Chapter Seventeen

Knocked out by Grandma

SAARANSH

 

One problem with having my hair grow back is the time to dry it. Plus, a messy style is tougher to maintain. The locks in front have to fall in a specific way. Two months and counting since everything went downhill, the hairstyle is one of the small things I do to keep the memory of Brendon alive.

The other is wrapping myself in his blue jacket when I miss him, and no one is present. I swivel and strut around, covered in the oversized fluffy jacket. Which reminds me—I should add the jacket to my packing for the Denmark Open next week. Superstitious? Yes. I can’t have Bree at my matches, but some of his presence in the form of this souvenir should bring me luck. Even if he was present, what would you have done? Ele scrapes the wound. He is not ever going to forgive me.

Let him get ready. Gillu gives Ele and me the stink eye.

My clue to return to the real world and review the list—India jerseys and shorts, check, rackets, check, orange-white sneakers, check. Three sets of winter casual clothes and pajamas packed. Next are the documents. Tickets and passports are in place. My hand lingers on the page with the Australian tourist visa. You can’t stop me, Papa.

The alarm on my phone reminds me of the Auslan session. I hurry and open my laptop to login into my once-a-week Australian sign language class. Over the next thirty minutes, I practice the words, mimicking the hand gestures in the video. This is a surprise for Brendon when we meet. If we meet? My shoulders droop as the sigh escape my lips.

The chirping of birds ringing three times in a row alert me to a visitor. I zip the jacket as I walk out of the bedroom. Someone is desperate; the chime is followed by bangs by the time I go to the door. “Hey, hold on.” I unlatch the lock and open the door. A stick slams onto my head. “Ouch”

The old lady in front of me jabs the stick in my chest, forcing me to crouch before the next blow. She peeks around the door. “Where are you hiding my grandson?”

I shake my head and poke my tongue at my grandmother. She pinches me in the stomach, prodding me to move. “If you keep assaulting me, you will never find your grandson.” I stand my ground, blocking her way, arms across the chest.

Dadi examines me from head to toe. She hooks her walking stick in my neck, forcing me to bend down. “Where are your manners, six-footya?”

I touch her feet. Dadi hugs me. “Oh, my baby, why are you hiding from the world?”

I still can’t believe she is here. Dadi lives in Bhopal. “Who brought you here?” I search behind her to see if anyone in my family is with her. Maybe Ma or one of my cousins, but I am disappointed to find she is alone. “Why are you here?”

The walking stick lands on my head. “What? Can’t I come to meet my goldy-sholdy?” Dadi shoves me aside and walks in. “Why do I need anyone to take me anywhere? I am fit-phaat.” She shimmies, pivoting on her walking stick. I match the grin on her face. My dadi is a force to reckon with. “Are you going to stand there like a pole and stare at me, or are we going to sit somewhere? These rickety bones need rest once in a while.”

I hurry to clear the couch. Karan and I are both slackers. Dadi stops me. She removes the clothes with her stick and throws them on the floor. Dadi plants herself on the couch and summons me to sit beside her. “Bring my bag here.”

When I am seated beside her, she pats my cheek with affection and opens her bag to take out a box. The whiff of gram flour roasted in ghee permeates the room. “BESAN LADOOS!” I scream, recognizing my favorite aroma. “Dadi, give me the box.” I grab the box and put one whole round sweet in my mouth. Three crunches, and the delicious ball disappears to my stomach. “Thank you, Dadi.” My long arms double up around her shoulders. Tears fill my eyes. Whenever Ma or Dadi made ladoos, I got first dibs at the sweet delights as their designated taster. My solemn responsibility around every festival.

Now those calls from the kitchen will never come. I have been banished from my family. Exiled and orphaned for being unworthy. For being gay. Pa and Ma may not want me, but I miss them. Dadi raises the edge of her saree pallu draped around her arm and wipes the tears. The same way she did in my childhood when I would come home with scraped knees. I hold her hand. “Dadi, hope this will not cause trouble between you and Papa?”

“Don’t talk about him. Your papa is a first-grade fool. Let us not waste our time on him when more juicy matters require attention.” Dadi rolls her eyes and rocks her body. Trouble alert, my eyebrows rise. Grandma is not a conventional old lady. The devilish gleam in her eyes is a sure sign she is up to mischief. “These old ears heard some talk about a boyfriend in London.” She winks.

I slam my palm to my head. There, the real reason for this visit. Dadi loves gossip, but she is beating her walking stick on the wrong man. Not a word is coming out of me. Nope, not even a whisper. If one syllable about Brendon leaves my mouth, this seventy-five-year-old bombshell will extract every tiny detail. And I have no intention of sharing the locker room frolic or the kissing fun.

I take the box of sweets, stuff my mouth with another ladoo, and pretend I did not hear her. Dadi taps my head. “No, you don’t. You are not eating any more sweets until you spill out the details about your romp in London.” She grabs the box from my hands.

“Dadi, what happens in London stays in London. Meeting Brendon was a blip.” I make another attempt to put the sweets away.

Dadi hooks her walking stick in my elbow and pulls me toward her. “Hmm, six-footya. If so, why are you roaming around in this muggy weather in an oversized blue jacket? Which crows are you trying to shoo off?”

Shit, I forgot the jacket. “Err, I was packing for my trip. Copenhagen is cold this time of the year.”

Oh, those eyebrows. “Listen, six-footya. You are telling me everything down to the food you had with him.” She slices right through my vain attempt to distract her.

Blabbering Babita. The bumbling botanist set me up for this ambush. Any resistance is futile in front of Granny. If she traveled from Bhopal to talk about Brendon, she will not leave until she gets her fill about him. Over the next thirty minutes, I narrate to her all the time I spent with Brendon, careful to stay clear of the intimate details. When I talk about the attack, Dadi rubs her fingers over my stitch mark. A tear rolls down my cheek when I talk about the finals.

“Grandmothers are god’s gift for a reason.” Dadi puts my head on her lap and caresses it. She moves her finger to my eyes and catches the tears.

“Tell me what else you did.”

I, too, can roll my eyes. God made my granny to interfere in her grandchildren’s lives. “I told you everything.”

“Hm, you left the juiciest part out. What happened after the kisses?”

“I am not telling you about those things.” I sit up and glare at her.

Dadi opens her phone and types something. I move closer. “What are you doing?”

She scoffs, “Well, my grandson won’t tell me, so I am searching on the phone to find out how boys have sex with each other.”

I cover my ears. “Hey Ram, Dadi. What a dirty mind. Talking about sex with your grandson.”

“What dirty-shirty. Let me remind you. I am Amrikka returned.”

Yeah, I know. But no point correcting Dadi. Five hundred years after Christopher Columbus, my grandmother visited America and re-christened the continent Amrikka. A weeks argument of U Say America but I say Amrikka later, Babita and I surrendered. The spelling caused less commotion than the drama around her trip. She shook the family two years ago when she showed up wearing a bright multicolored sleeveless top in bold floral prints with a deep neckline and an above-knee black skirt. Pa threw a fit at the sight. Layers of necklaces in matching colorful beads jangled as she walked out of the airport exit gates.

Dadi scoffs. “You are not smarter than me. I know gay before the thing in your pants learned to dance.”

Uh-oh, can I go and hide in the closet? She blocks my escape by hooking her walking stick in my collar. She pulls me close and whispers, “Two men were kissing at a bar in California. First, I did not understand, but I approached them and asked what they were doing in each other’s mouth.”

God help me. “Dadi, why did you go to a bar?” Does my family have a genetic mutation for running off to bars in foreign lands?

“Shh! Chup.” Dadi hushes me with her hand. “Not a word to anyone. What Dadi does in Amrikka stays in Amrikka,” she mocks, paraphrasing my words. After I wriggle out of her hands, she goes all pensive, tapping a finger on her chin. “The question did not come to my mind at the time; otherwise, I would have asked those men about making babies. Would the information be of some help to you?”

Please, someone, puncture my ears. Dadi ignores me, picks up her phone, and rambles on. “Suit yourself. I will not remain ignorant. If you don’t talk, my friend Mr. Google will tell me how men do hanky-panky things under the bedsheets.”

I stand and raise my hands. “Will you stop it? We are not talking about sex. Or babies. Or any body parts.”

She eyes me for a few seconds and shuts her phone. “Only if you tell me why Brendon has you all tied up.”

How do I deny the longing inside my heart? I tried to move on. Karan even introduced me to a gay colleague, but a certain rugby player lay cozy on a hammock inside my brain. “Dadi, things between Brendon and me ended in London. He is in Australia, and I am here, an ocean apart.”

“You can’t lie to me, Saaransh. I can see right through those moist eyes of yours. Now sit here and show me a picture of your boyfriend.” Dadi commands me to her side.

I shake my head. “He is not my boyfriend.”

“Okay, touchy boy. Show me a photo of your friend.”

This woman will not concede. I scroll to Brendon’s Twitter account and go to his profile pic. The side profile in Australian team colors stirs my heart. Brendon stands with a rugby ball in his hand, his full rugged muscular frame in display. His clothes and face are muddy. His hair are longer now and has golden highlights. Wait. He got his hair colored in golden shades. I rub my chest to reduce the ache. Brendon kept his promise.

“Not this one. Show me the ones with both of you.” Dadi smirks after seeing the photo.

“I don’t have any.”

“Liar. I know you since the day you were born naked.”

I swear, grandmothers and their tenth sense. With no other choice, I open my photo gallery and shove my phone in front of her. In the pic, Brendon has his arm around my shoulder. We are standing outside the apartment at the Olympic Village after the semi-final. One of the happiest days of my life. Dadi swoons, and for a moment, I panic. Is something happening to her? She puts her hand on her chest and rasps. Is she going to die?

Dadi winks. “I should have kept the contact of the age reduction clinic. He is so handsome. No wonder you are hiding him. How selfish of you.”

Drama queen. I snatch my phone before she gets any bright ideas to scroll through my phone. Heavens help me if she finds the secret folder with the ones from our steamy workout in the Wembley locker room; I will never hear the end of it. Hair mussed, lips thick and wet. Eyes blown. No way, they go with me to my grave.

“Relax, boy, I will not take him away from you. The two of you are super cute. But Saru, did he treat you well?”

“Yes, five magical days. But Dadi, I ruined everything. I am such a coward.” A tear forms in my eye. I smudge the drop with my finger. “I miss him.” My throat clogs with emotions. “Why loving a man is wrong? We are all humans. Why do people despise my relationship?”

Dadi gathers me in her arms. “Blissful ignorance. People forget their own culture. Culture without understanding is only a bunch of stories and rituals. Even with ample examples in our ancient texts, people will only see what suits them. Saaransh, society is never going to be kind to you. People will label you, ridicule you, and ostracize you. I am worried. How will you manage to face this world alone? “

She pauses and sighs. “Trust me. Your grandfather left this world thirty years ago. Living alone in this world is hard. When you find someone you wish to spend your life with, someone you love, hold on to them—no second guesses. Marrying a girl will only lead to misery for you and the girl. Lady luck never favors you twice in love. Saaransh, don’t choose this life of loneliness. A solitary life is scary.”

I stare at the discomfort in her eyes. Her fingers graze through my hair. “Saaransh, if Brendon is the one, and being with him brought happiness into your life, go and find him.”

“How? I hurt him. He has so many choices in Australia. Their society is much more open than ours. He does not need me.”

She pats my cheek. “You are a foolish boy. Everyone makes mistakes. You both made a mistake, but the bigger one is the one you are making now by running away from him. You cannot let society dictate your actions.”

“But Dadi, without acceptance, how will I live amongst people?”

“If your two souls are meant to be together, a path will appear. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are a brave and strong man.”

Are our souls meant to be? Can a few kisses and night outs create a soulmate? We are on two continents, an ocean apart.

“What is going around in your head?” Dadi taps my forehead.

“How do I know he is the one for me?”

“Recall the time you two spent together. What emotions do those moments evoke?”

I stare at the ceiling. “Happiness. Excitement. But most of all, warmth, and safety. Brendon set off butterflies.”

Dadi rakes her fingers through my hair, showering me with her wise eyes. She does not have to say it. I am smitten with Brendon.

“You are a twenty-four-year-old fool who let Brendon walk away.” Dadi pinches my ear in jest. “Deny this all you want.” She taps my chest. “But the shake of your head will not change the happiness on your face when you talk about him. If you two fancy each other, nothing else matters except what you feel here,” Dadi points her finger at my heart.

“Listen, Saaransh, nature does not place labels. Mother earth gives everyone the space they deserve. People cherish the roses and the lilies, conditioned by society’s edicts and expectations. But the wildflowers are as enticing. The world doesn’t recognize their worth.” She leans forward, ruffles my hair, and whispers in my ears, “Don’t let the world crush my wildflower. If Brendon is your Sun, create a path to him.”

I hug her. She fondles my hair. “You don’t worry about your ma and papa. Focus on your badminton and win laurels for the country.”

“Oh, Dadi, how will I ever repay you?”

“You can.” Dadi winks. “You were telling me something about the body parts.”

“Uff, Dadi. I am your grandson. Stop batting those eyelashes.”