10.2
‘I’m sorry for being so grumpy, Satya,’ he burbled when he finally returned, ‘I know I’m not great company.’
‘But you are,’ she insisted, smiling at him affectionately, ‘I wouldn’t hang around with you otherwise. You are great company. I treasure it.’
Ben managed a smile too. He had been away for minutes, contemplating the hidden stream or something else. From over there, he thought he had heard her sobs, but he found her cheeks dry, her eyes unglazed. Instead, she glanced at him fondly and begged him to sit beside her once more.
‘No, I won’t sit down,’ he told her, ‘Let’s have our fun. Let the celebrations begin.’
‘It’s funny, but I’ve started to have doubts,’ she sighed, rising to her feet, ‘maybe I should’ve worn something different.’
‘Well of course you should’ve,’ he laughed, ‘I could’ve told you that. But it’s too late now.’
‘I just wanted to dress up and make this special.’
‘And you look beautiful,’ he replied, causing her to blush yet again.
‘It’s my favourite outfit,’ she lamented.
‘I can tell. It’s gorgeous. You look lovely.’
‘But I suppose it won’t fit me soon. It’s already a bit tight. I suppose I won’t wear it again. This was my last chance.’
‘Yes, I suppose,’ he agreed.
‘But I wish I’d just worn an old salwar kameeze instead. For Holi, I mean, not you.’
‘An old t-shirt might’ve been better.’
‘Yes, true.’
‘But never mind,’ he chuckled, examining the remaining contents of her rucksack to see what she had brought, ‘you’d already made up your mind. You insisted, so now I must insist too. Let’s get this show on the road.’
‘Oh, but I don’t know now, Ben. Do you think it’s the right thing to do?’
‘Of course it’s not the right thing to do,’ he said, studying the label on one of the bottles of powder, ‘but we’ll do it anyway. You’ve built it up too much to abandon it now. You talked me into it, insisted; you’re not going to talk me out of it.’
‘Oh, but I love this lengha too much,’ she carped, ‘It was expensive, you know? If only I’d thought this through.’
‘Tough,’ he replied decisively, ‘It was all your idea, not mine. We’re going to do this, Satya. We’re going to see this through. Happy Holi, and happy birthday too.’
‘Happy Holi, Ben,’ she whimpered back. ‘Yes, you’re right,’ she said, ‘I agree. Let’s not get bogged down in reality. Let it be our escape, like you said. Let us flee from ourselves today. Let us live our dreams. It feels like one, you know?’
‘When you see me flying past you, you’ll know it’s true,’ he grinned. ‘Come,’ he gushed, ‘let me turn you into a rainbow.’
From her bag, Satya retrieved four large rectangular bottles with wide circular lids and placed them on the flattest part of the log, exhibiting the bright powdery hues within: a brilliant red; a glowing, dazzling yellow; a cheerful, vivid purple, halfway between violet and magenta; and a stunning cobalt blue. She would mimic the old spice sellers of distant bazaars now, retrieving four more artefacts from the base of her bag: four elegant copper plates of varying sizes; ornaments borrowed from a chest in the living room, hopefully unnoticed for now. She would pour out a mound of each colour, like a masala merchant in a copy of the National Geographic in the library.
‘Is this the real thing?’ asked Ben, lifting one of the bottles before him to reread the label. ‘Tempera powder? Is that what it’s called? Where did you get it from?’
‘No, alas, I couldn’t get the real thing. You can’t get those pigments around here. Maybe they’d have it in Leicester or London, but there wasn’t time for that. So I went to a little art shop nearby dad’s place and asked for powder paint instead. This is all they had. It cost a fortune, but what choice did I have? I suppose it must be some fancy brand. Why they don’t just call it powder paint, I don’t know.’
‘Hmm, I don’t know either,’ he said, resting the bottle back in its place, ‘I guess if you give it a posh name like that it helps push up the price. How much was it, exactly?’
‘Oh you don’t want to know. Still, I could’ve spent a fortune on saffron, red sandalwood and henna, so I think it’ll do. Of course, I could’ve got a bag of turmeric for next to nothing, but can you imagine the stains? To be honest, I didn’t know what I was doing. I tried to ask a Hindu girl at school but she didn’t have a clue either.’
‘Ah, if only we’d decided to be English for the day, it would’ve been so much easier,’ he chortled, winking at her, ‘We could’ve just had a nice cup of tea and a cucumber sandwich and maybe even some nice fresh scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam. I would’ve worn a top hat and tails.’
‘Oh no, Ben, a flat cap and pipe,’ she giggled childishly, ‘We’re not soft southerners, after all.’
‘Aye, tis reight true,’ he replied, ‘Eck, there’d be none of this faffin with colours and that. Ear all, see all, say nowt; eyt all, sup all, pay nowt; and if ever tha does owt fer nowt, do it fer thyself. Aye?’
‘Nah, Ben,’ she guffawed, lunging into the tallest heap with outstretched fingers, dusting his right cheek blue. ‘Holi hai!’ she cried.
‘Holi hai,’ he bellowed back, coating her cheeks yellow and red and her forehead too.
Before long their joy had overtaken them and they became oblivious to their surroundings, flinging handfuls of powder at each other and running off to make chase between the trees, dashing one way and then another, intent on catching the other to dispense more colour and laughter in turn. Soon Satya looked kaleidoscopic, the dry pigments combining on her skin into different hues, her beautiful outfit transformed, her black hair now dappled part ginger, part blonde. Returning for more, Ben’s borrowed suit no longer carried that restrained shade of ivory, but looked like a vintage psychedelic caftan from the 1970s. His hair was Johnny Rotten’s, his skin Ziggy Stardust’s, his sherwani Jason Donovan’s Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and that smile: part Ronnie Corbett, part Cheshire Cat.
When there was no powder left, they collapsed on the ground, overcome by their laughter and glee. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ she tittered as she caught her breath.
‘No, thank you,’ he replied, his despair forgotten, his worries wiped away. He had never felt so relaxed in his life, as far as he could remember anyway; he certainly had not laughed like this in years. ‘Oh my word,’ he cried, ‘my sides are splitting. It’s killing me. Has anyone ever died from laughing? I think I’m about to. Thank you, Satya, thank you.’
‘No, thank you. That was just what the doctor ordered. Even if my lengha has forgotten it was pink. I don’t mind. It was worth it. I’ll remember this for the rest of my life.’
‘And me too, I think.’
‘You’ve made me so happy, Ben. What a way to mark my birthday. Wow, I’ll cherish this for eternity. I’m so grateful. What a blessing. You’re the answer to my prayers; of that I’m sure. Thank you, Ben, thank you.’
