Mirror Made of Rain by Naheed Phiroze Patel

Author:Naheed Phiroze Patel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Unnamed Press

Bade Papa and Badi Mummy retired to their room for a siesta. Veer’s father, followed by his gaggle of attendants, said his goodbyes, got into the white car with the red light, and drove off to his office somewhere in the labyrinth of Lutyens’ Delhi. Asha made Jeh take her shopping. Not in any hurry to head back to Kitty’s, I asked Veer if he’d like to show me around the family market. The sun was low in the dusty sky. We held hands, walking down a road that curved through the neighborhood. Tramping on brittle yellow leaves and sticks, we passed under the curious stares of drivers and chowkidars, who’d escaped their houses in the afternoon lull to chew tobacco and play cards.

The market looked best in the evening: gleaming cars in the parking lot, and well-dressed South Delhiites going in and out of the restaurants and shops. College students in colorful kurtas and silver jewelry hanging around outside dive bars, smoking and arguing politics. The evening shadows were forgiving; not so the afternoon sun. Daylight exposed cracked and unpainted sidewalks, electrical wires that looped and sagged crisscross over trees, cigarette butts and shopping bags that collected in corners and clogged the gutters.

A gang of street dogs rummaged through garbage to find food. They whined and barked at the gooter-gooing pigeons across a smalldusty lawn, scratching their dirty fur with their hind paws, mouths stretched in silly grins. Tiny fat puppies followed a mother with huge, heavy teats.

We stepped into a cookie-scented bakery and found a table. Veer ordered us coffee.

I looked out the window, feeling more than a little depressed. “It’s a funny thing about dogs.”

“What is?” Veer said. He turned the pages of a thin plastic menu.

“They’re hierarchical animals. The pack can’t function without an alpha.”

“Acha?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “They need to know who they can boss over and who bosses over them.”

“Interesting.”

“Some people are like that too, don’t you think?” I looked over at him.

“So, what’s up?” Veer said, raising his eyebrows with a little smile.

“You don’t look happy.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Why are you so sad?” Veer frowned. “I thought everything went off really well.”

“I’m not,” I said, looking into my coffee. “I’m just… it’s just… all of this has been too much.”

“What has?”

“All of it,” I said, waving my hands in front of my face. “Delhi, your aunt, your parents. I don’t know. I don’t think I could ever fit in with them… with the Malhotras.” I drummed the scarred wood table with my fingernails. “They are so… different. Now this fast thing. And you’re, like, suddenly okay with me fasting all day for your long life?”

“You know I don’t believe in all that stuff,” Veer said. “But if it makes my mom happy…” He showed me his hands. “I mean, it’s harmless, isn’t it? It’s a way for women to bond with each other.”

“Why can’t we bond like normal people—over shared traumas and suchlike?”

“Potato,” Veer said, fixing me in place with a stare, “if you do this it’ll make my mother very happy.

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