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Book: The First Life of Vikram Roy (Many Lives Series Book 3) by Laxmi Hariharan
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Authors: Laxmi Hariharan
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my childhood name, not unless she is really, really upset. Which I guess she is now.
"Hey, Ma. How are you?" I do feel for her. I sense her moving away from Dad; the sound of a door shutting comes over the line. Then, a muffled sob.
"Mum!"
Is she crying? What do I do now? I've no idea what I should say. I so dread a woman's tears, Mum's grief especially—I have no clue how to handle it. It's my undoing.
"Don't cry, Ma, please."
"I am not crying. Of course not," she sniffles.
"You'll just spoil your make-up if you do, and your beautiful face," I say lightly.
"You are such a smooth talker … Just like your dad." I hear the bitterness in her voice now, but ignore her last comment.
"Everything okay, Mum?"
I almost wish I hadn't asked the question, and my worst fears are realised when she hesitates, then says, "No."
I am not sure what to say to that. So I just wait.
"I am not sure how much longer I can take this, Vik …" I can hear her swallow her grief, trying to bring herself under control.
"Uh! Ma, Dad's a good guy, you know?" I am used to playing peacemaker between Mum and Dad, but this, trying to sell Dad's merits to Mum, is a little unusual, even for me. Have I overstepped my boundary as a son?
Mum doesn't take offence. I hear her nod. "He's a good man. Just not a good husband."
Silence. Again. What can I say to that? I do agree with her. But I am not going to say that to her, am I?
Both Mum and Dad often confide their true feelings for each other in me. Sometimes they forget I am just a fourteen-year-old.
"You were always a good listener." She breaks the silence. "I miss you here, Vik."
"I miss being home too, Mum." I mean it.
Yet, I am happy to be away from it all. At least here at St James I can be a kid for a while longer.
FIFTEEN
I really don't want to go home for the summer holidays. I've grown to like it here at St James. There's a routine, yet no day is like the rest. And thankfully I don't have to "try" to play musical instruments anymore.
So between classes I hang out with Tenzin, then after school I play cricket with Ash and her gang. I often forget I have another home. Sometimes I do think about my family. But it all seems far away. I hope things are better between Mum and Dad. And how has Vishal been getting along? I tried reaching him at his hostel, but he refused to take my calls. He's really upset with me. But what can I do? I am here, far away. Besides, in this world it seems grown-ups have all the power. I wish I could grow up quickly and help him. And Seema? She must have grown taller since I last saw her. I hope they'll be happy to see me.
Mind buzzing with thoughts, I pass the communal showers on the way to my room, when a boy's scream stops me in my tracks.
What was that? Someone's in trouble ... Should I call for help, find a teacher?
Another scream, this time abruptly cut off as if a hand has been placed over the boy's mouth, convinces me there is no time to waste. I run in, run past the lockers and see the group of boys at the far end of the shower room.
"Hey!" I yell, but no one takes heed. They're too busy bent over the figure of the boy in the middle. Even as I watch, one of them raises his fist and slams it into the side of the figure on the ground. A groan of pain. They are beating him up.
"Stop!" I raise my voice louder. No response. They keep at him. Punch, kick, hit, hands raised, knees bent. The boy on the ground disappears from sight as the rest bend over him. These guys are older than me, taller too. At seventeen, they're almost grown men. Some sport moustaches, and many have long hair. They seem older than their years.
I've got to do something.
"What are you guys DOING?" I scream.
"Go back to your room."
I start at the familiar voice.
"Tenzin, you?" It's not uncommon for the various cliques to come to blows on campus. Or for seniors to take ragging to an illogical extent. But Tenzin? Here in the middle of
"Hey, Ma. How are you?" I do feel for her. I sense her moving away from Dad; the sound of a door shutting comes over the line. Then, a muffled sob.
"Mum!"
Is she crying? What do I do now? I've no idea what I should say. I so dread a woman's tears, Mum's grief especially—I have no clue how to handle it. It's my undoing.
"Don't cry, Ma, please."
"I am not crying. Of course not," she sniffles.
"You'll just spoil your make-up if you do, and your beautiful face," I say lightly.
"You are such a smooth talker … Just like your dad." I hear the bitterness in her voice now, but ignore her last comment.
"Everything okay, Mum?"
I almost wish I hadn't asked the question, and my worst fears are realised when she hesitates, then says, "No."
I am not sure what to say to that. So I just wait.
"I am not sure how much longer I can take this, Vik …" I can hear her swallow her grief, trying to bring herself under control.
"Uh! Ma, Dad's a good guy, you know?" I am used to playing peacemaker between Mum and Dad, but this, trying to sell Dad's merits to Mum, is a little unusual, even for me. Have I overstepped my boundary as a son?
Mum doesn't take offence. I hear her nod. "He's a good man. Just not a good husband."
Silence. Again. What can I say to that? I do agree with her. But I am not going to say that to her, am I?
Both Mum and Dad often confide their true feelings for each other in me. Sometimes they forget I am just a fourteen-year-old.
"You were always a good listener." She breaks the silence. "I miss you here, Vik."
"I miss being home too, Mum." I mean it.
Yet, I am happy to be away from it all. At least here at St James I can be a kid for a while longer.
FIFTEEN
I really don't want to go home for the summer holidays. I've grown to like it here at St James. There's a routine, yet no day is like the rest. And thankfully I don't have to "try" to play musical instruments anymore.
So between classes I hang out with Tenzin, then after school I play cricket with Ash and her gang. I often forget I have another home. Sometimes I do think about my family. But it all seems far away. I hope things are better between Mum and Dad. And how has Vishal been getting along? I tried reaching him at his hostel, but he refused to take my calls. He's really upset with me. But what can I do? I am here, far away. Besides, in this world it seems grown-ups have all the power. I wish I could grow up quickly and help him. And Seema? She must have grown taller since I last saw her. I hope they'll be happy to see me.
Mind buzzing with thoughts, I pass the communal showers on the way to my room, when a boy's scream stops me in my tracks.
What was that? Someone's in trouble ... Should I call for help, find a teacher?
Another scream, this time abruptly cut off as if a hand has been placed over the boy's mouth, convinces me there is no time to waste. I run in, run past the lockers and see the group of boys at the far end of the shower room.
"Hey!" I yell, but no one takes heed. They're too busy bent over the figure of the boy in the middle. Even as I watch, one of them raises his fist and slams it into the side of the figure on the ground. A groan of pain. They are beating him up.
"Stop!" I raise my voice louder. No response. They keep at him. Punch, kick, hit, hands raised, knees bent. The boy on the ground disappears from sight as the rest bend over him. These guys are older than me, taller too. At seventeen, they're almost grown men. Some sport moustaches, and many have long hair. They seem older than their years.
I've got to do something.
"What are you guys DOING?" I scream.
"Go back to your room."
I start at the familiar voice.
"Tenzin, you?" It's not uncommon for the various cliques to come to blows on campus. Or for seniors to take ragging to an illogical extent. But Tenzin? Here in the middle of
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