The Taste of Ginger(70)

My camera, which had once filled me with such joy and had reminded me of a time in my childhood when my parents seemed like they understood me, now seemed to mock me. My fingers grazed the new scratches that had formed when it fell during the raid. Had those few seconds when I went back to get it been the difference? If I had left it there, would both Biren and I have gotten away?

I kept calling until the sun rose around six in the morning. Still nothing. I had to find him. I put on my champals and walked the ten minutes between our houses. I stood outside his gate, waiting for some sign of life from within. I didn’t want to disturb his entire family, but I needed to know Biren was safe.

The morning air was cold against my skin, but I didn’t care. I must have been standing outside his gate for over an hour. Finally, I saw a servant emerge from the house with some dirty dishes, a signal that someone in the family was awake.

I rang the doorbell, and its cheerful melody rang throughout the interior. The servant opened the door and stepped aside for me to enter.

Anand Uncle was sitting at the dining table with a newspaper. “This is very early for a visit, no?” he said, his eyes kind.

It was hard for me to picture him as someone who wouldn’t accept his son’s sexuality, but I knew better than anyone how different parents could act with outsiders compared to immediate family.

“I’m sorry. There was something I needed to speak to Biren about.”

“Ah, a belated Merry Christmas. Here, it’s easy to forget.”

I shifted my weight from side to side, relieved Anand Uncle wasn’t acting different than any other day. That must mean Biren was fine. “Right, yes. I hope your family had a nice Christmas as well. Can I go up and see him? I promise I’ll just be a minute.”

His father looked skeptical about sending me up to Biren’s room alone. “I think he is still sleeping. It seems he got home very late last night. But you can try.”

I felt his eyes on me as I raced up the stairs to reach the upstairs landing. I knocked on his bedroom door, softly so his mother wouldn’t hear and come out as well. I doubted she’d be as okay with me trying to talk to Biren in his bedroom.

“I don’t want any breakfast, Mum,” I heard from behind the door.

“Hey,” I whispered. “It’s not your mom. Can I come in?”

The door slowly creaked open, and I gasped.

“What happened?” I managed to eke out the words.

Biren had a large cut above his eyebrow and looked like he’d taken some punches—or, God forbid, nightstick blows—to other parts of his body. He walked stiffly and very gingerly lowered himself to the bed.

I went to his side. “You’re hurt! This is my fault! What can I do?” Seeing him like this made me cringe.

The light I normally saw in his eyes when he spoke was not there this morning. His expression was vacant. I reached out to touch his forearm, but he flinched and jerked his hand away.

“I’m fine,” he said in a monotone.

“You’re not fine. Look at you! What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, jaw clenched. Staring straight ahead, he said, “If my mother asks you, last night when we were out, some young kids tried to steal your camera, and I fought to get it back. That’s how this happened, okay?”

“Biren, you should report this to someone! Police can’t run around beating people up on the streets for no reason.”

He turned to me. I saw a hardness on his face I had never seen before. “This is not America. You don’t report bad behavior by one cop to another cop. That is asking for more trouble.”

He was right. I was thinking too much like an American lawyer. “What did they do?”

Biren’s eyes narrowed. “You can see it on my face. He punched me. Then I ran away and came home. That’s it.”

Everything about his demeanor screamed there was more. “And Samarth. What happened to him? Have you talked to him?”

Pain flashed across Biren’s face. “He’s fine too.” He turned to stare out the window. “You should go now. I hear Mum, and she won’t want to find you in my room.”



It was clear that Biren needed some time to himself, so I made my way down the stairs.

“That was fast,” Anand Uncle said.

I startled at his voice. He was still at the dining table with the newspaper spread out before him and a steaming cup of chai next to him.

“Is Biren on his way down?” he said.

I shook my head. “I think he’s not feeling well.”

“You want to stay for chai and nasta?”

“I should really be going,” I said, feeling claustrophobic within these walls.

“Of course, of course,” he said jovially. “You know, Biren said you are staying in India for a bit, so I should really like to get your thoughts on some immigration work I do with my charity. When you have time, of course, but I think your help would be valuable.”

I nodded absently. “Sure, Uncle. I’d be happy to help.” I forced a smile before leaving their bungalow.

After walking aimlessly for a couple hours, I went to the only place that made sense.

Tushar’s face lit up when I walked into Happy Snaps. “How was your night out?” he called out.

“Okay,” I said, managing a small smile so he wouldn’t know something was wrong.