tales of Suchita

Radha had shut himself in his room once the shouting match with his mother had come to an abrupt end when dadi had started to wail. She had managed to divert the conversation into how it was Radha’s mother’s fault that he had turned into a pansy. The argument had turned sour so quickly, Radha had been sent to his room so his mother could continue the argument with dadi on something that had nothing to do with his suspension.

Seeing the chart hung smartly behind his door, Radha had, in a fit of ill-guided rage torn it into half. Now that he had calmed down considerably, he was starting to regret that decision. Yes he was upset. Yes he had been proved wrong beyond a shadow of a doubt. But that did not mean he could stop being a detective. It only meant he needed to track back and figure out where he had fumbled so erroneously.

Sitting on his bed, not looking at anything in particular, he waited in sullen silence for either of his parents to enter the room and declare just how much in trouble he was. He sighed, looking at his school bag that he had flung onto his desk.

First he had failed seventh grade. Then his test results hadn’t satisfied his parents. He hadn’t told them the real reason for the ink spill and that too had gotten him into some trouble with his mother. And now this…he couldn’t believe only three months ago he had been happy to restart on a fresh page. His second attempt at seventh grade was not going as per plan.

He had just about started to rethink the plan of running away (if for nothing else than to get a reaction out of his parents) when his bedroom door opened and his father walked in.

Here we go, he thought dully, preparing himself for a verbal lashing of a lifetime. Hey, at least your father doesn’t hit you like Sagar’s, his brain threw at him. There was of course solace in that.

Radha’s father sat on his bed, looking sombre but surprisingly not angry. Just his face lifted the dark cloud that had settled over him and he sat up straighter.

“What happened?”

And this time Radha spoke without embellishments, without his usual wisecracks, without play-acting. He started right from the beginning: the apple, the bottle, the pencils, the proof that it had been Priyanka, the ink and the jam and the final incident of what happened in Ameen miss’s cabin. You did not mess with his father when he spoke in that tone.

“I see.”

When his father didn’t say anything more, he said, “Do you believe me? I’ll understand if you don’t.”

His father smiled. “Of course I believe you Radha. But,” he said mildly, “you did make a mistake.”

Unprepared, feeling whiplashed at this uncharacteristic portrayal of understanding, Radha wrapped his arms around himself, as if in protection. Finally, he nodded his head. He wanted his father to go on.

“You have been underestimating your thief.”

And that statement right there told him that his father indeed believed him. Radha’s hands unfurled from around him and his face broke into a thousand watt smile. “You are not disappointed?”

Radha’s father raised his hands as if asking for permission. And though he was thirteen and a big boy, he had no qualms about crawling into his father’s arms for a nice, long, warm hug. It helped that the door was closed and his mother wouldn’t be able to witness this. (Radha would later shudder at the thought of how emotional and insufferable she would have gotten had she seen father and son like that.)

To his horror though, his father was no less emotional or insufferable.

“Dad!” Radha blushed, wiping his right temple as if that could wipe away the kiss.

He chuckled mischievously. “Radha,” he said, and Radha became attentive again. “I am going to advice against taking revenge, obviously. Even though this…thief…as you say has caused you so much grief. But I wouldn’t be opposed to you finding out who he is and bringing him to justice.”

Radha’s chest swelled with pride. “Or she,” he added.

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” he said. And then did the unthinkable. He bent forward and kissed his father on the cheek. “Thanks,” he whispered.

“I won’t tell mom if you won’t.”

Both of them laughed. “Get to work kiddo,” he said as he got up from Radha’s bed and ruffled his hair affectionately before leaving.

What a roller coaster of a day it had been for Radha! So what did he do next? Well he had his dinner of course; a growing boy like him needed sustenance to stay on his toes. Sheetal tai got it for him in his room – apparently dadi was still angry with his mother for taking Radha’s side and it was best if she didn’t see Radha – everyone was afraid she would start her tirade again – and went back to work as his father had suggested.

Now glad he had torn the chart, he removed a pencil and a notebook and began to write everything that had happened so far.

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This is the eleventh post in the series. To know more about Radha, click here.