Fire Under Ash , livre ebook

Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd. - Saskya Jain

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143 pages

English

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When Ashwin, a wealthy Delhi boy, meets Lallan, a struggling student from Patna looking to make his fortune, their friendship, with their mutual love for the almond-eyed Mallika, seems to transcend the fault lines of class and privilege. But one night at a party, a fateful incident leads their worlds to unravel with consequences that change both their lives forever, and expose the deep turmoil inherent in the frenetic energy of the new, aspiring India. An audacious debut, Fire Under Ash marks the arrival of Indian fiction's latest star, who takes a coruscating look at Delhi's beauty and brutality, writing the city as we've never read it before.

Informations

Publié par	Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd.
Date de parution	18 septembre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9788184006520
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0660€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Saskya Jain

FIRE UNDER ASH
RANDOM HOUSE INDIA
Contents
About the Author
Dedication

Ashwin
Lallan
Meera
Ashwin
Lallan
Meera
Ashwin
Lallan
Meera
Ashwin
Lallan
Meera
Ashwin
Lallan
Meera
Ashwin
Lallan
Meera
Ashwin
Lallan
Meera
Ashwin
Acknowledgements
Follow Random House
Copyright
About the Author
Saskya Jain was born in Ahmedabad and grew up in New Delhi. Educated at Berlin s Free University and at Columbia University, she holds an MFA in Fiction from Boston University, where she received the Florence Engel Randall Award and the Robert Pinsky Global Fellowship. Her writing has appeared in numerous literary magazines, and one of her stories was a finalist in the 2011 Asian-American Short Story Contest. She lives in New Delhi and Berlin. Fire Under Ash is her first novel.
Jyotindra, Jutta, Rumi & Christopher: They ll all be for you
There s nothing more difficult than saying goodbye to a house where you ve suffered.
-Vasily Grossman, Life and Fate
Perhaps everyone thinks they are apart from their milieu.
-F. Scott Fitzgerald, My Lost City
Ashwin
Here He Comes! the banner strung up above the stage read. Below it, the words COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY were screen-printed in white varsity font on a powder-blue background.
Here he goes, Ashwin Mehta, the He from the banner, said. The wild frizz on his head was kept in check by a dollop of gel and a green elastic hairband that made his curls puff out behind it like the fanned tail of a peacock, making his sharp nose look even more beak-like. Along his temple and down his sideburns his hair spiralled into shiny, black curls like seashells after an oil spill. He was dressed in his party uniform-white T-shirt, dark jeans and pinstripe Hugo Boss blazer, sleeves pulled up to his elbows.
Ashwin s gaze fell from the banner to the stage below it, where a hired band was making Ticket to Ride more conducive to hip gyrations with the help of bongos, glow sticks and a feverish energy.
He noted that the musicians, their long, straight hair pressed down by paisley bandanas and draped over fashionably worn leather jackets, were all male except for the lead singer. She looked about half their age. She was clearly not related to the men, whose Asiatic appearance confined them to a misty, Far- Eastern corner of the country in the eyes of these solidly North Indian party guests.
Permy unglued his gaze from the girls on the dance floor and turned to Ashwin. Say what?
The banner, Ashwin explained to his best friend. It should say Here he goes , not comes . Step one is for me to leave, right? Maybe forever.
Ashwin and Permy were leaning on the railing of the balcony that horseshoed the restaurant Ashwin s mother had booked for the party. A disco ball suspended from the ceiling threw specks of light on their parents and friends below. An abandoned peanut in a spicy coat sat on the edge of the balustrade next to Ashwin.
That sounds like the banner for your exile party, Permy said.
More like suicide party, Ashwin replied.
Permy gave Ashwin his you re-being-strange-look, which contained a visible dose of real concern. Come on, yaar, he said. This is obviously your parents We ve raised a genius party, so let s postpone killing you for now.
With his round cheeks and green button eyes, Permy was still referred to as little angel by his grandmother, even though he weighed over three hundred pounds now and wore his long hair in two braided ponytails, one sprouting at the tip of his cranium and the other at the nape of his neck, like a Chinese assassin.
Just wish I could make my own decisions once in a while.
That s what New York will be for, baby! Permy said and sidled up to Ashwin. He pointed at the lead singer. It ll be up to us entirely with whom, how and when we get it on.
Ashwin followed Permy s gaze back to the girl on stage. She wore a black leather miniskirt and thread jewellery over a white, ruffled blouse. Her eyes were lined in thick kohl that slanted upwards at the outer edges, sixties-style.
Subtlety, Ashwin said. I know it s here, Mom promised she d invite it. Go find it and make a new friend, Perms.
Permy laughed the way he always did, with his mouth wide open. Ashwin picked up the peanut and flicked it inside, causing Permy to fulfil the circus-worthy feat of chuckling and swallowing in immediate succession without choking even once. Ashwin noticed that the girl sucked in her lower lip as she sang, giving her a slightly stern expression, which was mellowed by the chipped lime green of her fingernails.
Directly below Ashwin and Permy was the open bar, where various cousins stood and chatted. The boys watched a middle- aged woman, whom Ashwin recognized as Deepa Aunty, climb on to one of the white blocks on the dance floor. The red plastic horns on her head blinked through the dimmed light. She jiggled and twisted her body as if navigating a crumb that had fallen into her d colletage. A moment later she was joined by a tall woman with straightened black hair tied into a sloppy bun on top of her head like a Shaivite geisha. Ashwin s sister, Meera, grabbed Deepa Aunty s hips and grinded around her to multiple cheers from the audience.
Your sister s-
Engaged, thank you, Ashwin said. He pointed at the shaved head below them. To that dude.
Permy didn t follow Ashwin s pointing finger. He was watching Meera dance. She s badass, yaar.
If you say so, Pom-Pom.
Waiters moved gingerly through the crowd, trying to avoid swinging arms and rocking elbows from toppling over trays of hors d oeuvres.
Ashwin scanned the stage. The band was taking a break. The girl clipped the microphone back into the stand and stepped off the platform, then hesitated for a moment, as if suddenly feeling out of place. Ashwin pushed himself off the railing and straightened his shirt. He was going to speak to her. Even if he never saw her again after tonight, he would at least remember his farewell party for talking to the most striking person in the room.
Nails grabbed his elbow from behind.
There you are! Meera pressed her Bloody Mary into Ashwin s hand. You realize it s not okay to absent yourself from your own party for longer than it takes to piss and squeeze out the alcohol and tandoori shrimp. Respectively.
Language, Meera didi, Permy said, smirking.
I ve been watching you, sis, Ashwin said, casting an impatient glance down. The girl had disappeared. You need to be disciplined.
Meera fixed her brother in a stare, her pencil-thin eyebrows pulled up in a steep arch as her lids drooped down almost to a close, fluttering several times in quick succession, the way they always did when she wanted to reassert authority. Point taken. Now will you please embrace my man Epicurus and rejoin the party? Mom s going ballistic.
Why?
Because her darling son is M. I. A. The journos just arrived. If you could call them that. I guess their job is to go around Delhi hunting the rich and famous for photos and a name or three.
They aren t exactly hunting us, Mee. Mom is paying them.
Same difference. Meera, who until then had been standing with her legs apart and arms akimbo to signal her hurry to get back downstairs, relaxed suddenly and leaned against the railing next to her brother. I m glad you re coming to New York, Ash. It ll be like getting back a piece of home.
Ashwin adjusted the headband on his curly mane. In that case I expect a home-cooked meal at your apartment every Sunday at noon. I ll wear my lungi for bonus desi vibe.
Permy cackled.
Meera said, If only! Sundays Vinny rarely ever rises from his desk before 2 p. m. -that s when I get out of bed if I don t get called in to work. You re welcome to come with us to his parents sometime, though. We re overdue for a visit, and the food s always good.
No, thanks. I don t do in-laws.
We re not married yet! Thanks for paying attention.
Not even prospective in-laws.
I guess we re just going to have to go out for drinks then. Oh, I forgot. I won t be able to take you to a bar for three frickin years. It s like forcing a child to wear diapers again after it s been potty-trained. Loco gringoes.
They took the stairs down to the bar, where Ashwin found the musicians standing in a cluster, but the singer was nowhere to be seen. Permy was already leaning into one of their prettier classmates. Ashwin, taller than most boys his age, had an unhindered view of her cleavage inside her strapless black dress. He winked at Permy as he walked past.
Stepping out on to the dim promenade, Ashwin lit a cigarette. The air was thick and hot. Within an instant he felt his shirt turning moist at the armpits and at his back. He nodded at the hostess, whose smile was as dull as it was brief. A few people stood smoking together. He strolled down the steps towards the empty road. When he reached it, he saw that there was already someone standing by the flickering street light.
Hi, he said to the girl from the band. Don t take this the wrong way, you re a very good singer, but I think I m going to invent the world s first tandoori shrimp missile if I have to go back in there.
The girl stared at him. Don t take this the wrong way, we don t choose the lives we re born into, but I ve already considered it and decided that the aloo tikkis would be more effective.
Ashwin smiled, pulling out his pack of Davidoff s and offering it to her. She hesitated for a moment, then took a cigarette.
He said, You know it took my mother all of two seconds to suggest a party after seeing the admissions letter? I bet she planned to throw one no matter where I went to college. I wanted to DJ myself but she put her foot down to hire a band for all ages and tastes . What does that even mean?
It s a musical genre we invented: it s only for middle-aged women from the Chhattarpur farmhouses, but for them the appeal is quite hypnotic.
I m sorry. I meant no offence.
None taken. She stretched out her hand. I m Mal