“Cockroach..ugh..there
on the croissant, please, do something,” thequeue at the Café Coffee Day
counter of the Italian language school tittered. Had it been a girl protesting the
lack of hygiene, they would have heard her out in a tolerant, even righteous
silence, telling themselves that a man may not even have noticed the creepy
crawly. But it was Chinshu sounding the alarm, Chinshu with his swaying walk
and a glittering hearts studded pink wallet.
Vanya moved
up closer to him at the cash counter, “Hey help me decide, which of these two
sandwiches is lower on carbohydrates?” Vanya’s incredulous expression was
completely lost on Chinshu . He went
right ahead, calculated the calories, instructed the attendant on grilling his
food just right and took his time picking brown sugar packets and mustard sauce
sachets.
The two
hurried to grab a table. Class would begin in ten minutes and the professors
were very punctual. “You had your eyebrows plucked?” Vanya’s tone was accusing
as she ran her fingers guiltily up her hairy leg under the table. “Have you
tried the new Jasmine hand cream in the market? I love the smell. And they have
this beautiful birthmark camouflage procedure at this parlour,” Chinshu informed
her, focusing on eating neatly while plucking at the strawberry patch near his
right temple.
“Hurry up
Chinshu, elevator, quick, it is going up!” Vanya led the way up to their floor
and they entered the classroom. The din halted mid-sentence at their
appearance. Their batch mates suddenly became overly busy to hide their
mortification at being caught discussing Chinshu’s metrosexual persona. Vanya
glared at a woman friend who was clearly mocking him with her censorious
expressions. “Gay,” someone emitted the word forcefully.
They ignored
everyone and dived into their session, under the watchful eye of a native
instructor who was quite clearly a man in regular touch with his feminine side
too. He often spoke of the well-loved Italian clothing and accessories brands
to the students, all the time shifting weight in his fabulous floral loafers.
Class over,
Vanya and Chinshu struck their usual trail to the NGO named “Mardani”. It was a
common interest in activism and gender studies that had brought them together. They
were two young people with quivering antennae, picking anomalies, dissonance
and restlessness in the space that had created them. Vanya was an avowed
feminist who sought masculinity in men despite a hypothetical empathy with a
man’s right to his femininity. And Chinshu often traced his own leanings to his
upbringing. A first generation college graduate in his family at Demul , Spiti
valley, Chinshu dreamt of setting up his own restaurant in Italy. He was also
making up for lost time with his eager adoption of the most current lifestyle
trends.
“I am very
confused Vanya. My girlfriend is angry with me a lot these days. I get upset if
she does not reply to my text immediately. I also feel she does not say “I love
you” as often as she should. She says I sulk a lot. What do you guys want
woman? A man’s man or a woman’s man or some calibrated combination? Don’t you
see that what men have today is merely a phantom status?”
Vanya was
dismissive, “Shut up. You Indian men are brought up to just be sons. I’ll see
you tomorrow.”
There was a
village woman creating a ruckus near the car parking. She looked out of place
in her traditional mountain tochay. Vanya
would have driven past her had it not been for her distraught face and frantic
waving about of her arms. Also, she kept pointing up at the NGO building. Vanya
pulled over.
“Please help
me. I can’t find my child. It has been two years and no news. We checked at the
Italian Language School. No one seems to know. My husband and son have filed an
FIR. The police say that the few calls we have received have been from this
area.”
“How old is
your child? Tell me the name and description? I know most people in this
building.”
“Her name is
Charini. She is tall. There is a red birthmark on her right forehead. I told
her how dangerous a place Delhi can be. She promised to be careful!”
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