Hey guys! Back again with another part (and now we have two more left to go!). After quite a long break of real life work, writer’s block and trying to find readers, I present the eighth part of American Born Indian. Ruchi’s fourteenth birthday takes a somber turn with devastating news about her family’s bookstore. Read on to find out what happens next!
Chapter 33
Golden Birthday
I rap my knuckles on the Singhs’ oak-panelled door. Chanchal Aunty opens it and smiles at me. “Good morning, Jay! You’re here early.”
I hold up a gift bag. “This is for Ruchi.”
“Arey, beta—“
“Aunty, I wanted to surprise her. I know the party’s in the evening, but I just couldn’t wait.”
She pats my cheek. “Such a sweet boy. Ruchi, Jay aa gaya!”
Ruchi comes barreling down the hall and skids to a stop in front of the door. She’s wearing a brand-new T-shirt featuring OneRepublic’s latest tour. “Jay!”
I give her a big hug. “Happy birthday!”
She squeezes back. “Thanks!” Looking at the gift bag in my hand, she gives me a pointed look. “Come on, dude.”
I hand it to her and give her a lopsided grin. “Surprise!”
The phone starts ringing and Aunty goes back inside to pick it up. Ruchi rolls her eyes.
“One downside about having a school holiday on your birthday: you never get to sleep in.” Today is Makar Sankranthi, and Pongal, and even Maaghi Day in Punjab, according to Nani, which warrants a day off.
“Why’s it that bad?” I ask. I would’ve been thrilled to stay home from school on my birthday, but unfortunately it falls on a date rather generic compared to hers.
Ruchi groans. “My cell’s been exploding with messages and calls since seven A.M.! So I woke up early—well, as early as you can on a day off—and I was just talking to my taiji when you came.”
I whistle. “Lots of relatives, huh?”
“Not just them—my friends, Charu’s friends, Ammi and Appu’s friends—the list could go on.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Be glad you don’t know all of your extended family.”
I smile. “We’re still on for six thirty P.M. at Bistro Claytopia, right?”
“Yep. My parents will drive us, and we’re picking Aravind up, too.” Behind me, Chanchal Aunty holds up Ruchi’s earphones, and I can hear a tinny voice showering her with birthday blessings.
Ruchi sighs.“Looks like I’ve got more of these to attend to. See ya later!”
I wave goodbye, and trot down the steps back home.
I rush downstairs and get in the car with Ruchi’s parents and Charu, sitting in the back with Ruchi.
“You look great!” I say to her. She’s wearing a shimmery black top and baggy jeans, along with brand new Air Force 1’s. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail with a colourful printed scrunchie.
“You’re all dressed up!” She grins at my checkered shirt, the one Mom always made me wear to anyone’s birthday. I didn’t mind it today, though. It’s a special occasion, after all.
Five minutes later, we’re out of Caldera and pulling up near Purva Adarsh. Aravind and his parents are outside. Ruchi gets out to greet them, and they hug her and hand her presents too. Soon enough, Aravind, who’s wearing a dark blue shirt with white dots, squeezes in next to me, with Ruchi on his other side.
“Okay, this drive will take time because of traffic, so let’s play some games,” Ruchi says.
We’re on an epic round of Antakshari when Rachit Uncle gets a call. We quiet down, expecting him to take it on the CarPlay screen, but he pulls out an AirPod and reassures us to continue with our game. Obviously, we don’t, out of courtesy. Yet, Ruchi frowns.
“I’ve barely seen him use his earphones. Even when there are other people, he usually doesn’t take calls.”
I shrug. “Must be important.”
“On a holiday? The store’s closed. What could he have related to work?” She shakes her head, but her eyes glint with mischief as she turns to us. “Anyway, you tell me: how’s the two-month relationship going? I wanna hear all the fluffy deets!”
We blush. “We’re not sure if we’d like to call it that,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t even try that card. You guys look at each other like you’re the sun and moon and stars all at once.”
What can we say? It’s actually been awesome. Sometimes we meet in Aravind’s apartment, sometimes mine. We play volleyball whenever we’re in Purva; they’ve got a decent court. But in Caldera, I take him up to the terrace, where we just sit in comfortable silence, watching the sun go down behind the skyline of Bengaluru. Or we talk, or play music together. It’s always magical, no matter what. Even if we just stick to these mini-dates, hugs lasting an extra second longer, and hand-holding, it’s enough for me.
“It’s fun,” Aravind murmurs, smiling.
My stomach somersaults. “Yeah,” I agree.
Ruchi shakes her head and grins, nudging us both. “Aye haye! Look at you!”
Charu turns from where he’s sitting in his mother’s lap. “Didi, did you know today’s your golden birthday?”
Ruchi raises an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Well… today’s fourteenth of January, and you’re turning fourteen. Fourteen on fourteenth. My friends call that a golden birthday.”
Chanchal Aunty ruffles her son’s hair. “Well, that sounds special, Charu. Doesn’t it, Ruchi?”
“You know what?” Ruchi taps her chin in thought. “It kinda does.”
I smile, then I look down and see Aravind’s pinky finger curled around mine. He blushes a bit. His deep brown eyes don’t look away from mine.
“I know,” I whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate. He interlocks his fingers with mine, and we sit hand-in-hand for the rest of the ride.
Chapter 34
The Secret
Apart from Aravind and me, Ruchi also invited our fellow Underdogs Aisha and Manjeet, Rahil and Vikram, and other people from our grade like Ishita, Ishaan Rathi, Soumik Joshi and some more. In all, there were fourteen teenagers, a few kids, Ruchi’s parents, and her uncle and aunt who live in Indiranagar.
Bistro Claytopia’s wildly popular, and the place is packed even during the birthday bash. We’ve already finished painting some clay vessels (part of the activity set up), cutting the birthday cake, and eating a delicious dinner. Now, Ruchi plays some music, so we can have a dance party. We bop to all of our Sports Day tracks and some Top 50 hits. Soon, I’m tired, and I sit at the far end of the table, away from the music.
I’m watching the impromptu mosh pit when Aravind sits next to me.
“It’s going pretty great so far,” he says. I smile and shrug.
“Are you having fun?” I ask him.
He tilts his head back and forth. “I haven’t danced so much in a long time.”
“Hey, don’t forget Sports Day. Besides, you should do it more often. You’ve got sweet moves.” I raise an eyebrow, and he chuckles.
“It’s easy to let loose around you.” Again, he looks at me with those eyes, and I feel my heart drop a few steps down into my stomach. I blush, smile and put an arm around his shoulders.
We see Rachit Uncle pace back and forth anxiously behind the chairs. He’s been on edge the entire day, and I’m not the only one who noticed.
Aravind leans towards me. “He still seems worried.”
I nod. “Something’s up.”
Uncle’s phone rings, and he picks it up, greatly relieved. He says something in Hindi, then nods. I can’t understand much, but Aravind translates side by side.
“He’s asking whether he’s received ‘the papers.’” He frowns and turns to me. “What papers?”
We watch Uncle talk some more in Hindi, then he switches to English.
“Yes, tomorrow you can come and have a look at the store. If everything’s in order, we can begin the process.”
Aravind and I glance at each other. Process?
“Hahnji, sir, but it’s all for the better. I’ve spoken to a few family members about some work already.” He pauses, listening, then he sighs. “It has, it has. But we can’t sustain it any longer. Profits have not picked up. We tried every last resort, but, kaam nahi kar raha.”
We’ve heard too much. I drag Aravind towards the end of the table, closer to the rest of our friends and farther away from Uncle.
Aravind’s face is pale. “I’m not sure of what I heard, but I don’t want to believe it.”
I swallow hard. “There’s no going around it. It is what it is.”
His eyes widen. “He can’t let Ruchi find out. But… doesn’t she need to know?”
I look down at my hands. I remember the copy of The Best At It that Ruchi gave me, whose spine is now cracked, the pages dog-eared from countless readings. It was from deep within the corners of the store.
“We need to stop him,” Aravind says.
My hands curl into fists. “How? How can we stop Rachit Uncle from selling Singh Books?”
Chapter 35
The Revelation
We drive back home in the Singhs’ car, and Aravind and I join Ruchi to open her presents. We rush up the stairs and into her room, ready to shred the wrapping paper to bits—at least, Ruchi is. But the two of us? Our mouths are zipped shut. I’m still reeling from what we heard Rachit Uncle say, about the possibility that Singh Books might just be gone forever.
Among the gifts, Ruchi finds a notepad, a diary, many books—she squeals delightedly—stationery, trinkets of the typical teenage jewellery, and some makeup kits too.
“Some of these titles have good reviews!” Ruchi examines her new novels carefully. “I’ll ask Appu to put the copies in the bookstore. They’ll be helpful for the new readers.”
The word ‘bookstore’ is enough to make my hands shake. Aravind notices and covers them with his.
Ruchi’s eyes dart from him to me. “Is everything okay?”
Aravind glances at me. Should we tell her? His eyes ask.
I subtly shake my head.
Ruchi sets the book down and folds her arms. “Okay, spill it. And before you protest, I’ll remind you that I am entitled to know what’s happening.”
We freeze. “We’re not sure how to tell you,” Aravind says.
“Are you guys my parents? You can be direct.” I can hear the familiar hardening in her voice when someone tries to hide the truth from her. “I don’t need the sugarcoating.”
“What we’re going to say may require that.” I swallow hard.
She huffs. “Jay…”
“Okay, fine!” I throw my hands up in the air. I take a deep breath. “Ruchi… you—your—“
The words get stuck in my throat. I look to Aravind for help, but he’s fearful of disappointing her more. This one’s on me.
“Ruchi… we think your dad is going to sell the bookstore.”
Just then, the door opens. Rachit Uncle stands in the doorway. He freezes. Ruchi turns to face him in shock.
So much for impeccable timing.
The next morning, I prop open my social studies textbook to reread a chapter on India’s newly attained independence for history. I’ve never voluntarily studied before, so you can tell it’s a lame distraction. But I do have the exam tomorrow.
I reach the last page, and shut the book. I root around for my class notes when my phone starts ringing. I glance at the ID.
Aravind? His phone’s usually switched off during exam prep days. If he’s calling, it’s serious.
I pick up. “Hey, what’s up?”
He exhales over the line. “Is Ruchi talking to you?”
“I just texted her for the map work, and she sent it. That’s all. I haven’t talked about…”
He groans. “We shouldn’t have heard all that yesterday. Rachit Uncle should’ve told her himself.”
I sigh. “I screwed it up, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You’ve managed to fix your friendship with her before, right?”
“That was different. She took the first step. How can I? We’ve practically told her her world was going to crumble to bits in a few days. Heck, maybe a few hours!”
Just then, the bell rings. I hear Mom footsteps rushing to open the door.
“Jay?” Aravind asks. “Perhaps we should talk to Uncle first. Say sorry for what happened.”
I lean over to see who’s arrived, and I tense. Rachit Uncle’s standing there, talking intently to Mom and Nani.
“Little too late for that.” My voice turns grim. “He’s already here.”
Chapter 36
Mission Operation: Save Singh Books
“I’m sorry, sir,” I say.
Rachit Uncle sighs, fingers drumming the wheel. I’m in the passenger seat. We’re driving to Singh Books. Mom and Nani agreed I needed to go, to understand about what was happening. Ruchi’s going to be there too, which is why I spent half the ride working out an acceptable apology.
“I do not blame you. You and Aravind simply overheard and interpreted whatever you could from the conversation,” he says.
Somehow, even when he says it kindly, the words still cut deep. I suck in a breath, like someone applied antiseptic to an injury and it’s the first sting.
“We were wrong, weren’t we?” I look at him.
“I wish that were case. What you thought is correct.” He pulls over into the small parking spot a few metres away from the bookstore. “It’s going to be sold.”
Oh, man. And I was thinking everything’s going to be fine now.
“What’s the problem?” I press. “It’s the oldest bookstore in Bangalore, since the British were here. It’s like erasing a mark of history!”
“History can be erased when profits do not pick up.”
I fall silent.
“We were doing fine until COVID-19 came. We had to shut down sales, and Amazon took over. I had a few developments in mind, like a website and such, but it was too late. Our regulars asked for books to be home-delivered, and that seemed to keep the ship on water, but we had a significant loss.”
My brow furrows. “And it went on—even now.”
He nods. “That is the story.” He gets out of the car, and I follow suit.
Ruchi’s sitting outside the bookstore, leaning against the glass display. I immediately run to her. Before I even open my mouth to apologise, she grabs my arm, stands and pulls me inside.
“Look, I’ll forgive you later. We have bigger problems on our hands right now, and that’s saving the store.”
Record scratch. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” I wave my hands. “There’s no way we can. The reason the store dipped is because of lack of profits! How are we gonna up that?”
She growls inwardly, and I shut up.
“You think I don’t have a plan? This is my second home, Jay. I’m going to do whatever it takes to save it.”
She’s all steely-eyed, fists clenched. If there’s one thing that makes her Ruchi, it’s that she never gives up. And that means I shouldn’t give up either.
I nod. “Okay. What do we start with?”
She looks up at the ceiling, turning all around to survey the store. “Redecorate. Honestly, the building still looks like an old-fashioned storehouse. We’re a bookstore, not a book depot. We need to add a touch of Victorian glamour. At the same time, make it new and exciting. Modern.”
“But that requires money. Big bucks,” I say. “I don’t think there’s going to be a hidden valuable manuscript of a famous dead author lying under the seat of the cushion of an armchair somewhere.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That sounds pretty specific.”
I shrug. “I was binging Ghostwriter the other day.”
She shakes her head. “We should take baby steps. First, we need to convince my dad. And do that website he planned to build.”
I think of the work we’ll need to put in, and it seems impossible. But Uncle needs this place as much as Ruchi does. We can’t give up.
I walk to a bookshelf, run my hands along the spines. Suddenly, a copy of Heartstopper falls out of the shelf.
Ruchi stares at it and picks it up. She turns to me. At first, I think she’s going to give it to me like before, but then she starts running along the shelves and pulling out other books. Titles that are trending but not easily available in India. I follow her lead and yank novels out of their shelves. We gather a sizeable pile in the middle of the store.
“Holy crap,” I say. “Your dad had all these books but never sold them?”
She shakes her head in wonder. “No way.” Then, she runs to a corner of the store, and reappears with some more—novels, picture books, the whole lot.
My jaw drops. “If all of these books have been hiding in here for so long...”
“My dad never got the chance to sell them!” Ruchi’s eyes are aglow. She turns to me.
“Jay, I would kill to own these titles. You know that?”
I grin. “Now all we need to do is bring in customers and they’ll storm the place.”
Ruchi cheers. She bounds out the door, yelling, “Appu! Appu! Call the deal off! We’re going to save the bookstore!”
Chapter 37
Last Resort
We rope Aravind into our plans as soon as we get home. He and Ruchi start designing the website, and we take inventory of all the books in the store. We also talk to Rachit Uncle about some interior changes; a fresh coat of paint, rearrange and re-sort the shelves. We design and print posters, cardboard cut-outs advertising the new books we found. Ruchi and I even suggest some new shelves: I decide to put out a special section for the LGBTQ+ novels, while Ruchi wants a ‘Women Rule’ space for feminist books. In the end, Singh Books is completely revitalised, merging the old and new—and we didn’t have to dip deep into funds.
One Sunday afternoon, the grand re-opening of Singh Books, Aravind and I are shelving books, while Ruchi helps out new customers. Funny enough, the same man who wanted to buy the bookstore comes by. He’s browsing the business reads section when he looks up and spots us and Uncle.
“It’s a shame you didn’t sell, Rachit Ji,” he says. “But then again, this place has been around for quite some time, yes?”
Uncle smiles, thin-lipped. “History deserves to be preserved.”
The man nods, then turns to the three of us. “Ah, Ruchi! Lambi ho gayi ho. But otherwise you haven’t changed a bit.”
My body tenses. How do they know each other?
Uncle extends his hand to Ruchi for a shake. She stares at his hand, then looks back up at him, her eyes darkening. He frowns, then pulls his hand back.
“Well, it also seems you fit the new description Ojaswi has given me.”
That explains how Prakash Uncle recognises Ruchi; he must’ve met her and her parents enough times when Ruchi and Ojaswi were friends. But… wait, was Rachit Uncle going to sell to Ojaswi’s dad? Suddenly, I’m relieved that we managed to keep a hold on the store.
Prakash Uncle turns to Aravind. “Hello, beta. Kaise ho? I’m sorry about Gagan.”
My blood boils. The way he casually says it, like he’s talking about the weather. Does he even know what empty words he’s offering? And three years too late at that?
Aravind mutters, “We don’t want your condolences.”
Uncle leans forward. “Sorry?”
Aravind blanches. He’s never talked back to older people before, even if they’re like Prakash Uncle. But, having dealt with not-so-friendly adults back in New York, I don’t have any hesitations.
I put a hand on his shoulder and step forward to face Uncle. “He says he doesn’t want your apology.”
Uncle chuckles condescendingly. “Ah, the American shaking up our little city. You need to be a little more realistic sometimes, ladke.”
Ruchi steps forward, and so does Aravind. But I move a step ahead from both of them. These things—comments about my being half-American—I have to face alone.
“What do you mean, realistic?” I ask daringly.
He looks at me down the bottom of his nose. “I mean, iss duniya mein hamesha sab kuch nahin milta. Or do I need to translate that for you as well? For an Indian looking boy who doesn’t know anything about his homeland?”
“Sir.” Rachit Uncle’s tone has hardened. “I request you to leave.”
Prakash Uncle’s smile disappears, but he doesn’t press further. People are beginning to stare.
He hardens his gaze. “Careful about whom your daughter associates with, Rachit Ji.” As he exits, he calls over his shoulder, “There is no place for kids like him.”
Rachit Uncle notices my suppressed anger and puts a hand on my shoulder, holding me back. When Prakash Uncle’s out the door, I turn to my friends. Ruchi is still glaring at the door, while Aravind’s fingers are curled into fists. I touch his hand, and he looks at me. His eyes are shiny with tears.
“He shouldn’t have said all those things about you,” he whispers.
“He’s a jerk.” I pull him into a hug. “It doesn’t matter what he says about me. He was insensitive about Gagan.”
He squeezes back. We pull apart, and look at Ruchi. She’s the most affected by all this.
“Out of everyone else, I don’t understand why Appu made a deal with him.”
Rachit Uncle sighs. “Bitiya, it was the last resort.”
“No, Uncle,” I say. I put my arms around Ruchi and Aravind’s shoulders. “The last resort was saving the store. That worked out, didn’t it?”
We all look around at the shelves, the books, the people browsing. A little kid arrives at the counter in front of us and places some picture books near the register. Ruchi goes over and places another on the top.
“Where The Wild Things Are,” Aravind whispers, reading the title. His eyes twinkle, remembering the book that brought him and Ruchi together.
“That one was my favourite when I was your age,” Ruchi says to the kid as she rings up the cash register. “It’s on the house,” she says to his parents, who grin. “And best read with a friend.” At this she turns to Aravind, and they share a smile.
A teenage girl walks up to me and Aravind. “Do you know what the sequel of this book is?” In her hands is a copy of The Giver.
Aravind looks at the cover for a long moment, then nods to her. “I can show you all four books.”
And as he leads her into the maze of shelves, and as Ruchi happily chats with the other customers and packs books into bags, Rachit Uncle looks proud. He runs his hands along the spines, and turns to me.
“You’re right, Jay. It truly has worked out.”
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