Getting off the bus at the mandir, he saw the group of people outside in the courtyard, all wearing matching T-shirts. He’d have to wear one too. On cue, the ever-annoying Harish strode over to him at the bus stop, a neatly folded T-shirt in his hands.
‘Kemcho, Mukeshbhai,’ Harish said. ‘Please, this is for you. Are you ready for the walk?’
Mukesh nodded meaning ‘absolutely not’。 In the temple forecourt, he was surrounded by many of the people he usually tried to avoid. Not because he didn’t like them. Most of them were perfectly nice people, though a handful of them had rather odd, harsh views about politics, immigration, the National Health Service, who was deserving of certain privileges and who was not, which he always felt rather hypocritical and un-Hindu of them, but these were the ones who delighted in sharing their thoughts with anyone who would listen （he thought of the people of Maycomb） – while others seemed happy to simply boast about their children, or even their friends’ children … Mukesh felt strongly that unless they were blood relatives in some way, there was absolutely no boasting potential.
‘Mukesh!’ Chirag called over to him. Chirag was another youngster who didn’t address his elders formally and politely. Respect for your elders seemed to have vanished, for him anyway.
‘Hello, Chirag,’ Mukesh replied. ‘How are you? How is your papa?’
‘Papa is fine, he’s not coming today any longer. He has a bit of a cold.’
Mukesh cursed under his breath – why had he not thought of something like that? Anything to get out of this walk.
‘That is a shame. Would have been nice to see him. It has been a while. A good long while.’
‘You don’t come to the mandir much any more?’
He tried to respond with, ‘Yes,’ but what came out instead was, ‘Yes, I come on special occasions with my daughters, but I pray at home a lot as well. I do not need to be at mandir to pray and be faithful to God.’
Chirag’s eyes widened. ‘Mukeshfua, no,’ he said. ‘Please, I didn’t mean that at all.’
Mukesh saw the horror in the boy’s eyes. ‘I should come more,’ he babbled hurriedly, trying to ease the awkwardness. Mukesh clutched the book for dear life, hoping it might help him channel Naina. ‘Enjoy the walk.’ He waved at Chirag and walked away towards the entrance of the mandir, wondering what uncomfortable conversation he would find there. Naina would have known what to do, what to say, in any and every moment. Everyone loved her – the women at the mandir, the men, all the volunteers. She had been the community-minded one, and she had done this walk every single year. Now, being here, surrounded by people … he could feel her, couldn’t he? He could feel her spirit.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ a small boy in an oversized reflective vest said, as Mukesh tried to enter the mandir. ‘The queue for the walk is back there.’ He pointed back towards the crowd of people he had just tried to escape from.
‘I want to go into the mandir.’
‘Are you not here for the walk?’
Mukesh really wanted to say no. Right on cue, again, Harish appeared, out of nowhere.
‘Get in line, my friend,’ he said to Mukesh. ‘You will walk with me, no?’
Mukesh nodded and followed Harish, looking back at the boy, pleading. The boy shrugged.
They reached a woman with a clipboard. ‘This is my friend Mukeshbhai – he is going to be Sahilbhai today.’ She ticked Sahil’s name off the list without a second thought. Here we go, Mukesh thought to himself, taking a deep breath.
As everyone got ready, and once the sadhus had performed the ceremonial prayers and rituals, the ribbon was cut and the walk officially began. Harish’s best friend Vivek was at the front, holding up a red umbrella to lead the way.
Mukesh squeezed his book, for good luck, and Naina’s voice came to him. His talisman was working! Well done, you did this. You’re actually here! She was laughing. He felt his body flood with energy, and that optimistic spirit Naina always had too. She’d be happy he was out ‘meeting’ people – he hadn’t done this kind of thing for years. Maybe the library had been the first step out of his comfort zone. For a little moment, he held himself taller, prouder. He even felt a little invincible.
That was, until he tried to make conversation with Harish – always a thankless task, even for the invincible. Mukesh desperately hoped if he pelted him with questions, Harish would eventually get bored and walk faster to get away. ‘Harishbhai, how is your eldest grandchild doing applying for university?’