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Authors: Melissa Siebert
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you too?’
‘Not much …’
He watched Sanjana, calm as she dabbed his cheek.
‘I hate him!’
‘I also hate.’
‘Sanjana,’ he said, raising himself on one elbow, ‘it’s not safe for you to be here.’
‘No problem. Both Anand and Auntie-ji still sleeping. Let us go for chai in kitchen. Other girls are there – and Ojal. Hijra.’
‘Hijra?’
‘A man-woman. She come every month to fetch clothes for sewing. And to tell fortune. Maybe yours will be good.’ Sanjana stood up and towered over him like a flowering tree. ‘Get up.’
He took her hand and was on his feet, swaying a bit; she steadied him by the arms. They were nearly the same height, she a shade shorter. Everything felt off balance. ‘He became a she or what?’
‘You see yourself. Come with me.’
As he followed her, barefoot and dazed, out the door, he looked warily towards Lakshmi’s door, closed, and down the empty hallway towards Anand’s room. Hoping they would sleep forever.
The kotha’s kitchen was the colour of turmeric, smelling of spices, cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, all glazed over with the scent of grease. Long ago someone had hung cheap pink curtains in the windows, meant to be silk but fake, and speckled with bits of food, dried grains of rice. Eli imagined that people had food fights in here; he wished they did, at least. He’d love to dump a steaming pot of curry on Anand and Auntie, see them turn orange and sizzle.
Around the bright green wooden table in the middle of the room sat four girls, one of whom he didn’t recognise; he wasn’t even sure she was a girl. Very dark with dangly earrings and brilliant white teeth, she was laughing and waving her hands as though dancing sitting down. Picking up her teacup and putting it down again, without drinking. She had a husky, nasal voice trying too hard to sound female, Eli thought.
As Sanjana went towards the table and took the last empty chair, he hung back in the doorway, with all the girls’ eyes on him.
The dark one leered at him, making him squirm. ‘Who’s this you girls have been hiding from me?’
Lola, Danita and Parvati scolded Sanjana, then him.
‘Auntie-ji won’t like it …’
‘You’ll be seeing the worst-bottom side of Anand after this …’
‘Say your prayers, silly …’
‘What’s the problem?’ said the dark one. ‘Won’t the boy sit down with us?’
Sanjana looked at him and motioned towards a small red stool by the sink. ‘Sit.’
‘Leave the darling alone,’ the dark one said, standing up in a swirl of sapphire blue. She was tall and slender, and reminded him of a snake, slithering towards him. ‘Leave him to Ojal.’
She, he, whatever, led him to the stool, picked it up and placed it next to her at the head of the table. He felt woozy from her perfume, a heavy musk. She sat down on the stool and guided him into the chair. ‘Sit, boy.’ She grabbed the teapot and a glass and poured the amber liquid so it splashed over the sides. ‘Whoops, sorry,’ she said, wiping up the spill with the corner of her scarf. She winked at him. ‘Now girls, what were we talking about?’
‘Poor Gita,’ said Lola, her dark curls hiding her lowered face.
‘She didn’t deserve it,’ said Danita, luscious and jolly in spite of the pall that seemed to have descended on the table.
Eli remembered Gita, the girl he’d seen just once on his first photo shoot, blue on the bed, pricks all over her arms. He hadn’t seen her since. ‘What happened?’
‘Drug overdose,’ said Danita, as though it happened every day.
‘That not right,’ Sanjana said, ‘you know that not right.’
Ojal waited for dramatic effect and then opened her palms, like a book. ‘Well then, genius-brain, how did she die?’
Sanjana had her fingers over her face and was shaking her head, refusing to speak.
Eli could see by Ojal’s face that she did know. Sombre, jaw set, mouth clenched, and definitely a flash of hatred in those pitch-black eyes.
As
‘Not much …’
He watched Sanjana, calm as she dabbed his cheek.
‘I hate him!’
‘I also hate.’
‘Sanjana,’ he said, raising himself on one elbow, ‘it’s not safe for you to be here.’
‘No problem. Both Anand and Auntie-ji still sleeping. Let us go for chai in kitchen. Other girls are there – and Ojal. Hijra.’
‘Hijra?’
‘A man-woman. She come every month to fetch clothes for sewing. And to tell fortune. Maybe yours will be good.’ Sanjana stood up and towered over him like a flowering tree. ‘Get up.’
He took her hand and was on his feet, swaying a bit; she steadied him by the arms. They were nearly the same height, she a shade shorter. Everything felt off balance. ‘He became a she or what?’
‘You see yourself. Come with me.’
As he followed her, barefoot and dazed, out the door, he looked warily towards Lakshmi’s door, closed, and down the empty hallway towards Anand’s room. Hoping they would sleep forever.
The kotha’s kitchen was the colour of turmeric, smelling of spices, cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, all glazed over with the scent of grease. Long ago someone had hung cheap pink curtains in the windows, meant to be silk but fake, and speckled with bits of food, dried grains of rice. Eli imagined that people had food fights in here; he wished they did, at least. He’d love to dump a steaming pot of curry on Anand and Auntie, see them turn orange and sizzle.
Around the bright green wooden table in the middle of the room sat four girls, one of whom he didn’t recognise; he wasn’t even sure she was a girl. Very dark with dangly earrings and brilliant white teeth, she was laughing and waving her hands as though dancing sitting down. Picking up her teacup and putting it down again, without drinking. She had a husky, nasal voice trying too hard to sound female, Eli thought.
As Sanjana went towards the table and took the last empty chair, he hung back in the doorway, with all the girls’ eyes on him.
The dark one leered at him, making him squirm. ‘Who’s this you girls have been hiding from me?’
Lola, Danita and Parvati scolded Sanjana, then him.
‘Auntie-ji won’t like it …’
‘You’ll be seeing the worst-bottom side of Anand after this …’
‘Say your prayers, silly …’
‘What’s the problem?’ said the dark one. ‘Won’t the boy sit down with us?’
Sanjana looked at him and motioned towards a small red stool by the sink. ‘Sit.’
‘Leave the darling alone,’ the dark one said, standing up in a swirl of sapphire blue. She was tall and slender, and reminded him of a snake, slithering towards him. ‘Leave him to Ojal.’
She, he, whatever, led him to the stool, picked it up and placed it next to her at the head of the table. He felt woozy from her perfume, a heavy musk. She sat down on the stool and guided him into the chair. ‘Sit, boy.’ She grabbed the teapot and a glass and poured the amber liquid so it splashed over the sides. ‘Whoops, sorry,’ she said, wiping up the spill with the corner of her scarf. She winked at him. ‘Now girls, what were we talking about?’
‘Poor Gita,’ said Lola, her dark curls hiding her lowered face.
‘She didn’t deserve it,’ said Danita, luscious and jolly in spite of the pall that seemed to have descended on the table.
Eli remembered Gita, the girl he’d seen just once on his first photo shoot, blue on the bed, pricks all over her arms. He hadn’t seen her since. ‘What happened?’
‘Drug overdose,’ said Danita, as though it happened every day.
‘That not right,’ Sanjana said, ‘you know that not right.’
Ojal waited for dramatic effect and then opened her palms, like a book. ‘Well then, genius-brain, how did she die?’
Sanjana had her fingers over her face and was shaking her head, refusing to speak.
Eli could see by Ojal’s face that she did know. Sombre, jaw set, mouth clenched, and definitely a flash of hatred in those pitch-black eyes.
As
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