Page 31 of Eva Reddy’s Trip of a Lifetime

(Away From) Home Truths

I pull out my laptop so we can witness the full horror of my mother’s latest TikTok video on a larger screen.

The title declares this is a bonus episode.

Lucky us. It opens with an exterior of the Gwalior hotel that is now my home/research centre.

It is early morning and my mother is sitting on the edge of the hotel fountain.

She is hugging her knees. Her bare toes are dipped in the water.

Two peacocks stand on either side, like avian bodyguards.

Right on cue, the peacocks start screeching.

‘I said special—not necessarily lovely.’ My mother gestures to the nearest bird and smiles. From the way it glares back at her, I’m surprised it doesn’t peck out her eyes. ‘India is a feast for your senses. So, you want all your senses firing when you are here.’

The scene switches to my father sitting on a stool on a busy street in Gwalior. A man wearing an orange skull cap is plunging a steel needle into his ear.

My mother continues in voiceover. ‘When in Gwalior, my husband Doug chooses the services of Sadanand for all his ear-cleaning needs. Now Doug can’t pretend not to hear me!’

The scene changes again. This time my mother is standing in front of the hotel, two suitcases at her feet. ‘Come on, Doug. Let’s go! I’ve got a twitch to scratch.’

My father walks out of the hotel. The concierge picks up the luggage and they exit the shot. The camera cuts to a close-up of my mother.

‘So where are we off to next? Well, you’ll find out soon, when I post the next episode of “Reddy, Set, Go”!’

The screen fades to black.

‘I can’t see how that helps us any.’ I slam the laptop shut. I’d like to throw it off our balcony, but that wouldn’t solve the problem.

Utkarsh is massaging his temples. My mother has that effect on people. ‘I’m sure there is a hint in there somewhere, but I can’t work it out. I think she’s just toying with us now.’

He stands up and stretches. I catch a flash of cigar-brown skin and a wisp of hair as his T-shirt rides up over his hips. I look away before my brain starts playing connect the dots. Across the room, the digital clock shows 10:30pm.

Utkarsh notices the time too. ‘Room service ends at eleven. We should order.’ He picks up the television remote and begins scrolling through the hotel menu. ‘What do you feel like eating?’

I peer at the screen. I don’t recognise any of the options despite my recent extensive research on the subject. But from the pictures, it all looks excellent.

‘I can’t even tell the difference between a main course and a dessert.

You choose. Just be sure to order a serve of paratha for me.

’ I put what I’m reading to the side. My eyes are tired and my head is starting to pound.

I am also beginning to suspect that we’re not going to work out this riddle any time soon.

I gather an armful of cushions and arrange them around the coffee table.

A picnic on the floor will give us a break from the desk for a while.

The only other option is sitting up on the bed and that isn’t going to happen.

My mind is already playing sexual hopscotch without the additional challenge of crisp cotton sheets and a soft mattress.

I give my imagination a firm shove to the side. There are other more practical matters that demand my attention.

‘This is hopeless. All these books are about places not people.’ I gesture toward the desk.

‘I know we’re probably not searching for a living, breathing couple but I can’t find any kind of legendary romance associated with this area.

Unless my parents have returned to the Taj.

The emperor and his favourite wife have rested there together for close on four hundred years.

That’s an impressive couples’ goal. But I really don’t think Mum and Dad have gone back to Agra.

That’s not my mother’s style. She’s always looking for new experiences.

No way would she visit the same place twice, even as some kind of weird double bluff. ’

Utkarsh shrugs. ‘We have to be missing something. But I can’t think properly on an empty stomach.’

Right on cue, there is a knock at the door and a scrupulously starched waiter wheels in our meal.

The food tastes every bit as good as the photographs suggested it would.

The meal might even be better than the breakfast we had in Rishikesh.

Certainly, I have a new respect for the potential of vegetables.

Every mouthful is delicious. Maybe I’ll take an Indian cooking class when I get home.

It isn’t like I have a job to go back to.

Or anything much else to keep my body busy and my mind occupied.

It occurs to me, as I heap more dahl onto my plate, that this is the first positive thought I’ve had about my new life back in Sydney.

I’ve been thinking about lawyers and whether I can stay in the house.

And how to find gainful employment now that I am a decade past the wrong side of forty.

This is the first idea I’ve had that has no object beyond giving me some pleasure.

Baby steps. But steps, just the same.

By the time we finish our main courses, my headache is gone, but the intake of calories hasn’t produced a rush of inspiration. I am no closer to figuring out my mother’s riddle than I was when we arrived at the hotel this morning. It’s maddening.

‘I’ve read nearly eight books so far today and skimmed maybe another half-dozen and I’ve got nothing.’ I pop yet another paneer jalebi into my mouth. The morsels of milky sweetness are close to replacing paratha in my heart. ‘I’m starting to wonder if we’ll ever find them.’

Utkarsh adjusts a cushion so his back is against the base of the bed.

I move beside him, leaving a few careful inches between us, and hug my knees close to my chest. Beyond the balcony, faint stars and the lights of the occasional aeroplane fleck the sky.

We sit in companionable silence, staring into the night, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts.

It is so much more relaxing sitting like this than talking to Utkarsh face to face.

Up close, his movie-star looks hijack my common sense until I can scarcely keep my thoughts in order.

My eyes will wander to his lips. And if I don’t catch myself, they linger.

It is inappropriate and ridiculous. Especially given my age and last known marital status.

Propped up side by side is so much safer. I need a friend right now, not a crush.

I ease into the moment, taking in the scent of jasmine and incense.

Music floats up from the garden. Jazz, I realise.

A surprising choice for a hotel that is so very Indian.

But the sounds and the smells merge wonderfully, like rain forest tracks and ylang ylang oil at a day spa.

My eyelids feel heavy. I’m about to drift off when Utkarsh’s voice nudges me back to the here and now.

‘Eva, have you considered that perhaps your mother doesn’t want to be found?’

I reluctantly turn my head. Damn, those lips are enticing. Even more so with a crumb of jalebi clinging to one side. He retrieves the errant crumb with the tip of his tongue and I only just stop myself from letting out a little sigh.

‘I would say that’s pretty obvious at this point,’ I reply, somehow recovering my composure and layering on a little snark to hide my first reaction.

Utkarsh looks down at his hands. He seems unsure of himself as he carefully weighs his words.

‘Maybe you should just go home. Or perhaps even stay here and have a proper holiday. There are some beautiful resorts around Kerala.’

I stare at him in disbelief. For once, I don’t get lost in his eyes or obsess over his lips—I am too shocked. Why would he want to give up now? We’re just finding our groove. We are a team. At least, I thought we were.

‘I can’t go home, and I don’t want a holiday.’ I can hear my voice edging higher. ‘I have to find my mother. She’s crazy. Surely you can see that she is erratic? Maybe even dangerous? People in their seventies don’t behave like this. And my dad isn’t well. She’ll end up killing him.’

‘I understand that your father is not in perfect health. But look at him. He is happy.’ Utkarsh keeps his tone gentle, as though he is explaining the truth about Santa to a young child.

He changes position so he is sitting directly in front of me, his hands on my knees and his face so close I can see the moonlight reflecting in his eyes.

‘You, on the other hand, are not happy. Your mother has hinted at it, of course. But I already felt something was wrong. There is a weariness in your soul. A heaviness. I think this journey around India isn’t so much about tracking down your parents as running away from disappointments in your own life. ’

I turn my head away so Utkarsh can’t see the tears threatening to break. He must sense my discomfort but he presses on. Clearly, he thinks what he has to say is more important than my composure.

‘Why are you really here? Your mother’s videos suggest she’s more than capable of navigating India by herself.

Far more capable than you are, if I’m being completely honest. Your determination is quite charming, even admirable, but that doesn’t change the fact that this entire enterprise is very probably unnecessary.

You say you are trying to find your parents, but I think you really need to find yourself. ’

Utkarsh lets go of my knees and sits back on his haunches, waiting for me to respond.

Somehow, I drag myself to my feet and start collecting our room service dishes and piling them onto trays. My body is stiff with indignation. I keep stacking bowls and cutlery until I am reasonably certain my voice will hold. Utkarsh doesn’t move.