Sunjeev Sahota - The Year of the Runaways

‘Some drivers are saying they’ll strike if the duffer doesn’t do something. No one would have dared strike when I was young. Strange how times change.’

‘It’s not fair. He’s just looking for someone else to blame.’

Sreenath twisted his hand, as if to say, Who knew? ‘But it’s your own fault. Plain mouths and rich food. Indigestion is inevitable, no?’

Harbhajan finally caught up with him as Avtar was exiting the rent-collector’s house one morning. ‘O-ho!’ he shouted, pulling Avtar into a half-hug. His eyes looked heavy and he wore a black patka instead of his usual turban. Avtar guessed he’d not slept all night. Perhaps not been home, either.

‘See how good my memory is? See how I remember which day you come here?’

Avtar shrugged him off. ‘I need to get to work.’

‘Tsk! Wait a minute, yaara. Where have you been hiding?’

‘No one’s hiding. You know where I live.’

Harbhajan ignored this. Maybe he felt too ashamed to meet Avtar’s parents. ‘How’s old Sreenath?’ He made his mouth gummy, mimicking: ‘When the rainbow comes, the storm isn’t far behind.’

Avtar frowned. ‘I’ll be late.’

‘I’ll drop you off.’

Avtar carried on walking. Harbhajan blocked him off.

‘I’ll drop you off in my car.’ And he turned Avtar around and pointed to the gleaming red Honda City parked twenty yards up the road. Already, a couple of schoolboys had stopped to admire it. Avtar stormed off. Again, Harbhajan caught up.

‘What’s the matter, yaar? Did you see it? Let’s go.’

He pushed Harbhajan in the chest. ‘You stealing, sister-fucking bastard. I need my job. Do you understand? We can’t live without my job.’

Harbhajan looked hurt. ‘Why the filmi drama, friend? It’s just fun. We’re just having some fun.’

‘Don’t. Not with my life.’

Slowly the silence deflated and Harbhajan said, ‘Let’s go tonight. Wherever you want. Let’s go see your girl. I’ll drive you.’ Before he’d even finished Avtar was walking away, shaking his head.

Four days later he asked Nirmalji when he might be able to take a day off and one week after that he was with Harbhajan on their way to Chandigarh in the red Honda City. He’d not wanted to go like this. When he’d got off the phone to Lakhpreet the previous week he’d looked in his wallet and calculated that after giving his parents enough to cover the rent and monthly gas bill he had just enough for the return bus fare and a day in Chandigarh: he’d have to walk instead of using the scooter for a few days, that was all. But then in the morning his mother said she was going to the temple. She wanted to make a donation in Navjoht’s name and Avtar, as the boy’s elder brother, had to contribute.

‘But the exams are finished. You can’t change the results now.’

‘Don’t make questions, beita. He’s worked so hard.’

He handed over half of what he had and left for work. Twice over the next few days he’d nearly called Lakhpreet and said he couldn’t come. In the end, he dialled Harbhajan. Don’t tell anyone, he’d said on the phone, and this he now repeated as the smug-looking ‘Welcome to Chandigarh’ sign loomed fast towards them.

‘Arré, relax. We’re having a fun day out, that’s all.’

Harbhajan beamed, his smile elastic under the wraparound shades, and they sped into the precisely gardened city, where the cars looked official, government-sanctioned, and the men and women on scooters wore small Sixties helmets.

They parked in the shallow forecourt of Mega Mall and Avtar stepped out into the soft sunshine. It was a white marblesque building with intimidating black doors, a row of potted yellow trees flanking both sides of the entrance.

‘Is she here?’ Harbhajan asked.

‘We’re early.’

‘In that case,’ Harbhajan said, opening the boot. He returned with a palmful of red worm-like things. ‘Take some, na.’

The balloons came up crinkled and heart-shaped. Some had a picture of teddy bears. Avtar looked dubiously at Harbhajan, who passed him some string.

‘To tie them to the car. I’ll have my fun at Geri Route.’

Avtar didn’t ask. It was enough that he wasn’t going to be around when Lakhpreet arrived.

Through the automatic doors, he took the central escalator which fed him into a burger place. She wasn’t there. He ordered a Thums Up and took a seat by the window so she might see him easily. There were only four or five others at this hour: a couple in office clothes holding hands over a briefcase, and a few other men dotted politely about, a bottle and straw at their lips. The ventilation whirred and stopped, whirred and stopped.

He saw her materializing layer by layer up the escalator. Her hair, her eyes, her mouth and neck, chest, hands, her legs. She looked anxious, winding the end of her green chunni in and out of her hands. Then she saw him, and smiled. She stroked his shoulder as she passed and took the seat opposite. He sat down too — when had he stood? — and turned his dark-brown hand palm up on the table. She placed her fairer hand in his.

They spoke of nothing for a while, or at least nothing that Avtar could later remember. He’d felt a little light-headed at seeing her again. They ordered two more drinks and Avtar asked for a burger each as well. She said to forget the burger — it was too expensive here — but that only made him more determined to have one. The food arrived.

‘Where’s your friend?’ she asked.

‘He’s gone to Geri Route. With balloons.’

She gave a gorgeous little laugh. ‘If he’s gone to find girls, it’s too early. The balloons will go to waste.’

‘Oh, he’ll find some way to have fun.’

She swivelled her Thums Up, the glass bottle dancing unpredictably on the table. ‘This is a very boring city, janum. Old people and government types only. There is no fun. I miss doing things. Going to the cinema, boating on the river.’ She smiled at him. ‘And other things with you.’

He asked how her father was. She said nothing. Her mood changed. He wished he’d not mentioned it.

‘He’s given up. I don’t know how long we can keep him.’

He said that God would find a way through and she frowned and said she hoped He’d find it soon.

‘It’s the crying. He cries so much. At night especially. And I know he can’t help it but I just want to scream at him.’

‘Your mamma? How is she?’

She shook her head. ‘And Randeep’s at college so it’s just me and Mummy trying to stop him from doing anything crazy all night.’

As their tray was collected, she asked him when they could get married. Avtar coughed and waited for the waiter to leave. ‘Where would we live? On my mamma-papa’s balcony?’

‘I wouldn’t mind. It’d be fun. It’d be an adventure.’

‘It wouldn’t. And I want to be able to afford a small hut for us both at least.’

‘By the lake, maybe.’

‘With mountains in the background.’

‘Ducks outside?’

‘And a little pink pig.’

‘Oh! To keep as a pet?’

‘To eat.’

‘No!’ And she laughed hard, ponytail swishing side to side. ‘You know, my friends think it’s so romantic what we’re doing. They’re so jealous.’

‘You’ve told your friends we’re getting married?’

‘Shouldn’t I have done?’

He wasn’t sure. ‘I suppose we never agreed not to tell anyone.’

‘Oh, but I want to tell the world!’ She brought her thumbs together and rested her lovely dimpled chin on them. ‘How long, janum?’

‘I don’t know, honestly. It’s so tough right now. Papa’s not doing well.’

She looked alarmed, in a slightly theatrical way. ‘What’s the matter?’