Bombay Time (24 page)

She stared at her mother. So the taste in her mouth had an odor, could be spotted by others. She wondered if it smelled as bad to her mother as it tasted to her. Instinctively, she covered her mouth before she spoke. “Haven’t eaten anything since that scrambled egg you made this morning,” she mumbled. “That’s why only I’ve been brushing my teeth. My mouth has a horrible taste.”

Her mother looked worried. “Maybe the egg was rotten. But that was so early this morning. I didn’t even wake you for lunch today. Thought you needed to sleep. Are you having motions, Tehmi? Perhaps it’s indigestion or diarrhea.”

But she was healthy in every other way. Her mother insisted that she go to a doctor, but Tehmi resisted. Dinabai had already spent too much money on Cyrus’s funeral, and she hated to waste money on a doctor. Besides, Dr. Poonawala would ask to look down her throat, and she was embarrassed to expose him to an odor that made even her own mother cringe. In the weeks that followed, she took to speaking less and less at home and covered her mouth when she did speak. After a few feeble tries, Dinabai did not disturb her as she sat for long hours staring into space or writing in her book. The older woman had herself known deadly grief and she respected its authority. And truth be told, she was afraid of hurting her daughter’s feelings with her involuntarily flinches each time Tehmi opened her mouth. Whatever deadly germ was lodged in her daughter’s mouth gave Dinabai the dry heaves. Despite her best intentions, Tehmi’s mother felt relief when her daughter did not open her mouth for hours.

Dali and Mani Engineer stopped by two weeks after the funeral to check on their daughter-in-law. They were shocked at the sight that greeted them. Tehmi’s hair was disheveled, her eyes blank. There was a faint dry crust of white around her mouth. Tehmi saw the shock in their eyes and was mortified. She was excruciatingly aware of the damp patches of sweat near the armpits of her dress, her uncombed hair, her uncut black fingernails. Afraid of making them nauseous with what would escape from her mouth, she refused to speak to them, but this only bewildered them further. “Tehmi,
deekra,
don’t be angry at us, please?” Mani said, misunderstanding her silence. “Only reason we haven’t come sooner is Dali was unwell. But we pray to God twenty-four hours a day to give you strength, believe me.” Tehmi tried to tell Mani with her eyes that she understood, but the occasion called for words. Finally, the Engineers got up to leave, hurt and bewildered by her strange behavior. Tehmi refused to see them out, so Dinabai slipped on a vest over her duster coat and walked them to the main gate. Dali, already racked with guilt, turned to Tehmi’s mother on the way out. “I always liked your Tehmi,” he said. “My objection to their marriage had nothing to do with her, believe me.”

“I know, I know, Dalibhai,” Dina consoled. “Trust me, Tehmi is not angry at you. Far from it. It’s just that—there’s another problem. Nothing to do with what you’re thinking.”

“Problem? Any problem, Dinabai, I’m at your service. Tehmi is not just your daughter but our daughter, too. Tehmi is a proud girl; she won’t tell us. But you tell us—what problem is she having?”

“Bad breath.” The look of incredulity on Dali’s face spurred Dina on. “It’s not a joke. Something has happened to Tehmi. Three days after the last ceremony, she woke up with it. When she talks, it’s a smell so bad that—God forgive me, for she’s my own flesh and blood—even I have a hard time trying not to vomit. It’s made her so quiet, my heart aches. And yet, God save me, I’m glad when she’s quiet.” Dinabai looked ready to cry.

The Engineers exchanged a glance. Dali cleared his throat. “But Dinabai, surely this is not a serious problem. We can take Tehmi to our family doctor. Probably just needs some strong
dava
to clear it up.”

“I tried getting her to go to Dr. Poonawala,” Dina said excitedly. “But what to do, Dali? She refuses to step out of the house.”

Mani spoke up. “I’ll have Naju talk to her. Better to have someone her own age talk to her. Naju needs to come see her anyway. It … it will be good for both of them.”

Indeed, it took plain-speaking Naju to get Tehmi into Dr. Poon-awala’s clinic. “What are you going to do, sit in your flat like some old hag, waiting for the problem to go away?” Naju cried in exasperation. “What if it takes weeks to clear up, Tehmi? Why torture yourself and your poor mummy with this horrible smell? Stinks like you swallowed a dead rat or something.”

Dr. Poonawala prescribed some medication, assured her the problem would be resolved within four days, and expressed puzzlement when she returned a week later. “Let’s try it for another week,” he intoned. “Some cases are more difficult than others.”

But there was no improvement by the following week. A perplexed Poonawala switched medications. “This powder is ten times as strong as the last one. Should clear it right up. Sorry to have not tried this medicine the first time.”

The next time she left to visit Poonawala’s clinic, Rusi Bilimoria spotted her as she left Wadia Baug. “Tehmi, wait,” he said, catching up with her. “How have you been? I’ve rung your doorbell many times, but your mummy always says you’re sleeping or not feeling well. Anything I can do to help you, you have only to say.”

Moved by his words, his warm, intense expression reminding her of Cyrus’s kind, beloved face, Tehmi spoke before she realized what she was doing. “Rusi, hello. Thank you for your concern. I’ve been well, just resting. You know, I’m so—”

She stopped abruptly, having noticed that Rusi had drawn in his breath sharply and was looking away. Instinctively, her hand flew up to her mouth. “Sorry, so sorry,” she muttered. “Some minor problem I’m having.”

Rusi, realizing that Tehmi had noticed his instinctive reaction, looked mortified. “No, no, no,
I’m
sorry,” he murmured. He stared at her, unsure of what to say next, willing his body not to react if Tehmi opened her mouth again. Suddenly, he wished his mother was with him. But Tehmi was done talking. After a few agonizing seconds, she nodded sharply and resumed walking. Rusi walked back home, furious with himself. Surely the smell was not as bad as all that, he said to himself. You behaved liked a bastard. But at the thought of the smell, his stomach heaved again.

Tehmi arrived at the clinic that day desperate to find a cure for this strange problem—she couldn’t believe it was a disease; there were no other symptoms. She watched Dr. Poonawala closely to pick up on any signs that he was shunning her, but the doctor was a consummate professional. But his quiet, unflinchingly kind manner offended her that day. Of course he can tolerate me, she told herself as she left with yet another prescription. He’s used to working with cadavers and God knows what other foulness. Compared to dead bodies, I probably smell like a rose.

And then she saw Cyrus’s remains again, smelled again the terrible foul smell of rotting, burning flesh. And it clicked. She was tasting Cyrus in her mouth. It was as if she had inhaled Cyrus that day at the morgue, taken him in through the pores of her skin and now he was lodged inside her, festering, smoldering. She was both repelled and comforted by the thought. It scared and disgusted her to realize what had happened, that somehow what she had seen and smelled at the morgue that day had followed her home, had lodged itself inside her skin, seeped into her bones, danced on her tongue, found its resting place inside her mouth. But it also comforted her to know that Cyrus was still with her, that she could call on him, talk to him whenever she wanted.
That she could taste him in her mouth.
She felt as if she had tricked death somehow, found a way around the finality of death to hold on to Cyrus. Yes, this was not the Cyrus of her dreams, but if she could not have the Cyrus who smelled of talcum powder, she would at least have the Cyrus who smelled and looked like burned rubber. Cyrus, too, must have missed her so badly, longed for her so very much, to have gone to such lengths to come to her. She felt gratified and humbled at the thought of her dead husband proving his love to her from beyond the grave.

As she walked, she felt a lifting of the thin, brittle feeling that had grabbed her from the day that Cyrus had not come home. The encounter with Rusi now seemed insignificant, as did her earlier desire to beg Dr. Poonawala for a cure. What did it matter if she lost a friend, one breath at a time? What did it matter who from the building still spoke to her? What did it matter that even her own mother turned away each time she spoke? Cyrus had not abandoned her. He had kept his promise never to leave her. She laughed out loud at the thought. Of course Cyrus had kept his word. When had Cyrus been anything but honest and loyal to her? Now it was her turn. She was only angry at herself for not recognizing earlier the extent of Cyrus’s love for her. How sad Cyrus must have felt when she didn’t recognize him right away, how hurt he must have been each time she swallowed one of Dr. Poonawala’s powders or brushed her tongue with one of his pastes. As if she was trying to kill Cyrus, flush him out of her life, like an unwanted fetus.

No more. She said the words out loud. “No more.” Said it as her grip loosened on the paper bag containing Dr. Poonawala’s powders.
Cyrus over everyone else.
Repeated it as she dropped the bag on the sidewalk and kept walking, without looking back. “No more.” In the battle between the living and the dead, it was no contest. Cyrus had come back to her, not abandoned her, not turned away from her. He had chosen her. Now it was her turn to choose him.

Now, at Mehernosh Kanga’s wedding reception, Tehmi wondered for the umpteenth time whether she had made the right choice. She could still clearly remember the day she had decided to withdraw inward, to shun the living in favor of the dead. It had been so easy and clear-cut back then. In the weeks and months since that fateful day, how resolutely she had ignored Dali Engineer’s pleadings that she see a better doctor than Poonawala, that she go see an ear, nose, and throat man. How easily she had ignored Naju’s exhortations to go out with her occasionally, instead of spending her evenings at home with Dinabai. How firmly she had refused her mother’s plea that she get a job, instead of sitting home crocheting all day long. Instead, she packed Dinabai’s lunch each morning and waved to the older woman as she set out for the Ratan Tata Institute. Then she spent the day dreaming about Cyrus. Some days, she even forgot to take a bath. Often, she was interrupted by one neighbor or another attempting to check on her. Mostly, Tehmi ignored the doorbell until it stopped ringing. Or she acted so strangely toward them that it took them months to screw up the nerve to return.

Like the time she let Amy Gazdar in. Tehmi waited until Amy settled into the chair in the living room, and then she went into the bedroom to conduct the conversation from the adjoining room. “Mamma is not here. She will be home soon,” she said to her visitor.

Amy decided to ignore the strange sitting arrangement. “I know. I came to see you, Tehmi. A few of us friends are thinking of going to Colaba Causeway tomorrow evening to do some shopping. I just thought maybe you would like to join us. You know, get some fresh air and stuff.”

“Thank you for the food you sent after Mummy and I got back after the funeral,” said the dull voice from the other room.

Amy felt a trickle of sweat run down her face. “Tehmi, did you hear what I said? About Colaba Causeway?”

There was a long silence. Then Tehmi replied, “Thank you for visiting. But I am tired now. Thank you for the food.”

“No mention, no mention.” Amy hurried out of the apartment and went directly to another neighbor’s flat to relay her strange encounter with Tehmi. Months went by before she visited Tehmi again, and then she went on a Sunday, when she knew Dinabai would be home.

Tehmi was convinced that Amy’s visit was an act of charity and she bristled at the thought. She constantly looked for signs of revulsion on the part of her visitors, hoping to support her belief that they stopped by out of morbid curiosity and pity. Once, she looked out of the window in time to see Dinabai, who was returning home from work, give a box of R.T.I, chocolates to the elderly woman who had just paid Tehmi a visit. Seething with anger, Tehmi waited for Dinabai to enter the flat. “So you now have to bribe your friends to come visit your foul-smelling daughter, uh? I saw you hand the chocolate box to that old woman who sat here wasting my time. Just dropped by for a visit, did she? What am I, the charity case of Wadia Baug?” A stunned Dinabai swore her innocence, but Tehmi remained suspicious.

Naju was the only visitor that Tehmi looked forward to seeing. But Tehmi’s new passivity was too much for Naju. Once, in the days when she used to visit at least once a month, Naju lost her temper.
“Bas,
enough is enough, Tehmi,” Naju said. “I love my brother very much also, but this is not what Cyrus would have wanted, you sitting at home like a
maharani
while your poor mother slogs all day to feed and clothe you. You are too young to be living off her widow’s income. At this rate, even the money you got from Bombay Chemicals will be gone in no time.”

But Naju’s words had no effect on Tehmi. “Cyloo doesn’t want me to work,” she said in that dull voice she had developed since his death.

“Cyloo doesn’t want you to work?” Naju repeated incredulously. “What, Cyrus just wants your mother to work, with her asthma and all? How are you knowing Cyrus doesn’t want you to work? Did he come to you in a
sapana
and tell you? Come off it, Tehmi. Don’t blame my brother for your laziness.”

She did not talk to Naju for three full months after that, until Naju apologized. During those months, she also stopped visiting her in-laws, despite the fact that this meant forgoing the cash that Dali Engineer used to press into Tehmi’s hand after each visit. When she finally made up with Naju and resumed the visits, the balance of power had shifted. The Engineers stopped begging Tehmi to go see another doctor for her problem and Naju gave up trying to get Tehmi out of her shell. All of them accepted that the dull, silent woman in front of them was a pale shadow of the woman their son had married. Watching her made Dali’s and Mani’s hearts ache even more for their lost son. Cyrus had left a half-dead woman in his wake, they realized.