Page 74 of 12 Years
‘Gosh, I missed you,’ I said, as we embraced each other for one long minute. Holding Payal after ten days felt like coming home. Even though I was at her psycho parents’ home.
I looked around the living room. It was a giant space, the size of half a tennis court. The walls had framed pictures of various Jain saints and temples. There were brass and bronze statues of numerous gods as well.Was I dating a priest’s daughter?
‘What’s this gigantic house, Payal? How big is it?’
Payal laughed. ‘It’s not that big. Five thousand square feet, I think.’
‘My Bandra place is five hundred. You can fit ten of them in here.’
‘That’s Pali Hill, a more expensive neighbourhood.’
‘Still, this building is so posh. Hi-tech security and all. The guard outside was tapping away on a tablet as he took my details. The only thing my building guard taps on is his gutka.’
Payal giggled. I leaned forward and kissed her. It felt weird to kiss her in her parents’ living room, surrounded by all the images of gods and temples. It felt like the gods were watching us, and cursing me to hell. I suddenly became aware of a sound, a repeating chant rather.
‘What’s that sound?’
Payal pointed to a small device plugged into a socket near the door. It was playing the ‘Om, Om’ sound on a loop.
‘Come, sit,’ Payal said, waving towards a huge sofa set, which had a truckload of foam stuffed into it.
Payal and I sat facing each other, at least ten feet apart.
‘Nervous?’ Payal said.
‘About meeting your parents? Yes,’ I said.
‘Just be yourself. And remember, we’re just friends. Be cordial and matter-of-fact. More than anything, stay calm.’
‘Yes. And I stay platonic too, right?’
‘Of course,’ Payal said. ‘Don’t even think about doing anything in front of them.’
‘What about doing something now. Before they come back?’
‘Patience, mister.’
‘Is there another room we can go to?’ I said. ‘You have your own room here, right?’
‘Someone’s in a hurry,’ Payal said and chuckled. She stood up and gestured for me to follow her to her bedroom.
‘Welcome to my room,’ she said, shutting the door behind us. ‘I haven’t really lived here since I left for Stanford. But still, this is my space.’
I looked around. The bed, covered with a pink bedcover, had a couple of stuffed toy animals kept on it. The walls had posters of Mariah Carey, Indra Nooyi and Kalpana Chawla. It still resembled the room of a school student, with a study table and a bookshelf filled with books on SAT preparation and US college-application guides. I also saw a framed picture of a naked old man sitting cross-legged.
‘Who’s this?’
‘He’s a revered Jain saint.’
‘And he’s wearing nothing because …’
‘Because he’s a Digambar Jain saint,’ Payal said. ‘No irreverent comments on this, okay? My family believes in him.’
‘I wouldn’t dare,’ I said, pretending to zip my mouth shut.
We sat on her bed.
‘I’m so happy you’re here. I have so many memories associated with this room,’ Payal said.
