you alone then and make sure that food is ready for you,” she said quickly, turning to leave.
“Hey, wait!” I called out.
“Yes?”
“Who are you?” I asked. “I mean why are you serving me tea in my room? Why don’t you look at me?”
“My name is Sheila,” she replied, still refusing to look at me. “I work in this house. Dhadhi ji has ordered that I look after your needs in this house. I . . . I am sorry, ma’am, if I have upset you.”
“No, no, don’t worry about it. So why haven’t I seen you before now?” I asked.
“I had gone home to Calcutta to see my family. I just came back this morning, ma’am.”
“I see . . . Now, tell me, why aren’t you looking at me directly?” I lightened my tone and tried to sound a bit more welcoming. Her fear was discomforting.
“Ma’am . . . I—”
“Oh, come on, raise your gaze . . . that’s it . . . higher . . . don’t worry, there’s nothing exciting going on with your feet or this floor, for that matter. Now, looking at me, there’s excitement!” I said, smiling.
“I am sorry, ma’am. For the first time I will be working for a NRI. You are from Canada, yes? I was not sure if you would appreciate me looking at you—”
“Sorry, NRI?” I asked, cutting her off.
“Oh yes, Non-Resident Indian, NRI,” she replied.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Sheila. I’m not Indian. My nationality is Canadian, okay?”
“Sorry, ma’am, I just—”
“And look me in the eyes when you speak to me. Don’t be so scared. It’s weird.”
“Yes.”
“All right, I should, uh, get dressed. You can relax. I don’t really need anything, but thanks for the tea?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I headed for the shower as Sheila collected my teacup and quietly made her way to the hallway. A servant? Hmmm . . . I could get used to that.
When I walked into the dining room, a plateful of food was of course waiting for me. Sheila was very efficient. Jas walked in and out of the kitchen, as usual, preparing meals for the day, while Bhagat and his school friends met up in the courtyard. Dhadhi was doing her prayers in the living room, but today there was an addition. Beside Dhadhi sat a tall individual in brown sandals and white pants and shirt. The morning paper was obscuring the top half of the person. However, the large muscular arms and legs hinted that whoever was behind that paper was definitely a man. Suddenly I felt like Sheila, but why should I? My heart started racing. Could it be Ekant?
Uncertain if I should approach Dhadhi and the stranger or sit quietly and wait until I was noticed, I stood in the same position and tried to get a glimpse of the man. Probably it was Ekant. It would be about time that he showed up.
“Esha?” Jas was standing over the table, holding a plate of food. “What are you doing standing there? Come join me.”
I quickly turned on my heels and followed suit. As I walked towards the table, I could hear the rustle of the newspaper behind me, yet no voice followed.
“Did you have a good sleep?” Jas asked.
“Yeah, it was fine,” I replied.
Throughout our meal, I glanced back and forth between Jas and the stranger, yet she made no attempt to introduce me to him. Dhadhi continued her prayers, and the strange man continued reading his paper. It was only after Dhadhi put down her prayer book that she called out and broke the silence.
“Esha! Esha child, come here quick!” I walked over and stood behind the sofa that she was seated on. “Ekant,” she began, “put that paper down and meet your sister.”
It was Ekant. He slowly lowered his newspaper and revealed his face to me. I was shocked to see how closely he resembled my father. He was a big, muscular man. He had a black beard that reached down to his chest, and he too wore a turban. His long and narrow nose, large round eyes and thin lips all contained traces of my father. The resemblance was uncanny.
“Esha, this is Ekant. I am so happy that you two are finally meeting!” Dhadhi continued, with a smile stretching from ear to ear.
“Hi,” I said, offering my hand.
He studied me for a while, then instead of shaking my hand, he folded his hands before him. “In India, we greet people with respect and in our traditional way of putting our hands together. I guess they do not teach you this in Canada?” His voice was deep as I had imagined it to be, but I sensed the disapproval in his tone, and that didn’t sound the least bit comforting.
“Last time I checked, a handshake was considered quite respectful,” I retorted as I withdrew my hand.
“Hmm . . .” is all Ekant mustered before he opened up his paper once again and became lost in the day’s news, as though the little exchange between us had never happened.
Was this it? This was how we were going to meet for the first time ever? Was this all he had to say to me? Weeks of wondering what this moment would be like, what we would say to each other, and this was it. We had a brief and rude exchange on the correct method for greeting someone, then silence. He had made no mention of my father; no show of emotion or grief over his passing. Then again, why would he? Dad was his uncle in reality, and Ekant was a son born out of the crime of rape. But hadn’t Jas mentioned that Ekant viewed my dad as his very own father? So really, what was with the attitude? In any case, it didn’t matter. I was here for a reason, and I had to accomplish my task regardless of what he might think.
“So, when can we set out for Kiratpur?” I asked, pretending that his rude behaviour had gone unnoticed.
“Kiratpur?” he asked, almost sounding surprised.
“Uh, yeah, Kiratpur. You know, for Dad’s ashes,” I replied.
“Impossible.”
“What is?” I asked, confused by his curt response.
“Travel to Kiratpur is impossible at the moment.”
“What? How come?”
“Kiratpur is hours away. There is no safe passage right now. Travel is not an option.”
“So what if it’s hours away? We jump in a car and drive there. Simple. I don’t see the big problem,” I said, growing impatient with this sudden refusal. No one else had mentioned anything regarding unsafe passage to Kiratpur in the last couple of days. It was hard to believe that Ekant knew more than anyone else did.
“It has only been a few weeks since Operation Bluestar. Travelling to Kiratpur right now is not safe. The social and political climate is too fragile. It’s just not safe to travel, so I’m sorry if you—”
“Wait, what is Operation Bluestar?” I asked innocently.
