Chapter 6: Stockings, Condoms, and Family Bonds

“Yeah,” my cousin replied.

Their exchange was quick, almost businesslike, as if they’d done this a hundred times. My cousin’s fingers moved deftly, and Boss Nair’s eyes widened with anticipation.

I was confused. That? What that?

I tried to peek inside the bag, curiosity burning, but my cousin blocked the view with his elbow. Whatever this was, it felt like a big deal—bigger than just snacks or a bottle of rum.

“Give me one,” Boss Nair said.

His voice dropped to a hush, as if even the night might overhear. There was a playful urgency to his request, a secret transaction unfolding under the stars.

“One hundred each.” My cousin reached into the cloth bag, opened a pocket, and let Boss Nair peek inside.

The air crackled with the tension of the bargain. Money changed hands as smoothly as it would at a city panwala’s stall. I watched, wondering what could be worth so much in the middle of a jungle.

“One hundred each? Isn’t that a bit much, bhai?”

Boss Nair’s tone was half-complaint, half-joke. But his eyes sparkled with the thrill of the forbidden—everyone loves a little haggling, even here.

My cousin closed the bag, turned to gaze at the distant stars, and said coolly, “Up to you if it’s worth it.”

His voice had the finality of a shopkeeper closing shutters at dusk. There was a wisdom in that tone—a lesson learned from years of dealing with every sort of traveller.

I was surprised. My cousin only went to government school, but he could use a saying like that?

I looked at him with new respect. “Kya baat hai, bhaiya,” I thought, realising there were more ways to be clever than just speaking English or wearing fancy shoes.

Boss Nair smacked his lips, hesitated, then said, “Fine, one hundred it is.”

He handed over a crisp note, the transaction sealed with a chuckle. In the city, maybe such things would be arranged on an app. Here, all it took was trust and a smile.

My cousin took the money, checked it, and pulled something from the bag for Boss Nair.

He counted the notes carefully, tucking them away with a practised flick. The bag seemed almost bottomless—who knew what other treasures lay inside?

“There’s more, if you want,” my cousin said.

His eyes glinted, as if he was offering the world. He knew how to tempt people—always one step ahead, reading their needs before they could speak.

“More? What else?”

Boss Nair leaned forward, curiosity piqued. There was a thrill in the unknown, a promise of more stories to tell back home.

“Here, take a look.” My cousin opened the bag again, and Boss Nair’s eyes lit up.

Whatever was inside must have been rare, precious, or both. The air between them thickened with anticipation. For a second, even the crickets seemed to hush.

“This one’s cheaper. Eighty.”

My cousin’s salesmanship was almost poetic. “Yeh waala special hai, mast fitting.” He winked, making Boss Nair grin wider.

“Okay, I want the black ones.” Boss Nair handed over another bill.

The deal was struck. Black stockings, city-style—my cousin always knew what the guests missed from their AC lives.

This time, I saw clearly.

As Boss Nair tucked the stockings away, a silent understanding passed between him and my cousin. I realised then that out here, everything had a price—even secrets.

What my cousin handed Boss Nair was a pair of stockings.

I stifled a laugh, picturing Boss Nair squeezing into those stockings. Then I realised—they weren’t for him. The story was only just beginning.

And Boss Nair quietly crawled into another tent.

He moved with a purpose, the moonlight outlining his silhouette. The hills watched in silence. In that moment, I learned—every night in the wild carries stories you’ll never find in guidebooks.

My cousin shoved a five-hundred-rupee note into my hand. I was embarrassed to take it.

I tried to refuse, but he closed my fist around the note. The crinkle of the cash felt heavy with meaning. It was more than money—it was trust, it was a share in a secret world I was just beginning to understand.

He forced it into my pocket. “Take it. You probably thought I was keeping you at arm’s length these past six months, right?”

He looked at me, eyes softer than usual. His voice, rough from smoke and mountain air, held a rare honesty. “I didn’t want you to get mixed up in things before you were ready. Sab kuch seekhne mein time lagta hai.”

I said, “No, I just want to learn from you.”

I meant it. In the city, maybe you learn from books or YouTube. Here, you learn by watching, by failing, by carrying loads heavier than your own doubts. I wanted to earn his respect the old way.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. This job—if you mess up, people can die. I don’t want to hurt you. Besides, every route within fifty kilometres, I risked my life to scout out. This living was bought with my life.”

He spoke with a quiet pride, rubbing his knuckles as if counting old bruises. In these hills, every path has a price. “Ghar ka khana, parivar ka future—sab in raaston se aata hai.”

Of course, I understood. I raised three fingers and said, “Bhaiya, I get it. I swear—even if I don’t work with you in the future, I’ll never guide in this area. You’re not just my cousin, you’re my guru. I’ll respect you all my life.”

The moment was heavy, almost like a movie scene. I felt my throat tighten. In our family, promises are made with words, not paper. He gripped my shoulder, fingers digging in, like fathers do when you pass your boards. “Let’s work hard for a few years and build a couple of big houses for the family.”

His dream was not for himself but for our family—for Ma’s silver bangles, for new tiles on the old roof, for our sisters’ weddings. In that moment, I felt the weight of generations, of every son who’d left home and returned, richer only in stories.