Faleiro - Afterlife

Jessica Faleiro has an MA in Creative Writing from Kingston University, UK, and has written travel articles for The Times of India, Crest edition. She is a global nomad who spends her time writing, in between her travels. This is her first novel.

Published by

Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd. 2012

7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj

New Delhi 110002

Sales Centres:

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Kolkata Mumbai

Copyright Jessica Faleiro 2012

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead,
events or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a
retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic,

mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,

without the prior permission of the publisher.

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The moral right of the author has been asserted.

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Printed by Thomson Press India Ltd., Faridabad

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,

by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated, without the publishers prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other

than that in which it is published.

To my parents

Part 1

AT HOME

watched Carol pick at the food on her plate while her husband, Sam, devoured every morsel of his dinner. They sat opposite me at the dining table, across the steaming dishes of chicken cafreal and peas pulao. Mama came out of the kitchen for a brief respite from running back and forth with the dishes, and sat down at the head of the table, opposite my father. Her face fell as she spotted Carols plate, still full, with scraps of her meal leaving a trail of green gravy around her dish.

Dont tell me youre going to eat like this at the party tomorrow, she said, frowning at my sister.

I have no appetite.

It must be the jetlag, Sams Boston accent drawled out in Carols defence.

Jet-lag, shmet-lag, youd better be in top form tomorrow, countered Mama. Youre giving the opening toast at your fathers seventy-fifth birthday celebration and I dont want you fainting in front of two hundred guests.

Will there still be a party if it keeps raining like this? Carol gestured outside, towards the garden, where the late September monsoon was pelting down.

Yes, of course! Ive learnt from Grannys fiftieth-wedding-anniversary disaster. That was an outdoor event without a marquee. You were too young to remember, Carol, but it was late October, after the monsoon. We were surprised when a thunderstorm suddenly drenched us all. The food was completely ruined. This time, were having it indoors, at the Carvalho mansion.

Mama turned to me. Joanna, you must remember it? Its the large two-storeyed mansion that your friend Anna hired for her wedding reception?

I cringed inwardly. Mama was the only one who insisted on calling me by my full name. Everyone else just called me Jo. I nodded. I remember, its a nice placespacious, with a beautiful lawn.

Mama continued, And they cater too. Anyway, the monsoons are almost over and we might even have a clear sky tomorrow.

And what if the electricity goes off? asked Carol, in that high-and-mighty tone that revealed her foul mood.

I checked. They have a generator. Were not that backward in Goa!

Mama was unfazed when it came to organizing parties, or for that matter, getting on most things. She strategized like a military general at war to accomplish her goals. It was one of the things I loved most about her. After all, it was because of her that I had managed to escape Goa. Mama had refused to speak to Popsor cook any of his favourite dishesuntil he caved in and agreed to send me, a seventeen-year-old at the time, halfway across the world to England to study on my own. Ten years later, I had settled into Londons urban rhythm of life, but occasionally, I missed my family and the steady heartbeat of Goan living. Popss birthday celebration had provided a much-needed break, and I had flown in from London last night for the family reunion.

I looked over at the senior birthday boy, brushing back his peppered curls with one hand, as he scraped the last bit of cafreal on to his fork and moved it towards his mouth in a familiar motion. Pops looked older, the skin under his neck sagged a little, and a slight stoop had formed on those sturdy broad shoulders that had taken me piggyback riding in my childhood. I realized then just how much Id missed him. Even though Pops could be more conventional than Mama when it came to sending his daughters abroad, he still wanted only the best for us. Carol and I were both settled abroad, far away from our parents. I couldnt help wondering if he ever regretted the independence he had given us by sending us abroad to study and eventually, live.

Everyone at the table started as the ringtone on Popss phone yelled out, Are you deaf? Pick up the phone! Cant you hear it ringing? over and over again, at maximum volume. Mama groaned. Savio, Ive told you a hundred times to lower the volume of that stupid ringtone at the dining table!

Pops gave her a naughty grin. But then I wont hear it.

He squinted at the flashing number on the phones screen.

Hello? Yes, all arrived safely this afternoon. Carol and Sam caught a morning flight from Boston. Jo met them at Mumbai International, and they flew down to Goa together. He paused as he listened to a voice on the end of the line. No, of course you wont be disturbing us. You can come over now.

Mama raised an enquiring eyebrow at him. She had still retained her creamy complexion, and her dark hair had only a smidgen of white around the temples. Her deep brown almond-shaped eyes were bright, with no signs of the dullness of age that creeps up on people over time. At sixty-six, my mother was still every bit as beautiful, elegant and poised a lady as Id known her to be when I was a child. Even now, sitting at the dining table, she looked charming, in a simple white cotton blouse tucked into her pencil skirt.

Five minutes, he said, snapping the phone shut.

Mama shovelled the last two spoonfuls of pulao into her mouth. Thank goodness I made fresh bebinca.

Whos coming over, Pops? I asked.

Auntie Marie and Uncle Eduardo, with your cousins, Susheela and Jason.

Carol groaned. Cant we just see them tomorrow?

With two hundred people there, youll be lucky if you do more than kiss them hello, said Mama. Theyre driving over from the other end of town to see you in spite of the rain. Be nice. Joanna, help me clear the table and lay out the dessert plates.

Sure thing, Mama, I replied. I was excited at the thought of seeing my aunt and uncle again, not to mention my cousin Susheela, who was closest to my age, and the only member of the family whom I knew relatively well and could get along with.

Eduardo Fonseca was my fathers paternal cousin. They had grown up together in the same village. Though eight years apart, the age difference didnt seem to matter to them and sometimes, I felt as if Uncle Eduardo was closer to my father than his own brothers. Uncle Eduardo had started off as a shopkeeper, and now managed two superstores in town. Though he was busy, he always had time for us, and his good-humoured attitude towards life was one of his most attractive qualitieshe was the life of the party wherever he went, and his stories were famous. One of his favourites was how he had snagged my Auntie Marie. I was short, fat and bald even then, so it must have been my sense of humour she was after.