The sun had come out less wintry the last few days. The roads and pavements were clear of snow by law, and he felt the growing desire to escape outside, if only for a little bit, to confront America for himself, so to speak. He had been here for over two weeks. It couldn’t just be about watching TV shows all day.
In the shoe and coat closet, where his unsuitable corduroy shoes lay, leaving him to walk barefoot on the carpeted floors, he had spied a pair of what looked like winter boots, presumably the kind in which one could walk on the snow. They weren’t Rangi’s; too small, more his size. Kavita had mentioned getting him shoes on his first day in Riverside but nothing so far. For a jacket, she said he could help himself to any of Rangi’s, he wouldn’t mind.
A mad idea came to him after breakfast and bath. He would try on the snow boots. If they fit, he would try them out outside, take a little walk. What harm would it do? He would carry his passport as identification, Kavita’s address and mobile number in case he got lost. How hard could it be?
He realized he needed the garage door code. Well, he would defer his plans till he could got it out of Sunny that evening. It would have to be a secret operation, otherwise his daughter would torpedo his plans. He felt a small spiral of excitement. What was the point of going to a foreign country and becoming the prisoner of other people’s whims?
Saras would have never done such a thing. But he wasn’t her.
Evening came around. Everyone was back. Kavita and Rangi were in front of their respective computers. Through the open door of his bedroom, he could see Sunny lying on the floor on his stomach, waving his legs in the air and doing his homework.
He tapped on the door. ‘Hey, Thaatha,’ his grandson said, ‘what are you up to? Can you help me with this math? Mom said you were a math teacher.’
‘Sure, I can help you any time you want,’ he said, going in and sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Plus,’ he whispered, ‘I need your help with some numbers, too!’ He put his forefinger on his lips. Sunny was delighted with the mystery, at excluding the common enemy.
The phone rang a while later. ‘Appa!’
He rushed out of Sunny’s room. ‘Yes, dear?’
‘Some woman on the line for you. Says you travelled with her. Tara or something. She’s on the line. If you don’t mind, keep it short, I need to make a call.’ She went away.
‘Tara? How good of you to call! How are you, my dear?’
‘I’m fine, sir. How are you doing? Are you enjoying yourself, spending time with the family?’
‘Not bad. Mostly been at home, watching some TV, reading and so on.’
‘And hanging out with your grandson, no doubt.’
‘Yes, that, too, a bit.’
‘That’s good, that’s good. I’ve been thinking about something. Thought I’d share it with you. Have you ever written a maths textbook?’
‘You mean, like a school textbook? No. Why?’
‘You have so much experience in the field,’ she said. ‘I thought – why not use it to come up with a series. I could put you on to publishers, you know, if that’s something you’d be interested in. Thought you’d be home all day, you’d have a bit of time. Only if you wish, of course!’
‘Time is hanging a bit heavy,’ he said. ‘I could definitely think about it … maybe you could call back in a day or two? Thanks for thinking of me, most kind. What have you been up to?’
‘Not much, hanging out, writing some, the usual, holding fort, really. Everyone but my niece is away, so. Well, I won’t keep you. I’ll call at the end of the week. Bye, Mr N, take care.’
Kavita came in as he was putting the receiver back on its rest.
‘What did she want?’ she said.
‘Nothing. Actually, she wanted to know if I could do some writing for her.’
‘Writing? What type of writing?’
‘A textbook series. Maths.’
‘Hmmm. I need the phone, Appa.’
The sunny weather held the next day. From the living room windows he could see the paths were clear of snow, like giant partings in icing on a cake. He had wrapped himself up in layers, as the well-informed at home had suggested. Woollen long johns from home that scraped against his skin, terry wool trousers, two pairs of socks, a thick woollen sweater over his long-sleeved shirt, a muffler around his throat. From the coat closet, he nabbed a cap with ear flaps, a pair of black leather gloves, and an enormous long jacket that reached up to his knees. He was not as tall as Rangi.
Then he was ready to try on the snow shoes. They were hardly suitable, being calf-length, pointed-toed and lined with what seemed like nylon fur. They were also just a tiny bit small but he managed to squeeze the bottoms of his trousers and his double-socked feet in. He hoped, looking at them, that they were not women’s shoes. He tried a few steps, much like in a shoe shop. Not too comfortable but they would do. From his pocket, he took out a paper with a series of numbers on it. The garage code. Rangi’s mobile number, which he had found. His son-in-law was likely to take a more sympathetic view of any adventures he might get up to.
It was time for some pioneering spirit.