The “car” Azaan had been talking about was an Uber.
When Seher saw her mother, in her crisp white shirt and capris, twitching against the grimy faux leather seat, she wanted to rage back into the house and scratch her half-brother’s bitter black eyes out.
“What took you so long?” Raahi’s eyes were bright but brimming with tears. Seher didn’t even want to think about what Azaan must have said to her if Raahi had obediently walked out of the house and sat in the taxi without a word in retaliation.
Raahi wasn’t one to take orders from anyone, especially not some 29-year-old boy whom she found unimaginative and, frankly, slow-witted. But from the trembling of her lower lip, Seher could see that her fearless mother was shattered. Azaan must have been at his nastiest best. And Raahi had taken too many blows to her pride in the last month-and-a-half. She had sold her house, moved across the world, depended on the charity of her husband’s real wife and then been ridiculed in the tabloids for being a charity case. On top of this, to be thrown out of Maahir’s house by her stepson in the middle of the night was too much for even her dauntless mother to deal with.
Seher took Raahi’s hand in hers and a quick tear escaped her mother’s almond-shaped eyes.
“I’m sorry; I suppose I’m still in shock,” Raahi uttered in self-reproach.
“It’s alright. It isn’t your fault.”
But everyone could hear the unusual lack of warmth in Seher’s voice.
Raahi sucked in her cheeks, guilty.
“I should have come up and helped you girls pack,” she conceded, “but Azaan and Bhatia showed me that... piece about you girls.” Her voice dropped to a scared whisper. “They said there would be more pieces like that if I didn’t leave the house immediately and quietly.”
Zaara glanced at Seher surprised. It was the only time the girls had heard actual fear in their mother’s voice. Seeing the girls exchange a worried look, Raahi let out a rattling breath and pulled herself together, shaking her head, annoyed, “I can’t believe I let them get to me. But... honestly, that article was disgusting. Did they show it to you?”
“They did,” Seher’s voice could have cut glass. It certainly cut off any further explanation Raahi could have provided.
“It’s alright that you weren’t there Ma,” Zaara said, trying to cut through the tension. “Seher handled it. She gave it off to that asshole! She told him exactly where to get off.”
“He came to your room?!” Raahi found her fire again. “That asshole Bhatia told me that HE would handle it. That Azaan wouldn’t come close to you. Why, I have half a mind to go back up….”
“Madam are you cancelling the trip?” the Uber driver asked in Punjabi.
“No,” Seher replied calmly in Hindi, “We’re going to Bandra bhaiya. To our own house. We’re getting as far away from this as we can.”
She turned to her mother then, composed as ever. “This is the best thing that could have happened to us, Ma,” she said. “That house was a ticking time bomb.
It was bound to go off at some point. The lucky thing is, it’s over and we’ve escaped with our lives.”
Raahi looked at her daughter in utter surprise. There was a serenity in her expression that she hadn’t expected. Despite dealing with Azaan, face-to-face, Seher didn’t seem fazed. Perhaps, over the last few weeks, her daughter had grown to be more secure. And Raahi knew why.
She smiled, feeling better at the thought that had sprung to her head. The car was put into gear and they began to move forward.
“Well, at least Saahil will give Azaan a piece of his mind once he finds out what happened.”
Seher shook her head once. She kept her eyes on the road outside, as the familiar tree-lined hill that she and Saahil had raced through every morning of the last fortnight disappeared behind her.
“I won’t be surprised if he moves out before breakfast tomorrow,” Raahi said, satisfied.
“He’ll probably be at our dining table eating dates in the next eight hours,” Zaara quipped, shaking her head.
“Don’t count on it,” Seher said, once, softly. But it brought mother and daughter’s louder imagingings to a halt.
Raahi studied her elder daughter’s expression, confused. But as usual, it remained inscrutable in its composure.
“What do you mean?” she asked gently.
“Saahil doesn’t like confrontations,” Seher said, shrugging. “Or conflict. That’s why he doesn’t live with his parents. Instead of arguing with them, he’d rather just live alone.”
“But for you…”
“He wouldn’t,” Seher cut her off. “And I wouldn’t expect him to. He shouldn’t have to fight with his mother for a friend.”
Zaara laughed, incredulous. She looked at her sister like she had gone quite mad.
“What are you talking about? You’re not just his friend.”
It was Seher’s turn to look incredulous. Determinedly so.
“Of course I am,” she said, jutting her chin out. “What else would I be?”
“You’re more than friends beta,” Raahi softened her tone, so as to not scare her daughter off.
“He hasn’t said anything of the sort to me,” Seher said. “Has he to you?”
“Well no, but…”
“…There is no commitment, no understanding between us.”
“He moved in with Aparna to be close to you. That’s commitment.”
“No ma,” Seher’s eyes flashed at her mother in irritation. “That kind of commitment leaves you with nothing but cab fare at 1.30 in the morning.”
Seher bit her lip in instant remorse as both Raahi and Zaara recoiled like they had been slapped.
The three of them chose not to speak for the rest of the ride, but instead rested their heads against the worn leather of the car seats and watched the city of Bombay pass them by, bathed in a navy blue night, with half-finished skyscrapers blinking in false optimism.
(To be continued)
BLURB: Raahi wasn’t one to take orders from anyone, especially not some 29-year-old boy whom she found unimaginative and, frankly, slow-witted. But from the trembling of her lower lip, Seher could see that her fearless mother was shattered. Azaan must have been at his nastiest best
Riva Razdan is a New York University graduate and currently working as a screenwriter and author based in Mumbai. Her debut novel Arzu was published by Hachette India in 2021
