The City Son Read Online Free PDF

pretends there’s something. When Mahesh Uncle sits next to his mother’s bed and talks to her, for example, he imagines Mahesh Uncle reaching out with his pudgy fingers to stroke her forehead and chase away all her worries. Mahesh Uncle does touch her forehead but more like a father might do to a daughter. The age difference between her and Mahesh Uncle is great enough that on occasion Tarun thinks Mahesh Uncle could be his grandfather. Tarun hasn’t had a relationship with his grandparents, only occasional gifts,visits during certain festivals. When Tarun was born, his grandparents had come to Bangemudha, somber and wary. It was their first visit to the flat, and they were not pleased with the small bed, the cramped corner that also served as the kitchen, the bare-essential pots and pans, the constant stream of noise from the street—honks, yells, laughter, cycle bells, temple bells, hawker wails—a far cry from the lawned house in Naxal where one has to walk at least a block before encountering a street with traffic. But by that time they had resigned themselves to their daughter’s inexplicable, scandalous act.
    Over the years they have grudgingly accepted Tarun as a child of the strange union between their daughter and a married man. When he visits them, his grandparents treat him like a distant relative. In their house there are no photos of him or his mother after she married the Masterji. All the photos of his mother in his grandparents’ house in Naxal are of the pre-Masterji days: she is in her tight flared pants, in red high-heeled shoes.
    But the sudden exit of Tarun and his mother from Bangemudha after Didi’s arrival has devastated his grandparents, who have severed all contact. Their shame about their daughter is so great that the only way they can cope with it is by pretending she, and Tarun, are not in their lives anymore.
    “You can’t go on like this.” Mahesh Uncle’s voice is gently reproachful this evening in Kupondole. Apsara sits up groggily and attempts to gather herself. “Come, let’s go outand eat,” Mahesh Uncle says. She responds in a small voice that she doesn’t wish to be seen in public. “Then we’ll go to my house,” Mahesh Uncle says, refusing to bow to her stubbornness. Finally, she stands—Tarun helps her get up on her feet as though she were an invalid—and washes her face in the corner sink. The sari she’s been sleeping in has wrinkled. The three of them go down, where his car is waiting.
    If not for Mahesh Uncle, Tarun thinks, his mother could have died. In the case of her premature death, Tarun would have gone to Bangemudha to live with his father, with Didi and Amit and Sumit. When he first imagines this, it seems strange to Tarun, the idea of living with his father and his village family. Bangemudha is where he grew up, but now it feels like an alien place when he visits, as though he’d only dreamed that he’d spent his childhood there. In Bangemudha, when he stands next to the bed where he’s slept all these years with his father and mother, the bed looks different. He feels awkward in the Bangemudha house, and his father appears like a distant uncle, even though the Masterji calls his name extra sweetly when he visits on Saturdays.
    Amit is hostile to Tarun and bullies him. Whenever he gets a chance, he looks around, then pinches Tarun or hits him on the shoulder, hard. “ Muji ,” he whispers, “ randi ko chhoro .” Amit is thin and taut and strong. Tarun has borne the brunt of that strength when Amit has physically tackled him. Amit looks for an excuse to fight, then suddenlyTarun is tackled to the ground; Amit sits on him, his legs straddling Tarun, his fingers clamping Tarun’s wrists. It’s as if a boy made of iron has sat on Tarun. One time when Amit pinned Tarun to the ground in the yard he brought his mouth close to his and said, “Open your mouth.” When Tarun did, Amit spat into it. “ La, muji, mero thuk nil! ” He let go. Sumit was