The Centre(78)

“Hi,” I said. “I wasn’t sure you were going to come.”

“Sorry I’m so late.”

“It’s okay. Nice to see you’re still alive.”

“I’m really sorry I went so quiet, Anisa. I just didn’t know what to say.”

“It’s fine. Me neither,” I said. “Are you hungry?”

“Always.”

We made our way to the buffet and then to the table where my friends from uni were sitting. I had become vegetarian by then, and so my plate was filled with daal, palak paneer, and cholay, but Shiba’s karahi looked so good that I had to dip my sheermal in, just to try the shorba.

“So, what brings you to London?” I asked eventually.

“To tell the truth, I came to attend a memorial service.”

“Oh no. Who for?”

“Well. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. David, Anisa. He passed away three days ago.”

“Oh my god, David David? How?”

“A Jet Ski accident, apparently. He had family in London, so they gathered here to pay their respects. Papa came, too, and Eric and George.”

My stomach churned when I heard that Arjun was in London. I had compartmentalized my experience in such an extreme manner that I hadn’t considered him being able to leave Delhi. I imagined him bursting through the doors of the shaadi hall, furiously wagging incriminating photos and private messages extracted from my iCloud. The idea of sharing my story according to Naima’s plan suddenly felt fraught, more loaded with danger.

At the same time, David’s passing incited sympathy in me. David, with his shaved head and thick biceps, who held himself, always, very upright. David, who put tahini on everything and always skipped dessert, who roamed around Delhi wearing Fabindia kurtis and had named his son Ravi. David, who, like the rest of the foursome, spent a whole lot of time contemplating legacy.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said and recited the prayer in my head, Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un.

“Me too,” she said. “I … well, that’s kind of why I came to see you, actually. When you first came to India, I was so excited to let you in. And then, everything just … listen, I’m sorry—”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” I interrupted.

I was only just starting to extricate myself from this drama and wasn’t going to be sucked back in. I tried to change the subject and lighten the mood, introducing Shiba to my uni friends, but she had an uncanny way of holding herself at a distance, as if she were in an ecosystem apart. In response, she received a kind of deference, and even admiration, but also cut off the possibility of any real connection. Eventually, the party started winding down. The music was lowered and then switched off, and some of Naima’s cousins began to clear up the hall, stacking chairs and collapsing tables. Guests trickled out.

“Are you going home now?” Shiba asked.

“Well, actually, a few of us are going to Naima’s parents’ house. You’re welcome to come.”

“I’m okay,” Shiba said. “But before you go, can we talk privately?”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

We made our way to the garden at the back of the shaadi hall where some of Naima’s hippy friends had a fire going. People were gathered around it, laughing and chatting, many holding steaming cups of chai. One of Naima’s cousins, waving around the now-empty hip flask, kept initiating games of antakshari, and though people would offer input from time to time, it was basically just him playing against himself. Then a boy started singing Leonard Cohen into the fire, as if serenading it. The young woman next to him adjusted her hair and discreetly moved closer. Shiba and I stood some feet away from the scene, taking it all in.

“So, you’re still at the Centre, then?” I asked.

“I am.”

The flames crackled, releasing waves of black smoke into the air. My thoughts returned to David.

“It’s so unpredictable, isn’t it? How life can suddenly take you?” I reflected. “He was still so young.”

“We’re receiving him tomorrow,” Shiba said.

“Receiving?” I asked. She gave me a meaningful look. “Oh.”

I remembered. Of course. He was a Storyteller. This had been the intention all along.

“I wanted to invite you to join us,” she said.

“Join you?”

“At the Centre. To receive him,” she answered. The fire spat and fizzed. “That man contains a treasure trove.”

“Yuck, Shiba. No.”

“Just hear me out. The first step in changing anything is to truly understand it. We have to consume it if we want to transform it. This is what I’ve been trying to explain to you. It’s the only way to really take charge.”

I laughed sarcastically. “Take charge? You know it’s all an illusion, don’t you? They’ve got you thinking you’re running the place, but they’re pulling all the strings.”

“It’s not like that.”

“The day you invited me up to your flat, the night we watched Undone and I read that email on your laptop, I opened the locked door downstairs on my way out, the one with the keypad.”

“What? How? You need a code.”