ANIKA

I squealed in agony after receiving the devastating news.

I cycled home from school at what seemed to me the speed of light. When I reached home, my breaths came in the form of fast shallow pants and my face was completely soaked. My eyes were swollen due to non-stop weeping and it hurt rubbing them to wipe the tears. Some of my tousled hair from the loose ponytail flew on my face and the remaining unevenly knotted wisps of black hair poked out in every direction around my scalp. I had to clear my face and eyes off them to view the dreadful sight.

The sweat beads mixed with the salty tears swamped my spectacles, blurring my vision. With trembling hands, I removed my glasses and took a step ahead. My school uniform was drenched in sweat- the grey trousers clung to my limbs, the white shirt and the sea green blazer adhered as if they were a single garment. The trauma along with the clothes glued to my body restricted the little movement I attempted to go closer.

To add to the misery, the headache felt like a thousand needles pounding my skull.

The gathering of more than a thousand people made our otherwise massive villa look like a crowded little shop. People, known and unknown loitered on the two floors, each containing four hall-sized bedrooms and a living room twice as big as them. It looked more like a feast with the living room walls lined by tables of food, milk, tea, coffee and people devouring them greedily.

My heart broke into million pieces as I glimpsed the two bodies cocooned by white cotton clothes, through the assembly of neighbors and relatives sitting on the woollen blanket sprawled on the living-room floor. All the people were sitting cross legged and wore clean and plain white clothes. Hearing me yelp all people sitting with their backs on my side, turned their faces alarmed.

The people moved and lent me some space to walk across the room to the soulless figures. They gave me sympathetic glances and told each other that I was the eldest daughter of the couple whose dead bodies lay about a few feet from where I stood. An aunt said that I would be eighteen after two years and would be legally able to get married. I vaguely heard a lady's remark in an undertone for my Uncle and Aunt, about how mean and greedy they were. Some claimed my relatives had covetous intentions to purloin all our wealth behind their facade of taking the guardianship of me and Daksha. A woman commiserated with my little sister, saying that the poor twelve year old couldn't even comprehend her Uncle's intentions. I couldn't make sense of who said what in my half-dazed state. The persistent uneven throbbing of my heart making it impossible to understand anything.

My schoolbag slipped from my shoulders and the spectacles dropped on to the ground from my quivering hand, as despair and anguish consumed the remaining energy I had. Wailing I fell onto the ground beside them clutching and shaking their corpses, "Ma, papa, please... please wake up...."

The heartache added to the fatigue which already numbed my senses, to the point of blackness. I couldn't recall when I passed out from the shock and felt some hands engulfing my body and laying me on the bed. In the dizziness I couldn't figure out who the man was but he held me dearly and I felt him pressing his lips to my forehead.

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13 November 2018,
Saturday

This was the day my parents died in a car accident, eight years ago.

Hanging a fresh garland over the framed photograph of my parents on the living room wall, I wiped my tears as the flashback replayed in my mind. The reminiscences of that afternoon were too vivid to forget. Nothing in the world could efface the loss of the loved ones and especially parents. I shuddered and wept as if it happened yesterday. Every year, this day brought with it the cognizance of loneliness and the battle against our own relatives.

I had to be strong enough for Daksha, for both of us. Standing at the washbasin, I splashed water over my face and brushed the tears as well as creases formed by continuous crying. I had to erase all remains of sadness from my facial expressions and gestures which could be perceived by her. I cleaned and applied some moisturizing cream on the face and hands, wore eye make up and put on lip gloss on my lips. Giving the finishing touches to my happy and confident appearance, I locked my apartment and taking long strides headed to the parking for visiting Daksha.

With a thud, the lift which I boarded on the eleventh floor, halted in the basement of the twenty storey building I lived. The doors of the lift opened with a creak and the stench of urine mixed with garbage littered on the floor in various places, greeted my nostrils. The bile almost gushed to my throat and into my mouth leaving a nauseating feeling, as it again went down the stomach. I immediately regretted skipping breakfast. But early mornings were best to avoid road congestion and save travel time, as Delhi is prone to traffic jams and consequently pollution. Moreover, I could eat something in the way from the roadside restaurants. As I departed early, I would reach Noida in an hour or so by road.

Why people, especially men pee in the parking area? Disgusting.

There were public toiletries in our apartment building, for God's sake. If that weren't sufficient, the prime minister Narendra Modi had built millions of free usage public toilets which could be located on Google Maps too.

Scrunching my nose in disgust, I went over to the block where my car was parked.

"Namaste Madam ji. Today 5 am? You go 6 am every week. Something special?" The guard of our apartment building asked with a folded hand gesture.

"Yes, today I want to not get caught in the traffic jam. Dinesh ji, did you not call the electrician? The lift is getting worse," I said politely, gesturing him to open the entrance gate of our building.

The lift was creating loud noises while opening and closing. The jerks were gradually becoming uncomfortable and noticeable. It heightened my concerns and as a resident paying maintenance fee per month, I needed to ensure that we got quality services. Our guard was in charge of the maintenance works too.

"Madam ji, his son sick. So he come after two days," he replied while penning down the time of my departure with my details. Nodding, I drove on the road, towards the national highway connecting the two cities.

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Reaching the outskirts of Delhi, I exhaled a sigh of relief. The over-crowded narrow streets, gradually increasing intensity of vehicles on the roads, garbage littering and the loud ceaseless honking of automobiles could make anyone uneasy. The only relaxing thing was the closed shop outlets, which reduced the traffic on the otherwise congested city streets.

Driving on the well-maintained six lane highway with a mild traffic, I revelled in the soothing effect lent by the greenery. I pulled in my car at a Midway resort nearby and ordered chapatis with a cooked paneer vegetable. I relished the meal and set off to my destination.

After a journey of about three hours, I stopped the car in the Amity Institute parking area, and headed to meet Daksha's warden.

"Anika. I am glad that you came on a short notice. Give me a minute. Please make yourself comfortable," the girls hostel warden looked up from the papers, signalled towards the chair to my left, and again delved into her priceless possessions. I smiled and settled in the wooden chair.

After a minute or so of my staring her office- which comprised of a dozen cupboards, table, chairs, and other necessities- she cleared her throat to gain my attention.

"Oh yes, Mrs. Chaturvedi. I will talk to Daksha, don't worry."

"Anika, I am worried about her. She could face grave circumstances if she continued such fights. That too, with the boys of influential people. I can't help you when it comes to such people. You know what I mean, right?"

Her perturbed expression indicated the seriousness of the issue and I dreaded Daksha getting into some trouble. I could see fear etched into her eyes, and the worrisome crinkles on her face and forehead. Unnerved, I nodded and gazing into my eyes with a genuine concern, she continued in a deep, sincere tone, "Please make sure she understands this time."

Despite the frequent complaints against my sister from the college bullies, Mrs. Smita Chaturvedi was always supportive of her. This time, however, she said her hands were tied. Mahesh, whom Daksha beat up could hype the matter or file a complaint against her in the police station. His parents had political contacts who can trouble us in any way than we can imagine.

The lady, in her fifties looked younger than her age. She never wore any make-up and dressed in a plain saree with minimal ornaments. The only jewellery she had on, were the gold bangles on her wrists and elegant studs in her ears.

Regardless of the age, thinking and belief differences, Daksha and the warden were good friends. She talked to me on phone a few days ago about the matter and seemed calm that time. She had a youthful persona and a lively voice. But her anxious behavior in the office told a different story which was sufficient to heighten my anxieties.

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Author's Note:

Ji (Dinesh ji, Madam ji etc)- 'Ji' is a salutation in 'Hindi' language. It is used in verbal communication, after the name of the person, to address and show respect towards him/her.

Namaste- It's a Sanskrit word ('namah tey') is a greeting to other person with a folded hand gesture. This is a common form of greeting others in our country.

Saree- Saree is a traditional Bhartiya attire for women. It is worn over a blouse and a petticoat. The saree can be made out of cotton, silk, synthetic or other fibres. It is usually 5 to 8 meters in length and is draped on waist over the petticoat and then carried over on the shoulder over the blouse. The blouse designs and the draping styles can give the woman a simple/elegant/formal/sexy look, thus making it suitable for every occasion.