Recap: Zaara wants to leave Aparna’s home as soon as possible and it gets worse once Azaan joins Aparna and Pandit girls at dinner.

Zaara looked up from the large sweat patches on her sister’s legs to see that her neck too, was glistening with water. Her sister wasn’t a victim of this muscled idiot with a daddy complex. And she needed to be reminded of it.

“Stand Up helped a hundred and fifty-six depressed, bullied kids become happy and self-assured again. I’ve met them. They were all scared shitless of the slightest sound on their first day. And now they’re confident, curious and making something of their lives.” She looked directly at her sister now. “It made a huge impact for such a young charity. That is f***ing cool.”

Seher smiled at her slightly, but her lower lip remained stiffly pressed against her upper one, as though she couldn’t open her mouth even if she tried.

“Very cool,” Azaan repeated, oblivious to the fact that the girl opposite him was glistening with sweat. “Who bankrolled this charity? My dad?”

“Excuse me?” Raahi asked, stunned. This was a level of rudeness even she hadn’t expected. And she had dealt with film producers through the ’70s.

“Who paid for the teachers, the classrooms, the air conditioning, etc.? And the parties of course?” Azaan’s voice rose as he spoke. All pretence of decorum had now been abandoned. Seher and Zaara looked at him, speechless. They weren’t used to being yelled at.

Azaan let out a bitter sound, that to some, perhaps, resembled a laugh. “What? I’ve read that you all never miss a chance to throw a party. Not even if your father’s just died. Even if he was the man who paid for your whole life.”

Seher felt salt stinging her eyes. She could feel blood rushing to her cheeks and the tips of her earlobes. In a few moments, she would be red-faced and ridiculous. Again.

‘Don’t give him the satisfaction. The napkin was now balled in Seher’s fist, crumpled beyond recognition. Stand UP. But how?

Say something, anything.

“I did start Stand Up with capital from Baba,” Seher said slowly, making sure her voice betrayed no emotion, “but once word spread, donations started pouring in. The school was entirely self-sustaining by the end of last year.”

“Really?” Azaan said with unveiled sarcasm, “so then why aren’t you there running it?”

Seher’s heart-beat slowed. This one she knew the answer to.

“I can’t afford to anymore,” she said simply, “it was entirely non-profit. There is no salary for the director. And I can’t live in London without one. So I reached out to a few organisations and... it’s been absorbed by Oxfam. Now Stand Up has all the funding it will ever need.”

Logic always calmed her down. After a breath, she was able to conclude, “I’m still in touch with some of the kids. They’re doing well.”

“Wonderful,” Aparna said, oblivious to the tension, or wilfully so. “That’s wonderful Seher!”

Azaan dropped his napkin on the table and rose. “Excuse me, I’m expecting a friend.”

“You didn’t tell me you were having guests over,” Aparna looked at her son, surprised.

“Neither did you,” Azaan said pointedly.

And with that, he strode out of the dining room.

Zaara was so shocked by what had just passed, she actually laughed a little in disbelief as the heavy mahogany door swung shut behind Azaan.

Aparna finally had the sense to look ashamed. In fact, she seemed near tears.

“I’m incredibly sorry.”

Raahi, however, wasn’t interested. Their hostess being indifferent to her was one thing, but being indifferent to the insult of her daughters was unpardonable.

“Aparna,” Raahi said, firmly, “thank you for opening up your home to us, but we are going to leave after dinner tonight.”

Raahi did not turn to her daughters to check if they were in agreement with her. She did not need to. They could not live with the Khans. Not while Seher was trying not to shiver in her seat, in suspense of which ‘friend’ Azaan had brought with him.

It was pathetic, she knew. Nobody was going to cut off her hair now. But even 20 years of therapy hadn’t prepared her for Azaan’s intense hatred of her.

I’m an adult, she reminded herself.

“Seher, beta,” Aparna said, knowing well the history between the first-borns, “I really am very sorry for Azaan’s behaviour. I’ll have a word with him and make sure this doesn’t happen again. Please sweetie, don’t leave now…”

Seher put the shaking spoon down with a clatter and focused on the picture of her mother and sister, seated beside each other, to calm herself down. How lovely they looked in their matching white chikankari kurtas, with stately pearls dangling from the ears of one and shimmering chaandbaalis dancing on the ears of the other. How young they seemed, and how full of child-like hope, even now when their eyes were filled with fury on her behalf.

For their sake, she pulled herself together.

“Aparna,” Seher said evenly, “I remember Baba had a spare apartment by the studio that he often slept at. You would do us a great kindness by loaning it to us for the next two weeks.”

Aparna opened her mouth and then closed it like an ashamed fish, searching for solutions but not seeming to find any. She reached for the wine bottle then, as though hoping for answers and poured herself another glass.

“I hoped... we could be friends,” she whispered. “For a moment there it seemed possible.”

Then she shook her head and drained her glass.

Even Zaara felt for Baba’s first wife. She really was hopeless.

The sound of Oxfords on marble grew louder. Seher picked up her spoon and took a bite of the rasgulla, for something to do. If sweetness flooded her mouth, she couldn’t taste it.

A chuckle entered the room before the men did.

A chuckle two of them had heard before.

A sound one of them knew by heart.

“Saahil?” Aparna slurred, with a sudden smile, her sadness of a few moments ago vanishing. “I’m so glad it’s you. Come, join us. I’ll tell them to set another place at the table.”

“He’s eaten,” Azaan said, “but he’s staying the night.”

“Oh good! Have you brought any laundry beta? I’ll give it to Damodar.”

But Saahil wasn’t looking at his aunt. His eyes were fixed on the poised girl in pink. He’d recognise that posture anywhere.

To his aunt Aparna and cousin Azaan’s surprise, their reserved Saahil, who preferred tech to people, stopped right in front of Seher, took her hands in his and pulled her up to get a better look at her.

Raahi and Zaara both looked at each other in surprise.

“You’re wearing pink,” Saahil noted, amused. As though they were in the middle of a conversation that hadn’t stopped in another country, or another decade.

“This is silly,” Seher replied, her voice a little higher. As though she wasn’t an adult anymore.

“You’re in Bombay and you’re wearing pink,” he persisted.

“People adjust their ideas.”

“Then people shouldn’t be swearing off things.”

“Fine. You win,” Seher smiled, unable to resist it. “I’ll give you ten pounds tomorrow.”

“I think the stakes were higher than money.”

Raahi cleared her throat and Saahil, as though noticing the room full of people around them for the first time, chuckled and dropped Seher’s hands, to shake her mother’s.

“I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Seher’s friend from school. Saahil.”

Raahi seemed utterly surprised. “Were you friends in Bombay?”

“No mom,” Zaara grinned, realising as she reconsidered Saahil that she had seen him in their navy blue uniform before. “It was boarding school. But he was much skinnier back then.”

“Thanks,” Saahil laughed, but his gaze never left Seher. “Weights and I found each other eventually.”

Azaan frowned. “I forgot you went to Seven Oaks too.”

“Only for a semester,” Seher’s eyes twinkled with laughter. “He got kicked out after the first three weeks.”

“I blame you,” Saahil grinned. “Or rather I owe you. Home-schooling in Kent was the best thing that happened to me. It’s where I learnt to code too.”

“Oh this is your computer class friend?!” Raahi exclaimed, finally joining the dots together. “But I thought his name was Sagar!”

“It is,” Aparna said, excitedly. “This is Saahil Sagar, my sister’s son. And this is a lovely coincidence!”

She gurgled with laughter and raised her empty glass.

“To Friends! Old and new!”

The Pandits looked at each other, unsure. Saahil, oblivious, grabbed a glass of water and raised it in response to his aunt. His dinner companions had no choice but to follow suit. They echoed Aparna’s toast without any enthusiasm. Azaan put his glass down as quickly as he had raised it and excused himself from the room again. His cousin, however, didn’t notice it.

“Am I your computer class friend?” Saahil looked at Seher with a mixture of amusement and hurt. “Seriously?”

“Weren’t you?” she smiled.

He shook his head in mock disappointment and sat down right next to her.

Raahi, Zaara and Aparna all exchanged a look of feminine understanding. As they watched Seher brighten beside her tall, talkative friend, they came to a silent agreement. No matter what had passed, there would be no leaving the house that night.

(To be continued)

This is the seventh episode of Riva Razdan’s serialised novel Nonsense and Respectability, published every Sunday

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