Sarah

Naman’s visit became regular. After a few days, he asked me to go out for lunch with him. I had to make a frantic trip to the market to buy something decent that I could wear to a fancy restaurant of his choosing. My bitterness for Rajesh Goenka and my determination to not be a part of his family hadn’t gone anywhere, but I was becoming fond of this brother of mine. He was clever, and worldly-wise, and yet there was a naïve humanism in him that could not fail to impress me. And he was as open a person as one could be. In a few days’ time, I knew all about his school days, his friends, his college pranks and what not. And he had managed to make me reciprocate too, although I didn’t have as many stories worth telling as he did. There were parts of my experiences in orphanage that I would never ever discuss with him, or anybody  – except probably Protim. Protim! Oh, I hadn’t been able to shake his memories off. The more I grew used to my brother’s company, the more I pined for his. Naman’s company was not a substitute for his, rather he turned out to be an appetizer that increased my hunger for Protim even more. The friendship I found in my brother made me want Protim’s love even more. I must be the epitome of human greed!

Meanwhile, I was growing curious about Naman’s continued presence in Pune. “Don’t you have to go back to Bangalore?” I finally asked him.

He fell silent.

“What is it?” I prodded.

“Sarah. I have a house here in Pune.”

“Okay?”

“I want you to have it.”

“Must you make me regret letting you into my life?”

“It’s not charity or pity. It is yours. All I have is as much yours as it is mine.”

“It is all your father’s. You aren’t at liberty to offer it to me, even if I were to accept it.”

“He regrets it, Sarah. He does. His health and mine, he thinks it is the punishment for what he did to you,” he noticed my pursed lips and hastily added, “I am not asking you to forgive him or anything. I am not asking you to accept the family…”

“Leave, Naman.”

“Please don’t, Sarah. I am sorry. Look…”

“Leave!” I screamed.

He looked exasperated, but left.

I don’t know why, but I hugged a pillow that night, imagined it to be Protim and cried out loud.

Naman came back the next day though and I was happy that he did. He did not mention the house and I did not bring up the last day’s conversation either. Our time passed pleasantly enough.

“I am leaving tonight. I will keep coming though. And I will call you, if that is fine by you,” he informed when the time to leave came.

“I’d like that.”

He kept an envelope on the chair he had just vacated. “Don’t overreact, Sarah. In fact, don’t react at all. This envelope has the address and the key to the house. Meera, the housekeeper there, knows about you. You are free to go anytime. You don’t have to. You can bury the envelope somewhere, if you hate the idea so much. But it would make me really happy if you changed your mind.”

I stiffened, but took his advice and did not react. He strode over, hugged me, planted a kiss on my cheek and then left.

My brother liked to have his way. And unlike Protim, he knew how to do it without enraging the other person. I don’t know how it came to be, but over next couple of weeks I had shifted to his house, then signed a gift deed through which he transferred its ownership to me and when I refused to tell him my bank account details, he got me to open a new account in which he transferred a monthly allowance for my use. The allowance, that I never touched, was several times my salary. But I have to admit that it was strangely empowering to know that I had all that money at my disposal.

He came back to Pune after a month and this time he was accompanied by a friend of his. Both of them stayed in the same house, but it wasn’t an inconvenience by any means. The house was big enough to accommodate a large wedding party. Even at Hojukeri, I was used to much less. And before that was no comparison at all.

I got introduced to the friend during the breakfast on the morning after they arrived. His name was Amol Kulkarni and he was a social worker. It was strange to see him with Naman, because from his appearance and dress, Amol didn’t seem to belong to the class Goenkas would frequent.  Although his manners and presentation were impeccable. Since I had to leave in time for school, I didn’t get to know him much on our first meeting, but the inconsistency I had observed was explained away on our subsequent meetings.

He belonged to a wealthy enough family, but had left his home soon after finishing college. He could not get himself absorbed in one of those high-flying careers that would have suited someone from his background and which would have pleased his family. He wanted to work at the grass-root level. “And it was not possible to genuinely connect with common people, if I continued my extravagant lifestyle,” he explained, “I had to be like them to really empathize with their problems. I don’t want to bring an outsider’s solution to people’s problems. I don’t want to bring them mere charity. Sustainable solutions can only come from within. If you want to improve the economic condition of the people, for instance, it won’t do to give them money. They have to see for themselves that education, let’s say, is the means of economic upliftment and they have to work towards it. If they have unsurmountable difficulties there, a little outside help can be of use. But if that drive is not there, nothing can help.”

“But by giving up on your wealth, you have lost a way of providing that little outside help, haven’t you?” I argued.

“True. But there are enough well-intentioned people like your brother who come forward with monetary help. The NGO I work for manages to pay me a salary so that I don’t starve. What I have gained by losing all that money is more important. I have gained the understanding of the circumstances which push people into the poverty sinkhole further and further, which makes education of the right kind inaccessible, the circumstances where the outside preaching sounds hollow, although the preaching makes complete sense to the preachers and their intentions are good.”

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To be continued