to tell her that he had failed his Chemistry test that needed to be signed and could she forge her mother’s signature on the test sheet? She had reluctantly agreed, but only after exacting from him a promise that he try harder and warned him that she was not to be depended on to forge any more signatures.

He sat for a while on her bed now, and she put her book down, waiting for him to speak.

“She likes him, doesn’t she?” he asked finally.

“What are you on about?” she said, a trifle testily, perfectly aware of what he was getting at.

“You know,” he said, colouring. “Mom likes Gaurav Uncle, doesn’t she?”

“Don’t you?” she asked, hedging.

He gave her a baleful look. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

She sighed. “I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything”.

“Will he marry her?

“Don’t be stupid, Varun. What a load of nonsense!”

He got up and walked slowly to the door. She watched him, unconsciously tearing the dog eared end of the page she had been reading. Then he turned around.

“I don’t really mind if it makes Mom happy. I do actually like him.”

Vanya stared at him.

“He’s buying me an X Box for my birthday,” he concluded simply. “I heard him tell Mom so.”

“And that’s why you like him?” asked Vanya, incredulously.

“Well he can’t be all that bad”, said Varun defensively, hurrying out of the room.

*

Gaurav Kapoor was a forty-three year old divorcee; Mrs. Chaudhri, a forty-four year old widow. He was successful and good-looking. Her slightly thickened waist caused by childbearing had not made her any less attractive. He had one eighteen year old son over whom he had visiting rights. She was single- handedly bringing up two children. His sister, had for years been telling him to settle down with a woman. She too was in need of companionship. Besides, they looked good together and members of the club smiled when they saw the two in each other’s company. Attraction between the two seemed to be inevitable and indeed fated. But Vanya dreaded his visits. She didn’t grudge her mother his companionship and made that clear to her in as many ways as she could. Yet, when she heard him gliding up the driveway she was filled with excitement as well as abhorrence. She felt her face heat up and when her mother told her to open the door to him and she dragged her feet out into the hall. She hated herself for stealing a glance into the mirror, tucking away a stray tendril of hair or applying some lip gloss before he entered. Once, in a fit of self- abomination she vigorously rubbed away the kohl under her eyes and discarded her new pink lycra top for a faded, old green T shirt which hung on her like a misshapen sack. Gaurav looked at her kohl- streaked face in curiosity and she flushed. When her mother sent her upstairs to clean up, she felt less guilty about wearing her new top and applying make- up.

When Varun slid behind the wheel of Gaurav’s car and demanded to be taught how to drive, Gaurav coaxed him to the side and promised to teach him how to ride a far more thrilling machine. He arrived the next day with what he claimed was his old motorbike which he hadn’t ridden in years. Vanya’s mother was full of misgivings but soon gave in to her son’s pleading and her lover’s persuasions. When Gaurav offered to drive them all around one by one, Vanya assented, even though she wanted to refuse. Varun clambered on first and his mother bit her lip nervously. Gaurav revved up the engine and turned to look at her and Vanya didn’t miss the unspoken message of reassurance that he threw at her mother. Varun returned after ten minutes, whooping with delight. Vanya went next, painfully aware of his firm body as she put her arms around him for support. She clung to him as he wound his way expertly through the lanes, her hair whipping against her face. “Having fun?” he yelled at her. She could only shout in glee. She was aware more than anything else, of the physical presence of him, just as she had been aware when he taught her the breast stroke in the swimming pool, holding her stomach, keeping her afloat as she practiced the precise movement and just as also, she had watched his lithe movements on the tennis court when the family had come to cheer him on during a tournament at the club. Like a love-sick pre-teen, she was tongue-tied in front of him, rarely saying a word, letting her brother talk nineteen to the dozen, while she perceived the silent messages that passed now and then from Gaurav to her mother. She noticed how their arms would touch during dinner and how, when her mother was talking, he would stop whatever he was doing and just watch her speak. All this made her unspeakably depressed and she knew that her mother thought that her reticence rose from her memories of her father and disapproval of Gaurav.

At the end of the bike ride she experienced that sense of elation and disgust that always filled her after every encounter with Gaurav. He gallantly helped her mother onto the bike and they didn’t return for hours. When Vanya finally heard the sound of the bike in the driveway, she didn’t go down to open the door as she generally did. She heard her mother enter the house, humming a tune softly. At dinner that night, her mother’s face was animated. She sparkled with life in a manner she hadn’t done since their holiday in Mauritius, three years ago, when even the children had felt the romance between their parents rekindling. She baked an apple pie that night. The last time she had made any exotic dish was on Varun’s 5th birthday. Vanya felt faintly embarrassed, as though she was witness to something sacred and ugly, not meant for her eyes.

*

At the end of two years Vanya left Kolkata for college in Delhi. That November, Gaurav and her mother decided to get married. It was to be a quiet affair. Vanya took leave for two weeks and flew down for the wedding.

The night she arrived, she heard the sound of a car in the driveway. She stepped out into the hall with some qualms caused by memories of her former emotions. Slightly ashamed of herself, she deliberately stopped at the mirror and felt no urge to tuck the stray strand of hair behind her ear. Encouraged, she opened the door. When Gaurav pulled her into his arms, she hugged him in return, and returned his friendly slap on the back with a high-five. Her discomfort disappeared. She observed that he had become considerably pudgier since she’d seen him last and that the straggling grey hairs on his head didn’t make him looked as distinguished at it had her father.

He was still good-looking at forty- five, but Vanya noticed that he had a tiny mole on his left cheek that she hadn’t noticed before and that his Adam’s apple was a little too conspicuous. At the end of the fortnight she sent her boyfriend in Delhi a text message: Will be arriving at twelve noon tomorrow. Meet me. He replied immediately - Of course I will. Missed you. Hope the wedding was fun. Good night Vanu.

She put away her phone under the pillow and slept like a baby.