Caught Up Past

“'Cause we are young and we’re reckless, we’ll take this way too far.” Blank Space

The work days were busy and mundane. Most of the day was spent at the office, where Pratap’s job assignments were separate from those of Ajabdeh’s, and they barely shared a conversation. Usually, when they came back to the Haveli, being greeted by the house help and cook Mr Chundawat had appointed, Pratap decided to have his dinner in his room while Ajabdeh had it while working in the study. They had developed the perfect way to coexist without bumping into each other. Sleep was not to come easily in the unfamiliar surroundings, and while Ajabdeh preferred to work till her brain was tired, Pratap often tiptoed down to the library room, dusted off the dirt on the few books on the shelves and read them to sleep. The silence of the house was only interrupted by the whistle of a cooker, the ticking clocks or the ringing of the restored grandfather clock. The other rooms were locked too. They thought the days would be smooth. The problem, however, happened on the very first weekend.

Ajabdeh had woken up early, before the sun was up, and stretched a little before opening the curtains of the balcony looking over the garden path and trees. She sighed and put her hair up in a bun when her eyes fell on the calendar whose date needed to be changed every day, and she realised it was a Saturday. There was no work. Ajabdeh inhaled. Did it mean a day with Pratap alone in the house? She shook her head, wondering.

Pratap was startled awake by the sudden noise of some furniture shifting downstairs as he sat up on his bed, alarmed. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at the clock. It was five past eight. He slipped on a pair of lounge pants with a black t-shirt as he stepped out of the room, his curly hair still in ruffles. The commotion downstairs was now accompanied by voices.

“Should I throw this away?” “Keep it down there.” “Ma’am, come look here.”

He did not know who these people were. He stopped on the staircase, hearing Ajabdeh’s voice ring over them. “Put that down and move this. Is that furniture rotten?” Pratap’s heart suddenly made a funny leap as he gulped as if to pace it down and rushed downstairs.

“What is happening here?” His voice made Ajabdeh glance over her shoulder and turn. Her hair was up in a messy bun with a few locks rebelling out of it, her face looked fresh from sleeping in, and her blue Bandhni printed long Kaftan reminded him oddly of his mother. 

“I’m sorry, Sir, did we wake you?” Chundawat rushed to him from somewhere inside the store room, whose door he now noticed was ajar. Pratap shook his head, confused. Ajabdeh cleared her throat.

“Ranima told me to look at the things in the storeroom and throw away what is not needed.” Her tone was monotonous, and Pratap raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“She did not tell me!” He shrugged.

“Well…” Ajabdeh wore a faint smile on her lips. “Given your track record with letting go of things…” Pratap frowned a little as Ajabdeh looked up at him and stuttered a little to clarify, “Umm… the library…”

“Ohh…”

“You can look at these.” She offered as she stepped aside. 

“Are these meant to be thrown away, ma’am?” Their attention turned to one of the men helping with the cleanup, carrying two boxes.

“No.” Pratap walked up to one of them and snatched one of the boxes. “That’s Daadisa’s.”

“We will see what is inside; the boxes are rotten.” Ajabdeh shrugged at the worker.

“You can’t throw away Daadisa’s box!” Pratap frowned. “What’s wrong with you?” The cook had arrived to announce that breakfast was served, but Chundawat stopped them as Ajabdeh snapped. “I wonder what happens to you about people when you can’t let go of such small things.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Pratap traced his hand defensively on the box as he approached Ajabdeh. Suddenly, Ajabdeh was aware of the people around them as she walked down the hall to the study. 

“It means nothing.” She murmured. Pratap followed her inside, wearing a frown.

“No, tell me. What do you mean?” He stopped as his eyes fell on the papers on her desk.

“So you ARE deciding on the community project alone?” He sounded irked. “I thought we were sent here to learn teamwork.”

“We were, unfortunately, both of us prefer working alone, it seems.” Ajabdeh crossed her hands on her chest as she spoke.

“That is not true; you did not ask for any of my input.” Pratap slammed the wooden box down on the desk. Ajabdeh looked at the box and back at him.

“And why do you think that is? Because you don’t believe in giving back to society, right? You think it is useless.”

“I do NOT! But I do think a stranger in my home can’t decide what to throw away.” Pratap regretted it as soon as he said it, as Ajabdeh wrapped up the papers, throwing them at him. “Fine, you decide everything,” and left. Pratap could hear her walking up the stairs noisily and slamming the door.

He eyed the papers in his hand; it was to sanction a girl's school in the village. He would have never thought of it, Ajabdeh did.

“Damn.” He shook his head and walked back outside to notice the workers had separated the piles into keeps and were being scrutinised and were putting them back into the storeroom. He was hungry and suddenly realised that none of them had had breakfast.

Ajabdeh paced her room to calm herself down. She was scared of this. Soon her father and Bade Papa would see they are incompatible as a team, and what if they suggest different positions in the company? She was not going to let them down. She murmured under her breath and reminded herself not to overthink. The worst-case scenario could barely help. But she was not ready to apologise without any fault of her own. A knock resounded on her door.

“Go away.”

“It's me,” Pratap said, unsurely.

“I said GO AWAY.”

“I got breakfast.” He said, trying to sound persuasive. The door opened, and Ajabdeh eyed the plates of Poha he had in his hand. She was about to snatch a plate and slam the door when he positioned his body to stop her.

“I am sorry, okay? I snapped.” Ajabdeh inhaled at his words and let go of the door.

“I was angry that Ranima told you to help and not me.” He shrugged, placing his plate on the table and sitting on the couch as she took the side of the bed, plate in hand.

“She told me because she is used to me helping around while you were not here.” She reminded him. “It was not because she never trusted you. Besides, I was not going to throw anything away without asking the family.” She sounded hurt as Pratap looked up. “I know. I like the school project. When is it starting?” Ajabdeh inhaled as she took a morsel of the food and nodded. “In two or three months?”

“We should come back and supervise it…” Pratap stopped, alarmed at his own words. “I mean… you can…” He stammered.

“I… think we can trust Chundawat. Besides, Maasa and Ranima will come for the inauguration.” Ajabdeh shrugged. “And you were right about teamwork. I am sorry I didn’t include you. So…” She placed her plate down and brought out two files of samples. “Here’s something I need help with.” Pratap nodded attentively. 

“On one hand, we have the Singhanias. Their business is new and growing, and they have had good reviews from their clients. Some of the top designers prefer their raw materials, and they are promising a good rate.”

“Do we do business with them?” Pratap asked as she shook her head. “No, we have a three-decade-long business relationship with the Mishras.” She showed him the other file. “Recently, the son has taken over. He came to meet me in person. But their rates have increased.”

“Why?” Pratap scrutinised the samples with his thumb and index finger. 

“He said the workers' union demanded a wage increase, which is true. I looked it up.” Pratap looked up at her words, impressed that she did not trust the guy’s words.

“If we take from them the price of our finished product may increase.”

“Will that potentially make us lose clients?” Pratap asked keenly, placing his hand on his chin.

“Well, I am not sure, but I hope not because on a large-scale order, the increase will look minimal. Plus, all our clients are doing good business.”

“But going with the Singhaniyas will mean we get to keep the same price.” Pratap was clear with his inclination.

“Yes, but we have had business with the Mishras for a long time. There is a relationship of faith and trust built over the years, and it will be wrong to abandon them in tough times, too.” Ajabdeh insisted.

“Business decisions should not be emotional. We are not doing it personally, Punwar.” He reminded her. “I know the son, he used to come around, but…”

“I know, but it will affect them. We are their biggest client. And I think we should value quality over quantity.” Ajabdeh shrugged. 

“Seems like you took quite a liking to this guy’s speech.” Pratap’s words made Ajabdeh frown.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“He saw you as gullible and gave you a long emotional appeal that will be wrong for the business?” Pratap raised his eyebrows as Ajabdeh’s jaws tightened. She stood up and inhaled. In her head, she reminded herself not to raise her voice.

“Are you undermining me?” She asked. Pratap shook his head.

“Absolutely not. I am saying when it comes to business profits, this doesn’t even need a discussion, then why are we discussing it?” Pratap shrugged casually.

“Because I don’t know about you, but my father always said our grandfathers respected these relationships we made with our clients and suppliers, workers and artisans. It is what we are about, not profit alone. The people of Sarangpura know and admire that about us.”

“That was in the era of independence, Punwar.” Pratap sounded amused. “To survive in the competition now, we can’t be so emotional about this.”

“Wrong, I see you look at things objectively here. I appreciate that, but not everything should be objective. If we abandon our oldest supplier during bad days, it will reflect poorly on us and people working with us will lose faith in our brand. I can’t do that.” Ajabdeh shook her head.

“If you had already decided, then why did you stage this ruse of including me?” Pratap looked irked. “To show who the boss is?” Ajabdeh shook her head with an amused chuckle.

“No, I expected you to be mature and ready.”

“Ready?” Pratap snapped. “Really? Are we going there?” He shook his head. “ I have a business management degree from…”

“A degree doesn’t guarantee you experience.” Ajabdeh seemed to be in a mood to irk Pratap. “You can be a terrible manager even after learning management.”

“Yes, and you can be a terrible human being after being a human being for so many years.” Pratap flung his hand frantically as Ajabdeh suddenly chuckled, amused. “I was just…”

“You think you are doing great? The lone wolf taking all the decisions?” Pratap made her stop as she looked at him, confused. “Let me tell you, one wrong, arrogant choice can lead to lifelong suffering. People will start questioning your abilities. It is a great risk.”

“I am willing to take that risk rather than do as you say. You are surely waiting for me to fail.” Ajabdeh snapped back.

“Waiting for you to fail?” Pratap raised his eyebrows in exasperation. “What on earth are you saying, Punwar?”

“Ever since you came home, all you are trying to do is take over and undermine me.” Ajabdeh snapped. It was Pratap’s turn to be amused.

“You are delusional, Punwar.” Pratap shook his head with a chuckle, “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

“Why will it?” Ajabdeh shrugged. “It revolves around you.”

“Oh, why will I even want you to fail? Am I a terrible friend like you are?” Ajabdeh gasped at Pratap’s words.

“Is something wrong?” The cook asked the housekeeper. “They have been fighting all morning.”

“I can’t tell. They sound like my husband and me every Sunday morning when he brings all the wrong things from the market.” The housekeeper shrugged. Ajabdeh’s voice silenced them again.

“What did you just say?” Her voice rang through the silent Haveli.

“What you just heard, Punwar. Nobody ever told you what a terrible friend you are.” Pratap shrugged, “You are being the same kind of selfish here.”

“I am a terrible friend?” Ajabdeh took two steps towards him as Pratap fell back. “I am? What about you?”

“I did not ignore my friend when she was alone because I was happy.” Pratap shrugged again.

“Oh, you just did not care enough to know about your friend’s dreams to support him at all.” Ajabdeh shook her head.

“Well, he did not apparently need me since he had YOU.” Eyes met as the brief pause hung in an air of awkwardness surrounding them. Ajabdeh inhaled.

“You are wrong. He always needed you. He befriended me because you were busy with Sam… someone else.” Pratap had a faint smile appearing in the corner of his lip as he shook his head.

“You can take her name, it's been ages, we are not teens anymore.”

“Of course, we are not, so don't teach me how to be a friend when you screw up too.” Ajabdeh shook her head. “Jalal needed a friend. I was a bad substitute. I could not be his friend, okay? When will people stop expecting me to fill shoes I am not comfortable in?” Ajabdeh sounded irked.

“The day you stop trying to please everyone.” Pratap shrugged.

“I do NOT!”

“You are trying to impress the people in the company with this Mishra deal. You try to impress your parents into admitting you are doing great in everything. Let go, Punwar.” Pratap said calmly. Ajabdeh’s amused chuckle made him skip a beat.

“Let go, right?” She shook her head. “That’s all you know and can do. Run from people and situations because you are uncomfortable. Do you even know the meaning of sticking around with the people who need you, or does loyalty also mean nothing to you? You think that makes you a better person that way?” Ajabdeh stepped back and shook her head. Pratap’s jaws tightened as eyes met, and she looked away.

“I will prove you wrong. To me, loyalty matters, and it needs to be rewarded. And yes, I have been a terrible friend to Rukaiya. I almost lost her. You don’t have to remind me of that. I feel guilty every day.” Ajabdeh suddenly choked on her words as she turned her back to him and discreetly wiped away the teardrop falling on her cheek. Pratap inhaled.

“Fine. Let's just admit both you and I have been terrible friends.” Pratap raised his hands as if to surrender. “They deserve better. We can try to be better.” Ajabdeh did not respond. The silence made Pratap pick up the plates and leave. 

Pratap placed the plates down on the kitchen sink and walked back to the study, where the papers from the school project lay scattered. He took the seat where he watched his father sit innumerable times and felt the heaviness in his chest. He could not lie. He did see her eyes hurt. He had hurt her again. Why do you keep doing this, Pratap? He cursed himself under his breath. Was she mature enough for him to tell her the truth? Why he ran away? Knowing how Ajabdeh was, she would not believe his reasons or call them excuses. He did not want to bring it up and make things awkward again. At least they were talking, fighting, and working together. What good could bringing that day up do? Clear his name? Pratap remembered her words. It was true he had no idea about Jalal’s dreams and ambitions. It was true he was engrossed in his relationship when Jalal found a friend in Ajabdeh. He dialled his number. He needed his best friend back.

As the door slammed behind him, Ajabdeh felt like she could breathe again. She needed to talk to someone. Calling home crying would worry them. Calling Shakti or Heer was not a safe bet either. She dialled the only person she thought of now. She needed to apologise again. She was selfish. She wanted to feel better.

“Are you busy?” Pratap’s question made Jalal walk away from the crowd at his admission and find a corner.

“Not really.” He lied. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to… apologise, Jalal.” Pratap inhaled. “I know I have been a terrible friend, and this may all look like hollow words…” Jalal frowned at his words.

“Is something wrong?” He sounded worried. “Did you fight with Ajab?” Pratap was overwhelmed at how well Jalal knew him. For a second, he felt like telling Jalal everything. Why he left, why he chose to hurt Ajabdeh, what he felt. But he remembered her words. It was not about him; it was about being there for Jalal. Pratap inhaled.

“No, no. Tell me, did you find a solution with Humayun Uncle about your photography course?”

“CEO?” Ajabdeh gasped into the phone as she strolled across the room. “Wow, Rukaiya…”

“I am scared, Ajabdeh. It's a huge responsibility… Jalal’s dreams depend on it too…”

“Rukaiya, you will be fine. If Humayun Uncle chose you, he must have seen some potential in you.” Ajabdeh reassured her. “How is Jalal progressing?”

“He got into the academy he wanted. He has just gone there to check which centre he gets and get enrolled.” Rukaiya smiled. “You should have seen his pictures…”

“Oh, I will leave him a message.” Ajabdeh smiled. “Once I am back, let's go out… Celebrate.”

“Alright.” Rukaiya nodded. “I have to go, Ammi wants help with something…”

“Rukaiya, I am sorry I was a terrible friend…” Ajabdeh spoke again, “I will make up for it.”

“The past is the past, Ajabdeh. Are you alright there?” She lowered her voice in worry, “I mean with him.” Ajabdeh wanted to say they did not see eye to eye. She wanted to say it hurt to be around him, disagreeing on everything. But she inhaled. “We will manage, Rukaiya. I will see you in two weeks.” 

On Sunday, Ajabdeh woke up late, lazing around her room, contemplating whether she should go out at all. She skipped breakfast and took bed tea with the morning newspaper. Her attention was then attracted by a nightingale chirping on the balcony, which prompted her to open the balcony door and step out. Her attention was immediately attracted to a scene beyond the garden where the lawn looked over the lotus pond. On the other side, some village children were playing football. They came in from the crack in the orchard wall and probably made this their playground, as nobody lived there. She sat down on the balcony floor, not caring about the dust or leaves soiling her kaftan as she sipped her tea and watched them. Suddenly, they seemed to stop, alarmed, staring at the orchard, and she could see a figure approach them. It was Pratap. Ajabdeh grunted under her breath that he would spoil their play, yelling at them for stepping into the restricted property. She was about to get up and go inside before she got miffed by him, when, to her surprise, he joined the children by dribbling the ball with his left foot. The children sounded joyous, chasing him around the field, trying to snatch the ball from his feet as an involuntary smile curved her lips. 

Hosting the Inter-School Football Tournament was a matter of pride for Meera Bai International School. A reluctant Ajabdeh was selected as a volunteer to show the guest schools around and allot them their schedules for the five-day tournament played between ten teams. She was thirteen, awkward with her puberty and not interested in sports. Shakti, on the other hand, although too young to be selected for the senior boys’ team, enthusiastically put up the banners across the school and motivated the cheerleaders to cheer a bit louder for the hosts. Watching him being enthusiastic about the day made Ajabdeh want to try harder. She had just shown the last team of boys, along with their coach, to the floor assigned to them and was returning to the office to submit her clipboard, dragging her feet through the long corridor, when the commotion behind her made her half turn, only to bump into someone tall and lean. She realised that she was in contact with sweat as she winced her nose and stepped back, looking disgusted as the boy apologised to her. In a vest and shorts, Jalal looked taller and thinner than he already was. His hair looked like he had just taken a shower (in sweat), and his socks and shoes were muddy.

“I didn’t see you there.” He apologised breathlessly. The other boys of the team walked past him with teasing smiles. Fifteen-year-old boys bumping into girls in the corridor was exactly how romantic movies started. Ajabdeh eyed some of the known faces sternly as she rubbed the sweat off her arm and nodded. 

“You were not at the field.” She was about to leave when he spoke, making her turn back and wave her clipboard at him. “I am on duty.” She was unsure whether Jalal knew her at all or was just speaking to her because he bumped into her.

“I scored two goals.” He said rather abruptly. “Pratap was there too…” He wondered aloud with narrowed brows. “Have you seen him?” Ajabdeh’s ears grew warm at his mention. This irritating sensation had been happening to her for some time now, every time she saw him or he was mentioned. “No.” She managed to look away. Jalal was about to walk past her when she asked, “Excuse me?” He stopped as she looked reluctant “Do you know me?” He smiled, glancing over his shoulder. “Of course, you are Pratap’s neighbour… I have seen you around.” He shrugged casually and dashed off. Jalal did not want to let her see his cheeks flush or inquire into how much and for how long he had observed her. She was standing there with the clipboard in hand when someone exclaimed,

“There you are.” Ajabdeh’s heart skipped a beat at his voice as she turned to see Pratap in his usual disapproving glare. 

“What did I do now?” She asked, narrowing her brows at him.

“Smita Ma’am sent me looking for you. You were supposed to submit your paper at the office five minutes ago.”

“Shit.” Ajabdeh shook her head. “He… got me late.” She dashed down the corridor to be stopped again by Pratap.

“You can’t run in the corridor. As the captain, I have to…”

“You just dashed across after me, didn’t you?” She looked amused. “Should you also reprimand yourself?”

“Why are you such a headache?” Pratap shook his head and walked away as Ajabdeh suddenly felt a lump in her throat. The bell rang, and she dashed down the stairs to meet Smita Ma’am.