Page 56 of Rani Deshpande Takes the Wheel
Kush shrugs. “Long time coming,” he says. “He was in Jaipur for a few weeks earlier this year when my grandma passed. And I think he just prefers it, being around his family.”
My nose wrinkles at his phrasing—aren’t Kush and Noori Aunty Suresh Uncle’s family too? But it’s clear there’s something in the Khanna household dynamic beyond my comprehension,that I just can’t relate to. Ajoba is a fully integrated part of our home; I can’t imagine a construction where I’d suggest we belong to separate families.
His mouth twitches at my bemusement. “It’s for the best, Rani,” he says. “I like being home a lot more when he’s away.” He straightens, done with the matter. He angles his head toward the hallway. “Should we join the twins for a bit?” he asks. “We’ve got a little while before dinner’s ready.”
I know when to let something go. “Let’s,” I say. The boys might be irked to be interrupted, but the film is too much of a favorite to deny myself the entertainment.
We enter the movie room to a particularly exciting scene. The characters are on a bucket list bachelor trip, and their scuba diving lesson functions as a meet-cute for one of the leads. Kush and I plop into the back-row couch, and the twins don’t even glance up at us.
“This was my favorite movie as a kid,” Kush tells me in a low whisper. He pulls absently at a loose thread on his cushion. There’s a draft in the room, and the hair on his arm has risen in response.
I can’t hide my smile. “Very typical,” I say. Perhaps every Indian man I know would say the same.
He raises a brow at the tone. “You disagree?”
“I loveZindagi,” I say. “But I have a preference for the classics.”
“Ah,” he says. “So some dancing in the mountains type shit.”
He’s mocking me, but he’s also a hundred percent right. “Or the rain, or mustard fields, etcetera etcetera.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but Sanju’s voice cuts in before he can. “Popcorn, please, Rani Tai!” he calls without so much as a backward glance.
My eyes narrow at the command. Something about parental absence always incites the inner spoiled brat in my brothers. “No,” I say. “It’s almost dinnertime.”
“And your sister’s not your maid,” Kush adds, and surprised pleasure sparks at his coming to my defense. “Manners next time.”
“I saidplease,” Sanju grumbles, but he sinks farther into his seat, chagrined.
When I meet Kush’s gaze, I realize he’s been watching me, expression thoughtful and steady. I mean to thank him, but for some reason, my face grows hot at the attention, the words dying on my lips. I’m grateful for the dim lighting, and Kush continues on without notice. “This movie is a classic to me.”
“Hm,” I say. I shift away from him for good measure and nod at the screen. The characters are now deep in the ocean, marine life bright around them. “What would be your bucket list activity?”
He considers. “Probably this,” he says. “Since I can’t swim.”
A laugh escapes. “I’d almost forgotten,” I say. Throughout childhood, Kush was famous in our family friend circle for standing in the shallow end of pools while the rest of the kids enjoyed a few laps. “Still?”
He throws a dark look. “Still,” he confirms. He hurries from the topic before I pile on further. “And what would be yours?”
“I’m not sure,” I say truthfully. “I don’t really like trying new things.” As I’m speaking, I realize that the admission makes mesound like a massive bore, so I try to explain. “I like what I know, I mean.”
That doesn’t sound much better. Kush tilts his head as I try to find a way to rephrase. “That’s not how I see you,” he says. “Transferring, driving, these are all new things. You’ve always seemed very open to change.”
An odd, warm sensation settles in my chest. Kush’s description isn’t really how I seemyself, but I prefer his more generous perception. “Huh,” I say. “Maybe so.”
He nods. “It’s pretty brave,” he says. “The transferring part, especially. Not easy to just start all over.”
The corners of my mouth push up, gratification rising. “Well, thanks, Kush.”
He returns the smile, and then we rest back in our seats, enjoying the film until we’re called in for dinner.
At the table, Ajoba fills up on seconds and thirds. He gives a satisfied sigh as he clears his last bowl of kadhi pakora.
“I hope you know how lucky you are, Kush beta,” he says, and Kush laughs.
“Very much,” he says. He reaches for the empty dishes. “Let me take your stuff.” Ajoba allows it, and as Kush retreats to the kitchen, my grandfather looks up at me, green eyes knowing.
I shrink under his gaze. “What?” I ask.
