Project Heart - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

"I heard you stopped by to watch the buffalo fight?" Junak's grandmother spoke in heavily accented Hindi, broken due to lack of use. She was an old woman with a round, wrinkled face and grey hair, who wore a smile on her lips like it was a part of her features.
"Yes," Banhi answered. "It was really fun."
"Had you come a day earlier," Junak's grandfather said from where he sat at the head of the table, "you could've enjoyed the community feast."
"It was last night?" Niribili asked.
The elderly pair nodded.
"Oh!" Grandma suddenly exclaimed, reaching out to place a hand on her husband's arm. While Junak and his friends were sitting at the dining table enjoying their welcome snacks, the woman stood next to them to serve them extras. "Why not make a bonfire in our backyard and have dinner outside today? The kids would like it."
The man considered it for a moment, then nodded. "Sounds good."
"Great, I'll ask Priti to make the preparations." The woman was about to walk away when she stopped and added, "I'll invite Nibha and the others? It'll be nice to have some company."
Grandpa nodded. "While you're at it, if you see Dikhou, tell him to come meet me. I'll ask him to go fetch Junak's car."
"Send Milon, Dikhou must be enjoying with his friends somewhere."
"Milon will ruin the car, you know how he is."
"That was just one time, you shouldn't keep holding it over him."
"And you need to stop defending him."
Junak and his two friends watched the pair's to and fro, almost mesmerised. It was an alien sight to Junak, seeing a married couple together, sharing so much in such few words, in gestures and glances. He wondered if his parents had something like this, but there were no memories to substantiate his guesses.
"You don't have to go through any troubles for us," Niribili said once Grandma had finally left. Though she was raised in Delhi for most of her life, her Assamese was immaculate, and Junak knew his grandfather liked her for it.
"It's no trouble at all. My grandson is here after so many years. And he's brought friends too! This calls for celebration."
Junak smiled.
"After he'd gone to America, I was sure I'd never see him again in this life." Grandpa laughed.
Junak's smile faltered. He wondered if there was resentment beneath his amiable, cheerful façade, or was he truly glad to see him?
"I, for one, can't wait to see the village," Banhi said, helping herself to another pitha from the brass plates containing a wide assortment of those snacks made especially on the occasion of Bihu.
"Ah yes, I'll ask Dikhou to show you around." Grandpa turned to Junak. "Do you remember Dikhou? You used to play together as kids."
Junak bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head.
"Aiyo, it was so long ago, how can he remember?" Grandma broke in as she returned to the room. "And rather than playing, the two used to fight all the time." She brought a cup of tea for herself and this time, she took a seat at the table. "By the way, what is this project of yours that brought you here?"
The three friends shared a look.
"Um... it's a music video," Junak said, trying to give away as little as possible. "We'll be shooting a Bihu song."
"That's so great!" Grandma beamed. "It's so good to see youngsters like you take interest in their tradition."
Junak gulped down the faint ache of guilt in his chest. He had no reason to be guilty, he told himself. People here were homophobic; what he was doing was for a much bigger cause.
"You'll be bringing performers from Guwahati, I presume?" Grandpa asked.
"No, no," Niribili replied, "we're planning on casting some of the villagers. And Junak here will be writing the song."
"You'll be writing a Bihu song?" Grandma cried, her face lighting up instantaneously. Even her husband looked fondly amused. "This is so great." She got to her feet and went and threw her arms around Junak's shoulders. "My grandson, a songwriter! We always lacked an artist in the family and here he is."
Junak's cheeks hurt from the strain of his smile. His grandmother's hands were frail, the skin wrinkled and papery, but her embrace was tight and honest and warm. She smelled of coconut oil and something else that was strangely familiar though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"Have you written songs before, Junak?" The man at the head of the table asked, his gaze softening as he watched his wife and grandson.
"Yes, koka, a few–"
"I'd love to hear them."
Junak nearly did a double-take; most of his songs were queer-themed with quite an explicit language. "I... mostly write other stuff though. Screenplays and all."
"You write plays and not once did you invite us to any of those?" Perhaps Grandpa meant only to kid, but the moment the words left his mouth, a cold settled over Junak's heart. His grandmother's hold on him slackened.
"I'm sorry, koka," Junak muttered, his throat dry.
"Aiyo, even if he had told us, how could we have travelled at this age?" Grandma said, chuckling. She let go of the boy and returned to her seat. "Tell us something about yourselves," she added to Niribili and Banhi. "What do your parents do? Where are they from?"
The familiar ache in Junak's chest grew as he listened to the girls talk about their families. Niribili's parents were originally from Assam. Her mother died when she was six, after which the family moved to Delhi. Banhi's family was a little more complicated but for the sake of keeping the conversation lively, she simply mentioned that she had a joint family back in Delhi while she lived in the US for her work.
Niribili removed her hand from where it laid on the table and Junak knew his friends well enough to know she was holding Banhi's hand under the table.
"I've never been to Delhi," Grandma said, shooting her husband a pointed look. "Junak's grandfather never–"
"Aita. O'aita!" A voice coming from the next room interrupted the woman who turned to the door and said, "In here."
Junak had his head downcast, nibbling at a coconut pitha, when he felt the curtains part and a pair of footsteps grew closer.
"Ah, Dikhou," Grandpa said, "I was just wondering where you were."
"Hi!" Banhi cried, surprising Junak. "We met at the buffalo fight."
Junak choked on the pitha he was eating.
"Aiyo, Junak, be careful!"
He coughed and beat his fist to his chest. Hastily, he reached for the glass of water and gulped down the liquid.
Completely ignoring Junak's wheezing, struggling-to-breathe self, the Jerk turned to the old man. "I heard you were looking for me, koka?" he asked, very casually.
"Yes, yes." Grandpa broke into a big smile. "Look who's here." He gestured at his grandson. "Tell me you remember Junak."
Junak had no choice but to look up. The stupid guy who'd given him misinformation about a ghost was standing a couple of feet away, looking like the human personification of innocence! He was wearing the same ugly clothes as before, with those ugly pair of slippers. He smiled when he felt Junak's gaze on him.
"Hi, Junak. It's nice to see you after so many years," he said in English and stretched out his hand. Though it looked formal and polite, Junak could tell he was mocking him.
Putting on a fake smile of his own, Junak shook his hand stiffly. "Hi."
"I'm Dikhou."
"So I've heard."
Dikhou grinned as he took back his hand. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear."
If anyone could sense Junak's hostility, they didn't voice it. Dikhou ignored it too, turning instead to greet the girls.
"They've come all the way from America," Grandma said. "You'll have to show them around the village."
"Of course, aita."
"On this note," Grandpa said, "can you go fetch Junak's car? They left it near Dhintul."
"Okay, koka, sure. But why," Dikhou turned to Junak and put up a grand act of being clueless, "did you have any... troubles along the way?"
Junak was gritting his teeth so hard it was starting to hurt his jaw.
"The road isn't well-constructed, it seems?" Niribili said –
And immediately, Junak's soul left his body.
He had been so focused on his rage, he forgot all about the lie he told his friends.
"No, the road is perfectly fine," Grandpa replied. "It was repaired last year and since then–"
Niribili turned to Junak, seemingly in slow motion, her eyes screaming murder.
Junak gulped. "I'll go get the car keys," he sputtered, rising to his feet. Nobody stopped him as he walked out of the dining room.
For only two people, his grandparents' house was too big. With large, spacious common rooms and over half a dozen bedrooms, the loneliness haunting the place felt like an entity in itself. An entity that Junak was intimately acquainted with.
Numerous framed photographs were lined along the walls. Amongst several unknown faces, he recognised his father, his uncle and his two aunts, in younger bodies. Their smiles were familiar but the pictures in themselves felt alien – he did not know those people or the places. The frozen moments recorded on the walls felt less like they were a part of his own family and more like stories read off a history book; he knew the names and landmarks, yes, but they meant nothing to him.
The room they housed him in belonged to his father, his grandfather said. It was a medium-sized room on the first floor, bare of any decorations except an old wall clock above the door. There was a simple double bed, an almirah and a wooden, worn-out desk pushed to one side. A lone typewriter sat atop it, covered by a thin cloth. There was a large window taking up most of the space on the outer wall that opened up to a view of their front yard; the entire village seemed to be lying out beyond it – small houses with wooden fences, trees, green pastures, ponds and yet more trees.
Junak sighed to himself before reaching out for the backpack he had hastily thrown on the bed. He took out his car keys from the side pocket and turned around –
Only to come face to face with none other than Dikhou, his tormentor. "I came to check you didn't get lost," he said before Junak could ask anything. "Or... possessed by a ghost."
Now that no one else was around, Junak indulged himself in glaring at the other boy. "You!" he hissed. "You lied to me about–" Even as he said it, embarrassment flooded in, choking him midsentence. You lied to me about a ghost was a sentence Junak never thought he'd be saying in his life, a sentence that crushed his self-confidence to the point that he briefly contemplated jumping out of the window.
Dikhou smiled, his eyebrows raised in mischief and amusement. "I can't believe you actually fell for it."
Junak folded his arms over his chest and huffed. He didn't really know what else he was supposed to do with his dignity in shreds.
"And you actually walked?! Made your friends walk too." Dikhou was openly laughing now, his shoulders shaking. "Is this what they teach in American universities?"
Junak prided himself on being good with words. He was a writer, after all. But faced with the sheer absurdity of the scenario, of the raw embarrassment rooting him to place, what was he supposed to say? "Fuck you," he muttered. He pushed past Dikhou, roughly shoving his shoulder, and walked out of the room.
"Hey, Junak," Dikhou called after him.
Junak stopped in his tracks but did not look back. "What?"
"The car keys."
Junak whipped around to see Dikhou standing behind him, his hand outstretched. Hastily, Junak dumped the keys into his palm, hard enough that Dikhou winced a little, and stormed away.
From behind him, he could hear Dikhou laughing quietly.
Junak quickened his pace.