The train pulled up; a handful of people stepped up and off onto the platform. Mukesh held on to the rubber on the edge of the door as he took a big step onto the train. Priya hopped on easily, and offered her hand to her dada. He declined. He could do this by himself. Priya ran ahead to save them seats, and all of a sudden Mukesh could feel himself weakening with the distance. Until a woman came close behind him and said, ‘I gotcha,’ taking a firm hold of his arm.
He was a little wobbly as he set both feet on the floor of the train carriage, no longer light enough to float away, but found his seat next to Priya, who was already reading her book. He realized his opportunity. He had Life of Pi with him, he could read alongside his granddaughter. Suddenly his heart rate started pulsing. Priya hadn’t seen him reading, and he’d never read on a train before – he didn’t want to make himself queasy. He decided against it. The tiger and the boat could wait. Instead, he watched Wembley go by.
Sixteen stops.
A family of four got on. Two little girls, a mum and a dad. They got off again at Maida Vale. He hadn’t been to Maida Vale for years.
Then another man hobbled onto the train, in the same style as Mukesh. He tried to avoid eye contact, but couldn’t help looking out of the corner of his eye, wondering what was going to happen next. Mukesh knew how he felt, unsure if the floor beneath you could hold you, whether it would stay firm or quickly turn to jelly. These days it was always jelly. The man grabbed hold of the maroon bars, his knuckles a purplish-white with effort, and he lowered himself onto a seat.
The man looked Mukesh dead on and he couldn’t hide any more, so he smiled. The man simply nodded back. Priya was oblivious to it all, her face pulled in the same look of concentration that defined Naina’s reading state. She was somewhere else.
‘Where are we going, Dada?’ Priya asked, holding Mukesh’s hand tightly as they pushed their way through the streets of Charing Cross. Mukesh wished his palm wasn’t so clammy.
The signs were brighter in central London, the traffic louder, faster, than he had remembered. He couldn’t see more than a few paces in front of him because of all the people blocking his way.
‘Well, I think you’ll like it. Your ba took me to this place once, to pick up presents for your mum and your masis one day, when they were very young. I thought it might be nice to get you a present too.’
Since Naina had died, Mukesh had failed to buy Priya presents she actually liked. Last year, he’d bought her a pink, fluffy, sequined purse. She’d passed it straight to her little cousin Jaya, who had used it as a musical instrument for a few hours before leaving it in a corner of Mukesh’s house for him to find weeks later, covered in dust, with a dead ant lying on top of it.
‘Mum says she never got presents,’ Priya frowned.
‘She did!’ Mukesh tried to hide his shock. ‘On special occasions,’ he qualified. ‘Usually a new dress that your ba made. And I remember coming here around Christmas, you see, all those years ago. We said we’d do Christmas, but we agreed we’d still do Diwali. Double presents, and a Christmas tree and Christmas cards, barfi and gulab jamun. We did it all. Your mum wanted to be like her school friends, who got gifts all wrapped up in glitzy paper.’
Naina had bought books for Rohini, Vritti and Deepali. He could tell the girls hadn’t been impressed. He remembered, clearly, Rohini saying, ‘Mummy, I thought I was getting a new dress this year?’ While Deepali and Vritti worked hard to feign gratitude as they opened them, their smiles plastered on their faces, two unconvincing toothy grins.
The two of them stopped as they entered the bookshop, their eyes caught by the books in the windows – a whole scene was captured on the glass itself, a sea and an orange-pink sunset showcasing books, all different sizes and colours. The waves, the deep blue of the sea, reminded Mukesh of Pi, his ocean, his lifeboat and his tiger.
‘Wow!’ Priya gasped, quietly. She quickly shook off her awe, trying to play it cool. Mukesh felt the same. He’d seen books now, but the library was sparse compared to this. Shelves and shelves. Floors and floors. Tables and tables. Piles and piles of books. It was as though they were floating all around him, lifted up by some kind of magic, offering up new worlds, new experiences. It was beautiful.
‘Follow me,’ he said to Priya, leading her towards the tills.
As he reached the desk, he paused, bracing himself, that first day in the library flashing in his memory. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to a woman behind the desk, wanting to look bold in front of his granddaughter, who was peering excitedly over the counter.