Can You See Me Now? Page 3

  Six months into my first term, Javed Uncle told me I was being vetted for a post as a junior minister. My relationship with Javed Qureshi, and the resultant vote base, gave me an edge within the party. As the leader of the Indian Muslim Congress, Javed Uncle controlled the majority of the Muslim votes and the alliance between our parties meant that I was the only Hindu MP with a 50 per cent Muslim electorate. It’s a statistic that has served me well through both my terms as an MP. After three years as a junior minister, I was given a position on the cabinet. Javed Uncle had told me that after another term as WCD minister, I would be in line for the most influential portfolio on the cabinet – Home Minister.

  It hits me again just how much I had relied on Javed Uncle’s counsel – and influence – and I steel myself as a fresh wave of emotion threatens to overtake me.

  I spot Faraz emerging from the house and make my way over to him.

  ‘You okay?’ I ask, touching his elbow lightly as he extricates himself from a group of karyakartas.

  He nods, but doesn’t say anything.

  ‘If there’s anything you need, anything at all—’

  ‘I know,’ he says. His gaze wanders over to the party workers huddled together across the lawn. ‘Can you believe they’re already talking about electing a new party president? It’s been less than twenty-four hours,’ he continues, his voice thick with outrage. ‘Vultures.’

  I let out a small sigh. I had hoped the rumours hadn’t reached him yet.

  ‘You’ll need to act quickly,’ I say, hating myself for even uttering the words. But I’ve seen enough parties split and alliances collapse with the death of the leader. ‘Is Aziz advising you?’ I ask, nodding towards Javed Uncle’s chief of staff.

  ‘He’s putting in my bid this afternoon,’ Faraz sighs. ‘I hate to ask, but your support would go a long way—’

  It’s my turn to cut him off. ‘And you have it. Like I said, anything you need.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he says.

  I step back as a reporter approaches Faraz, her scathing questions wrapped up in layers of sympathy.

  I swallow past the tightening in my throat and walk out of the marquee towards the forest we had so carelessly run into as girls. In my memory, it had become an extension of the garden itself, something small and easily contained. Now I see it for what it really is, a sparkling menace of foliage as alluring as it is forbidding, hiding inside it a darkness so profound not even the sharp afternoon sun manages to pierce through it.

  I shiver. I wrap my pallu around myself as I walk right up to the edge of the lawn, a barbed-wire fence the only thing standing between this stately estate and the wild unkempt forest surrounding it.

  ALIA

  Fifteen years ago

  It didn’t take long for me to secure my spot on Noor and Sabah’s lunch table. It had become obvious that first day that my two ins were London and Dhruv and I played both cards with the precision of a regular at the Empire’s poker table.

  I was already at the bus stop when Dhruv sauntered over.

  ‘So, one week in,’ he said, eyebrow raised, lips lifted in a half-smile. ‘Do we meet your standards?’

  ‘Jury’s still out,’ I said, trying not to stare at him as the early morning sun bounced off his face. ‘Though the bus is always late, the cafeteria snack selection is, frankly, disgusting and this has to be the most boring first week of term ever. So I guess not.’

  Dhruv laughed. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, in a move straight out of the Leonardo Di Caprio playbook. ‘Correct on all counts except one.’

  ‘Really?’ I said as the bus pulled up in front of us. Dhruv stepped back to let me go first and then climbed in himself, the metal floor shaking as we scrambled up the steps and down the narrow aisle. I turned to look at him over my shoulder. ‘Which one?’

  I slid into a window seat, trying desperately to slow my heart down and keep the heat from rising to my face. Dhruv leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper.

  ‘It’s only boring if you don’t know who to hang out with. Party at mine tomorrow night. You’re coming. Bring your friends if you want.’

  ‘I’ll see if I can make it,’ I replied, straight-faced.

  I waited for him to walk past me to his usual seat at the back of the bus. It was only when I heard the thump of his backpack against the hard vinyl-covered seats, and the roar of laughter that meant he was busy with his friends, that I allowed myself a smile.

  An invite to the hottest senior’s house.

  The hottest, newly single senior.

  I was so in.

  When I think about it now, I know it couldn’t have been that simple. I couldn’t possibly have reinvented myself into someone completely different overnight, but that is how I remember it. I had spent so long trying to fit in, to be liked and popular, that when I saw the glimmer of opportunity, I knew I had to take it. I learned how to make my lies roll off my tongue so naturally that they began to sound real even to me. I spent ages observing the other girls, the way they spoke, the way they dressed, the things they laughed at and the things they cared about. I had always liked music, but it took on a new meaning as we whispered secrets to each other in lyrics from the Spice Girls and Dido. More than anything else, I learned to loosen up. I had fun. They were fun. We did all the usual things teenage girls do – we talked about boys, we painted our nails, we giggled endlessly – but with Noor and Sabah, even the most mundane conversation took on the allure of something epic and life-changing.

  But here’s the thing: just acting like I belonged wasn’t enough; I also had to look like I belonged.

  Less than two weeks after I started school, I begged my grandma to take me shopping. I knew if I asked for the money outright, she’d say no, or worse, tell my mother, but if I could prove to her that I needed all these new things, if she could see for herself how much nicer the quality was, how much longer everything would last, I knew I could convince her.

  Our first stop was Rio Grande. Here’s something I learned early on: always start with the academic essentials. No adult can say no to a new notebook. Or five.

  The ploy worked. I ended up with a bunch of the rainbow-coloured vest tops that were all the rage then, a pair of Levi’s hipsters, a new dove-grey JanSport backpack to replace my tatty Sports Direct one, two new pairs of trainers, both Nike of course, black with a white swoosh for classes and white with a neon-pink swoosh for track club, and a dozen sparkly bracelets. I tried to pull Nani into Silofer to round off the kind of shopping spree that would make my mum livid with anger – I’d been hankering after a pair of sterling silver hoops that I’d seen all the girls wearing, but there my luck ran out.

  ‘Maybe for your birthday,’ Nani said, as I dug into my triple hot chocolate fudge sundae at Nirula’s later. With extra fudge. ‘How are you finding the new school?’ she asked, her face, as usual, full of concern. A look that I had never witnessed on my mother’s face.

  ‘It’s very different,’ I shrugged. I thought about broaching the subject of the newly announced Oxbridge trip but after the amount of money she’d just spent on me, I decided I’d be better off waiting for another time. ‘I have the track club try-outs soon.’

  ‘Have you made friends?’

  ‘A few. I was going to ask you if I could go to my friend Sabah’s house after school tomorrow. I’m helping her organize a cleanliness—’

  ‘Alia?’

  The screech stopped me mid-sentence. I turned around in my chair.

  It was Saloni, one of the girls from Noor and Sabah’s group. From my group.

  ‘Oh my God, how funny seeing you here,’ she said, twirling one finger through her long, Pantene-commercial hair.

  ‘I know,’ I smiled. ‘I’ve been shopping with my Nani.’ I nodded to my grandma sitting across from me.

  ‘Hi, Aunty,’ she beamed, the coveted Silofer hoops sparkling on her ears as she moved. ‘Wow.’ She leaned over to look at my half-eaten sundae. ‘I haven’t had that since I was, like, tw
elve. My body just can’t handle the calories, you know?’ She rolled her eyes and patted the space where her stomach should have been.

  I walked right into it.

  ‘Don’t be silly, you look great,’ I said, taking in her waifish frame, even more pronounced in the cropped T-shirt and the Levi’s 501s she had on, slung so low on her hips that I could see her hipbones protrude.

  ‘Aw, thanks, Alia. You look . . . fine,’ she said. ‘Anyway, Mum’s waiting at the salon. So . . . I’ll see you at school?’ she said before gliding out the door, laden with shopping bags and the one thing no one ever went to Nirula’s for: a fruit cup.

  ‘Is that what the girls at school are like?’ Nani asked.

  I shrugged, licking off the last bit of fudge from my spoon before pushing my half-eaten sundae away.

  ‘Come on,’ Nani said, ‘let’s get you those hoops. Your mother doesn’t need to know everything.’

  ALIA

  I check my watch as I rush into the house, the front door unlocked as usual. There’s little need for locks and bolts when you have fifteen armed guards scattered all over the grounds.

  ‘We’re going to be late,’ Arjun says as I step into the living room and kick off my shoes. Between his trips to New York and my pre-campaign schedule, I’ve hardly seen him the past few weeks. I let my eyes linger over my husband’s handsome, if tired face, taking in the slight stubble pricking his chin and the adorably mussed hair. I bend down to give him a quick kiss.

  ‘It’s only around the corner.’ I perch on the arm of the sofa and wiggle my toes. Arjun’s never understood that for me, even after so many years, being late is a move. It’s a reminder: look how busy I am, but I made time for you.

  ‘How’s Faraz?’

  ‘Good,’ I say. ‘The ceremony was odd, though. I was the only one there from the INP.’

  ‘Are you worried about the alliance?’ Arjun asks and I almost tell him the truth. I am terrified.

  Less than a month after Javed Uncle’s death, Faraz’s swearing-in ceremony this morning had been a surprisingly cheerful affair. I was bewildered to see that while most of the senior leaders of the Muslim Congress were present, I was the only member of the INP in attendance. Javed Uncle had spent thirty years nurturing the alliance between the Muslim Congress and the INP. I found it disconcerting that Faraz hadn’t used the opportunity to reassure the INP that the alliance between our parties was secure despite the change in leadership. When I mentioned it afterwards, Faraz assured me that it wasn’t an oversight – he was planning to hold a separate, more intimate reception for the key members of the alliance in a few days. Yet something about his speech and the fervour with which he had promised to lead the party into a new ‘era of inclusiveness’ left me feeling rattled. With two months to go, even a small change in direction can cost me the election.

  It can cost me everything.

  I push the thoughts away. I am being paranoid. The alliance benefits Faraz as much as it does me, and he would never do anything to endanger it.

  I run up the stairs to the private wing. I’ve lived in this house for nearly seven years now, but it still doesn’t feel like home. Though, maybe it is a bit unfair to expect an eight-bedroom government-owned mansion to feel like home. Aside from the cavalry of staff – a cook, a maid, a cleaner and three drivers just for the residence – there is a sense of impermanence here. Too many others have been here before me and the walls hum with their secrets. One wrong move and I’ll be the next one being ousted from here. I know Arjun feels it too, that niggle of uncertainty, but ultimately, this house represents little more than a place to sleep for him.

  I try to focus my thoughts on the evening ahead as I step into the bedroom and close the door. I unpin my sari and peel it away, before stepping out of my petticoat and unhooking my blouse. With each layer that I strip away, I feel a little bit younger, more feminine, more me. I shake my hair out of its ponytail and twist it into a messy bun at the nape of my neck, letting a few loose strands frame my face. I slip into a red silk blouse and cropped trousers and dab on some perfume. The look I’m going for is off duty but powerful.

  I find Arjun waiting in the hall when I go back downstairs. ‘What have you done with my wife?’ he says, wrapping his arms around my waist. ‘You okay?’ he whispers into my ear. My husband has always been attentive, but ever since the funeral last month, there seems to be a permanent trace of worry in his eyes.

  ‘I’m fine, sweetheart,’ I say, leaning back into him. I allow myself a moment before straightening up and forcing my feet into a pair of black Louboutins.

  I take a deep breath and check my reflection in the hall mirror. Gone is the asexual politician touring her constituency; instead, I have transformed into a regular thirty-one-year-old who could almost be sexy.

  Viewed from the right angle.

  ALIA

  Fifteen years ago

  The transformation complete, in a few short weeks I became a permanent fixture by Noor and Sabah’s side. I’d earned my spot on the lunch table and a week after the Nirula’s incident, I had swapped seats in class so I was sitting right behind Noor instead of next to Tanvi, who I had learned by now was ‘a bit slow’.

  It happened quite casually.

  I was standing with Noor and Sabah next to their desks when the homeroom bell rang, cutting Noor off mid-story.

  I picked up my backpack from the floor and slung it onto one shoulder, ready to go back to my seat on the other side of the room when Noor touched my arm. She smiled at Saloni. ‘You don’t mind swapping seats with Alia, do you?’

  ‘Oh, but I—’ Saloni stuttered.

  ‘I really need to talk to her. Thanks!’ Noor continued.

  I saw a smirk pass over Sabah’s face as Saloni looked from Noor to Sabah, puzzled at this sudden dismissal, until finally her eyes came to rest on me.

  I shrugged, an innocent smile playing on my lips.

  Saloni may be skinny but I was wanted.

  She muttered something under her breath, but then picked up her backpack and shuffled along, sullen faced, to the other end of the classroom. No one liked stepping out of Noor’s orbit, but I knew by then that whatever Noor wanted, she got.

  And as it turned out, when I was with her, so did I.

  For a committee that prestigious, I was surprised to learn that the Student Council at Wescott wasn’t elected. Any student in year eleven could apply at the beginning of the school year in April and as long they had at least two faculty endorsements and good grades they would earn a spot on the long list. Each applicant then had six weeks to submit a three-thousand-word essay outlining their plans for the school. You would think that was it, but the fight only got bloodier as term progressed. The school board then pored over the entries, and drew up a shortlist of students who would be interviewed by the board for the positions of Head Girl, Head Boy and half a dozen prefects. The whole saga took about nine months start to finish and ended in an elaborate investiture ceremony when the school reopened in January after the winter break, the next year’s Student Council in situ, ready to step up after the year twelve students had graduated.

  Both Noor and Sabah had put in their names, and while Noor was going for prefect, which everyone knew was the fun job, Sabah, of course, had her eye on Head Girl.

  So a month into the school term, Saloni, Addi and I had been roped in to help with the multi-point plan that Sabah assured us would result in her landing the position come January. Rumour had it that there had been over forty applications already, and with just two weeks left before the summer holidays, Sabah was getting antsier by the day.

  While the other students were focusing on their essays, Sabah decided to up the ante. Not only was she going to give the school board an outline of what she was planning to do once she was appointed, she was also going to show them how committed she was to the school. Which was where we came in. From a community outreach programme to a cleanliness campaign, we filled our afternoons painting posters, handing out flyers
and organizing assemblies while Sabah dreamed up scheme after scheme.

  That afternoon Saloni, Addi, Sabah and I were working on posters for a blood donation drive when Noor walked in, late as usual.

  She took one look at us, paintbrushes in hand, and flopped down on Sabah’s bed. ‘Seriously? You’re a shoo-in for Head Girl. You can stop with the crazy now.’

  Sabah didn’t look up. She was painting an intricate border along the edge of the poster. ‘I’m not taking any chances. Not all of us have Noor Qureshi’s luck. Anyway, a blood drive for little boys and girls is hardly crazy,’ she said.

  ‘You know what I mean. It’s Friday afternoon.’ Noor sat up. ‘Let’s go see a film, have some fun.’

  ‘We don’t need to put these up until next week,’ I ventured, not quite bold enough to put my brush down yet.

  ‘The new Leo film is out,’ Addi commented and I smiled. I liked Addi. Her family had moved to India from Bristol and, unsurprisingly, it made us instant allies.

  ‘Fine,’ Sabah said after a minute, the word stretched out into a long sigh. She twirled her brush in the pot of red paint next to her.