the end just kidding
I’m sitting with David at a trendy wireless cafe called Passion in Vasant Vihar Market. He’s working on video editing for his non-profit (http://www.realeyesarts.com) and I wanted to tell you one more thing about yesterday, now that yesterday happened. How should I tell it? like a detective novel: Geeti entered the room wearing a flowing magenta Iranian dance costume and a light smile. The teachers and remaining students sat on the couches… nah.
In the Rose style: She danced two really pretty dances with twirls, one sad and one happy, and then I sang my two songs about love and abandonment and leaving, and made Aftab cry. Then we tried to get Wafadar to dance to the Khajuraro song with Aishwarya Rai that he does so hilariously, but he wouldn’t unless we all did, so we all did, until the dumb librarian insisted on recording it with her phone, which is not so cool for an essentially very religious dude like Wafadar. In the process she knocked my camera off the table and broke it, but I didn’t realize till I was packing at 2 am so I wasn’t sad about that yet. Then we three last students (Sadaf was out with her parents arranging her future) walked out to the front gate, just like happens in my detective story, and saw Prem a little ways off waiting for me. Geeti said, That’s Prem the hero of the story! and the teachers were like oh that’s him, the hero! and then Geeti went over to Prem and said, Rose wrote a story about you and so that’s why they’re talking about you, about how good and honest you are. He turned his back to her and started to cry, but I didn’t quite realize what was happening, just that now Geeti was crying, so I hugged her and sat on the rickshaw and we rode away, me covering my face with the dupatta and him wiping his eyes and pedalling fast. Then, like I said before, I went to get my wedding dress. I was already emotional so to deal with complete and utter unprofessionalism from one of the most respected cloth and tailor stores in Lucknow made me almost insane. I know it might be hard to imagine, but I am my mother’s daughter. By 8pm, three hours later, I was heading back home. I popped into the Sidiqqis to say bye, went to dinner, came home and spent the entire night packing. Sadaf stayed up with me. At about 2am a storm came in and dumped an inch of water on the city, and took out the electricity. At 3:30 I realized I had better find a candle instead of miss my train by watching the lightning and wind. The rain felt so cool! I felt my luck turning around. I heard the doorbell at 3:50; that was Prem waiting for me. I stuffed the last things on the floor into my huge duffel bag, realized I couldn’t bring the oatmeal and coffee to Ladakh, and left the house. At that point only one person, Sadaf’s dad, was still asleep. The whole city was so quiet and empty and wet. At the station I gave Prem all the money I had saved by taking non-ac instead of the Shatabdi to make sure the evil eye really would go away (600 rp). I know Prem will be ok. If people like Prem were allowed to rise in business and government, instead of the goondas and sons of politicians, India would be unstoppable. It took two coolies to carry my bags but I made it, finally, to Nirinder and Mridula’s apartment in RK Puram.
Now Mira and Sunita are coming to Ladakh, so I’ll stay up there the next two weeks instead of going to Pune.
I hope to see everyone soon!
rose
Prem ji and Rose
Our group photo
Engrossed in Ibn e Safi’s “The mysterious screams”
My bike ride to school
