Chapter 5: Public Shame

I gave the fat guy five hundred rupees, told him to get Meera to tutor him, and buy her meals.

The fat guy’s mouth dropped open, I raised my fist: “I can’t stand people like you, just copying homework and not working, how can you be a topper? Just say yes or agree.”

The fat guy shrank back and agreed.

Every noon and evening tuition, she tutored the fat guy.

Strangely, I couldn’t understand the teacher, but when she explained, the fat guy didn’t get it, but I did.

Seems our IQs are about the same.

Getting second place in a semester wouldn’t be hard. I’m a hidden genius.

One evening during a quiz, I handed in my paper early and sneaked off to the bathroom.

At a critical moment, suddenly there was a commotion outside.

I thought the discipline teacher was coming, panicked, and then heard her scream.

I went out, a buddy slapped my shoulder: “Arrey, aren’t you going to check? Your wife is about to be beaten to death by your saas!”

“Screw you.”

I hurried. Then saw a scene I’ll never forget.

Her mother dragged her down the stairs, shouting so loudly the whole building could hear, neighbours peeking from behind half-open doors. A woman who could be called pretty was yanking her by her dog-bit short hair, beating her from the third floor down to the first.

So many stairs, down one by one.

She cursed Meera for being shameless, both daughters of the Sharma family, why was her sister so good and she so cheap, if someone hadn’t told her, she wouldn’t have known people could be so low.

For twenty rupees and a bun, she held hands and kissed someone.

The useless fat guy stood by, blushing and stammering that they didn’t kiss, he just got her some food.

Her mum cursed her for being a starving ghost reborn.

She finally couldn’t hold back and said, Mum, I’m hungry.

Her mum said: “Did I give you too little money? Every month I have your sister bring you living expenses, you’re still not satisfied, how much do you want?”

They argued until she cried and said fine, then give me dad’s money, I don’t want the part you left for my sister, I want dad’s money.

“So that’s what you’re waiting for, so that’s what you’re waiting for, ungrateful wretch.”

Her mum trembled with anger, looked around, grabbed a flowerpot and smashed it on her head, saying she shouldn’t even think about splitting the inheritance unless she died.

Warm blood flowed down her face.

Utterly miserable.

So this was the mum who supposedly loved her so much?

So this was the mum she secretly saved money to buy gifts for by skipping snacks?

Classmates pointed and whispered.

I rushed over, the class beauty held me back: “Don’t, do you want her to be beaten to death?”

Meera was like a plucked chick, crying: “Mum, didn’t you say to treat us equally? My sister made progress and got to go on a trip. I also got third place, third in the whole grade, out of more than two hundred students. Mum, look at me.”

“Didn’t you say you’d get first? So good at boasting, only third. Useless.”

Her mum took her ID and left.

“If… I had a stomachache during the exam. Mum, I just want some money for food, I just want to eat some meat, want to run without fainting, want my period not to hurt so much, is that too much?”

Her mum didn’t look back: “Right, you don’t deserve it. I don’t have a daughter who dates early and supports boys.”

She buried her head and knelt on the ground, crying.

Thunder rumbled in the sky, each boom making her tremble.

Her mum left, but she still wouldn’t give up, shouting: “Mum, don’t go, I’ll get first next time!”

I shook off the class beauty’s hand, went over to give her an umbrella, she suddenly came to herself, grabbed my umbrella, and ran to hold it over her mum who was leaving.

I turned and left in anger.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I would scold her hard, how could she be like this? Was she bewitched by her mum?

I didn’t sleep all night, kept thinking of what harsh words would work best on her. Got up at midnight and ordered her pain balm and bandages on Amazon India.

The fan above my head whirred all night, and the city outside my window was soaked in monsoon rain. I tossed, worried, stubbornly angry at myself for caring so much.

I thought, I must be crazy.

But after thinking all night, the next morning when I got to the classroom, I saw my umbrella on my desk.

There was a note: “Thank you. Sorry, the umbrella broke a bit, I didn’t fix it, I’ll compensate you next time.”

The umbrella was broken, several ribs snapped.

It wasn’t broken by accident, it was clearly smashed in madness.

I held the ruined umbrella, feeling my breath running wild in my mind.

Meera never came back, she took a leave of absence.

My umbrella, fifty rupees, was never repaid.

I’m petty, I remember it well.