The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(50)

CHAPTER FORTY


TARA

The day before, Tara had tried and failed to contain her joy. In her mind, she’d pictured one of her mother’s rutis—the pale, air-filled sphere, a marvel of perfection before it deflated into a thin, soft flatbread. Mother made them fresh, and Tara tore into each steaming ruti, heat singeing her chubby fingers. Happiness hurt. It didn’t last.

For a while, she’d had both Arnav and Pia, wondered if she should bring them together. Now she stood in a hospital lobby, unsure if Arnav would wake up. The hospital wore the air of a fancy hotel: spick-and-span floors, potted plants, framed pictures, room freshener, hushed voices. The pharmacy was a supermarket shop, its medicines stocked in neat rows, sanitary and dental supplies, hairbands, flowers, greeting cards. A different universe from the government hospital where she took Pia.

Tara sought to quiet the churn in her stomach and stop pacing, but her body did its own thing. It didn’t seem real that Arnav lay unconscious a few paces away—his left shoulder bandaged, beeping machines, pouches filled with blood and saline hanging about his bed. She’d kissed his laughing face that morning. Her mother would have prayed to Ma Kaali, but if goddesses were real and cared to protect those you loved, Arnav wouldn’t be in an accident.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Tara turned. Nandini, two paper cups in hand. The woman who’d held Arnav’s hand that first night at the Blue Bar.

“I brought you tea.” Nandini handed a cup to Tara.

Tara thanked her and took a sip. It was a funny black tea, not the sort she was used to. She tried to like it. From the name printed on the cup, she knew it had cost more than ten cups of her usual. Nandini lived in a world of teas like this one, of long English sentences spoken too fast, of expensive restaurants. Closer to Arnav’s world than hers. And yet this woman had been kind to her.

“It’s not nice?”

“No, no, it’s good, thanks.” Tara feigned a smile.

“You’re welcome.”

“Thank you for telling me . . . when I rang.”

She’d dialed Arnav, but the phone went on ringing. After she’d called several times, Nandini had picked up and told her about Arnav’s accident. Tara had rushed here, half out of her mind. It had brought home to her that she could pretend all she liked, but she’d dropped everything to be by his side. Only Nandini was already there.

“Hey, are you OK?”

Nandini’s question startled her into taking a bigger sip of tea than she’d intended. It scalded her lips.

“Yes. Yes. Sorry.”

Earlier, she hadn’t dared stay too long with Nandini in Arnav’s room. It would’ve been difficult for Arnav to wake up and find them both there.

Nandini had gone quiet. She put down her cup and said, her voice low, “Why are you saying sorry? You have every right to be here.”

“Nandini . . .”

“You’ve said this a few times. You’ve been a lot of trouble, you only wish to make sure Arnav is OK. You’ll soon return to Lucknow. I heard. Do you know what he wants?”

“How can you be this calm? You’re with him, right?”

“I am. Was. Two years. Don’t know if he was with me. Busy with his work most of the time, which suited me fine. I was busy, too. He never made any promises. I never asked.”

“You were with him that evening.” Tara lowered her head. “You saw me . . .”

“I’d gone there for work and took him along. I’m drafting a report on the reopening of dance bars. I’m good at my job, you at yours.”

“You’re different.”

“My parents say Do whatever you want, but do it well. My mother’s a scientist, my father a businessman.”

“You live alone?”

“They live in the US.” She met Tara’s eyes, her long hair an artful mess she kept flicking away. “Why are we talking about me?”

Because we can’t talk about me.

“You lead an interesting life.” Tara rose. “I need to call into work. Give me a minute?”

Nandini was a nice woman, the one who should rightfully be seen with Arnav. Not a bar girl.

Tara was running late—she’d asked Shetty to excuse her from practice. Mithi could handle them for a few hours, but Tara must rush back for the afternoon makeup and hairdo sessions. She wanted to stay as long as possible, to hear from Arnav’s doctor. If you’re in any trouble, come to me, Arnav had said to her. He was in trouble here. She wouldn’t desert him.

More than that—if he were to—she couldn’t even say the word to herself. He’d never know he had a daughter. Pia deserved to meet him, and he to know her. Tara was in the way.

She passed by the room where Arnav lay, aching to look in. Nandini’s gaze prickled her back. She didn’t stop. Once in a different hospital wing, she paused and called Shetty. She sent up a prayer of thanks when he didn’t pick up. Maybe Ma Kaali was listening, after all. Tara could wait a little longer for her Avi to open his eyes. It was OK to call him that, to herself.





CHAPTER FORTY-ONE


ARNAV

Someone dropped a steel tray, followed by a muffled curse in Marathi. Beeps, mechanical, at regular intervals. A high-pitched tinny whining like a giant mosquito that wouldn’t stop. Arnav strained to cover his ears, but his hands felt heavy when he strove to lift them, his arms heavier. In the air, a smell of air freshener, a chemical pine scent of Indian five-star hotels. He didn’t want to open his eyes, but he must, because this dream had gone on for too long, chasing dark wraiths in squelchy alleyways, Tara walking away in the gloom of an afternoon, his gun turning to dust in his hands.