KEEPER, KEEPER

I finally feel at peace. After the confrontation, I have not spotted or heard from Salim. I hope he has learned what he must. I wish I had done this earlier.

I choose to spend the last day of my school suspension window shopping. So, we asked Ahmed bhai to drop us at the grand bazaar. Now, we are walking back and forth the lane in search of thrifted household items. Bhabhi is looking for a jewellery box, and I am looking for a small window lamp for reading.

Our luck could not have been worse, as the shopkeeper said he sold something similar to the one we had been looking for moments ago. We both sigh and walk some more. But around the corner, near a small stationery store, I spot a familiar face. He must have looked at me for long because I could feel the gaze all along. It is hazy out there, and my eyesight isn't too pristine. We walk further, and then I can finally make out. Here he is again. Salim, with his sullen face and puppy eyes, is trying to find his luck the Bollywood way. He is trying way too hard.

“Bhabhi, isn't that Salim?” I ask, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Ya Allah! Yes. Why is he following you around everywhere? His guts!” she exclaims.

“Maybe he is here to shop. Maybe he does not know I am here,” I try to convince myself.

“He is clearly looking at you, Sara,” I got the confirmation I needed. I am not dreaming. He is really doing it again, but I am not going to have it again. 

“You know I just spoke to him yesterday about not repeating this ever again. But here he is,” I sigh.

“You spoke to him?” Bhabhi asks, surprised. 

“Yes, to tell him not to follow me around. I thought he would stop.” 

“Well, he did not.”

“What should I do?”

“Let's ignore him for the time being. If anything happens otherwise, we talk to him together this time.”

I agree. We make our way through the crowd, check in a few stores, and head out disappointed. We are tired by the time we check into the sixth store in line, and I hear my stomach grumble. We choose a humble restaurant to fill our stomachs. ‘Murugan idly kadai’ it is. We order one plate idly for each of us and it arrives in ten minutes. It is idly every day at home, but somehow, having it outside feels heavenly. There is something special about the hotel-made sambar and chutneys that makes it unique. I gobble it up in three bites, while Bhabhi is still pecking at it. After a satisfying meal, we head outside, and Salim is at it again, opposite the lane. I look at Bhabhi again, asking, “Do you think we should wait some more?”

“Absolutely not. You wait. Let me handle this.” She walks across the lane and greets Salim, who is visibly confused. They both talk for a few minutes, and he suddenly walks away without looking back. Bhabhi pulls a thumbs-up sign, and I raise my eyebrows in surprise. 

“What just happened?”

“I simply asked if he is Faridoon Aunty’s son. And we had a little chat about the families after he said yes. Then I told him we would like to visit his parents someday because it has been a while. Then he wished me salaam and left,” she giggles, and I am surprised by her presence of mind. 

“Wah, Bhabhi. That is brilliant. Why did I never think of that?” 

“That’s why I am your Bhabhi,” she says, and we both chuckle. 

 

As we celebrate our small victory, we spot Ahmed bhai walking towards us from nowhere, and we are taken by surprise.

“Hey, who were you talking to?” he asks, catching us off guard. I look at Bhabhi, and she at me. We are both struggling for words, and Bhabhi again strikes.

“That's… that's. Didn't you recognise him? He is your fufa’s son. I just met him accidentally, and we had a chat.”

“Oh, well. I don't really know a lot of my relatives.”

“That's right. I can see.”

“Are you both done yet?” 

“Nope, we have a long way to go. We will let you know when we are done.” We walk again, leaving Ahmed bhai frustrated. Clearly, he should have waited some more time in the parking lot. I heave a sigh of relief and clench Bhabhi’s hand to thank her. She nods, and we walk again. 

This is a part of BlogchatterA2Z 2025

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