To Go or Not To Go

UNTIL THE WINTER OF 1996, Vidhi Ramasamy would jump out the school bus even before the door had sprung fully open, sprint down the service lane that led straight from her bus stop to her house, charge at the tiny gate and swing on it thrice, then step off it and walk run walk to the front door of her home. Inside, the 12-year-old Wayamadu High student would take her shoes off and place them on the shoe rack, peel off her socks and drop them in the washing machine, wash her face, scrub her hands clean, and scamper into the kitchen. She would find her mother, Sophie Ramasamy, in her oversized grey hoodie, black sweatpants, and fleece-lined purple woollen gloves with two very visible holes, stooped low over a magazine, glasses perched half-way down her nose, copying eggless cake recipes or knitting patterns - neither of which she would ever try out. Next to her, on the dining table, there would always be a plate with a half-eaten shortbread biscuit and a chipped ceramic mug filled nearly to the brim with now-tepid coffee — clearly forgotten after the first few sips. She would gently wrap her arms around her mother, who would then ask, every day, “You home?” to which Vidhi would reply, every day, “No, I’m still at school”, and then both would grin widely at their joke.

Then everything changed. Vidhi’s father, 44-year-old Dr. Raman Ramasamy — the only eye specialist in their quaint hill town — flew out for an ophthalmologists’ convention and never returned. The police said he was last spotted outside Delhi airport, buying a chicken patty from a food stall, dropping most of it in a waste bin, and slipping into the crowd. Then the trail ran cold. No credit card cues, no hotel check-ins, no taxi trip records, no train reservations.

The residents of Wayamadu would’ve welcomed the scandal, except that the abrupt departure also meant they now had no one to go to for dirt-cheap consultations, free magazines, and cups of piping chai tea at the clinic-residence of the town’s smartest man and its oddest woman. When some of them started asking Sophie to ‘check their eyes’ and write ‘whatever medicine she thought appropriate’, she gathered her wits long enough to pack her bags, take the first flight out, and land at her estranged — but well-heeled — parents’ doors.

Vidhi’s grandparents’ home in New Delhi was a far cry from the rustic cottage Vidhi had grown up in. The elegant duplex opened to manicured lawns in the front and had a garage (with space for two cars — two cars), a basketball court, and a pool in the backyard. In stark contrast to her penniless father who undercharged his patients for years, Vidhi’s grandparents were successful career diplomats with more than enough saved for a rainy day.  

“What’s for dinner?” Vidhi mumbled, tracing the crochet edging of the lavender tablecloth with her index finger without lifting it. The floral centerpieces with filler greens tucked under sat on the solid oak wood dining table and gave off a scent so strong it made her head swim. She had just returned from her school, saddled with a fresh load of increasingly unmanageable homework. 

“Broccoli, mushroom, and dal,” Sophie replied confidently, tilting her chair back.

Sophie’s mother, Sumitra Ranganathan, cleared her throat in the background. “No, darling, we’re having chicken and rice tonight. You might not want to do that - you’ll fall off if you tip too far.”

Sophie slowly lowered the chair’s front legs back to the ground. She wanted to ask her daughter how her day went but got distracted by a lawnmower's roar that swam uninvited in through the open windows. Her mind wandered back to her kitchen garden in Wayamadu: it must be covered with wild grass by now. 

“It’s Eva’s birthday on Saturday,” Vidhi said, interrupting Sophie’s reverie. She didn’t want to tell anyone, but her grandmother would have found out anyway.

“Eva? Ed and Cynthia’s daughter?” the septuagenarian's droopy eyes flew wide open, as she turned to her daughter and asked, “The lawyer couple who live right down the street? Sophie, you know them, right?” 

Sophie stared at her mother unblinkingly, as if seeing her for the first time. Her skin looked soft and supple, unwrinkled except for the crow’s feet at the corners of her milky eyes. She wanted to gently pull at her cheek and release it to see how long it took to flatten back in shape. Her own grandmother had allowed her to do that. Her mother might swat her hand away.

The blank look on her daughter’s face made Sumitra uneasy. She reminded herself to call Dr. Sen in the evening. Maybe they could take a relook at her doses.

“You must attend,” Sumitra turned to her granddaughter now. “What are you going to wear? You and I could hit the mall — lots of options for a pretty, young lady like you.”

Vidhi said that wouldn't be necessary, but only out of a sense of loyalty to her mother. Secretly she was relieved. Her new school didn’t have uniforms, which meant her limited wardrobe was badly exposed on a daily basis. The girls at King’s Modern High wore makeup (light, barely noticeable, but there) and painted their nails and shaved their legs, and wore trendy shoes and outfits that seemed straight out of the pages of teen magazines. The shapeless midis that fell past her knees and her baggy jeans and oversized t-shirts that she’d worn so gladly in her previous life now made her self-conscious. 

“I will ask your grandpa to send a car. Go wash your face and change into something nice. We’ll leave in 20 minutes,” Sumitra Ranganathan declared.

VIDHI STOOD AT THE DOORWAY AND LOOKED AT HER MOTHER. She was still in her nightgown, and her hair tangled and unwashed, but she was sitting at her desk, reading something. That was a good sign. Sensing movement, she turned around.

“How was the trip? You found something?”

Vidhi walked slowly to her mother’s bed and sat at the corner, then replied: “There were no stairs or lifts. Only escalators.”

“Oh. Where's mom?”

“She dropped me home and left for somewhere. I don’t know. I — couldn’t move. And there were people right behind me. I panicked.” 

“It’s okay. Come here. Look what I found,” Sophie spoke with the excitement of a little girl.  

It was a photo — a movie still — printed in a film magazine. A stunning-looking woman stood tall and upright in the center, flanked by two others, her light golden hair falling past her shoulders, her perfectly painted lips upturned in a mysterious smile. As if she knew a secret too magical to be shared with the mortal world. 

They were all playing high school girls in the movie. The skirts and blazers they wore were red plaid, the same as Vidhi’s old uniform, just a bit shorter and more...snug. Vidhi felt unsure, but Sophie was already walking towards the sewing machine.  

***

In the end, it all worked out. Vidhi’s ensemble was a winner. Her mother had cleverly hemmed the skirt and even the blazer with hands that shook only slightly (the doctor had eased the doses; now she only had cold sweats and tingly fingers but hardly any nausea and no nightmares at all). Also, nobody could ever guess how basic her white blouse was under the blazer. Her Mary Jane shoes went strangely well with the rest of her outfit and the makeup was on point too — once again, her mother did it for her even if it left her tired by the end. Eye shadow, and cheekbones, and jawline, and lips, all with lipstick alone. 

Then there were her granny’s pearls to complete the look. 

Eva, dressed in a shimmery peach dress and gold & pink embellished pumps, received her warmly and took her inside. Everyone from her class had turned up — Natasha, Samar, Vinny, Arijit, Ralph, Nidhi, Saumya, Rohini, Shambhavi, Arun, Gautam. Everyone.

The girls loved what she wore. The boys, well, didn’t say anything, but you know how boys are. Eva had the most awesome CD collection. Vidhi danced only with the girls, although she did notice Rick Kapoor approaching her purposefully right after the first slow song of the evening began (she ducked and headed straight for the restroom; she would’ve declined his offer anyway because Eva likes him too, you know.) The spread was amazing too: there were finger sandwiches and cheese skewers and Swiss rolls and cassata ice cream and every flavor of soda. She ate so much and she talked so much and everyone promised they will visit her soon. That evening she could hear the ice break. 

She would tell her mother everything tomorrow. Tonight she would just let herself back inside her home 15 minutes before her curfew, climb up the hardwood stairs, tiptoe into her mother’s room and check in on her. She would find her mother curled up like a ball, her blanket gathered in a heap at the foot of her bed. The moonlight streaming in through the window would gently illuminate her face, serene and peaceful for the first time in a long while. 

She would tell her mother all about the party tomorrow. The truth could wait.