Going Back To You

03.

I could hear the disembodied voice from the radio echoing through the living room and dissipating into my consciousness like ear worms. I sighed.  I could've conveniently burried the news blaring from the radio had it not been for Appa's loud and intermittent expressions of bellicose opposition and agreement to the newsreader on the radio.

I was prevented from going out and playing cricket with my friends because  Appa believed that it'd do no good to frolic around in the shabby neighborhood, specially with my "Muslim friends" in Appa's words. I rolled my eyes as I heard Appa shout, "Yes! That's right!" as he nodded passionately in chorus with the news.

My eyes trailed up to the monthly Chandamama  magazine settled on top of the old iron shelf in the living room. Amma had vowed to refuse it to me until I did all the pending house chores but I was stubborn with an inflated and a fleeting repertoire of ego. Just like Amma.

As I laid on the floor with my hands crossed behind my head supporting my neck from the hard floor, my thoughts rode to the star eyed, brunette, skinny boy who had a cleverness for cricket in spite of his dainty physique and with his piddling training in cricket.

I scoffed at the memory. "Such a know-it-all", I thought.

As if on cue, I sat up and glared at the cricket bat leaning by the door of the bedroom. Arin had still not come to claim the bat. Truth was, apart from the fact that I'd be sad I'd lose my precious bat, I was more scared of my father finding out that my bat had gone. I was always flashing the shiny edge of the bat around the house.

Yet again, the debate corner in the news channel was knocking on my auditory senses and this kind of content even demanded concentration- "...the incident of police brutality over 20 muslim youths has sprung up countless incidents of communal clashes between the Hindus and Muslims. The opposition is claiming polarization of the issue by the ruling party to drive focus away from State violence. Situation remains grim in many parts..."

I sighed loudly and bored my eyes into my father's.

"What?" Appa asked angrily.

"I want to go out. Jasir's family brought him a Walkman. I want to check it out."

All I had to do was take my bicycle to Jasir's house which was located in the next neighbourhood- not as dilapidated as ours.

"You will not go anywhere!" My father shouted at me and I was just about to walk up to him and hit him hard on the shoulder so he'd stop being so bloody controlling all the time, that I heard rapping on the door. I didn't need many strides to reach the door, the house was small.

I opened the door and my eyes reduced to slits as I saw him- Arin.

"I'm here for the bat", Arin said wearing a patronizing smile.

I scowled at him. His house was right around the corner and he took at least five days to 'claim' it. I opened the door wider to allow him access inside the house. He removed his shoes and neatly placed them at a corner and walked in, curiously taking in his surroundings. Idols of different Gods adorned the dull-coloured walls interspersed with old and brown stains. He sat down on the floor, right in front of my father. There was no way I could transact the bat to Arin in front of my disdainful father...ugh.

I gestured Arin to get up and had him follow me to the bedroom. Arin walked in and timidly sat on the edge of the window sill. I peeked my head out from the slightly ajar door of the bedroom and when I saw my father having angry monologues to himself, I grabbed the bat from the side.

"Here!" I threw the bat Arin's way, he caught it with ease.

"What's so special about cricket?" Arin asked with interest.

"It's fun. I like playing with my friends. And I'm even respected for owning a bat." I drew my chin up and straightened my shoulders in pride.

Arin grinned. "I heard Jasir got a Walkman. Do you wanna check it out together?"

I sighed as I cast my vision down on the uninspiring patterns of the tiles. "My father won't let me."

"Why not? You're friends with him, are you not?"

"He's Muslim and things aren't good right now." I stared out in to the living room where Appa was now lying down on the floor.

"Why do you like Jasir?"

I shrugged. "He's cool and he has a lot of things to say. I'm not bored with him."

"So you don't like him for being Muslim?"

"How does his religion matter?" I looked up at Arin confused. And Arin still wore an amused glint in his eyes which was evident in the way the corners of his mouth were pulled up into a smile.

"Then why should you hate him for being Muslim? Let's go check it out together. We'll sneak out when your father's still asleep. Come on now!"

He grabbed my wrist and we snuck out. On our way to Jasir's house, Arin held my hands, as if we were friends, as if I just hadn't hated him a few days back, as if he didn't mind I was a boy just like him and none of my friends held hands with me. Funny enough, I liked his clammy hands. I liked his tight grip. I also liked the way the sun shone upon his brown dazed hair.

"You didn't take the bat!" I stopped Arin and he looked at me while he said, "The bat's yours so you keep it. I only came so I'd tease you." And just like that his patronizing smile was back on but I wasn't as bothered about it.

- - - 

A/N: Remember, this is a collaboration between I and my co-writer Merakioni . Please, go and support this story which is up on her profile as well!