Em and the Big Hoom by Jerry Pinto Page A

obvious: she was playing out her insecurities. This was allowed by her ‘condition’. She could say what other ‘normal’ women could not.
    For one wild moment, I thought I’d challenge her: did she ever repeat that offer? What if he’d been tempted, how could she be sure? But then both of us realized we were very close to the brink and we retreated to familiar territory: the first date, in her version of it.
    â€˜What did you eat?’ I asked.
    â€˜A chicken salad to begin with. And when the edge was taken off, I think I had a ham steak. It was totally gorgeous and what was even better was that he was paying. I wanted to order one more dish but I thought that would be rude so I ate his mashed potatoes as well. And I had a Coke float at the end of it.’
    â€˜A Coke float?’
    â€˜They would freeze the Coca Cola and put it in a bowl and put a dollop of vanilla ice-cream on top of it.’
    â€˜Sounds vile.’
    â€˜Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, buddy.’
    â€˜Did he kiss you at your doorstep?’
    Em roared, a hoarse rattle in throat and lung. ‘I’d have liked to see him try. There was no doorstep in D’Souza Villa, Clare Road, Byculla, Bombay. The door was open, the old ladies of the house were taking the air and saying their prayers and peeking outside. Children were sitting on the steps or playing Mountain-Land-Bridge-Gutter-Sea.’
    â€˜So there were no goodnight kisses at all.’
    â€˜We were in a taxi. We had to find other places to kiss.’
    â€˜What a pity.’
    â€˜I don’t see why. I don’t think the goodnight kiss is such a hot idea anyway. I mean, why send the poor man off with a hard on? Unless you’re a tease.’
    It was time to change the topic.
    â€˜Didn’t The Big Hoom have a car?’
    â€˜In those days only the bosses had cars. Or the Parsis. Or the white men. Everyone else used the buses or the trams. But it was a date so we went home in a taxi.’
    â€˜Did he at least try? To kiss you?’
    â€˜I was frightened to death that he would. I was frightened to death that he wouldn’t. But he did the next best thing.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜When we were on Marine Drive, he held my hand.’
    â€˜Awww.’
    â€˜And well you may say “Aww” because it was perfect. It said, “I want you,” but it also said, “I know you’re worried about this so I’m willing to wait.”’
    â€˜That sounds . . .’
    â€˜Like I’m thinking up what he thought when he did it? I think we all do that. All women do, at any rate. If I kiss him on the nose, he’ll know I love him so I’ll kiss him on the nose. We hope he gets it, we fear he doesn’t but if he looks even vaguely gratified, we know he’s the one.’
    â€˜Does it work?’
    â€˜What work is it supposed to do?’
    â€˜I mean, that “he’s the one” stuff?’
    â€˜What do I know about men? I’ve only . . .’
    â€˜Yes, yes, you’ve only had one.’
    â€˜Got you there, you foul-mouthed blob of scum. I was going to say I’d only known one well.’
    â€˜In the Biblical sense, no doubt.’
    â€˜Got me back. Where was I when I so rudely interrupted myself?’
    â€˜He took your hand. You thought it was a subtle gesture, coded with many meanings. I wondered about that. You were explaining.’
    â€˜That must be a skill you could use.’
    â€˜I think it’s called being a rapporteur.’
    â€˜Does it pay?’
    â€˜I suppose. I don’t know.’
    â€˜Not much use then.’
    Not much use. The trail was lost and the story had ended. For a while.

4 .
‘The prayers of mentals’
    If there was one thing I feared as I was growing up . . .
    No, that’s stupid. I feared hundreds of things: the dark, the death of my father, the possibility that I