Jaishree Misra - Secrets and Lies

DELHI, 1993

By the time Lily D’Souza had been at St Jude’s for two weeks, there were not many classmates left still trying to befriend her. She had, on her very first day, managed to upset half the population of the class by declaring that Delhi was a crass city because of its Punjabi business population, not stopping to consider that half the girls in Class XII were the daughters of Punjabi businessmen. Then, granted exemption from studying Hindi on the basis of having come from another state, she airily dismissed what was the mother-tongue of most of her classmates as ‘the language of politics and corruption’.

Even the normally peaceable Sam and uncomplicated Bubbles had retreated hurt, burnt by Lily’s acid tongue on too many occasions to persevere any more with amiable overtures. No one wanted to befriend the new girl, for that was what Lily was still persistently called.

‘It’s because she’s so horrible that we can’t stop calling her “new girl,” I think,’ Bubbles remarked as their group sat under the gulmohar tree sharing their lunches one day.

Startled by her bench-mate’s unlikely astuteness, Anita agreed. ‘Absolutely It’s not like I haven’t tried seeing it from Lily’s point of view. I mean, it’s never easy to break into an established group. But we’ve done everything to make her feel welcome, haven’t we? Well, at least Sam has.’

‘And me!’ Natasha chipped in. ‘I even offered her my Mont Blanc pen set, you know, when her crappy ball-point ran out in Biology the other day. But would she take it? Like heck! Just too nose-in-the-air, that’s what.’

‘Essentially, Lily’s done nothing to try to belong,’ said Anita firmly.

‘It’s like she’s in another world, floating way above us. Just because she’s pretty’ . Zeba spat out the word.

Only Sam was still faintly doubtful. ‘Maybe we should give her more time…I mean, we don’t know yet exactly why she was brought here, but it’s almost certainly because something bad has happened in her past.’

‘But then she should tell us about it. We can only sympathise if we know.’ This was Nimmi speaking, a cheery sort of girl whom Sam knew was usually quite reasonable.

‘Definitely We’re all so open with each other, aren’t we?’ Natasha was starting to sound quite indignant now.

‘Maybe she will be too, once she’s settled down and starts coming out of herself,’ Sam replied.

Natasha spluttered on a mouthful of ham and cheese. ‘Coming out of herself! You’re not suggesting shyness is her problem, Sam? Have you seen the way she looks around the classroom? Looking without seeing, that’s what she does. As though we’re all too far beneath her to be noticed. You’re the only one she’ll deign to talk to, Sam, and even that is only when she needs something.’

‘Yeah, and have you seen how she only ever sits in the front row? Because that way she doesn’t need to look at anyone else,’ Zeba grumbled.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Sam murmured, ‘maybe we’re reading too much into all this. The front bench is just the place she was given. I sit in the front row too.’

‘But you’re different, you’re class monitor,’ Bubbles said, adding, ‘you’ve always sat in the front row. And you keep looking back at us at least.’

‘Yeah, only to say “ssshhh…quiet” and suchlike!’ Sam replied.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sam—even you should be able to see that Lily’s just a stuck-up, arrogant little bitch,’ Zeba demurred, nibbling delicately at the edge of a shammi kebab.

‘Perhaps she thinks she’s above us because she’s the Princy’s relative and lives in her cottage,’ Bubbles offered.

‘But she said on her first day that she wasn’t related to Lamboo, remember?’ Nimmi queried.

‘Well, that’s clearly a lie, isn’t it? Why would Lamboo take her into her house if they weren’t related, huh? And didn’t Lamboo describe Lily as her relative to you, Sam?’ Zeba asked.

‘She did, actually, I’m sure I didn’t mishear that. Something about her being Lily’s nearest relative after the loss of her parents,’ Sam said, getting up and dusting sandwich crumbs off her navy pleated skirt. She scanned the playground, empty except for their own little group occupying the only shady area under the trees. Delhi in June was as hot as hell and she could see dust lifting off the basketball courts and hanging in the still air. Luckily these were the last two weeks of term before the summer holidays and she would soon be off to the hills with her family. Much as she loved Delhi, she hated the coming season of sandstorms. Already there were days when her throat and nasal passages felt clogged with dust, and she feared greatly for both her father and brother, both asthma sufferers. She cast a look at her watch.

‘C’mon, girls, we don’t want to be late for Gomes. There’s just five minutes left until the bell, and I need to fill my water flask from the cooler on the way to the lab.’

‘Oh it’s only our Gomesey,’ Zeba said lazily, stretching her lissom legs out from under her and tying her long brown tresses into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. ‘He never gets cross. I’ll take care of that.’

Everyone tittered uneasily but Sam’s forehead creased into a small anxious frown again. She had been waiting to have a serious conversation with Zeba about her relationship with their Chemistry teacher. ‘I’ve been meaning to say, Zebs…’ Sam adjusted her tone, trying to sound less sanctimonious. ‘You really must stop this absurd thing before it goes too far. I feel so terribly scared of what might happen, you know.’

But Zeba merely smiled cheekily up at her, amusement making her pretty brown eyes twinkle and dance. ‘Listen, Sami, this “thing,” as you describe it, has been going on for a couple of months now and nothing has happened, has it? Has it?’

‘What do you mean, “nothing”—you mean, like, you haven’t had full-blown sex, yeah?’ Natasha clarified.

Bubbles squealed at the sound of the word ‘sex’, clapping her hands over her ears and giggling uncontrollably. Zeba threw her a disparaging look as Sam tried gamely to continue her counsel. ‘Even if it’s not… sex,’ she cleared her throat, ‘you have been doing…all kinds of things you just shouldn’t with a teacher, Zeba.’

‘Only waist up, Sam, nothing waist down,’ Natasha said in a reassuring tone, adding, ‘and he only went past her bra just the other day.’

Bubbles squealed again but Zeba regally ignored her this time, nodding in appreciation of Natasha’s defence. ‘Anyway, it was Gomes who made the first move, not me,’ she said.

‘Yeah, like that makes a real difference,’ Anita said sardonically.

Natasha put in another mild entreaty on behalf of Zeba in her phlegmatic American drawl. ‘Hey, listen, we all know of Zeba’s irrepressible desire to flirt. Can’t we just let it be?’

‘And what can I do anyway if he keeps flirting with me?’ Zeba asked, emboldened by Natasha’s defence and trying now to sound wounded.

‘Well, if you’re such a victim you could try reporting him, couldn’t you?’ Anita enquired caustically.

Sam cut in hastily, ‘I don’t know about that. We’ll have to think things through before taking such a course of action. Reporting a teacher is a big deal. Gomes will go and lose his job and there’ll be an enquiry and heaven knows what else. Can’t you just try to put an end to it yourself, Zeba? Just tell him he’s too old for you or something.’

‘But right now it’s just so amusing, Sam,’ Zeba giggled. ‘Last week he was leaning over me, to use the pipette, y’know, and, when his hand slipped it landed on my thigh…’