The Indian girl’s story continues (Part 10)…
I wrote this story about the Indian girl who’s going to get married against her wishes. And it was really well-received. So I am continuing on the story. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Part 9 is here.
The walk wasn’t that long, and before I knew it, we were at the party. It was in one of those new developments, where the buildings were tall, and the rooms were nice and cozy. It was meant to be posh, but it ended up being just the same as everything else around. They lived on the 33rd floor though and the view was awe-inspiring. I had never seen Chandipur in such a light before. It might be a small town, but I could see the city’s hustle and bustle below. It was quite gratifying.
I mingled a bit, trying to look and feel like this was normal. No one, not even my friends, ever invited me to their homes. They knew the question would always come down to caste, and their parents would know they knowingly bought an untouchable home. I didn’t want them to feel gratified or obligated to bring me, so I avoided all conversations related to parties, or get togethers at homes. I was allowed to go to restaurants, because most restaurant owners seemed to only care about paying customers. If you can pay to be there, then it doesn’t matter what caste you are.
I grabbed a drink off the table, and Malin took it from my hands and put it down.
“That’s alcoholic. And you know how you get on alcohol. Not pretty.” He said, smiling at me.
“Haha, that’s very funny.” But I agreed with him.
The little girl looked like she was waking up, and as soon as she saw all the kids around, jumping, and playing, she wanted to be a part of it. She squealed as she hit the ground with happiness, as a girl with a Barbie doll ran past her. She ran after her, and the girls started sharing the numerous Barbie dolls in between them.
“It doesn’t take a lot for a kid to be satisfied. Does it? It’s only us adults who need so much.”
Malin grabbed my hand, and said, “The lady who drives the white Maruti is over there.” He pointed at a lady with more gold jewellery on her body than any sane person on this planet should own or wear. She had gold dripping from her ears, arms, neck, and even ankles. The key ring that was attached to her sari’s band was presumably also made of gold. She was rich. Then, why was she living in this apartment?
I don’t know. Perhaps she married a poor man. Or she married below her caste. Or, it’s all fake gold. All that glitters isn’t gold, I reminded myself. It could be all for show.
“Did you want to go talk to her right now?” Malin asked me.
“Now that we are here, I actually don’t know what to say to her. You killed a boy with your car, when you were rushing over here for your fat son’s birthday.”
“Umm, maybe omit the fat son part, but yeah, that’s about the gist of it.”
“I… Maybe we should just go to the police directly. I mean, they would know better what to do. Right? I mean, we are just bystanders here. That too with someone else’s child. I don’t know.”
I didn’t want to get into trouble now. Especially with Malin here. I had gotten him into trouble before, and I knew that was one of the main reasons his parents disliked me. They thought I was a bad influence on him. Which I suppose is kind of true. But it’s only because I always need a respectable looking man like Malin who makes friends easily around me when I am going about doing all of this crazy stuff. It adds some cache to my presence, which by itself is absolute crap.
The lady was still standing there, boasting about her son. He was an A student and an athlete. Although by the looks of him, he couldn’t possibly play any sports. He was munching on some chocolate cake right now, fending off other kids who wanted some, and punching some others who were brave enough to fight him for it.
“Don’t eat all of that cake by yourself, little man.” Malin said to him, and gave a little piece to the little girl who had been eyeing the cake for a few minutes, but was afraid to fight a boy who was 3 times her size if not more. The little girl looked gratefully at Malin, and I knew she was going to worship him for the rest of her life. Join the club, I thought to myself. Join the damn Malin fan club.
Malin then became the hero of the hour as he gave out little pieces of chocolate cake to all of the children who had been waiting for the birthday boy to share some.
That wasn’t boding well for the birthday boy who saw that his birthday cake was fast dwindling. He decided to throw a tantrum.
That’s when the mother noticed that something was amiss.
“But, ma, it’s my birthday and my cake. Why are they all eating it? It’s not fair.”
She looked a bit embarrassed. Good. It’s your fault that your child is a fat pig who doesn’t know how to share, and who’s spoilt as fuck. I said, rudely in my thoughts. Never would I voice these words or the swear word out loud, but I was comfortable enough saying it several times a day to myself.
“Harry, beta. Don’t be like that. It’s your birthday cake, for sure, but these children are here to celebrate your birthday with you. Shouldn’t you share some of your cake with them? Be a nice boy, now.”
The nice boy punched his mother in the gut, and then ran off with the birthday cake plate, into his bedroom, and locked the door.
The mother was rolling around on the ground, with a few other mothers helping her, when Malin came over with the little girl in tow.
“Let’s go. This party is over I think. And we know where the lady lives. So we can give that information to the police station.”
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