The Little Rainmaker Page 4

  A confused Grampa realized that she was shaken by the sudden earthquake as well as by events at school, and hugged her tight.

  In the evening news, she saw coverage on the earthquake. Dad remarked, ‘Luckily, no one was hurt.’ With that, he went on to sip his tea and forgot all about it.

  But Anoushqa remembered. Once, Grampa had given her a technical explanation of what an earthquake was. ‘A movement of tectonic plates, which are large sections of the earth. They either rub together or move completely to cause earthquakes.’ In a strange way, Anoushqa found it comforting that when this happened, the earth felt something and reacted to it.

  ‘It’s normal … this feeling business. Those who don’t feel are abnormal. And it would be awesome to have the power to shake things up when you really feel something,’ she thought to herself. Anoushqa wanted to shake up Ratul, Sam and all those who hadn’t spoken to her properly over the last few days. She would have liked to show them that she was indeed capable of making it rain. RAIN? Oh no! She had completely forgotten about Gargi’s email! She ran to the workroom and switched on the computer to check if Gargi had replied.

  Ma was always saying, ‘The milk boils over when you are not looking.’ When Anoushqa was checking her email between classes, there had been no reply waiting for her. But the moment she forgot about it, Gargi had responded.

  Dear Anoushqa,

  I’m glad that a girl your age is interested in the rainmaking technology I’m working on. I would be happy to help you. Please meet me tomorrow at 10 a.m. because I will leave for the airport in the afternoon and will be travelling for a week. I hope you can make it.

  Gargi

  PS: The square root of 3456 is 58.7877538268. Hope it’s correct.☺

  Anoushqa instantly liked her. She decided to meet her the next day at 10 a.m. But how could she? It was a school day and Ma would never allow her to miss school to meet a strange lady. She needed a plan.

  Chapter 6

  Sick leave applications were the best part about school. They could get you out of anything … well, almost anything.

  A physical training class you wanted to miss because it was too strenuous … a homework assignment in maths class you’d forgotten to complete … if you’d woken up in the morning and decided that it was too exciting a day to attend school—sick leaves always came to the rescue. Obviously it took cajoling, pleading and sometimes even a few tears to convince Ma and Dad, but they would always eventually sign the application and let Anoushqa be.

  But this time it was different.

  Anoushqa imagined Ma’s curt reply. ‘How do you know whether this Gargi person genuinely wants to help you or if she is just wasting your time?’

  She thought of the cynic in Dad saying, ‘If rain could be made, someone would have done it by now. Forget it, Anoushqa.’

  Sometimes parents don’t leave you with any option but to lie, she rationalized as she wrote her own sick leave application in her parents’ name.

  Dear Teacher,

  This is to inform you that Anoushqa had really high fever and thus was unable to attend school yesterday. Kindly excuse her for missing her classes, and please bring her up to speed with the rest of the class.

  (Signed by)

  She left the signature space blank and decided to take a call on it after she had inspected the mood downstairs at the breakfast table.

  Ma would be too busy getting ready for work, and might not even glance at the paper. WRONG. Ma would always look before signing. She never ever signed her report cards without going through each and every detail, including some careless spelling mistakes that her teachers had made. ‘Why don’t your teachers proofread the report cards? It’s so annoying,’ she had once said.

  Dad, on the other hand, would be busy reading the news and commenting on how wrong the world was. He might be an easy catch. WRONG. ‘Remember the last time the newspaper guy had made him sign a receipt, in which he’d demanded Rs 15 more than he was supposed to? Dad had created such a ruckus that the newspaper guy swore he would never cheat anyone ever again,’ she reminded herself.

  Sigh. But she knew that between Ma and Dad, the latter was the safer choice. She went downstairs and, luckily for her, Ma was still in the shower. Grampa was in his bedroom. She confidently approached Dad. ‘Er … Dad, could you please sign these test papers?’ she said as casually as she could. Dad looked up from his newspaper and at the bundle. ‘What are these?’ he asked.

  ‘Test papers. I have to return them to my teachers today for internal assessment,’ replied Anoushqa.

  ‘Ask Ma to sign them,’ Dad said, going back to his newspaper.

  ‘Why should Ma be burdened with everything that concerns me? You’ve never signed my papers. You are also a parent to me, you know!’ retorted Anoushqa in mock anger.

  Dad was slightly taken aback. He felt a tad guilty. ‘Er … okay. Where do I sign?’ he acquiesced.

  ‘Right here on the front pages.’ Anoushqa smiled, offering the bundle to Dad with the front page of each test paper open. Threats always worked with Dad.

  Now, you see, Anoushqa was smart. The papers she had given Dad were the previous year’s test papers that had already been signed by Ma on each of the last pages. She had quickly tied them together and inserted her sick leave application in the middle of these papers so he would sign it unknowingly. She was sure Dad would never even notice that the front page of each test paper said ‘Class IV C’ and not ‘V C’, her current class.

  ‘Dads are usually like that. They can hold knowledgeable discussions on world politics, but are clueless about things like which class their child studies in,’ thought Anoushqa.

  She was right. Dad kept signing the test papers until he reached the application. Just as he was about to sign it, Mom walked in, her hair wet and tousled, and asked, ‘What are you doing?’

  Dad looked up and replied, ‘Signing some test papers she brought … fulfilling my daddy duties,’ Dad said with a smile, but Anoushqa’s heart started racing. She looked at Mom and saw her expression change. She could hear her own heartbeat in that instant … so loud that she thought Mom would hear it too and ask it to stop. She believed Ma was totally capable of demanding this.

  And just then, her worst fear came true. Ma asked, ‘Which test papers are these?’

  Anoushqa knew that if Ma found out, she would never trust her again. Anoushqa stuttered and stammered, ‘Er … the test papers … the-the ones for internal assessment.’

  ‘How come you didn’t ask me to sign?’ Ma asked as she plugged in the hairdryer.

  ‘Er … yesterday I forgot … today I’m late already, and you were in the shower …’ answered Anoushqa. Ma looked suspicious. Anoushqa believed that all mothers had a Lie-o-Meter installed in their heads. It was invisible to everyone else, but it started ticking as soon as mothers were confronted with lies and liars.

  Anoushqa could almost hear the meter ticking as Ma came over to the table to look at the papers. But just before she reached, Grampa called out, ‘Anamika … Anamika …’ Ma’s attention was diverted as she turned to see what Grampa wanted, and Anoushqa heaved a sigh of relief.

  She quickly turned to Dad and smiled as she found he had signed all the papers. ‘Thanks, Dad, you’re the best,’ she said, kissing him. Dad beamed at this unexpected showering of love from his daughter. She quickly put the papers in her bag and rushed off to school.

  Ma emerged from Grampa’s room and asked Dad, ‘Where’s Anoushqa?’

  Dad didn’t respond, but Ma noticed that Anoushqa’s peanut-butter-and-orange-marmalade sandwich lay untouched on the table. She knew that under ordinary circumstances, Anoushqa would never ever leave that sandwich uneaten. Not for anything in the world. Her Lie-o-Meter was ticking at a crescendo, but now that Anoushqa was gone, she decided she would tackle the matter later.

  At five minutes to ten, a clerk ushered Anoushqa into Gargi’s office. She entered a stark white room with a desk in a corner by the window.

&nbs
p; The blinds were up, and the natural light was so brilliant that there was no need for extra lighting. The chair behind the desk looked extremely comfortable. Anoushqa was a tad disappointed by the austere surroundings. ‘I thought there would be a laboratory with a mad scientist lady. Or at least glass jars with coloured liquid and fumes everywhere … Is she even a real scientist … this Gargi?’ she couldn’t help thinking.

  An object on the desk caught her attention. Anoushqa leaned forward to take a closer look at it. It was a tiny glass showpiece with a cloud inside. Drops of water were falling from the cloud on to the artificial red-and-green plants below. Anoushqa was mesmerized by this sight.

  Suddenly Anoushqa heard someone clear her throat behind her. She jumped up, startled.

  A normal-looking lady of average height, with slightly curly hair tied neatly in a bun and a big warm smile, stood behind her. ‘Sorry! I think I alarmed you,’ Gargi said. They shook hands, and Gargi gestured for her to take a seat.

  Anoushqa sat down. She felt awkward. Not knowing where to start, she blurted out, ‘This is a beautiful representation of rain.’

  The not-so-mad scientist lady stepped forward and smiled. ‘It’s not a representation. It’s real rain. Look closely,’ she said, pointing at the showpiece.

  Anoushqa’s mouth fell open in surprise. ‘Really? Real rain? In such a tiny …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘It’s a prototype,’ the scientist responded. Anoushqa looked confused. ‘It’s like a model of the final product … but a working model,’ Gargi explained.

  Anoushqa looked at the showpiece again. ‘You mean to say this is what actual rain would look like if it fell on earth?’ she asked. The scientist lady nodded, and Anoushqa peered at the jar. ‘Wow! So unreal!’ she exclaimed. Then, clearing her throat, Anoushqa said, ‘Er … Miss Gargi …’

  ‘Just Gargi is fine,’ responded Gargi, smiling.

  ‘Gargi,’ Anoushqa repeated her name as if she was trying to familiarize herself with the sound of it. ‘Actually, that’s a new name for me.’

  ‘I get that a lot,’ Gargi said. ‘Gargi was an ancient Indian philosopher—a very intelligent woman of her time.’

  Anoushqa looked impressed. ‘Wow!’ she said. ‘So when you were born, did your parents already know you would be intelligent?’

  Gargi laughed. ‘Thanks, but no,’ she answered. ‘Actually, I changed my name to Gargi because I read a lot about her and found her fascinating.’

  Anoushqa looked surprised. ‘Changed your name? Can you do that? I mean, is it allowed?’ she asked in wonder.

  ‘Of course, it is. You can change your name to whatever you want it to be,’ replied Gargi, laughing. ‘Okay, would you like to have something? A cola or H2O maybe?’ she asked.

  Anoushqa replied, ‘H2O please.’

  Gargi placed an order for H2O on the intercom and then turned to ask, ‘So you want to make rain?’

  ‘That’s right. My Grampa—’ began Anoushqa.

  Gargi raised her hand, cutting her short. ‘I understand your situation but, to be honest, I can’t help you,’ she said.

  Looking disappointed, Anoushqa asked, ‘Why not? And … why did you call me here then?’

  ‘I’m really sorry about that but I didn’t want to discourage you. I submitted the design proposals for making rain two years ago, and I still haven’t received a response from the Government of India,’ replied Gargi.

  ‘Why doesn’t the government want it to rain?’ asked Anoushqa, confused.

  Gargi smiled and said, ‘It does. But we need environment protection permissions to test if this method is safe … Also, the government needs to take certain permissions from the governments of other countries … It’s a long process.’

  Anoushqa asked, ‘Does that mean Grampa will not be able to see rain?’

  ‘Unless they grant me the required permissions, I can’t put my design into practice. It may take years. I’m not sure if your grandfather has that much …’ Gargi trailed off.

  ‘You’re right. He doesn’t have time,’ said Anoushqa, looking disheartened. She got out of her chair mumbling, ‘I will find another way …’

  Gargi looked upset as she saw her leaving. Suddenly, an idea struck her. ‘Wait!’ she said. ‘What if I say that you can help me?’

  Anoushqa turned to look at her in surprise. ‘What can I possibly do? I’m just ten years old!’ she said.

  Gargi smiled. ‘Exactly. Tell me, are you allowed to use social media?’

  Anoushqa shrugged and said, ‘Er … not really. Mom says I can use it when I am thirteen.’

  ‘But can you find someone who can help you?’ Gargi asked eagerly.

  Anoushqa’s eyes sparkled as she exclaimed, ‘Yes, Maurice! Mayuri, I mean. The only girl in our school who is allowed to use the Internet whenever she wants. She was awarded the Future Giant Award by that company called … er … er … Tech … Tech something …’

  ‘Tec Whiz?’ asked Gargi.

  ‘That’s right!’ Anoushqa replied. ‘She is fabulous with everything tech-related, and I’m sure she’ll help me. What do you want me to do?’

  At this, Gargi beamed. ‘We will create a support page for your Grampa’s wish to see rain and share it with the prime minister of India. What do you think of that?’

  Gargi crossed her arms in satisfaction as Anoushqa looked shocked.

  Chapter 7

  ‘The prime minister of India?’

  ‘Was Gargi serious?’

  ‘Will he actually see the page?’

  ‘And if he does, will he respond?’

  All these thoughts kept Anoushqa awake for most of the night. The next morning, she was groggy and sleepy. It actually looked like she had had high fever the day before. It helped her remember that the sick leave application had to be submitted that morning to her class teacher.

  At school, Ms Noronha pored over her application letter through the glasses perched on her nose. The signature at the bottom said ‘Rishabh Narang’ in a bold, slanting curve. Ms Noronha looked at Anoushqa. She felt like the criminal she had seen in a film, who had stood squirming as the cop had looked disbelievingly at him. ‘Hmm. Are you all right now? We don’t want anyone else catching this “really high fever”,’ said Ms Noronha.

  Anoushqa sensed sarcasm in her voice, but attributed it to her own guilt. She gestured that she was fine now with a nod.

  ‘Go back to your seat,’ Ms Noronha ordered.

  Anoushqa heaved a sigh of relief and sat down.

  Ratul was the first to whisper, ‘Where were you, Anoushqa? Working hard to make it rain?’

  Anoushqa turned sharply and replied, ‘Shut up!’

  Ratul stifled a giggle as Sam whispered to Anoushqa, ‘Are you all right?’

  Anoushqa smiled sarcastically and said, ‘Yes. Thank you so much for your concern. I really appreciate it.’ She turned back to her books, and Sam shook her head, wondering when Anoushqa would be normal with her again.

  At recess, Anoushqa rushed to the tech lab. Maurice, aka Mayuri, was furiously manipulating the console of her video game. She was tall—even when she was sitting down. Her messy hair seemed to mirror her crazy mind. At the moment, it was almost like that of an electrocuted person—frizzy and standing on end!

  Anoushqa smiled at her. She couldn’t see Mayuri’s eyes from here, but she knew they sparkled whenever Mayuri spoke about something she loved. It could be the design of the latest iPhone or yet another Jupiter moon or even a lost puppy that had warmed up to her when she’d offered it milk. In fact, that’s how she and Maurice had met.

  Mayuri was six years her senior. They had never spoken to each other until the year before, when she’d seen Maurice looking for something behind the H2O tank in school. Anoushqa, who was on her lunch break, had asked her, ‘Is everything all right? Have you lost something?’

  Maurice had replied without looking up, ‘There was a puppy here yesterday. I gave him some milk. But I can’t find him today.’ Saying this, she had w
andered off inside the toilet to look for him.

  Anoushqa had forgotten about her upcoming class and started looking for the puppy too. She’d made light kissing noises to call the puppy to her. ‘Puch … puch … Where are you, little puppy? Puch … puch … Come here, I have something for you,’ she’d said as she’d gone behind the staircase landing. And there she’d seen the adorable little puppy sitting on an old and ragged but warm blanket. Anoushqa had gone to pick him up but he’d cowered in fear. Just then, Maurice had come back and delightedly exclaimed, ‘Oh, great! You found him! What’s up with him?’

  ‘He seems sick and hungry. We should give him something to eat,’ Anoushqa had replied. Maurice had quickly brought out a carton of milk from her bag, and the puppy had happily lapped it up. Anoushqa had petted him and said, ‘You should take him home.’

  ‘But I have never had a puppy. I don’t know how to … you know … take care …’ Maurice had protested.

  Anoushqa had smiled at her and said, ‘I know a lot about puppies. I can help you. And, anyway, you don’t have to go to school to learn about puppies. He will tell you what he wants and, with time, you will start understanding him. The same thing happened with my Pixie when she was small. Hey! We should introduce them! Then we can be pet pals!’

  Maurice had laughed at her excitement and said, ‘Let’s introduce ourselves first! Hi! I’m Mayuri, but you can call me Maurice.’

  ‘Why Maurice?’ Anoushqa had asked.

  Mayuri had shrugged and said, ‘I just like this name better.’

  ‘All right, Maurice. I like it better too,’ Anoushqa had replied.

  Since then, Maurice and Anoushqa had become very good friends. Maurice had taught Anoushqa a lot about things like the moon and stars and telescopes and microscopes and software and hardware, while Anoushqa had taught her all that she knew about dogs. Then one day, Pixie died. Maurice and her puppy, Tara, had sat with Anoushqa all day, and the three of them had hugged each other and cried for Pixie.