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From Jenny Asha Vinil
THE DARK HOUSE, PALAKKAD
3 APRIL 1981
Dear Teesta,
I’m writing to you in candlelight. Once again, the electricity went dhssshhh because of load-shedding. I write, insects come to copy what I am writing, I have to swat them away. That little stain in the left corner is … insect goo. Disgusting, I know. Sorry. But it’s a mark of how accurate I am when it comes to swatting them. It’s like playing cricket but with a ball that’s microscopic and constantly moving. Maybe I can be a cricketer! Or even better, an insect-swatter.
This is the second time the electricity went in a day. In the morning we sat with no fans in school and it was so hot. Don’t know why ma’am was angry when I smuggled ice cubes from the school kitchen and put them down Pushkin’s shirt. He should be thanking me!
Anyway, I complained and complained until Annmary announced to us at break that our electricity problems will soon be over because they’re definitely starting to build the hydroelectric dam in the Silent Valley, and it will also get jobs to many people and irrigate lots of farmland. Her father works at the big power company, okay, so he knows all this. And then she said we’re all anti-development.
I couldn’t believe what she was saying! How can she be happy about this, and I told her exactly that. Her nostrils got so flared that if she were a dragon, the room would have been full of smoke! I did tell her that, and she got even more angry. We ended up having an elephant-sized argument. I repeated what I had heard Acchan discuss in his meetings—about how a big portion of the forest would drown if the dam was built. Acchan always uses a rude word in front of the word ‘dam’, but I did not use that. It would submerge 8.3 square kilometres of the shola forest. I know I am good at maths but that’s a lot of square kilometres for even me to calculate, and did she want that?
So she said of course she didn’t but it would be nice to have power all the time and to be more developed. Then the bell rang, so we went back to our seats. After that somehow we didn’t walk home together. Which has never happened in the history of our friendship.
Do you have that many electricity cuts? I have never asked. Bombay is so modern, it must always run and run and never stop! Does it get tired? I told Acchan about our elephantine argument but also what Annmary had pointed out about having power all the time. Acchan explained that there was enough electricity being generated but it has to reach us properly. He said that a lot of the power generated was being exported to other states. So confusing.
Then, Acchan smiled and said we will make tea; his solution to everything is to drink tea. Mine is to eat ice cream. But it was a proper disaster! I couldn’t help but chortle as he peered at the brown, lumpy concoction he had just brewed. White clumps were bobbing on its surface.
‘What do you think went wrong?’ he asked me.
That’s when I realized he had used the milk that Achamma had set curd in! He looked at it so dolefully that we both burst into laughter. Then he said, ‘You know at college, I was the designated cook! I made the best tea in our hostel, and boiled eggs.’
‘And … ?’ I asked.
‘What and? That’s a lot!’ Acchan said. ‘Your amma—’ He sighed as he threw the chai away. Immediately, it was like shutters had gone down. His face turned impassive, as if he was a stone. Then he quietly said, ‘Come, let’s go to the chayakkada instead.’
So we did, and there was lots and lots of talk about the Silent Valley. Again. I know he misses Amma’s tea. And her even more. Even though it’s been twelve years. I wish I knew more about her, but all I have are her stories.
Acchan keeps trying to cook, and sometimes it works and often it doesn’t, but either way we have a good chuckle. I’m going to help him with the cooking because Achamma wants to spend more time with my aunty, her daughter who is a doctor in Trivandrum. So my father and I should be able to feed ourselves! Or at least I hope so.
He burns more than he cooks, including water! Who burns water? I want to especially learn how to make beef roast and parotta. The parottas look hard, though, you’ve to fling them around like a trapeze artist and then roll them into spirals and roll them again. But it’s worth it when you bite into one, it’s so flaky and yummy. Oh, I wish you could try it. I wanted to go to Annmary’s to study but then I remembered our argument. So, I sat at home and studied all alone. Which made me think that just this morning, after the ice cube incident, Pushkin had asked me if he can join our study group but I had said no boys allowed. I am feeling bad because he got such poor marks in maths that I know he cried (when he returned from the bathroom his eyes were red and his nose all snotty). I thought he would start shouting when he saw his marks. But he didn’t. I had forgotten about this, and I remembered while writing to you.
Should I invite him?
Yours in sadness,
Jenny
ps: I could not study at all; my head kept feeling heavy, like my heart. It’s like I am buried in elephant number two.
From Teesta Mehta
BOMBAY
13 MAY 1981
Dear Jenny,
Fights are not good! I hate fights. Anything loud or angry makes my heart beat fast and I feel like I can’t breathe or think because my head is full of agitated wasps. When Papa gets angry, I want to hide. I am so sorry you had a fight with Annmary. But you are best friends and will make up. That’s the rule.
And you can’t not have your best friend by your side if parts of your forest will go under water. All because of a dam. Last year, the Machhu dam in Morbi flooded during the rain, and my second cousin’s family was swept away! I have never been to a dam, but I told my mummy about yours, and she looked sad. I guess she was thinking about her second cousin. They went to school together in Bhuj. I hope the dam does not get built! Your father sounds as sad as my mother!
It’s hot in Bombay also but Mummy’s making mango shrikhand, aam ras and mango ice cream. So I am all abuzz now. And yes, we do face electricity cuts too! Sometimes Papa calls the electricity board and pretends to be the chief minister’s secretary and complains, and hey presto, on it comes!
Apart from eating mangoes and meeting Rafat and Rajesh and Bombil, this summer vacation my plan is to figure out what to write for Duniya next term. If it gets chosen, I have a chance to be on the editorial board and I will be a proper cub reporter! If you have any suggestions, please do tell me!
Here’s my summer reading list:
Target magazine. It’s the best magazine in the whole wide world.
Nancy Drew and the Crooked Bannister by Carolyn Keene. I prefer Nancy Drew to Hardy Boys.
Ivanhoe by Walter Scott
Julius Caesar by Shakespeare
Whatever Agatha Christie and Sherlock Holmes books I can get from our circulating library. Rafat is going to give me her (cute) brother’s Archie comics once he’s finished reading them, so it’s a nice long list.
And I have to do this all while studying. Soon I will go to college! Imagine! I will be in college, a collegian, a collegiate. But before that’s boards! What are you reading this summer vacation? Iill write more after returning from the in-between place. Mummy thinks I am out playing, which is technically correct.
Jenny! Jenny! Jenny!
I am writing to you immediately after coming back from the in-between place because you are my explorer friend. Also because I think you’re the only other person in the world who will understand how I am feeling. Today my tranquil den was so loud that it felt like Dadar Station!
Full of hubbub. And people. And so much sound. Not just sound, noise.
Towards the end there was something piled up and in the distance, there was a giant blue lorry backing into the area. I stuffed my diary into my pocket and began walking closer to investigate but …
‘Oi,’ a voice warned me. It was Rajesh crouching inside a smelly old boat. He put his finger to his lips and beckoned, gesturing that I should climb in as well. I hesitated, it smelled, but given Rajesh was glaring and Bombil was also there, I clambered in and crouched down, just like him. Ugh, it was fishy. And I was all soaked. Bombil licked my nose and I immediately felt better.
‘Did they see you?’ Rajesh whispered. I thought hard. I had been covered by the coconut trees, I was pretty sure. I shook my head slowly. He raised his head quietly and peeked out. I followed, feeling like a detective. I almost gasped out loud, but all the detective books held me in good stead, and not a sound came out.
Two bad elements were hanging around in the in-between place. In my place! How dare they! I could tell just by looking at them; they looked like a villain’s sidekicks. One was all round and bald and had a furry caterpillar moustache. The other was tall and skinny.
Both of them had their shirts unbuttoned and wore grubby grey vests inside. Gold chains hung around their necks, glinting in the sunlight. It was like they had stepped out of Film City and come straight here from Goregaon.
They were signalling to the lorry which was dumping a huge cloud of concrete bhurji! Litterers!
I wanted to yell but suddenly I was very frightened. I looked at the boy, but he was staring fixedly at the bad elements. They were the bad elements Papa and Mummy kept warning me about! I had kept imagining bad elements from the periodic table swarming around—
Ruthenium being Ruthless
Mercury being Mercurial
Antimony being Antieveryone
Dubnium being Dubious
But this was even worse!
Finally, after what felt like forever, the lorry finished dumping its contents, and the two men hopped in just as it drove away. I made to move, but Rajesh signalled—wait.
Five minutes later, he got up, as did Bombil. I followed them gingerly. I was soaking wet and reeking. Together, we stared at the piled-up concrete, rubble, stone, cement, with Bombil pawing at it suspiciously. A crab walked up to it and scuttled away quickly. I decided to do the same. I went to my writing corner—a rock which was almost always dry, except in the rain. From there, I looked at Rajesh and finally asked, ‘What was that?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, yaar. But these two, they come almost daily. Haven’t you noticed the concrete?’ I had. It felt like every time I visited the in-between place, there was less of place and more of rubbish. The city’s grey seemed to be inching in here as well. ‘You mean they are …?’
'Yes, I followed them one day on my cycle. They get debris from building sites owned by Taneja and Ahuja Builders and dump it all here.’
‘They’re littering!’
Rajesh scowled, ‘Not just that. I think there’s more to it.’
‘We need to do something,’ I said.
He looked at me and said nothing.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Go on tell me.’
‘I said, nothing,’
Rajesh was grumpy all afternoon after that, while I smelled of fish! What do you think is happening, Jenny? I don’t like it. It’s like what’s happening in your forest but in a tiny, tiny way, because my in-between place could fit in the pocket of your Silent Valley. Yet, both things sound awful. A forest full of water and a river dammed.
And a mangrove full of concrete.
Love,
Teesta
ps: I realized you don’t know Dadar Station, but it’s very loud. It’s like 15,789 people shouting and fighting, but they’re not actually fighting. Some are, but it’s like being in a movie theatre with a war scene but only you’re in it! Film City is in Goregaon and it’s where they shoot all my favourite films. Okay, some! I am learning to be what Masi says is important— discerning.
pps: I think you should help Pushkin! A friend in need is a friend indeed.
Excerpted from A Revolution in the Valley by Bijal Vachharajani. Published by Penguin Random House India.
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