Losing Touch Read Online Free Page B

puzzled. ‘ Bhai ?’
    He can’t explain how he is moved by the neat pile of plates and bowls, the stack of four pans, the gleaming prongs of the whisk, the sheer orderliness, so different from Sunila maniacally slamming everything away as hurriedly as possible. But here, on the kitchen table, is the result of all the work they have done, something lovely and harmonious.
    He picks up the pans. ‘Just tell me where to put these.’
    It is time to go. He’d better not stay longer, even though it would be so comfortable to sit and doze in one of Haseena’s large armchairs.
    Sadiq comes tumbling downstairs to throw himself at Arjun for a goodbye hug. Haseena hugs him, too.
    Arjun tweaks Sadiq’s nose. ‘It was lovely to see you. Now, you take care of your mother, all right?’
    â€˜Arjun, please, you’ll follow up with the doctor?’
    â€˜Yes.’ He smiles at Haseena.
    â€˜And let me know?’
    â€˜I will.’ He turns at the bottom of the path to wave.
    â€˜Can I come to your house, Uncle?’ Sadiq wriggles as Haseena tugs his arm. ‘But Mum, I haven’t seen Murad and Tarani for ages . Please?’
    Arjun calls back, ‘Of course you can come, Sadiq. I’ll check with Aunty and we’ll arrange it.’
    â€˜Thank you, Arjun.’ Haseena waves while Sadiq does his jubilation dance.
    Arjun walks back along the streets to the main road. What a sweet, unaffected boy Sadiq is. If only Tarani and Murad could be more natural. Tarani, especially, is so self-conscious. And Murad. What could have made him so uncommunicative, so distant? Arjun sighs.
    Just after Southall, the bus brakes at a request stop. Suddenly the smell of boiled fish overwhelms the memory of Haseena’s chicken curry as a tall woman sits next to him. She stares down at him and sniffs audibly, turning her head away.
    He hadn’t expected the English to be so childish.
    â€˜Just ignorance, isn’t it?’ Jonti, shrugging. ‘No more rude than they were in India. Get this, boy. Hurry up, boy. Jaldi, jaldi .’ Jonti’s high-pitched version of a British accent. ‘Anyone who goes around in a pith helmet and shorts with long socks has no right to make fun of anyone else.’
    They were brothers. Surely some of that magic has rubbed off on Arjun? Surely it’s possible to love Sunila the way Jonti loved Nawal, to come home with real anticipation? She is wearing a simple but attractive shalwar, her face softens and she looks like the pretty young girl he’d courted in Bombay. She’s happy to see him. The scenario grates to a halt since it’s impossible to imagine Sunila either in a shalwar or looking happy to see him.
    He listens to his body as he gets off the bus, but his leg is fine. On an impulse, he takes the path through the Big Field, breathing in the afternoon cocktail of cold leaves, wet grass, smoke from a bonfire. Four small boys bundle across the grass, frantically aiming kicks at a fast-flying football. The ball bounces off a tree and rolls nearby. Without thinking, Arjun steps off the path, fields the ball and shoots it back. The scrimmage is soon rushing in the opposite direction, the ball leading the struggle of muddy knees and elbows. He watches them go, imagining the excitement of this moment, being in the middle of the pack, the fast breathing, the fleeting second when foot connects with ball.
    He wonders when this moment deserted him. From one Arjun, always urging his little brother to come on , catch up , he grew into another Arjun who led his family overseas to England, to another who developed a respected medical expertise. He substituted accounting for RAF nursing so that the children’s schooling wouldn’t be interrupted. Now he is yet another Arjun who nervously monitors his own walking. When did the forward rush change into the hesitant step?
    He knows what Haseena was talking about. He, too, saw it in India: the