Mahesh Dattani's Tara - Play PDF

2 MAHESH DATTANI Collected Plays PENGUIN BOOKS 3  Contents About the Author Dedication Preface Seven Steps Around the Fire On a Muggy Night in Mumbai Do the Needful Final Solutions Bravely Fought the Queen Tara Dance Like a Man Where Ther...

2 MAHESH DATTANI Collected Plays PENGUIN BOOKS 3  Contents About the Author Dedication Preface Seven Steps Around the Fire On a Muggy Night in Mumbai Do the Needful Final Solutions Bravely Fought the Queen Tara Dance Like a Man Where There’s a Will Acknowledgements Copyright 4  PENGUIN BOOKS COLLECTED PLAYS Mahesh Dattani, born in Bangalore on 7 August 1958, studied in Baldwin’s High School and St. Joseph’s College of Arts and Science, Bangalore. He has worked as a copywriter in an advertising firm and subsequently with his father in the family business. His theatre group Playpen was formed in 1984, and he has directed several plays for them, ranging from classical Greek to contemporary works. In 1986, he wrote his first full-length play, Where There’s a Will, and from 1995, he has been working full-time in theatre. In 1998, he set up his own theatre studio dedicated to training and showcasing new talents in acting, directing and stage writing, the first in the country to focus on new works specifically. In 1998, Dattani won the Sahitya Akademi award for his book of plays Final Solutions and Other Plays, published by East-West Books, Chennai, thus becoming the first English language playwright to win the award. Dattani teaches theatre courses at the summer sessions programme of Portland State University, Oregon, USA, and conducts workshops regularly at his studio and elsewhere. He also writes radio plays for BBC Radio 4. He lives in Bangalore. 5 For my parents, Gaju and Wagh. ‘Look! I am dancing like a man!‘ 6  Preface Hopefully my plays make good commercial sense. I know that I am an artist. I don’t need to underline it in my works. I write for my plays to be performed and appreciated by as wide a section of the society that my plays speak to and are about. This is perceived by some as ‘selling oneself’, or ‘prostituting one’s art’, or some equally fashionable term for simply wanting to communicate. I also know that I have a lot to say and am probably not saying it well enough. But my characters have a lot to say too, and they seem to be doing rather well at having their say. Every time a critic says something awful about my writing, I realize that they are pointing out something that I have wanted to say and have, as usual, been hopeless and unconvincing. Every time audiences (critics too!) have applauded, laughed, cried or simply offered their silence in response to some moment in the play, I am completely aware that it is my character that has done the work for me. In the best sense of the word, critics ‘hate’ me. I mean it nicely and without remorse. For if they loved me, I would probably write boring plays full of self-importance that nobody really wants to produce, direct, act in or go to stuffy halls with inadequate facilities to see. The fact that I want my plays to be performed to large audiences doesn’t mean that I want to appease my audiences. I love it when I am confronted with remarks such as ‘Your plays are preaching to the converted. You should do Final Solutions in the villages.’ Such prejudice! How can anyone be so blind to their own remarks? Assumptions galore that cityfied English-speaking people are all liberal-minded and villagers are communal and bigoted. Worse is when that particular remark is followed by ‘It would make sense in Hindi or Kannada.’ Meaning, ‘We are not bigots, it’s those bloody vernacs who need to think about all this.’ That too in the same breath as professing to be liberal-minded and secular! Another one of my favourites is ‘We are all liberal-minded people, but do we really have to go to the theatre to see gays on stage?’ I have yet to meet a homosexual who says ‘I have nothing against heterosexuals, but do we have to watch them on stage?’ Once a lady, who claimed to be a feminist, said that I am a woman-hater because Ratna in Dance Like a Man is responsible for the death of her child. A woman can never be so irresponsible. ‘You should treat your women with more sympathy,’ she said imperiously. What the f@#* does she think Jairaj should be doing? How come it is only a woman’s responsibility to play the nurturer? It takes two to breed, remember? How come she never questions Jairaj’s irresponsibility? I wish I had said something 7 like ‘A true feminist wouldn’t make such a remark.’ I wish, I wish... But as I set off telling you I have a lot of things to say and I am not good at saying them well. There are two directors who really helped me a great deal in building my self- esteem, as well as assisting me to secure a regular audience for my plays. One grew up hearing of this giant theatre figure called Alyque Padamsee. When I first met him, I was an aspiring actor in my teens and he was touring with his production of something called Tarantula Tanzi. I will never forget dinner with him and his glamorous cast at Prince’s on Brigade Road. He is truly as tall as the tales around him. A creature with a constant creative temperature of a 105°. He could indeed pass off as God with a little backlighting. I had shown him an adaptation of a Gujarati play that I had worked on but he didn’t really think much of it. But then he was from Bombay, I thought, and forgot about our meeting. Almost a decade later, in the late eighties, my productions of Where There’s a Will and Dance Like a Man were received reasonably well by Bangalore audiences and critics. We took Dance Like a Man to Bombay to perform at the Sophia Bhabha Hall. There were probably a hundred people that night in a hall that seats eight hundred. But among them were Mr and Mrs God! After the performance, Alyque knocked on my greenroom door and waited patiently till I changed from my costume. They invited us over to their house for dinner. After much ‘dahling’-ing from his charming wife, Sharon, they went on to say how much they loved the play. If I remember Alyque correctly, he mumbled something like ‘At last a playwright with some conviction’, or some such thing. I was too overwhelmed by the presence of these stars to remember what I said. He wanted to know what I was working on next. I told him a little bit about an idea for a new play, Twinkle Tara. He loved it. He wanted to know when I could send him a first draft so that he could have a reading. After many phone calls from his secretary, I did complete Twinkle Tara in the record time of four weeks and mailed him the manuscript (those were the days before e-mail). He had his first reading with his cast to which he invited me over to Bombay. His actors loved it. He loved it. He wanted to do a full-scale production of my little play! But I insisted that I direct a production in my home town Bangalore before I gave him the rights. He reluctantly agreed. The rest is history, or so it seems to me. He gave me top billing, putting my name in bold on all the hoarding and press publicity for the play—‘Mahesh Dattani’s Tara’ (which was interesting considering the publicity for his previous production said something like ‘Alyque Padamsee’s Othello’). The performance had begun even before opening night. The critics loved it and I got a piece of the real action. Alyque believed in my work even before I believed in it myself. He gave me the courage to call myself a professional playwright and director. Something exquisite breezed in to my office one day. She called herself Lillette Dubey. Apparently Mahesh Elkunchwar, whom I consider the father of modern Indian theatre, had given her my address with a strong recommendation to produce 8 Bravely Fought the Queen. Lillette spent almost an hour talking at me. I was totally taken by this vision of beauty. In spite of all my political correctness, I couldn’t help thinking of her charms first before really listening to what she was saying. I think I made the appropriate noises, because the next thing I knew I was at the photocopying centre around the corner making copies of my manuscripts for her. I came down to earth just in time to present her with a bill for the photocopying. Without hesitation she dipped into her bag, retrieved a wad of notes and waved a few hundred rupees at me. It was implicit in her action that I could keep the change. (Later on, I touched her for more money than would fit into her bag!) Unfortunately Lillette never did produce Bravely Fought the Queen. She never told me why. I could simply see her as Dolly, the strong, beautiful and sensitive woman who fights her battles one evening in front of a complete stranger. I was extremely disappointed. I have, however, been compensated for that loss with four very talented actors playing that part in three different productions, each one different from the other, each exceptionally brilliant in their own way. Many years later, after Alyque had produced successful productions of Tara and Final Solutions, Lillette chose to do Dance Like a Man. At that point I don’t think anyone knew that the play will create some sort of a record doing more than a hundred shows in India, London, Dubai and Colombo, and God knows where else Lillette wants to take it. Unheard of for a silly Indian play in English about retired Bharatnatyam dancers to meet with such success. I think a large part of its success goes to Lillette’s vividly limned portrayal of Ratna, a woman confronting the demons created by her past and present actions. The colour and texture she gave Ratna reminds me of the sort of technique I imagine a Laurence Olivier or a Manohar Singh would use—working towards perfect externals in order to find the truth within. I laugh and cry with Ratna even as I watch the nth performance on a makeshift stage in a banquet hall of a five-star hotel. Of course there are other directors whose productions of my plays have truly been an enriching experience to me. But these two I am indebted to not only for doing my plays, but making them into commercial successes. Lillette pulled off the impossible task of making a commercial success of On a Muggy Night in Mumbai, a play about the travails of gay men and women, some of them strongly anti-heterosexual. Never in my wildest imagination did I expect this play to play to mainstage audiences. It did, thanks to Lillette’s perseverance and true grit. I now realize that I am practising theatre in an extremely imperfect world where the politics of doing theatre in English looms large over anything else one does. Where writing about the middle class is seen as unfashionable. Where if I wrote about the working classes, I am told, I would gain international recognition. (But if I were, in fact, a working class person, no middle-class critic or theatre practitioner would give me the time of day.) And also a world where there is no real professional theatre. That one has to rely on the passion and free time of the few practitioners that 9 exist in the five cities of India. Where I am met with open hostility in parochial universities. Where in literary circles, I am seen as inferior because I am a playwright. But it has been a glorious decade of fun and games for me simply because I didn’t let all this come in the way of my creativity. I am certain that my plays are a true reflection of my time, place and socio-economic background. I am hugely excited and curious to know what the future holds for me and my art in the new millennium in a country that has a myriad challenges to face politically, socially, artistically and culturally. Where does one begin? By ending this preface and carrying on with the business of holding a mirror up to society. 10  Tara A Stage Play in Two Acts 280  A Note on the Play Mahesh Dattani frequently takes as his subject the complicated dynamics of the modern urban family. His characters struggle for some kind of freedom and happiness under the weight of tradition, cultural constructions of gender, and repressed desire. Their dramas are played out on multi-level sets where interior and exterior become one, and geographical locations are collapsed—in short, his settings are as fragmented as the families who inhabit them. In his plays, Dattani takes on what he calls the ‘invisible issues’ of Indian society. In an interview, Dattani says, ‘you can talk about feminism, because in a way that is accepted. But you can’t talk about gay issues because that’s not Indian, [that] doesn’t happen here. You can’t talk about a middle-class housewife fantasizing about having sex with the cook or actually having a sex life—that isn’t Indian either—that’s confrontational even if it is Indian.’ By pulling taboo subjects out from under the rug and placing them on stage for public discussion, Dattani challenges the constructions of ‘India’ and ‘Indian’ as they have traditionally been defined in modern theatre. He encourages other playwrights to do the same: ‘Our culture is so rich with tradition, and that’s a great advantage and a great disadvantage as well, because... we’re living in the present and there are so many challenges facing us—you just have to cross the road and you have an issue,... I think it is very important for our country to spawn new playwrights... who reflect honestly and purely our lives, because... that is our contribution to the world.’ Tara centres on the emotional separation that grows between two conjoined twins following the discovery that their physical separation was manipulated by their mother and grandfather to favour the boy (Chandan) over the girl (Tara). Tara, a fiesty girl who isn’t given the opportunities given to her brother (although she may be smarter) eventually wastes away and dies. Chandan escapes to London, changes his name to Dan, and attempts to repress the guilt he feels over his sister’s death by living without a personal history. Woven into the play are issues of class and community, and the clash between traditional and modem lifestyles and values. Dattani sees Tara as a play about the gendered self, about coming to terms with the feminine side of oneself in a world that always favors what is ‘male’; but many people in India see it as a play about the girl child. I included Tara on my syllabus for a class on Indian Performance at New York University, My students loved Dattani’s work in general, and Tara in particular—several of them became so excited about the play that they wrote their final papers on it. One student pointed out that Tara and Chandan are two sides of the same self rather than two separate entities and that Dan, in trying to write the story of his own childhood, has to write Tara’s story. Dan writes Tara’s story to rediscover the neglected half of himself, as a means of 281 becoming whole. Another student pointed out that Dattani focuses on the family as a microcosm of society in order to dramatize the ways we are socialized to accept certain gendered roles and to give preference to what is ‘male.’ It is important to note that all of Dattani’s plays, including Tara, are first workshopped with his company Playpen in Bangalore. Dattani puts the finishing touches on his dialogue only when it is spoken aloud by actors in rehearsal—in other words, Dattani writes plays to be seen and heard, not literature to be read. After its Bangalore premiere, Tara was produced in Mumbai and Delhi, where it received rave reviews. It will be included in a volume of contemporary Indian plays, titled Drama Contemporary: India, to be published in the US by Performing Arts Journal in late 2000. My hope is that it will go on to have many more productions both in India and in the United States. Erin Mee (Erin Mee is a theatre director who has worked extensively with K.N. Panikkar and the Sopanam Company in Kerala.) All quotations are from an interview titled ‘Mahesh Dattani: Invisible Issues’, published in Performing Arts Journal (55). 282 Tara was first performed as Twinkle Tara at the Chowdiah Memorial Hall, Bangalore, on 23 October 1990 by Playpen Performing Arts Group. The cast was as follows: BHARATI Akila Thandur TARA Neha Sharma CHANDAN Salim Sheriff PATEL Ajit Bhide ROOPA Madhavi Rao DR THAKKAR Chippy Gangjee Director Mahesh Dattani Lighting Pradeep Belawdai Stage Management Narendra Sound M. Bhaskar The play was subsequently performed as Tara at Sophia Bhabha Hall by Theatre Group, Bombay, on 9 November 1991, with Rooky Dadachanji, Anju Bedi, Tarini Bedi, Asif Ali Beg, ‘Bugs’ Bhargava Krishna, Aadya Bedi and Protap Roy, directed by Alyque Padamsee. 283  ACT I A multi-level set. The lowest level occupies a major portion of the stage. It represents the house of the Patels. It is seen only in memory and may be kept as stark as possible. The next level represents the bedsitter of the older Chandan (referred to as Dan for clarity) in a suburb of London. There is a small bed, and, in the foreground, a small writing table with a typewriter and a sheaf of papers. A part of a wall covered with faded wallpaper can also be seen. This is the only realistic level. Behind, on a higher level, is a chair in which Dr Thakkar remains seated throughout the play. Although he doesn’t watch the action of the play, his connection is asserted by his sheer God-like presence. On the stage level, running along the cyclorama and in an L-shape, downstage right, is the galli outside the Patels’ house, which can be suggested by cross-lighting. The play starts without any music. A spot picks up Dan at his writing table. He is typing furiously. He stops and removes the sheet from his typewriter. He looks up and speaks to the audience. DAN. In poetry, even the most turbulent emotions can be recollected when one is half asleep. But in drama! Ah! Even tranquillity has to be recalled with emotion. Like touching a bare live wire. Try distancing yourself from that experience and writing about it! A mere description will be hopelessly inadequate. And for me... I have to relive that charge over and over again. (Pause.) Excuse me while I recharge myself. Limps to a cabinet, pulls out a bottle of liquor, pours some into a glass and drinks. Yes. I have my memories. Locking myself in a bedsitter in a seedy suburb of London, thousands of miles from home hasn’t put enough distance between us. (Holds up his glass.) My battery charger helps on some occasions. But now I want them to come back. To masticate my memories in my mind and spit out the result to the world in anger. (Picks up the sheet he has been typing.) My progress, so far, I must admit, has been zero. But I persist with the comforting thought that things can’t get any worse. I keep staring at my typewriter every day, wondering how best to turn my anguish into drama. All I find every day, without fail, is one typewritten sheet with the title of the play, my name and address and the date. Nothing changes— except the date. (Reads from the paper,) ‘Twinkle Tara. A drama in two acts by Chandan Patel. Copyright, Chandan Patel, 93 Fishpond’s Road, Tooting, London SW17 7LJ.’ Today I made some progress. I even typed my phone number. (Puts down the paper.) Not to say that I don’t have anything to show to the world yet, I do. For instance, these. (Picks up a manuscript.) Random Raj. Short stories on the British Raj. Still hounding publishers. The publishers here ignore them because none of them deal with sati, dowry deaths or child marriages—all subjects guaranteed to raise the interest of the average Western intellectual. And back home, of course, Indo-Anglian literature isn’t worth toilet paper. (Throws the manuscript away.) 284 But that’s all done with. Tonight I drop everything I’ve desperately wanted to be in my years in England. (Mimes removing a mask and throwing it away.) The handicapped intellectual’s mask. (Mimes removing another mask.) The desperate immigrant. (Mimes removing yet another.) The mysterious brown with the phoney accent. The last being the hardest to drop having spent two whole years in acquiring it. And what remains is what I intend making capital of. My freakishness. I am a freak. (Pause.) Now, a freak doesn’t have to look very far for inspiration. (Moves to his table.) But what is hard is to let go. Allow the memories to flood in. (Winds another sheet on the typewriter and then stops.) To tell you the truth, I had even forgotten I had a twin sister. (Music fades in slowly.) Until I thought of her as subject matter for my next literary attempt. Or maybe I didn’t forget her. She was lying deep inside, out of reach... A spot on the stage level Chandan and Tara walk into it. They both have a limp, but on different legs. TARA. And me. Maybe we still are. Like we’ve always been. Inseparable. The way we started in life. Two lives and one body, in one comfortable womb. Till we were forced out... Patel and Bharati are seen. And separated. The lights cross-fade to the Patels’ living room. Chandan and Tara are playing a game of cards. It is obvious Tara is winning. Bharati has finished her morning pooja. Patel is checking the contents of his briefcase and is ready to leave for work. BHARATI. Tara, drink your milk, amma! TARA. Sorry, new places slow down my peristalsis. CHANDAN. New pinch for a new word. TARA. Where are thatha’s brass tumblers? BHARATI. They have yet to be unpacked. PATEL.It’s getting late for me. (Gets up and moves to the children to pat them goodbye.) BHARATI. Your father doesn’t want us to use them. (Patel looks at her.) He doesn’t want us to use any of your grandfather’s things. PATEL. What are you saying, Bharati? BHARATI. Now that we’ve moved out of his house, he doesn’t... PATEL. Just a minute. It was you who didn’t want to unpack them. You said so yourself. You said... 285 BHARATI. Me? Why would I not want to use my own father’s gifts to us? Pause. PATEL (quietly, controlling himself). Let me make this clear. I have no reason to tell you not to use your late father’s... gifts. You’re free to do as you please. In fact, it was you who didn’t want to unpack them, so why are you... ? BHARATI (to Tara). Finish your milk. TARA. I won’t! Stop shoving it down my throat. BHARATI. Tara! PATEL (to Bharati). Why d’you serve her so much if she doesn’t want to... BHARATI. But she must put on more weight! PATEL. She’s fine. BHARATI. No! She’s much too thin! She... she must put on more weight. This morning at the clinic, Dr Kapoor checked their charts. She’s lost half a pound in one week. PATEL. Half a pound isn’t much... BHARATI (over him). In one month she will lose a kilo! (Getting worked up.) If I don’t force her to eat, how will she gain weight? She will keep getting thinner till she’s all shrivelled and she is only... skin and bones! It’s bad enough that she... they... (Moves to Tara.) Tara. Please! PATEL. Tara will be fine. They are both going to... They’ll be fine. BHARATI. The doctors are concerned about... PATEL (testily). I know what the doctors said! (More calmly.) Dr Kapoor was surprised at their progress and... BHARATI. Surprised? Did you say... ? PATEL. I meant to say he was happy to note... BHARATI. You said surprised! PATEL (testily again). I know I did but I meant he was happy... CHANDAN (offering a suggestion). Or happily surprised? TARA. Now don’t start on your sidey jokes! CHANDAN. Or he was surprised that he was happy. TARA. Enough, enough! 286 PATEL (after a while, quietly). He was pleased with their progress. Beyond everyone’s expectations. He is going to mention them in a medical journal. BHARATI. No! I don’t want my children being mentioned in any medical journal! PATEL.Why, what’s the harm? It will only be read by other doctors. It might help them with other such... BHARATI. I just don’t, that’s all! I don’t want all that publicity to start again. PATEL. It’s only a journal. It won’t... (Resigned.) All right. BHARATI. You will put on more weight, won’t you Tara? TARA. I’ll do anything you say, mummy. Except drink this milk. BHARATI (vaguely). Anything you say, Tara. Anything. The lights cross-fade to the street. Roopa, a girl of fifteen, is seen. She calls towards a house. ROOPA. Prema! Prema-a! (No response.) Prema-a! Oh, hello, aunty. (In broken Gujarati.) Kem chcho? Majhjha ma? Is Prema in? (Listens.) Good. May she come out? Oh, nowhere special. I thought we could maybe go over to Yankee Doodle’s for an ice cream or something. (Listens.) A cold? That’s okay. I’ll come up and keep her company. (Listens and reacts with mock-surprise.) She told you that I was taking her to see Fatal Attraction? No, that’s not true at all! Well, I did say we will see the movie at Eros, but I meant Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. What? (Listens.) Oh, Fatal Attraction is playing there. Well, you see, they show Snow White in the mornings. Well, I didn’t want to tell you, you see, after all she is my best friend and all that, but actually it was her idea to see both. Look, I’m sorry she has a cold. On second thoughts, I’d better not see her. I might catch it myself. So, if you don’t mind, I won’t come up. Tell her not to feel bad. So sorry. Thank you. Avjo. She keeps grinning until the supposed aunty is out of sight. Then she sticks her rear out in aunty’s direction and makes a rude sound. She hesitantly walks towards the Patels’ house. (Calls.) Hello. (No response. Louder.) Hello. Tara! The lights cross-fade again to the living room. Bharati has exited to the kitchen. PATEL. Chandan. CHANDAN (dealing the cards). Ya. PATEL.I was just thinking... It may be a good idea for you to come to the office with me. (Glances surreptitiously towards the kitchen.) CHANDAN. What for? PATEL. Just to get a feel of it. CHANDAN. You can take Tara. She’ll make a great business woman. 287 TARA. How do you know? CHANDAN. Because you always cheat at cards ! TARA (crossly, throwing her cards at Chandan). Just because I win doesn’t mean I cheat, okay! PATEL (firmly). Chandan, I think I must insist that you come. CHANDAN. We’ll both come with you. PATEL. No! Tara looks at Patel, slightly hurt. (Softens.) Yes. You may both come—if you want to. Roopa has been listening at the door. ROOPA. Hello! TARA. Oh, hi, Roopa. Come on in. ROOPA (falsely). Sorry! Hello, uncle. Sorry! Am I disturbing you? TARA. Not at all. The men in the house were deciding on whether they were going to go hunting while the women looked after the cave. CHANDAN. I haven’t decided yet. (Looks at Patel.) I might stay back in the cave and do my jigsaw puzzle. TARA. Or carve another story on the walls. (To Roopa.) He’s a writer, you know. ROOPA. Ooh! How nice. What kind of writing? I love stories with ghosts and monsters. PATEL (to Bharati). Is there anything you need? BHARATI (off). No. Nothing you can get. Patel picks up his briefcase from the coffee table. PATEL (to Chandan). Well, take care. If you two need to go out anywhere, just call the office. I’ll send the car. (Pats Tara.) Take care. He exits to the street. He is fixed in a spot. He mimes conversing with a neighbour. ROOPA. Oh, good, at least you two are at home. Let’s all sit down. Maybe we can watch a movie. She makes herself comfortable on the sofa. Tara and Chandan stand beside her. Spot on them. PATEL. Hello, Narayan saab. How is your health today? Dr Kapoor was enquiring after you. 288 ROOPA (to Chandan). Or tell us one of your stories. A monster story. You know, like oglers. TARA. Oglers? ROOPA. You know, those monsters with one big eye in the middle of their foreheads. CHANDAN. Ogres. ROOPA (defensively). Well, they look like they are ogling. PATEL. I don’t look well because I’m not... Frankly I’m worried... about her. CHANDAN. I haven’t written any story about monsters yet. ROOPA. Really? How disappointing. What do you write about? TARA. He writes about people he knows. ROOPA. Really? How interesting. TARA. Yes, he is going to write a story—about me. PATEL.She needs help. I am not so sure—maybe some kind of therapy... or counselling. TARA. About me. Strong. Healthy. Beautiful. ROOPA.That’s not you! That’s me! He is writing a story about me. Aren’t you, Chandan? CHANDAN (seriously). Yes. You will be in the story too. As the ogler. PATEL. Maybe I need some advice... or counselling. I don’t know... whether I am prepared for the worst. TARA. I am strong. My mother has made me strong. Spot on the three fades out. PATEL. Maybe I’m expecting the worst. It may never happen—no. Things are getting out of hand. I must worry about her. Yes. I am worried—about my wife. Cross-cut to Dan who suddenly jerks as if woken from a nightmare. DAN. No! No! That won’t do. I can’t have all that just swimming in my mind. The mind wanders too much. Unnecessary details, irrelevant characters which do not figure anywhere. I’ve got to put it all down. I’ve got to make a start. (Goes to the cabinet for a refill and takes a swig.) Now steady, Dan boy. One thing at a time. Get to the desk. (Moves to the table.) Sit on the chair. (Sits.) Put your fingers on the keys. (Does so.) And type. (Cannot type.) Well, you can’t have everything. No, wait—let me think. What is Tara? Kind, gentle, strong, her mother has given her strength. And 289 daddy? Silent? Angry? And—mummy. (Breaks away from his thoughts.) This isn’t fair to Tara. She deserves something better. She never got a fair deal. Not even from nature. Neither of us did. Maybe God never wanted us to be separated. Destiny desires strange things. We were meant to die and our mortal remains preserved in formaldehyde for future generations to study. Our purpose in life was maybe that. Only that. But even God does not always get what he wants. Conflict is the crux of life. A duel to the death between God and nature on one side and on the other—the amazing Dr Thakkar. (Smiles.) Yes. You will be pleased to know that I have found my beginning. A television show type signature tune fades in while the spot fades out. Although Dan is interviewing Dr Thakkar, he remains where he is, in darkness. The tune ends and a spot picks up Dr Thakkar, seated as if being interviewed in a studio. DAN (mock-cheerful). Good evening, viewers, and welcome to another edition of Marvels in the World of Medicine. We have with us this evening at our studio Dr Umakant Thakkar who has been in the news lately for his outstanding work at the Queen Victoria Memorial Hospital in Bombay. Dr Thakkar has been associated with many major hospitals in the USA, most notably the Children’s Hospital in Philadelphia. During his stay at the Queen Victoria Hospital, he was surgeon-in-chief to a most unique and complex surgery, the first of its kind in India. Dr Thakkar, could you tell us what was so special about this surgery? DR THAKKAR. To start with, the patients were only a few months old and... DAN. How old were they exactly? DR THAKKAR. Oh, three months. DAN (mock-surprised). Three months? Was the surgery really necessary? DR THAKKAR. Yes, absolutely. Surgery was their only chance of survival. You see, they were twins, conjoined from the chest down. DAN. Siamese twins? DR THAKKAR. Yes. That is the common term used for them. DAN. Is it a rare phenomenon? DR THAKKAR. Twins as such are not so rare, the chances... DAN. What about Siamese twins? DR THAKKAR. Conjoined twins are quite rare. I think one in every fifty thousand twin conceptions could have a probability of containing this... defect. DAN. How does it happen? 290 DR THAKKAR. Sometimes—we don’t know why—a fertilized egg, destined to separate and develop into two different embryos, falls to do so fully. The result is a conjoinment—in this case from the breastbone down through the pelvic area. It is indeed a miracle that they were born alive. Twins with a conjunction of such complexity are, in most cases, stillborn. DAN. How many twins of this kind have actually survived through birth? DR THAKKAR. There are, I think, seven recorded cases in medical literature, but... DAN. And how many are still alive? DR THAKKAR. In all cases, so far, one twin has always died by the age of four. DAN. Dr Thakkar, what is your opinion on the Patel twins? Will they survive? DR THAKKAR. You see, there is something even more remarkable about this case. DAN. And what is that? DR THAKKAR. Conjoined twins—your Siamese twins—developing from one fertilized ovum are invariably of the same sex. Well, almost invariably. But here these two were obviously from different fertilized eggs. DAN. So? DR THAKKAR. The twins are of different sexes. Very, very rare. DAN (aside). A freak among freaks. Now I know I’ll be a really brilliant writer. Spot fades out on Dr Thakkar as we hear the explosive opening of Brahms’ First Concerto. The street area is lit. Tara enters the street. She mimes meeting someone and smiling, starting a conversation. After a while, she slowly lifts the leg of her trousers to reveal her artificial limb. She laughs in an ugly way. Then she says goodbye and enters the living room as the lights cross- fade. Chandan is lying on his back on the floor, listening to the music and conducting an imaginary orchestra in the heavens. TARA. Oh, I hate those girls! CHANDAN (waving his hands to the music). What? Made friends already? TARA. You must be joking. (Listens to the music.) Oh! I love this part. CHANDAN. How was physio? TARA. Nice doctor. Rotten nurse. Not like Bangalore. CHANDAN (jovially). Doctors. Nurses. A painful necessity in our lives. (Referring to the music.) Now comes the best part. 291 TARA.Mind you, some of the doctors aren’t so painful to look at. This one’s called Dr Gokhale. He’s handsome in a ‘ghati’ sort of way. I love Maharashtrians! CHANDAN. In London you swore you were going to marry that Irish doctor, whats- his-name. And we were only twelve then. TARA. That was London. This is Bombay. One learns to love the natives. I know. CHANDAN. How can you know at twelve? How can you know at sixteen? TARA. We women mature fast. Speaking of maturity, you better not skip any physiotherapy sessions. Daddy wants you to be big and sturdy. He will find out from the hospital and... This music is so... I don’t know. CHANDAN. It has passion. TARA. Yes. Beethoven must have been a passionate man. CHANDAN. Brahms. TARA. Yes, and... what? CHANDAN. Brahms. Not Beethoven. Brahms’ First Concerto. TARA. Are you sure? CHANDAN. Of course. His very first. TARA. Stop it. Turn it off. I thought that was Beethoven. CHANDAN (stops the music). You’ve heard this so often. TARA. Yes. But I always thought it was Beethoven. CHANDAN. Well, they do sound similar. But this one is unmistakably Brahms. It has his quality of high tragedy and romance—of youth bursting forth in the world with all its claims. A spring-like freshness... TARA. Do me a favour. When you become a writer, stay away from poetry. CHANDAN. It’s written on the record cover. TARA. You mean you can feel all that in the music? CHANDAN (thinks about it). Well, his music is so... I don’t know.... They both laugh. TARA. Where’s mummy? CHANDAN. In the kitchen, where else? Showing the new cook how to make your favourite dishes. TARA. I think I’m going to like Bombay. It’s all so new and different! 292 CHANDAN. We’ve been here before. TARA. When? Oh, you mean... CHANDAN. Yes. The surgery was done here. (Tara giggles.) What’s so funny? TARA. You could say that we were ‘separated’ when we were babies in Bombay. CHANDAN. Separated? (Understanding.) Oh—right! And we find each other again in Bombay. TARA (mock-filmt style). Bhaiya! (Hugs him.) CHANDAN. Careful, we are in Bombay. You just called me a doodhwalla. TARA. Oh, Chandu. What would I do without you? CHANDAN. Tara, stop saying such things. TARA (slaps his back). I’d probably have a ball, that’s what I would do. Having both mummy and daddy dancing around me. ‘Yes, Tara!’ ‘No, Tara!’ ‘Anything you say, Tara!’ CHANDAN. They do that now. TARA. Well, mummy, yes. It’s all right. I can take it. I’m a big girl now. CHANDAN. No, it’s not all right. You can’t take it, you’re still a little girl with a wild imagination. TARA. Women have an instinct for these things. CHANDAN. Women, not girls. TARA. It’s innate! We are born with it! CHANDAN (easing off). Okay, okay! I leave you with your instincts. The world of Brahms awaits me. He leans over and plays it softly. They both listen to the music which has lost its effect since it is played softly this time. Pause. TARA. You know who I met? The ugliest girls in the whole world. Prema and Nalini. They live in the building opposite. They had a friend with them. Equally ugly. They were all running across the street, laughing their ugly heads off over something. When they saw me get off the car, they stopped. They stopped running and they stopped laughing. And they waited, watching me get off and walk across the footpath towards them. Embarrassing me, making me go slower than I would. When I reached them, they grinned. Nalini whispered something to her ugly friend. I knew what was coming. Might as well play along, I thought. I smiled and introduced myself. We exchanged names. Nalini and Prema. The other one just tittered. I smile to her as 293 well. Then I showed it to them. The duckling couldn’t believe her eyes. She stared at my leg. She felt it and knocked on it. Silly as well as ugly, I thought. ‘The very best from Jaipur,’ I said. ‘We get them in pairs. My twin brother wears the other one.’ CHANDAN (laughs). You didn’t. TARA.Then they ran off. Pleased with themselves, laughing even harder. Their day was made. One of these days I’m going to tell them exactly how frightful they look. CHANDAN. Maybe they already know. TARA. Still, it would be nice to see their reaction. Oh, play the music real loud. Beethoven was never as good as this. Chandan turns up the volume. With the next phrase of music, Roopa is seen at the street as she hesitantly walks towards the Patels’ house. She enters and stands near the door, not knowing what to do. Chandan notices her first. He stops the music. TARA. Why did you do that? I was just enjoying... CHANDAN. Hello. TARA (turns around). Oh, hello. ROOPA. Hello. TARA. Won’t you come in? We were just talking about you. ROOPA (gushing). Oh, really? We’ve only just met! TARA. Yes. I was just telling Chandu about how you were admiring my leg. ROOPA. Oh that! I’m sorry, I hope you didn’t mind. TARA. Mind? Why should I mind? ROOPA. Oh it’s just that... I thought you might feel... you know. TARA. Hurt? Embarrassed? Not at all. You can say it sort of ‘runs’ in the family— this leg. Chandu—show her yours. Chandu proudly shows his Jaipur leg to her. ROOPA. Oh, wow! I can’t believe it. Both of you! I don’t get it. How? When? TARA. We don’t get it either. And we didn’t get your name. ROOPA. Oh. Didn’t I tell you? Nalini and Prema didn’t give me half a chance. You know, those two love to gas about. If I were you, I would stay away from them. They’ll talk behind your back and all that. Real bitches. They’ll think of all kinds of 294 names to call you. That Bugs Bunny and that drumstick. Some people are like that. You know. TARA. Yes. I know. I still haven’t got your name. ROOPA. Oh—oh. I’m Roopa. Hi, you’re Tara, I know and... TARA. This is Chandan. CHANDAN. Hi. ROOPA. Hi. And you’re twins? Funny, you don’t resemble each other. CHANDAN. Not all twins are peas in pods. ROOPA (not understanding). Huh? CHANDAN. Two peas in a pod. That’s something we aren’t. ROOPA. Uh, yes. Yes. Very funny. CHANDAN. Is it? I didn’t think so. ROOPA. You know—two peas in a pot. Isn’t that funny? TARA (observes she hasn’t understood). Oh, yes, of course. (Nudges Chandan.) Very funny. Two peas in a (distinctly) pot. CHANDAN (catching on). Yes. Very funny. Roopa and Chandan laugh. TARA (laughs as well). Hysterical. Tara and Chandan burst into genuine laughter. Roopa realizes that things aren’t quite as lucid as they seem. She stops laughing. ROOPA. Well, I didn’t think it was that funny. CHANDAN (controlling his laughter). Excuse me. (Gets up.) I think I must write something down. He moves towards his room. He can’t control himself any longer and bursts out laughing. He exits muttering ‘Two peas in a pot!’ ROOPA (visibly annoyed). Well! TARA. Oh, don’t mind. It’s just some silly family joke. ROOPA. Very silly, if you ask me. TARA. Yes. Yes. So tell me about yourself. Which standard are you in? ROOPA. I’ve finished my ninth. And you? TARA. We’ve just completed our tenth. The results aren’t out yet. 295 ROOPA. Where are you from? TARA. Bangalore. ROOPA. Oh really? We’re Kannadigas too. My mum’s from Bangalore. TARA. Which part? ROOPA (a little crushed). Well, Tumkur really. But I was bora here. TARA. My mother is from Bangalore. My dad’s Gujarati. ROOPA. Oh, an inter-caste marriage! Was it a love marriage? Tell. Tell. TARA. Yes. My father had to leave his parents because of the marriage, if you really want to know. ROOPA. No! I didn’t mean to be nosy or anything! But don’t stop now. TARA. There’s nothing much to tell. My grandfather, my mother’s father, was a very influential person. But my dad didn’t take any help from. him. Today my dad is the general manager of Indo-Swede Pharmacia, the biggest pharmaceutical company in the country. Heard of it? ROOPA. Yes. I love their cough syrup! TARA. He will soon be one of the directors. ROOPA. Oh, that’s great. So you’re going to do your plus two here in Bombay. TARA (pause). Well, I don’t know. ROOPA. What d’you mean? Aren’t you going to live here? TARA. Yes. But I will soon be going in for surgery. ROOPA. Oh, how sad! On, your leg. TARA. No. A kidney transplant. ROOPA. Gosh! TARA. We knew it was going to happen. I was prepared. ROOPA. And your brother? Will he also... ? TARA. Oh, no. He’s fine. Thank God for that. ROOPA. Don’t you need someone to—you know—give you a kidney. TARA. A donor. Yes. I’ve got one. ROOPA. Your brother? 296 TARA. No. ROOPA. Your dad? TARA. No. ROOPA. Then your... ? BHARATI (enters). Tara, I hope you’ll like Chinese for dinner. Ida says chow mein is her speciality. Oh, how I miss Gopi. Maybe I should call Vadivu Akka and ask her to send him after all. Hello—I see you’ve made friends already. ROOPA (grins and speaks in her best Kannada). Hello, aunty. Heg iddira? BHARATI. Oh, we have a Kannadiga for a neighbour in Bombay. How refreshing! Specially since we had all those Gujarati neighbours in Bangalore. ROOPA. Oh, we have them here too. Pause, while Bharati beams and observes Roopa. BHARATI. Sit down—er... TARA. Roopa. BHARATI.Roopa. (Pause.) I–I mustn’t interrupt you two from... Tara, what’s Chandan up to? TARA. I think he’s writing. BHARATI. That boy! Let me see if he needs anything. (Exits to Chandan’s room.) ROOPA. I think I better get going. TARA. Well, I’ll see you later. If you need my old notes or textbooks or anything, just ask. ROOPA. Right. And remember to stay away from that Prema and Nalini. They will be nasty to you. TARA. That’s okay. I can handle them. ROOPA. That’s what you think. Besides, they are not really our standard, you know. Their English isn’t that good. They won’t understand your jokes like peas in pots and all that. TARA (smiling). Well, we’ll teach them. ROOPA. You will be wasting your time on them. They are, you know, (crinkles her nose in disgust) wandh tarah. TARA. One tarah? 297 ROOPA. Odd types. Don’t you know Kannada? TARA (understanding). Oh! Wandu tarah! (Meaningfully.) Yes, I know what you mean. ROOPA. Well forewarned is forehanded. So. Take care. Bye. BHARATI (enters). Tara! You haven’t finished unpacking. The green suitcase is still lying there. TARA. It’s got all my old things. I don’t... BHARATI. Do it now! Tara moves to her room. TARA. That will take the whole day! Okay, bye, Roopa. Come any time. ROOPA. Bye! Tara exits. There is an awkward moment of silence between Bharati and Roopa. ROOPA. Well, bartheeni, aunty. BHARATI. No. No. Stay for a while. Please. ROOPA. No. You must be having a lot of work to do. BHARATI. Sit down. ROOPA (grinning in embarrassed manner). No. It’s okay. BHARATI (with an element of sternness). Sit down. ROOPA (laughs uncomfortably). If you say so. (Sits.) BHARATI. Tara is a very nice girl. ROOPA (stunned at first, then). Yes! An extremely nice girl. BHARATI. Good. I’m glad you think so. ROOPA (nervously). Yes. BHARATI. And you will be her friend? ROOPA. Yes. Yes! Certainly, Such a nice girl. BHARATI. She... she must make more friends. Chandan is all right—he has his writing, but she... He is different, he is sort of self-contained, but Tara... She can be very good company and she has her talents. She can be very witty and of course she is intelligent. I have seen to it that she... more than makes up in some ways for what she... doesn’t have. 298 ROOPA (nods violently). Oh, yes! That she does. BHARATI. You will be her friend? ROOPA (hesitantly). Well, yes. If you say so. BHARATI. You will be her best friend? ROOPA (now playing hard to get). Well, I don’t know. Nalini and Prema are my best friends. BHARATI. If you promise to be her best friend—what I mean is if you would like to be her friend—I will be most grateful to you and I will show it... in whatever way you want me to. ROOPA. I don’t think I... understand. Pause. BHARATI (suddenly). Do you have a VCR at home? ROOPA (puzzled). Yes? BHARATI (disappointed). Oh. And you see a lot of films? ROOPA. Not a lot. My mother only allows me to watch a movie on Sunday afternoons. BHARATI. So—there must be a lot of films you are dying to see. ROOPA. Yes. Plenty. BHARATI. You can see them here, any time you want to. No restrictions. ROOPA (guardedly). I don’t know what my mother would say. BHARATI. How will she know? ROOPA (thinks about it, then). Can I watch Fatal Attraction? BHARATI (sharply). You can watch whatever you want! (More subdued.) Just be my Tara’s friend. ROOPA. Yes. May I go now? BHARATI. Yes. First promise me that you will be her friend. ROOPA. I don’t know. Can I think about it? BHARATI (hissing). Promise me now! ROOPA. Look. I–I will come back later. Okay? 299 BHARATI (recovering). Yes. Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to... force anything on you. ROOPA (backing towards the door). It’s okay. I understand. I will come again. BHARATI. Yes. Please! Do come! ROOPA. I will. Bye. She scoots down to the street. Spot on the street and on Bharati in the living room. ROOPA (calling to her friends urgently). Prema! Premaa! Come quick! Where’s Nalini? Never mind, you come here! My God! Oh, my God! Guess what? I went to her house! Yes. Right inside! I met everyone there. She is a real freak of nature all right, but wait till you see her mother! Oh God! I can’t tell you—she is really... wandh tarah. Oh God! I’ll never go there again. Spot off on the street and Bharati. Cross-fade to Dr Thakkar who is still in the middle of his interview. DR THAKKAR. The parents were warned of the odds against survival. They were, understandably, totally disheartened in the beginning. But, soon, even the remotest chance for survival was received with hope once they were made aware of the facilities offered by modern technology. I had a conference with the resident doctors at the Victoria Hospital. A very efficient and competent team of doctors. I was shown the test reports, X-rays, scan results from the Bangalore hospital. There were many points to be reconfirmed and further observations were necessary before any decision on surgery could be taken. The twins were flown in from Bangalore and were moved immediately to the intensive care unit for observation and tests. It was two weeks of exhaustive work. The results were encouraging. The twins did not share any vital organ. There were two hearts clearly indicated by two electrocardiograms. There were two livers, although joined. Each twin would have one kidney—all this meant that there was a very strong possibility of both twins surviving. What we needed to know more about was the pelvic region and the extent of conjoinment there... Lights cross-fade to Patel on the phone. Bharati is tense and listens to him intently. PATEL. Yes, Dr Kapoor. I am happy to hear that... Indeed she is a very lucky girl... Yes. As soon as possible. Well, after what she has been through so far... Anyway, she will be glad she won’t have to go for her dialysis after the surgery. Don’t worry, doctor, she is a very high-spirited girl. Knowing her, she will probably joke about it. And her brother gives her enough moral support. Yes, I will call you tomorrow. Thank you, doctor. Thank you. (Hangs up.) BHARATI (excitedly). So? Everything is all right? We are compatible? I think God wanted it this way... 300 PATEL (quietly). Bharati. You cannot give her your kidney. BHARATI. But just now—on the phone—you were making preparations. PATEL. Tara is very lucky. She has found another donor. BHARATI. A commercial donor? PATEL. Yes. BHARATI. Why? What is wrong if... Why can’t she have mine? PATEL. You can’t, that’s all. BHARATI. You won’t let me! I am going to call Dr Kapoor right away and tell him to make the... PATEL. It’s no use, Bharati. BHARATI. You can’t stop me from doing what I want! (Dialing.) 6438... PATEL. Bharati, put down that phone! BHARATI. How dare you run my life! PATEL. Oh, for God’s sake! You are getting out of hand! BHARATI. Oh, God! What’s his number? 64... PATEL. Bharati, calm down. BHARATI. His number! (Hysterically.) Give me his phone number! PATEL. I will not. BHARATI. Very well. I will look it up in the... PATEL. You don’t even know his full name. BHARATI. I–I can call... PATEL. Who? Bharati, stop pretending. You are in no condition to be taking major decisions. BHARATI (quietens down). Give me his number. PATEL. I can give you his number. But I will not let you donate your kidney to her. BHARATI (crying). The tests showed that I could do it. There... there is nothing wrong in it. PATEL. Yes. It is wrong. Now that we have a donor, I will not let you do it. BHARATI. Think of the expenses involved. 301 PATEL. When have expenses ever bothered you? Your father’s wealth has always been your strength against me. Don’t talk about expenses to me! BHARATI (pleadingly). Why won’t you let me do it? PATEL (controlling). Because... need I tell you? Because I do not want you to have the satisfaction of doing it. BHARATI. I will do it! PATEL. You will have to obey me. It’s my turn now. BHARATI. I want to give her a part of me! PATEL (holds her roughly). Now listen! You need help. I’m going to arrange for a doctor to examine you thoroughly. BHARATI. I am fine. I don’t need a doctor. My blood pressure is under control and... PATEL. I mean a psychiatrist, BHARATI. I don’t need one! PATEL. It can’t do you any harm. BHARATI. I tell you I don’t need one! You... you are wasting your time. Think about Tara and Chandan. PATEL. I am thinking about them. That’s why I need to make you more stable. BHARATI (calms down). Look, don’t worry about me. I am perfectly all right. PATEL. I cannot handle your moods any longer. Have you looked at yourself recently? Look at the way you behave, the way you react to... BHARATI. I promise to control myself in future. Just... PATEL. I know you want to, but can you? BHARATI. Just... just let me do what I want to. PATEL. Anything but allow you to... BHARATI. Who are you to stop me? Just who do you think you are? PATEL. Sit down, Bharati. BHARATI. This is no way to treat me. PATEL (pushes her down). Sit down. Now listen. I am going to fix an appointment for you and you are going to see that doctor. BHARATI. I don’t want to. I don’t need to! 302 PATEL. You will. I demand it from you. BHARATI. All right! You want me to be all right? Yes, I will do it. PATEL. Good. I will call him right now. BHARATI. I will tell her. Patel stops. I will tell them everything. Patel goes to her and slaps her. The moment she recovers, Bharati looks at him with some triumph. PATEL. You wouldn’t dare tell them. Not you. Please, don’t! Not yet! BHARATI. Then let me do what I want to do. PATEL (defeated). You cannot tell them. For their sake, don’t! (Looks at her suddenly with determination.) If at all they must know, it will be from me. Not from you. Cross-fade to Dan who is busy typing. He stops and reads out his last line. DAN. ‘If at all they must know, it will be from me. Not from you.’ Dan continues to type as the lights cross-fade to the living room. Roopa, Tara and Chandan are watching a movie. Bharati is knitting. As the movie ends. ROOPA. Oh, that was wonderful! Wasn’t it? I love surprise endings. CHANDAN. It was very predictable. TARA. I didn’t think so. I feel sorry for that woman. ROOPA. What a nice title! The Mirror Cracked. Very dramatic. TARA. Imagine not being able to have children because somebody gave her German measles when she was pregnant. ROOPA. How does the poem go? CHANDAN. ‘The curse has come upon me! Cried the Lady of Shallot.’ ROOPA. I feel sorry for the Lady of Shallot. Locked up. Not being able to see the world, you know. Just sitting and weaving a tapestry or something. And having a cracked mirror. TARA. The mirror cracks later. ROOPA. But still. Seven years’ bad luck and all that. BHARATI. More coffee for you Roopa? (Picks up their mugs.) 303 ROOPA. No, thank you, aunty. (To Chandan.) Your mother’s coffee is really something. Bharati exits to the kitchen. CHANDAN. Ida makes it. ROOPA. Really? But it has that typical Southie flavour. I think it’s the—you know— concoction. CHANDAN. Concoction? TARA. She means decoction. ROOPA. Decoction—yes, of course! How silly of me. A concoction is something you have when you get hit on the head. Anyway, I’m glad I can have coffee here. My mother only gives me milk. (To Tara.) You would have had plenty of milk being a Patel and all that. (Laughs as if she has made a joke.) TARA (to Chandan). Did you get that? CHANDAN. No. Did she? ROOPA. You mean you don’t know about Patels? TARA. Don’t know what? ROOPA. Oh, so you don’t know! CHANDAN. Unless you tell us what it is, how will we know whether we know? ROOPA. It’s probably not true. It’s just an old saying. Prema told me when she came to know you were Patels. It’s about milk. Bharati enters. TARA. What is? ROOPA. They drown them in milk. BHARATI (tense). Are you sure you wouldn’t like another cup of coffee? ROOPA (in Kannada). Beda, aunty, thanks. TARA. They drown what in milk? BHARATI. Well then, don’t you think it’s time you went home? Your mother might be worried. ROOPA. Oh, I don’t think she will be. BHARATI. She might be concerned about how much video you are watching here. 304 ROOPA (understanding). Oh. Yes, I didn’t think of that. Well, I’d better go home then. TARA. I’ll come out with you. They both move to the door. ROOPA (to Bharati). Well. Thanks for the coffee, aunty, and the movies. BHARATI (loaded). Don’t mention it! ROOPA. Bye, Chandan. Let me read your story some time. I hope I’m in it. CHANDAN. Don’t worry. You are. Tara and Roopa go out to the street. Bharati joins Chandan on the sofa. BHARATI. Chandan, what’s your story about? CHANDAN. It’s called ‘The Ogler Next Door’. BHARATI. It’s... it’s not about anything else? CHANDAN. Like what? TARA. Well, Roopa, what’s all this about drowning them in milk? ROOPA. Oh—nothing. I don’t think I will tell you. TARA. Well—all right. ROOPA. Aren’t you dying to know? BHARATI. I wish your father would pay more attention to Tara. CHANDAN. He does. He doesn’t like to show his affection. BHARATI. Don’t tell me about your father. He is more worried about your career than hers. CHANDAN. That’s because I’m more sure of what I want. She is just... playing it cool. TARA. Yes, I am. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. ROOPA. I don’t want to! TARA. Rubbish! You are dying to tell me. BHARATI. It’s time Tara decided what she wants to be. Women have to do that as well these days. She must have a career. CHANDAN. She can do whatever she wants. Grandfather’s trust will leave us both money, isn’t it? 305 BHARATI. Yes. But she must have something to do! She can’t be... aimless all her life. CHANDAN. There is nothing aimless about Tara’s life. TARA. Go home! It’s probably something you haven’t fully understood yourself. ROOPA. I beg your pardon! Don’t think you are very smart. TARA. Only in comparison. BHARATI. It’s all right while she is young. It’s all very cute and comfortable when she makes witty remarks. But let her grow up. Yes, Chahdan. The world will tolerate you. The world will accept you—but not her! Oh, the pain she is going to feel when she sees herself at eighteen or twenty. Thirty is unthinkable. And what about forty and fifty! Oh God! CHANDAN. Mummy, Tara is my sister. Everything will be fine. ROOPA. Since you insist, I will tell you. It may not be true. But this is what I have heard. The Patels in the old days were unhappy with getting girl babies—you know dowry and things like that—so they used to drown them in milk. Pause. TARA. In milk? ROOPA. So when people asked about how the baby died, they could say that she choked while drinking her milk. Pause, TARA (laughs suddenly). How absurd! ROOPA (laughing). Silly, isn’t it? TARA (laughing). Absolutely hilarious. ROOPA. What a waste of milk! TARA. Is that what mummy was trying to stop you from telling me? BHARATI. Your father has a lot of plans for you. CHANDAN. I have a lot of plans for me. BHARATI. And Tara? CHANDAN. I’ll always be there if she needs my help. But I don’t think she will. BHARATI. She will. She doesn’t know it but she will. CHANDAN. Do you have plans for her? 306 BHARATI. Yes. I plan for her happiness. I mean to give her all the love and affection which I can give. It’s what she... deserves. Love can make up for a lot. TARA. Mummy is so cute—sometimes. ROOPA (disagreeing). Yes. TARA. When we were young, I used to be quite a sick child. ROOPA. What with all your problems. TARA. And it was always I who got her attention and care. ROOPA. That must have made Chandan quite jealous. TARA. A little bit, I suppose. But he has always been so... He has never really asked for much. He is so happy with so little. I have always demanded more and more. ROOPA. It pays sometimes to be the sickly one. TARA. I really used to play hard to get. Sulking all the time. And when I smiled, it made everyone quite... relieved! As if... if I didn’t smile I would just curl up and die! Mummy said my eyes really twinkled when I smiled. ROOPA (not happy at hearing such a cheerful story). Twinkle Tara—that’s really cute. And what about your father? Did he spoil you just as much? TARA (after a while). I don’t remember. Spot fades out on Tara and Roopa. CHANDAN. Is that a sweater you are knitting for Tara? BHARATI. Yes. CHANDAN. You’ve dropped a stitch. Lights cross-fade to street. Roopa has gone. Tara talks to Patel as they come home. TARA. Oh, nothing much, we’ve been watching movies the whole day. PATEL. The whole day? And Chandan? TARA. Him too. PATEL. And your mother? TARA. Well, you know how she is. You can’t tell exactly what she is doing. They enter. Both Bharati and Chandan are busy unravelling the knitting. Chandan is trying to keep the wool in order. Bharati is a bit more frantic. PATEL. Hello. CHANDAN. Hi, daddy. 307 PATEL. What are you two doing? CHANDAN. Mummy’s knitting and I’m helping her sort out her mistake. PATEL. Let Tara do it. CHANDAN. It’s okay. PATEL. Give it to her. CHANDAN. Why? BHARATI. It’s all right, I’ll manage. Leave it. CHANDAN. I will just roll all this and... PATEL. Chandan, leave that damn thing alone! BHARATI (frantically). Go! Chandan, just go! PATEL (to Bharati). How dare you do this to him? CHANDAN. Wait a minute, daddy, she never asked me to do any... PATEL. Can’t you even look after the children? CHANDAN. Look, daddy, it’s... PATEL. What did you do the whole day, huh? Watch video? BHARATI. I can’t think of things for them to do all the time! PATEL. But you can think of turning him into a sissy—teaching him to knit! CHANDAN. Daddy, that’s unfair. BHARATI. Chandan, please go to your room! CHANDAN. All I’m doing is helping mummy to... PATEL. I am disappointed in you. From now on you are coming to the office with me. I can’t see you rotting at home! CHANDAN. I don’t want to go to the office! PATEL. You will come with me to the office until your college starts. CHANDAN. I don’t want to go to college! (Fighting his tears.) Not without Tara! If she is going in for surgery, I’ll miss a year too! PATEL. You will not. I won’t allow it. CHANDAN. I will not go to college without Tara! PATEL. That would make me very unhappy. 308 CHANDAN (shouting). Well, that’s too bad! (Backs to his room.) That’s just too bad! (Exits.) BHARATI. Say it! Go on, say it—that it’s all my fault! That I am turning the children against you. Tara stands back, frightened. PATEL. You are turning them against the whole world. BHARATI. I am doing that? PATEL. Yes! Look at the way you treat Tara. As if she is made of glass. You coddle her, you pet her, you spoil her. She’s grown up feeling she doesn’t need anyone but you! BHARATI. What d’you want me to do? Just tell me in plain simple words what you want me to do and I’ll do it! PATEL. Let go. Just let go. And let me handle them. BHARATI. All right. You stay at home then! You stay at home and watch what they can do and what they can’t. You remind them of what they can’t be. It’s easy for you to talk about their future and your plans. But tell them what they should do now. This day, this hour, this minute. Tell them! I want to hear! PATEL. Chandan is going to study further and he will go abroad for his higher studies. BHARATI. And Tara? PATEL. When have you ever allowed me to make any plans for her? BHARATI. I’m stopping you from making plans for my daughter? PATEL. Don’t lie, Bharati! You don’t want me to, and you know it. You have told me so a dozen times. BHARATI. That’s not true! PATEL. You have to face it. You want her to believe you are the only one who loves her! BHARATI. Why? Why would I want that? PATEL (quietly). You don’t want me to say it, do you? And you threaten me that you will tell them. But you won’t. You can’t. You don’t know what you want. BHARATI. Just leave me alone with my daughter. PATEL. Is that what you want? To love her. You said your love will make up for a lot, didn’t you? 309 BHARATI. Ask her! Ask her what she wants and give it to her! PATEL. You know she loves you. You’re sure of that. Don’t make her choose between us, for God’s sake! You’re ruining her life because you are sick. I want to help you, Bharati, please allow me to help you. BHARATI. I don’t need your help. PATEL. Look at you. Do you ever go out? No. Have you made any friends? We’ve been here for two months and you haven’t even talked to anyone. You just sit here rotting. BHARATI. I don’t need anyone! PATEL. Exactly! That’s what I want from you. Don’t make my children say that. BHARATI. I’m not doing that! I’ve always made sure that Tara has had friends. I go out of my way to... Why that Roopa... she... she... What you’re saying just isn’t true! You—you can’t lie about me like that in front of my children. Now that they are at an impressionable age and might take your words very seriously. PATEL. Oh! How deviously clever you are! I’m the liar and I’m the one who is feeding them with lies when they’re at an impressionable age? I am the violent one and you are the ‘victim’ of my wrath. You don’t go out because I don’t let you. Go on, say it. BHARATI. Stop it! Stop this madness and let me live in peace! PATEL. How can I? Not now, when you are turning my own children against me. BHARATI. You said it! (Laughs.) I knew you would say it! Say it again. I don’t care— after all these lies you’ve said about me! PATEL.Yes, call me a liar, a wife-beater, a child abuser. It’s what you want me to be! And you. You want them to believe you love them very much. BHARATI. Yes! PATEL (grabs Tara). Look at her, Bharati. And tell her that you love her very much. BHARATI. Tara knows it. Leave her alone! TARA. Daddy... PATEL. Tara, please believe me when I say that I love you very much and I have never in all my life loved you less or more than I have loved your brother. But your mother... BHARATI (hysterically). Stop it! Don’t fill her with nonsense about me. 310 PATEL. But your mother would like you to believe that it’s not true. I love you. (Looks at Bharati.) We both do. TARA. I never doubted it, daddy. I... I don’t feel too... (Slumps like a rag doll into Pate’s arms.) PATEL. Oh God! Her insulin. No! Get the sugar! BHARATI (rooted to the spot). She is dying! My Tara is dying! PATEL (shouts). Get the sugar! (Bharati doesn’t move.) Didn’t you hear me? Get me some sugar before she... He realizes he will have to do it himself and carries Tara to the kitchen. Bharati sits on the sofa and sobs. Spot on her. The spot on Dan fades in as he unwinds the sheet on his typwriter. DAN (reads aloud). ‘Bharati sobs. Patel brings in the revived Tara. Patel picks up the phone and dials the hospital. The act ends with the explosive opening of Brahms’ First Concerto.’ Dan stretches himself while the concerto plays. Slow fade out on Bharati. 311  ACT II Spot on Bharati and Tara. Music. There is a certain beatitude in Bharati’s demonstration of affection for Tara. BHARATI. Tara! My beautiful baby! You are my most beautiful baby! I love you very much. TARA (enjoying this affection). Yes, mummy. I know that. BHARATI. I want you to remember that, Tara. TARA. I will. BHARATI. Everything will be all right. Now that I am giving you a part of me. Everything will be all right. TARA. Do you really want to do that, mummy? BHARATI. Very much. TARA. Because you love me so much. BHARATI. Yes. That’s why. Don’t worry. You will be fine. After the operation, we will all be happy together. And I will make up for... for... your father, and I will make up for all the things God hasn’t given you. TARA. I have plenty. I have you. BHARATI. Yes. Thank you, Tara! Thank you. Bharati is overwhelmed and they embrace. Cross-fade to Dan, who is looking at a book. DAN. I was looking through this old scrap book. A present daddy gave me just before I left. It’s got all our news cuttings. Dr Thakkar is in the headlines. Then there are interviews with my mom and dad. And worst of all a hideous photograph of us. Before and after. I don’t think the Elephant Man got so much publicity... Two tiny smaller-than-life babies, hugging each other. Only a closer look... Here’s the one I’m looking for. ‘Tatel twins still twinkling. The Patel twins made medical history today by being the longest surviving pair of Siamese twins... Tara Patel, who underwent her seventh prosthesis and a kidney transplant in the same month, was smiling and jovial within hours of a complex surgery. "Surgery for us is like brushing our teeth," joke the twins. Tara Patel, whose recovery was nothing less than a miracle, states that her source of strength was her mother, and of course, her brother and father. Mrs Bharati Patel, however, was too indisposed to give an interview. A distraught Mr Patel explained that this has been a trying time for her. 312 For, in spite of the brave facade put up by her, Tara has far too many complications to be completely out of danger. However, the will to survive has proved to work more miracles than the greatest of science’... etc., etc. (Thinks about it.) Poor Tara. Even nature gave her a raw deal. Cross-fade to Dr Thakkar. DR THAKKAR. Complications were expected. Our team of doctors were aware of that. The pelvic region, as I had mentioned before, was a problem. There was only one bladder and it belonged to the boy. So did the rectum. We would have to have an artificial one made for the girl. Later on, when she grows up, we can fashion one from her intestinal tissues. And the boy’s lungs aren’t fully developed. However, considering the magnitude of the work involved, this was a minor detail. The prognosis, on the whole, was favourable to both. Nature had done a near-complete job. Medical science could finish it for her. Theoretically, the separation was possible. The second movement of Brahms’ First Concerto starts. The lights come up on the street as Patel slowly walks in with Tara. The beauty of a special bond between parent and child is created by their movements, the lighting and the music. As they enter, their living room is flooded with light and Chandan and Roopa spring from behind the sofa. They have modest bouquets with them. The music stops. CHANDAN. Welcome back! ROOPA. Welcome back, Tara! They give her the flowers. She accepts grandly. TARA. Thank you, good people. (Imitates an Oscar winner.) First of all, I would like to thank my agent. And those wonderful people, my mum and dad. And my wonderful brother (hugs him) without whose glorious presence this operation would never have been made. ROOPA (gleefully). How true! How true! TARA (turns to Roopa). And to my friend out there, Roopa. (Waves the bouquet.) I am winning this Oscar for you! PATEL. Careful! I have an allergy to your Oscar! ROOPA. As a special treat for you, I got Children of a Lesser God. I’ll go get it. PATEL. Oh, no, thanks. Video services have been terminated... ROOPA and CHANDAN (disappointed). Oh! PATEL. For the day. CHANDAN. Oh, great! We’ll watch something better tomorrow, like Twins. 313 TARA. Where’s mummy? Still after Ida, I suppose, making something special for us. PATEL (gives Tara her bag). Now take this to your room and wash up. You can chat with your friend later. TARA. My, oh my! You sound just like mummy! (Goes towards her room.) You men can imitate us so well if you want to. Pity we can’t return the compliment. (Exits.) PATEL. We’ll tell her after she settles down. ROOPA. Oh! You mean she doesn’t know? CHANDAN. We haven’t told her yet. ROOPA. Surely she must have asked for her. CHANDAN. It happened while she was undergoing surgery. PATEL.Roopa, I think it will be better if you left. Just for now. You are most welcome to come back later. ROOPA. Oh, sure! If she needs my company, just give me a shout. Or send her over, I’ll comfort her. CHANDAN. Thanks. ROOPA. Bye. (To Patel.) Bye bye, uncle. PATEL. Bye. Roopa exits. Street lights. She scoots towards Prema’s house. ROOPA. Psst! Prema! Are you there? TARA (coming out). Oh, this is terrific. Mummy doesn’t even come to say hello. PATEL. Tara. Patel leads her to the sofa. She sits down. Spot on them. Their conversation and Tara’s reactions are mimed over Roopa’s speech. ROOPA (as if to Prema). Yes. She is back. Can you believe it? They haven’t told her about her mother yet. Well, they are telling her now. Tara looks up at her father. A look of pain. I tell you that whole family is crazy. And I always knew that mother of hers was bonkers. They say she had a nervous breakdown. I think she has finally gone completely loony. Stark naked mad. Patel comforts Tara. Chandan sits beside her. This is no surprise to me. I had told you she was really wand tarah. 314  Spot on Roopa fades out. The spot on Tara lingers just a little longer. The spot on Dr Thakkar fades in. DR THAKKAR. It took us a further ten days just for planning. We couldn’t afford to make any miscalculations. There would be separate teams for each twin. Two operation tables were to be joined together. When the separation was done, the tables would be pushed apart and each twin was to receive individual attention. Cross-fade to the living room. Tara is seated, looking very depressed. Chandan is trying to cheer her up. CHANDAN. And then this socialite lady at the physio tells me that she had worked with mobility-impaired children before. ‘Mobility impaired?’ I asked. She pointed to my leg and shrugged her shoulders. And you know what I said? (No response.) Come on, take a guess! (Taps her.) Go on, guess. TARA (irritated). I don’t want to guess, CHANDAN. I said, ‘Well, I haven’t worked with brain cell impaired people, so I’m sorry, we cannot have a true cultural exchange.’ (Laughs.) Tara remains silent. Chandan shrugs his shoulders. PATEL (enters from the kitchen). Tara, what would you like for dinner? (No response.) Will Kanchipuram idlis do? (No response.) Tara! Ida is waiting. CHANDAN. Knock, knock! TARA (suddenly acting cheerful). Right! Let’s get the act going. Come on, Chandu, let’s hear some more of your gags, I promise to laugh at all of them, even if I’ve heard them before. I promise to be cheerful all the time. I promise I will eat whatever Ida cooks for us, and I promise, I promise not, to mention mummy at all. CHANDAN. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. TARA (in tears). Very well. I don’t want to go to college. I don’t want to listen to your wisecracks. And I don’t want to eat dinner. All I want is to stay with mummy at the hospital. PATEL. No. TARA. Why not? Pause. PATEL. There will be no more discussion on that. Now, I do hope you plan to go to physiotherapy tomorrow, CHANDAN. If she isn’t, I’m not going either. TARA. It doesn’t make any difference to me whether you go or not. 315 CHANDAN. Very well. (Gets up and goes to her.) We will both stay at home as usual. Watch video and turn into blobs of nothing. Or maybe the bodysnatchers will invade this house and get our bodies. TARA. They won’t get much, will they? PATEL (to Chandan). You filled up your forms? CHANDAN. Tara? TARA. Of course not. There’s no point in my going to college if I have to drop out halfway through or stay away for days not knowing when... No! PATEL. I understand. (Goes to Tara.) But we have a problem here. Chandan refuses to join college without you. TARA. Look, I’m not going to go to college for his sake. So tell him not to not go to college for my sake. CHANDAN. Don’t be ridiculous. I just don’t feel like joining without you. I’m not doing anything for your sake. TARA. Oh, for God’s sake! PATEL. You two are old enough to sort this out amongst yourselves. I won’t interfere. But this is certain, Chandan has to join. I have plans for him. Your Praful uncle will help him get into a good university in England. I know he can get a scholarship on his own if he tries. But Praful will take care of the... special requirements for him. With a solid education you just can’t fail. Not to say that Chandan will have to work for a living. Your grandfather has left all his wealth to you. Since your mother was his only child, you and Tara inherit their home in Bangalore. i CHANDAN. That huge house. It gave me the creeps, I remember. i PATEL. He left you a lot of money. i i CHANDAN. And Tara? PATEL. Nothing. ii CHANDAN. Why? PATEL. It was his money. He could do what he wanted with it. TARA. And the house? Are we going to live there later on? Pause. PATEL. Do me a favour. Both of you. Don’t ever go there. Just lock it up. Or better still, burn the whole place down! (Exits to his bedroom.) 316 CHANDAN. Poor daddy. TARA. Chandu. Why? CHANDAN. He must have had some misunderstanding... TARA. No. I mean, why don’t you join college? CHANDAN. Without you? TARA. Yes! CHANDAN (gets up). Goodnight. TARA. You’re scared. You’re scared you’ll find out you can’t do very much on your own! CHANDAN. Nice try. TARA. Oh, you can’t hide behind your jokes all the time! Face it. You’re a coward. CHANDAN (angrily). Well, I’m sorry. Not everyone has your strength! TARA.You are afraid. Afraid of meeting new people. People who don’t know you. Who won’t know how clever you are. You are afraid they won’t see beyond your... CHANDAN. That’s not true... TARA. Who do you know in this city? Except that silly Roopa? CHANDAN. Who do you know? TARA. I don’t. It’s all the same. You. Me. There’s no difference. CHANDAN. No difference between you and me? TARA. No! Why should there be? CHANDAN. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. TARA. I’m scared as hell too! I wish I was back with our schoolmates. It took me years to show them how stupid they were! CHANDAN. So we’ll start all over again in college! You will join! TARA (laughs). Bastard! CHANDAN. Vulgar girl! Calling yourself names! They both laugh. Chandan moves towards the main door. TARA. Where are you going? CHANDAN. Come! 317 TARA. You’re going out? CHANDAN (goes to her and takes her hand in his). For some fresh air. He takes her out on the street. The lights cross-fade. TARA. You might get an infection. Wear a muffler. (He leads her down the street.) At least take your bronchodilator. CHANDAN. If I need it, you can run and get it for me. TARA. Very funny. They stop, facing the audience. Spot on them. CHANDAN. The oglers are all asleep. Nalini, Roopa, Prema. TARA. Oh, quite a clear sky. No moon, no... CHANDAN. No shooting stars to make wishes on! TARA. How true. Oh, I wish there was one! CHANDAN. Make your wish anyway. TARA. What would you wish for? CHANDAN. Oh, I would wish for the stars! And you? Music: Chopin’s Prelude No. 2 in A minor. TARA. Me? CHANDAN. Yes. Pause. TARA. I would wish for both... I would wish for two of them. CHANDAN. Two Jaipur legs? TARA. No, silly, the real ones. Pause. CHANDAN. Tara? TARA. Yes? CHANDAN. Don’t cry. Pause. TARA. I miss mummy so much. They stand with their arms interlocked while the spot slowly fades out. The music carries on, while the spot comes on Dan. 318 DAN (making notes). Chopin’s Prelude No. 2 in A minor. If possible Dinu Lipatti’s version. (To audience.) People who know they are dying have such a deep understanding of life. And a sense of attachment to it. Music stops. Cross-fade to Dr Thakkar. DR THAKKAR. The separation itself was quite complicated. The pelvis had to be fractured in several places to facilitate separation. Cutting the two livers apart was an extremely delicate job. We had to be careful not to damage the bile ducts. We had had about six rehearsals with dummies to make sure that every detail was considered. In terms of the physical movements of the surgeons during the operation as well as surgical procedure. Cross-fade to Chandan listening to music. Roopa is at the door. She steps in very slowly, watching Chandan lost in the music. She has a video cassette with her. She sneaks up behind him. ROOPA. Boo! CHANDAN (looks up at her in mock-horror). Aaagh! The ogler has come to get me! Help! ROOPA (annoyed). Very funny! Chandan turns down the music. It’s okay. Listen to your music. I’ll go if you don’t want me around. (Pause.) But since you are all alone, I’ll stay and keep you company. CHANDAN. Where would we be without you? ROOPA. I’m glad you appreciate my coming here. Nalini and Prema always crib that I spend less time with them now. CHANDAN. How heartless of you. ROOPA. Anyway, who cares? I’ve got a lovely film we can watch. Don’t worry. It’s not Fatal Attraction or anything like that. It’s one of those class films with Meryl Streep. CHANDAN. She-Devil? ROOPA. No, one of her older ones. Sophie’s Choice. Have you seen it? CHANDAN. Yes. ROOPA (disappointed). Oh! You don’t mind seeing it again? CHANDAN. I do. ROOPA. Oh. Well, tell me what it’s about. CHANDAN. I can’t remember. 319 ROOPA (brightening). Then shall we see it? Just to jog your memory? CHANDAN. No, I think I remember. It’s about this Polish immigrant. ROOPA. Sophie. CHANDAN. Yes. ROOPA. And? CHANDAN. That’s it. ROOPA. Well, what’s her choice? CHANDAN. She didn’t have a choice, you see. ROOPA. Oh. Then why is it called Sophie’s Choice? CHANDAN. It sounds better than Sophie Had No Choice. ROOPA. Yes, I see what you mean. But what was the choice she didn’t have? CHANDAN (thinks about it). Actually, she did have a choice. (Suddenly.) What would you do if you had to choose between a boy and a girl? Who would you choose? ROOPA. A boy definitely! CHANDAN. Definitely? ROOPA. Yes. It’s bad enough studying in an all-girls’ school. I would definitely want a boyfriend. CHANDAN. No, No. I didn’t mean that! ROOPA. Then what did you mean? CHANDAN. I meant a son and a daughter. ROOPA. Oh, boy child and girl child. Say that! CHANDAN. What would your choice be? ROOPA. Mmm... I would be happy with either one. CHANDAN. That’s not the point. In the film, I mean. The Nazis will only allow her to keep one child. The other one would be taken away to a concentration camp or something. ROOPA. How nasty of the Nazis! CHANDAN. Would you send your girl child to the concentration camp? ROOPA. Definitely not! I think it’s more civilized to drown her in milk, if you ask me. Anyway, there’s plenty of time to think about all that. I’m only fifteen, you know. 320 For now I would settle for a boyfriend. Chandan, do you have any girlfriends? CHANDAN. No. ROOPA. Would you want one? CHANDAN. I don’t know. What will I do with one? ROOPA. I don’t believe this! Didn’t you go to a co-ed school in Bangalore? CHANDAN. Yes. ROOPA. Well, wasn’t there any one girl you were close to? Someone whom you shared homework with? Or someone you sat next to in class? CHANDAN. Yes. ROOPA. Yes, you did? CHANDAN. Of course, Tara! ROOPA. She doesn’t count. CHANDAN. What did you say? ROOPA. I said she doesn’t count. She is your sister. What I mean is she doesn’t count in this department. CHANDAN. I understand. ROOPA. For a minute I was wondering... (Pause.) Where is she? CHANDAN. She has gone for her physiotherapy. ROOPA. What about you? Don’t you need to go as well? CHANDAN. I do. But I don’t. ROOPA. Why? CHANDAN. I just don’t, that’s all (Pause.) Hospitals depress me. (Goes to the music system.) ROOPA. I know what you mean. My cousin Saraswati had her appendix removed. I had to spend the night with her at the hospital, you know. Her mum was tired and that’s the least I could do. God! The smells! The chloroform and D.D.T. and what not. I just threw up. Poor Saraswati, she had to help me go to the bathroom. After that, I swore I will never go to a hospital. Chandan inserts a cassette and plays it. How’s your mother? Chopin’s Prelude No. 25 Opus 45 in A flat plays halfway through. 321 When is she coming back? (No reply.) Is she going to be all right? CHANDAN (vaguely). I hate hospitals. The smells. The people. The sterility. He lies on the ground or on a gadda near the music system. He is soon engrossed in the music. Roopa slowly comes to him and lies down or sits beside him. She slyly looks at him. He feels her presence. He looks at her. She pretends to be with the music. He cannot ignore her now. He slowly puts his hand on her shoulder. She freezes. He very awkwardly moves his hand till it is almost on her breast. The music ends. ROOPA (rises immediately). Aagh! Stay away from me! Stay away from me, you horrible thing! CHANDAN. You led me on! ROOPA. How dare you say that! Tara enters in the street. CHANDAN (fighting tears). You were leading me on all the time! ROOPA. You actually believe that I would want you to... You have some hopes! CHANDAN. You are a cheat! A fraud! Tara is at the door. ROOPA (tearfully). Oh, Tara! You’ve come just in time! CHANDAN. Tara, don’t listen to anything she... ROOPA. Oh, my God! How can I even begin to...? CHANDAN. Shut up! ROOPA. Your brother is a real... a real monster! CHANDAN. Stop cooking up lies! ROOPA. He... he... Why he practically raped me! He’s a raper. TARA. Rapist. CHANDAN. Don’t listen to her. She’s lying! ROOPA. How dare you call me a liar! CHANDAN. How dare you call me a rapistl ROOPA. You are. You... you creepy thing! CHANDAN. Get lost! You wanted me to do it! ROOPA. What rubbish! I only wanted to keep you company but you took advantage— you... you... (At a loss.) Oh! All men are like that. 322 TARA. Like what? ROOPA. Like that! You know—after one thing. CHANDAN. I wasn’t after one thing. ROOPA. Well, I’m sorry. I’m just not that type. And personally I don’t think we are— you know—combatible. If you get what I mean. CHANDAN. You’re right we aren’t... combatible. ROOPA. And if you really want someone who is—you should meet Freni Narangiwalla. I think you will get along fine. She is mentally retarded! Pause. TARA. You are right. They would be quite... combatible. Chandan, who has been suppressing his laughter, giggles a little. Roopa looks at him, then at Tara. Tara giggles. Chandan bursts out laughing. Tara laughs too. Roopa thinks it is another joke she has missed. She shifts uncomfortably. ROOPA. Well, I better get going. TARA. No, stay. Keep us company. CHANDAN. Yes. Please stay. ROOPA. Well, if you need me, how can I say no? TARA. Sit down. ROOPA (sits down). What shall we do? See a movie? (To Tara.) I’ve got this great cassette... TARA. No. Let me tell you a story, about my friend Deepa. ROOPA. Deepa? TARA. My classmate in school. CHANDAN (to Roopa). Standard VIII. Her best friend. TARA (with a harshness she has not shown before). Not in the beginning, she wasn’t. Used to sit next to me in class because Mrs Ramanathan, our science teacher, told her to. Never talked to me. Until Ratbag—Mrs Ramanathan—paired us off for some stupid project. Wanted us to make a model of the solar system or something as our homework. I decided I would rather go over to her house than call her home. She didn’t like the idea, but Ratbag decided for us. So Deepa had to take me home with her. We sat on her bed, making our model with rubber balls and wires. Her bed felt different somehow. I put my hand under the cover, and guess what? ROOPA. What? 323 TARA. There was a rubber sheet underneath! Imagine. Thirteen years old and she was wetting her bed. I laughed. I laughed out loud. She went red. ROOPA. And she became your best friend? TARA. I never told anyone at school. But she knew I could easily have done so—at the slightest provocation. I soon had her doing all my homework. ROOPA (uneasily). I don’t think that’s... why are you telling me this. TARA (looks at-her). It’s good to know what hurts other people. ROOPA (laughs nervously). I suppose so. TARA. Comes in handy. ROOPA. Well—yes. TARA. Knowing their secrets is useful. ROOPA. I suppose so. Pause. TARA. So how does it feel having one tit smaller than the other? Roopa is stunned. She rises, her mouth open. Don’t worry—it’s not very noticeable, except from a certain angle. Then it’s very noticeable. ROOPA. How dare you! You one-legged thing! TARA. I’d sooner be one-eyed, one-armed and one-legged than be an imbecile like you. An imbecile with uneven tits. ROOPA. And to think I pitied you! Oh! I think you are disgusting! I only come here because your mother asked me to. No, she didn’t ask me, she bribed me to be your best friend. Yes, your loony mother used to give me things. Charlie bottles, lipsticks, magazines. Now that she’s finally gone crazy, I guess she won’t be giving me much. So goodbye. (Exits.) TARA (shouts after her). Get lost! And please ask Nalini and Prema to come here. I have something to say to them—about you! Oh, wait till they hear this! They will love it. They are going to look at your tits the same way they looked at my leg! Let me see how you can face them ogling at you! You won’t be able to come out of your house, you horrible creature! You are ugly and I don’t want ugly people in my house! So get lost! (Moves to the sofa, gasping.) Pause. CHANDAN. They are not the ugly ones. We are. Horrible one-legged creatures. 324 TARA (angrily). Yes, but you don’t have to say it! CHANDAN (moves to her). I’m sorry. You mustn’t mind very much. TARA. What? CHANDAN. Being one-legged. TARA. What makes you think I mind? CHANDAN (softly). I feel your pain. TARA. Yes, I do mind. I mind very much. Cross-fade to Dr Thakkar. DR THAKKAR. That’s a very interesting question. You see, due to the complex conjoinment at the pelvis, it is very difficult to say how their reproductive organs will develop. A lot depends on the hormone levels their bodies will be able to produce. Imbalances are highly probable. But enough research has been made on the subject. With the necessary supplements it isn’t unreasonable to expect them to have a fairly normal growth otherwise. Of course, it would be impossible for either of them to be able to reproduce. They are completely sterile. Cross-fade to Tara and Chandan. TARA. Oh, what a waste! A waste of money. Why spend all the money to keep me alive? It cannot matter whether I live or die. There are thousands of poor sick people on the roads who could be given care and attention, and I think I know what I will make of myself. I will be a carer for those people. I... I will spend the rest of my life feeding and clothing those... starving naked millions everyone is talking about. Maybe I can start an institution that will... do all that. Or I could join Mother Teresa and sacrifice myself to a great cause. That may give... purpose to my... existence. I can do it. I can do it, can’t I? I will be very happy if I could, because that is really what I want. That is really... (With emotion.) Oh, bullshit! I don’t care! I don’t care for anyone except mummy! Pause. CHANDAN. It’s somehow wrong. TARA. I don’t care! CHANDAN. You should. You should care... for people around you. TARA. How do you expect me to feel anything for anyone if they don’t give me any feeling to begin with? Why is it wrong for me to be without feeling? Why are you asking me to do something that nobody has done for me? CHANDAN. I don’t know. Somehow, it is wrong, to be so... selfish. 325 TARA. Selfish? Yes. I am. I have the right to be selfish, like everyone else! CHANDAN. No, you don’t! We don’t. We are not everyone else. TARA. I think that bothers you more than it bothers me. CHANDAN. I’m not being bothered by anything. TARA. But it bothers me to hear you preaching to me what’s wrong and what isn’t. CHANDAN. All right, I won’t! You can do whatever you want and... just... maybe... I will help you do whatever you want. Okay? TARA. Oh, don’t bother. You’re not my big brother, okay? I can teach you a trick or two if I want to. CHANDAN (annoyed). Oh, sure! Women mature faster! TARA.Yes! We do. We do! And we are more sensitive, more intelligent, more compassionate human beings than creeps like you and... and... CHANDAN. And? TARA. Daddy! Cross-fade to Dan, who is on the telephone. DAN. Hello. (Louder). Hello, Dad? Can you hear me? Dad? (Dials again.) Hello? Operator, I’m having trouble getting to Bombay. Could you give me India 0226574423 please?... I will hold, thank you. (Pause.) Hello? Dad? This is Chandan. Praful uncle called me. I believe you had called him... Yes, I received your letter. Mummy was admitted again, I know. If you have anything to say to me, you should call me and not uncle... Well, sometimes I take it off the hook, when I’m writing... What is it, dad? How is mummy, now? (Pause.) How?... (Pause.) When was this?... Oh, was it... sudden?... I’m sorry, dad. But I can’t help but feel... relieved that it’s all over... No. No. I don’t think I can come. I’m sorry. Look, I can understand how you feel and I know I should be with you now—but please dad, don’t ask me to come back... Well, I’m in the middle of writing something, but that’s not it. It’s just that I don’t think I can face life there anymore... Why don’t you come here?... I just thought that now since you are all alone. You’ve got your brothers over here. And me. Not that I would be able to give you much. I never was a giver... You misunderstood, dad, I never held you responsible for what happened... How can you feel that it was your fault? No. Don’t talk about her. It’s not fair to me... Tara has been dead for six years and now that mummy has gone as well, there’s nothing left for me to come back to... Yes, maybe I’m hurting you deliberately, I don’t know why, but I can’t help the way I feel... Either you come here or you live in Bombay all by yourself... Well, that’s too bad! That’s just too bad! (Hangs up.) 326  Cross-fade to Tara and Chandan. TARA. When did you last visit mummy? You didn’t come with us last Sunday. CHANDAN. I don’t like hospitals. TARA (sarcastically). I know. They depress you! CHANDAN. I’ll gO. Soon. TARA. You’ve only come with us once. CHANDAN. I will come this Sunday. She isn’t any better, I know. You can visit her more often if you want to. TARA. I want to. CHANDAN. Who’s stopping you? Pause. TARA. Daddy. CHANDAN. Why? (No reply.) I think you’re being unfair. TARA. You are always defending him. CHANDAN. I’m not. He’s not what you make him out to be. TARA. You say that because he’s nice to you. CHANDAN. He’s nice to you. TARA. He talks to you more often. CHANDAN. All right. He talks to me, but he’s nice to you. TARA. I tell you, he hates me! CHANDAN. Nobody hates you. Pause. TARA. I hate him. CHANDAN. Why? Pause. TARA. Chandan, I did not go to the physiotherapist today. CHANDAN. Where did you go then? TARA. To the hospital. CHANDAN. What? Why didn’t you tell me? 327 TARA.I just decided on the way. I asked the driver to take me there instead... I wanted to meet her. Alone. CHANDAN. Well? What happened? TARA. Chandan, I must meet her alone. CHANDAN. Didn’t you meet her? TARA. They wouldn’t let me! CHANDAN. They who? TARA. Th