The Reading List(44)
Mukesh inhaled sharply, rubbing his eyes, but just as Rebecca stood up, looking as though she was reaching out towards him, a car horn tooted and all four characters vanished into thin air. Mukesh took a deep breath, holding himself as still as possible. He hadn’t imagined that a book, set so far away, could affect him so much, could feel so real – it was chilling.
The car tooted once more. Harish. Mukesh looked at his watch. Right on time.
The car horn tooted again, thirty seconds later.
Impatient, as always.
Sometimes Harish thought he was a cool, swish 40-year-old in a cool, swish car, with places to be, people to see, too important to wait a few minutes for his friend to shuffle his slippers off, collect his shoe bag for the temple, and slip his Velcro trainers on his feet. But Mukesh let him wait and moved extra slowly. Or at least, that’s the excuse he gave himself. Really his stiff legs wouldn’t let him go much faster than this anyway … the sponsored walk had proved that to him.
Harish’s car was big, and always shining, even in the smoggy, dirty London air.
‘Mukeshbhai!’ Harish shouted through the car window, leaning over the passenger seat and pushing the door open to welcome Mukesh inside.
Before saying anything, Mukesh slammed the door shut behind him. He sighed. His back ached. His legs felt cramped in this car. ‘Bhai, lovely to see you.’
When they parked up at the mandir, Harish tapped his dashboard lovingly, and got out of the car much more swiftly than Mukesh could manage.
They wandered to the building side by side, but Mukesh fell behind. It looked glorious in the light, with the sun bouncing off the domes, revealing the intricate carvings in its shadows. It was beautiful, and he didn’t often appreciate it from this angle. It was surprising, seeing this masterpiece of a building nestled among houses, a school, a few car parks here and there, and the North Circular with all its tooting cars and angry drivers, oblivious to the peace that lay just behind.
It was lovely, unexpected, and it was what he loved so much about London. Variety. Contradictions and contrasts.
Harish was far ahead of him now, and he didn’t turn round, didn’t even notice Mukesh’s absence. So caught up in his own little world.
Mukesh took his time. At moments, he felt as if his legs might give way – being here, without his daughters, without Naina, felt like a different experience altogether. At the entrance, he passed through the body scanner. He always wondered whether the security person could actually see his nude bits. He hoped not. He blushed at the thought. It wouldn’t be very Hindu of them to do that, would it?
He was given the all clear, his keys and his belt, and he turned to the left. He imagined Naina by his side, turning to the right, to the ladies’ shoe racks. As he glanced over, he spotted Indira. Indira was always on her own, he’d never seen many people speak to her. Everyone knew that once Indira started talking, it was almost impossible to stop her. Other than that, he didn’t know her very well, but Naina had always insisted they make an effort with her. He waved, but he let his hand fall to his side quite quickly when she just nodded back in response.
After Abhishek, where Mukesh and Harish poured holy water over a brass statue of Swaminarayan to collect their blessings, they quickly left the peace and tranquillity of the ritual behind, and headed straight to the noisy sports hall where the food was served. The men and women’s sides were separated by a net partition. Harish raced to get his food and grab them a table, while Mukesh took his time, said hello to everyone serving (‘Mukesh, it’s so lovely to see you here to eat after so long!’), but he joined Harish soon after, his plastic plate teeming with delicious food and bright colours – khichdi khadi, jalebi, puri, buttata nu shak, papdi. They ate in silence; Mukesh noticed himself trying to peer round the curtain to catch a glimpse of Nilakshi, whom he’d seen a few moments earlier – he used to peer round the curtain to get a glimpse of Naina and his girls. That’s when the grumpy, stern, judgemental housekeeper Mrs Danvers came into his mind once again. She appeared opposite him, next to Harish, wearing, strangely, a sari and chanlo, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She was frowning, shaking her head, eating her food with her hands just like he was.
Mukesh blinked several times, trying to banish the image of this strange lady who didn’t exist, but nothing was working.
‘Bhai,’ Mukesh said to Harish, desperately trying to keep a grip on reality, his eyes running from Harish to a scowling Mrs Danvers. ‘How is Meenaben?’
‘Oh, she is very good. Very good. Of course, tonight is her night off from me, so I am sure she is happier than ever. Happy to be apart from me!’ Harish chuckled to himself, with a mouth full of food. The imaginary Mrs Danvers looked over at her neighbour and pulled a face of disgust. Mukesh thought this might be the only thing he had in common with the horrible housekeeper of Manderley.
He pictured Naina on the other side of the curtain, serving food to Mrs Danvers herself. ‘I have not forgotten her,’ Mukesh said to himself, but he didn’t know if it was for his own benefit or Mrs Danvers’, to tell her that he was not ever going to forget Naina; no one, not even Nilakshi, could replace his wife. Suddenly, Mrs Danvers picked up her plate and wandered away to the other side of the hall.
Harish was still talking. Mukesh didn’t have a clue what he’d just said, but his response of ‘My God, ne?’ was apparently just what Harish had been hoping for.