Ash and Smoke (short story) - Part 3
“The brevity of the message enraged Madhu, and she sent a long message to Sanjay, even giving vent to the idea that she had jostled with many times: that Sanjay had another family that kept him busy.”
It became a daily routine. At about five every afternoon, Madhu would go to Uncle’s house for ‘chai-sutta’, a phrase she had learnt years ago from her brother, who had become a smoker in his college days. Uncle disapproved of the term, preferring the gentlemanly phrasing of ‘tea-time chit chat’. He would claim that the cigarette with Madhu was his only smoke of the day, a claim backed by the fact that the first pack lasted them a whole week. Varun, who had an online tuition class at around five every day save Sundays, would be in his room when Madhu returned from Uncle’s house. She would go straight to her bathroom and brush her teeth, and in the mirror above the basin she would occasionally catch her face in some or other kind of gleeful fixity. She had found thrill, even if minuscule, even if ultimately harmful. And she had found a ritual. One Saturday mid-morning, while doing the washing, she finally typed out her silly query to her husband, who responded with a ‘Yes’ in the afternoon, and then, five minutes later, added an unprecedented smiley.
The following week, Madhu employed a woman named Sumati for chores at her house and at Uncle’s. The rates she had agreed with Sumati were generous, the extra thousand or so being no concern for her or Uncle. But this brought to her WhatsApp craftily expressed disapproval from Kusum, Vandana, and others, who suggested that she was spoiling the maid-rates for the whole colony, and that it was everyone’s responsibility to ensure the maids’ demands didn’t touch the sky after Covid was over. Madhu neutered these messages with polite agreement, which led to confused responses or silence. She observed Sumati’s work for three days, paying special attention to whether the woman was drawn to cutting corners at Uncle’s house or not. Once she was satisfied, she messaged Uncle’s sons and reported a big problem solved. Harinder and Ravinder both called her—one early morning, the other late evening—to express their relief, though she was inflamed when Harinder expressed, in a tone she considered lofty and superior, his willingness to compensate her for the services she had rendered at his father’s house. The next day at tea time, still offended, she reported the son’s insensitivity to the father, who shook his head as he exhaled a cloud of blue-grey smoke and said, ‘I had no clue. Pakka Americans now, those sons of mine. How can money pay for kindness?’
With Sumati’s arrival, chai-sutta became Madhu’s only reason to visit Uncle every day, which was just as well. She’d begun to like how blood coursed faster in her body after just the second or the third drag, how her fingers sometimes trembled ever so slightly, and how the smoke made her feel light in the head for a good fifteen minutes. In her inner dialogue she was adamant that she didn’t crave her daily cigarette, but on some days she’d caught herself feeling impatient as the clock neared five. One afternoon, after overeating on kadhi-chawal, Varun’s favourite meal, she lay down on her bed and realised that she needed a puff.
On Sundays, Varun had no classes and remained fused to the Playstation. Madhu worried that he would catch the smell on her as she returned from Uncle’s house. But she took the risk nevertheless, aware that her son’s senses were all immersed elsewhere. A couple of extra biscuits at Uncle’s house helped mitigate part of the smell. Or at least Madhu thought so.
*
As things eased further, with the end of Covid becoming at least imaginable, two of Varun’s online tuition classes shifted back to offline. Madhu asked him to get the cycle repaired, and the boy turned grumpy at the prospect of pedaling up and down Circular Road and GT Road while an Activa stood unused in the shed. Sanjay had taught him how to ride the scooter during his last visit, and had asked Madhu to allow Varun to practice inside the colony. The ban on taking the Activa out on city streets was to stay till the next time he would get to supervise Varun’s riding. Madhu had thought it cruel to limit the child after giving him a taste of the thing—she could do this supervising thing as well as Sanjay—but she preferred to be silent whenever Sanjay exerted fatherly control. Or even when he displayed fatherly affection to an extreme, which is what had led to the Playstation. She would never have allowed it had Sanjay consulted with her, but she now held dearly that memory from two years ago: Varun hugging and kissing his father as he unwrapped the present; them playing some silly game for three straight hours; Sanjay all clueless about the buttons and Varun guiding him between peals of laughter. Later, in bed, and without her asking, Sanjay had told her that it was an older, relatively inexpensive model, and Madhu hadn’t been able to stop herself from chuckling.
‘This is so unfair,’ said Varun on the second day of taking the cycle to tuition.
‘What is unfair?’
‘Had there been no Corona, Papa would have come at Holi and I would be riding the scooter right now.’
‘If it’s such a big deal, why don’t you ask Papa for permission?’
‘Can’t you ask him?’
Madhu thought about it for a second. "Ok, I'll ask him."
Later that evening, she messaged Sanjay about the situation. When she received no response for half an hour, she considered calling—after all, this was way past office timings. But she ultimately chose not to call, reasoning that she was likely to get a more favourable outcome for her son if they talked the next day around lunch-time. She wrote Sanjay another message instead, stating her opinion (Varun be allowed the scooter) and giving long justification (boys his age were riding one in the town; it made practical sense; it would leave him more time for studies; he needed to get out of the house more). But when lunch-time came and went the next day, still with no response from Sanjay, her thumb refused to go to the Call sign. She waited one more day, and when the situation persisted till 4:30 pm that day, she gave Varun the keys, negotiating a hard reduction of time on the PlayStation first, and then asking him to be ultra-careful in the city. The boy was miffed about the curtailment of game-time, but on his way back he brought samosas from the hundred rupees Madhu had given him (which, being petrol-and-puncture money, was immediately replenished). That same night, Sanjay responded to Madhu with a ‘Yes, you are right. Be careful.’ The brevity of the message enraged Madhu, and she sent a long caustic message to Sanjay, even giving vent to the idea that she had jostled with many times over the years: that Sanjay had another family he was very busy with. Sanjay called her within minutes after this message, clarifying in a crisp-dry tone that he had been very busy at work, and then accusing Madhu of watching too many TV serials. Madhu limited her response to hoons and hmms, and towards the end of the conversation, Sanjay, who had tried to talk about all of them going on an international vacation once Covid was over, sounded thoroughly irritated.
Anger sputtered inside her after the phone call, and she felt in dire need of a smoke.
*
The second pack was finished in less than a week. Madhu and Dhaka Uncle got into a habit of sharing a cigarette after they had smoked one each. One day, Uncle opened up about his tense relationship with his sons. When they were boys, he said, he had been too overbearing. It was as if the only way he knew was to be loud and prescriptive. He wanted them to grow up and serve the country in the same way that he was doing. And when one after the other his sons showed themselves uninterested in careers in the armed forces, his resulting disappointment had been loud each time. In subsequent years he made it a practice to scoff at their progress in consulting, banking, or whatever it was that they had chosen for themselves. His wife warned him about alienating them many times, but he couldn’t grasp the idea well enough then. And now, things were what they were. There was a lot of concern, a fair bit of respect, and definitely affection—but all of it was always tersely, matter-of-factly expressed. ‘Like in the forces,’ Uncle said and laughed.
From there the conversation went to the topic of fatherhood more generally. At one point, Madhu, realising that she had lapsed into commending Sanjay for how good he was with Varun, stopped herself abruptly.
‘What happened?’ Uncle asked.
Madhu’s mind went to considering if what she thought of the matter in anger was closer to the truth than the blank praise she was showering Sanjay with. ‘You must have stayed away from your family for long periods?’ she asked Uncle.
‘Not always. I was lucky with postings after a point.’ He took a pause here. ‘You were speaking of Sanjay.’
She nodded. ‘Is Varun missing something? Being away from his father?’
Uncle scratched his chin. ‘I don’t know,’ he said phlegmatically. Then added: ‘I think sons need fathers less than fathers need sons.’
After dinner that evening, Madhu lay down behind Varun on his bed (he was looking into his phone) and wrapped her arm around him.
Madhu asked softly, ‘Do you ever talk to Papa on the phone? Or send him messages?’
‘He likes emails more,’ Varun said.
She ruffled her son’s hair. ‘Remember to use the shampoo tomorrow. What do you email him about?’
Varun put his phone under the pillow and shifted his position such that he was facing the ceiling. ‘I don’t know. Anything,’ he said.
‘Tell me, no?’
‘I don’t know, Ma. I don’t do it that much either.’
‘Why didn’t you ask him about the scooter?’
‘I don’t ask him for things. That’s not my style. That’s more your style.’
Madhu felt as if she’d been slapped. Boys: how cruel they become, and so quickly. She withdrew her arm from Varun’s chest. It was in a different tone that she asked him the next question: ‘Did he tell you that? That it’s my style?’
‘No,’ Varun said, and turned to face away again. The conversation was over.
*
The next day, Madhu went to Uncle’s house right after Varun took off for the tuition on his Activa. As they made chai in the kitchen, Uncle told her how Sumati had only the nicest things to say about her. Apparently, Madhu offering Sumati chai in a cup from their common lot was a big thing for the maid.
‘She says that Corona has made people worse,’ Uncle said. ‘She says they now offer chai—if they offer it at all—in a plastic thing.’
‘People in this neighbourhood are so… so small.’
‘If you haven’t seen enough of the world you are bound to be small.’
This pricked Madhu. She hadn’t seen enough of the world either.
Uncle must have caught the change of expression on her face, for he tried to amend things at once. ‘It just needs some humanity, and a bit of common sense, no? Treat others like you would like to be treated. Look how well you do it.’
They moved to the drawing room with their chais and lit their cigarettes. When they were both some way into their cigarette, Uncle said, ‘When this is over, you should go on a vacation.’
Madhu nodded and took in the smoke deeply. Just then, the door to their left—the one that opened onto the porch—swung open. It was Varun, his bag slung on to his shoulder, a confused look in his eyes. Choking on the smoke for an extra moment, Madhu let it out in a cough. She saw Varun’s expression harden in the next instant and stood up from the chair. ‘Come, open the gate,’ Varun said, his voice chilly. This somehow reminded Madhu of the cigarette that was still between her fingers; she bent down and squashed it in the ashtray, and then she followed Varun out.
*
Thank you for reading. Part 4 — the final part — here.
Thank you, Pallavi :)
Just read all 3 parts in one go and now I can’t wait to read how it ends. Argh, still almost 2 more days to go! 😃