The Vibrant Years(39)
He was tanned and longhaired again, with the unkempt stubble from his college days that had bothered her so much then. Something about seeing him like this made the years in between feel like they simply hadn’t happened. The clean-cut years when he’d worked behind a desk for two decades, hair neatly trimmed, jaw neatly shaved, tie neatly knotted.
The years when he’d turned into Rajendra.
It had been a relief.
It had been a horror.
She’d buried the memories so deep that the fact that they were stirring made her want to throw up. What if Ashish found out?
Why had she taken Oscar’s money? Why hadn’t she just given it away or hidden it like everything else to do with Oscar?
Excusing herself, she went off to change. Her marriage had taught her not to keep people waiting. As a military doctor, Rajendra had had no patience with unpunctual people.
“Looking pretty, Ma,” Ashish said when she came out dressed in her purple Lucknow tunic over white linen capris.
Not only was the dough kneaded, but he picked a perfectly round roti off the tawa pan and placed it on the flame. It swelled to a sphere, and the smell of flame-charred wheat filled the kitchen.
The memory of the sweet boy he’d been rose so pure and huge in her heart, she pressed a hand to her chest. The way his eyes had shone when he told her he loved her clothes and how pretty she looked. He used to pick flowers for her from the bougainvillea that spilled over their fence.
But Rajendra hadn’t liked the idea of a boy who picked flowers and noticed the colors of his mother’s saris. By the time Ashish was ten, he’d turned his focus to running around the lane, playing cricket and football with the neighborhood boys and making just enough trouble that his father could tell his friends stories of Ashish’s shenanigans. But never so much trouble that Rajendra couldn’t brag about his son’s grades and his ranking at school.
Ashish had seemed to enjoy his sports and his studies well enough. When he’d shown no interest in medicine, unlike his father, and chose engineering instead, Rajendra had seemed perfectly fine with it. The one thing Ashish had made sure he never let slip around his father was his love of music.
Bindu had asked him once if he was interested in taking singing lessons. It had resulted in one of those teen meltdowns about how she didn’t understand him at all and how she wanted to ruin something he loved as a hobby by turning it into yet another thing they could brag to their friends about.
Now all these years later, he’d decided to run off and become a sound engineer on a concert tour, becoming the exact kind of person Rajendra would have been ashamed of. Then again, Rajendra might have been even more ashamed of the fact that his son had not been able to bend his wife to his will.
What good did second-guessing the dead do? It wasn’t like it could give you any meaningful answers.
What is the point of examining your past?
“Does this appointment have anything to do with Cullie’s new app idea?” Ashish asked, carefully smearing a generous spoonful of ghee over the roti he’d just taken off the flame.
Bindu weighed her answer even as the smell of ghee melting on a hot roti distracted her. She could use Cullie’s app as an excuse for her social life. But she couldn’t get herself to be that disingenuous. So she simply said, “Yes.”
“You never could say no. Not to Cullie or to Aly.” He gave her a look that wasn’t accusatory, but kind. “Or to me.” He sprinkled a thick layer of sugar on the ghee-soaked roti, rolled it up, and handed it to her.
A sugar-and-ghee roti roll was one of Bindu’s favorite treats. A simple indulgence she’d often rewarded herself with when she made rotis for Rajendra and Ashish every day. He remembered.
She let the flavors cartwheel across her taste buds, and tried not to ruin the moment by crying. “Why would I not help Cullie when I can? Why would I not help any of you?” It had been her job. Taking care of her family. It was the career she had chosen.
You wanted to work, and now you have a job. That’s what her aie had said to her on her wedding day. Taking care of your family is your job. Why should it be any different from working in a film or in an office? It’s what your mother and your grandmother and her mother before her did.
She’d done that job well. Better than her mother ever had. She’d put every bit of her heart into it. And nothing would ever dilute her pride in that.
Ashish grinned at the shameless joy with which she chewed. He seemed to be seeing her for the first time. “Was the man who died part of gathering data for Cullie’s app?”
Her surprise must’ve shown, because he raised both hands to show . . . what? That he was not digging for information? That he was not judging her?
She savored the last piece of sugar roti, determined to not miss even a bit of the deliciousness or to not tiptoe around at least this truth. The new life she’d built for herself was something she loved. Richard’s death was an accident.
“Richard and I were friends before Cullie needed help with the app.”
He looked almost surprised that she’d responded, but also relieved, because it gave him permission to go on. “Why would he leave you his money? And why would you think about not taking it?”
A layer of sweat beaded along her hairline. They were talking about Richard’s money right now. Not Oscar’s. She would never let Ashish find out anything about Oscar’s. Ever.