The Date
Written by: Rejath Kuttiyattoor
When the 12:30 lunch break bell rang, Aashwin secured his usual spot on the bench next to the window in the classroom. He looked around for Vivaan, who was always late. If Vivaan ate his lunch quickly, there might be time for a bit of football, but where was he? For a change, Vivaan’s lunchbox had some Zomato stickers on it, as though it had been ordered online.
"Did you buy lunch online today? Is your mom unwell?" Aashwin asked.
A little embarrassed, Vivaan replied, "No, it’s just that my mom and dad came home late last night, so they ordered lunch online this morning."
"Where did they go?"
"They went on a date."
"A date? What’s that?"
"You know, couples go out somewhere, like for dinner. It was Valentine's Day yesterday, wasn’t it?"
"Hey, isn’t that something lovers do? Why would married people go? And without you too? Haven’t you seen movies where the hero and heroine say, ‘I love you,’ sing songs, roam around, and then get married? That’s the end of it, right?"
Vivaan smiled and said, "No, it’s not like that. Love begins after marriage. That’s what my dad always says."
Something about what Vivaan said didn’t sit right with Aashwin.
Aashwin thought to himself, I haven’t seen anything like that. After marriage, there are kids to care for, school fees to pay, jobs to do, flat loans to clear, and hospital bills if someone gets sick. No one has time for outings. Just look at my life—class, tuition, music lessons, tennis, homework, class tests, and if there’s any event, rehearsals...
By then, Prarthana entered with a box of sweets. She had a younger brother now. Good for her. Aashwin and Vivaan could relate to each other on this one thing—they were both only children and often found holidays incredibly boring.
Vaishali came in next. It had been two days since she borrowed Aashwin’s math book. She’d taken it on Monday morning, but by noon her mother had to pick her up because Vaishali had fallen ill. Vaishali was their main competitor for first place in class. Vivaan didn’t particularly like sharing books with her. When she came closer, there was the faint scent of sandalwood mixed with medicinal and turmeric smells. Her face and hands were tinged yellow.
After she left, Alok whispered mischievously into Aashwin’s ear, "Hey, she had her turmeric ceremony yesterday. There was a feast too!"
Aashwin didn’t quite understand and glanced at Vivaan. Alok was always like this—naughty, with a foul mouth. Just a few days ago, he’d mentioned something about creams coming out of his peepee, which got Aashwin scolded by his mother when he asked about it. She told him such things were for adults and he shouldn’t bother with them. So Aashwin ignored Alok’s words but turned to Vivaan and asked, "What’s this turmeric ceremony thing?"
Smiling, Vivaan explained, "Don’t you know? Even I didn’t fully understand until my parents told me. When girls reach puberty, their bodies undergo many changes, both inside and outside—organs, chest, and all that. For girls, an egg forms every month, grows, and then gets expelled with blood. It happens every month. Haven’t you seen a flower bloom? First, there’s a bud, then it blooms, and later it withers. It’s similar to that. It’s called the menstrual cycle. My parents explained it to me, and there’s also a book that talks about it—‘Gullu’ is its name. It’s for boys like us. If you have any doubts, you can ask your mom or dad. The turmeric ceremony happens the first time this change occurs in a girl. Different places have different customs. We Malayalees don’t celebrate it much."
Vivaan was right. Aashwin couldn’t remember attending any such celebration.
But just like Vivaan’s parents went on a date, Aashwin’s parents never went anywhere. They were always busy—preparing food, dropping him at school, taking him to tuition and football. Their whole schedule revolved around Aashwin. His father didn’t get an increment this year and was thinking of helping a friend with his business on the side to clear the flat loan. Just last week, Aashwin saw his father running to pay the school’s second instalment of fees, after names of those with pending dues were put on the notice board. It had upset his father deeply. Aashwin’s mother, too, was worried about layoffs in her office, and her face was always tense. Their house was always silent except for Aashwin’s voice. Life felt like a checklist—things being ticked off as they moved ahead.
Aashwin didn’t know how to make his parents happy. After all, he was just an eleven-year-old boy, and his thoughts had limits.
As he walked to the washroom to wash his hands, Aashwin noticed Chikkanna, the school attendant, carrying a bundle of newspapers into the storeroom. A small leaflet slipped out and fell to the ground. It was a glossy paper —a Valentine’s Day offer from a big restaurant called Big Brewsky. There was even a coupon for a lucky draw where 15 couples could win a free buffet dinner. The deadline to submit the coupon was February 15.
Aashwin recalled seeing that building on Queens Road while riding on the back seat of his father’s bike. It was always crowded at night, with well-dressed men and women queuing outside. They let in only people who were properly dressed. It was a fancy, posh restaurant—only rich people went there.
Aashwin picked up the coupon and brought it back to class. Carefully, without anyone noticing, he filled it out: Rajeev Ganesh & Vidya Rajeev. He added the address and mobile number.
The next challenge was submitting the coupon before the deadline. Aashwin spotted Yadu Sir, their PT teacher, walking past. Everyone called him Thumbs-Up Sir because he’d always give a thumbs-up if he agreed to something.
"Sir, I want to gift this to my parents. Can you drop this into the box in front of the restaurant? Today’s the last date."
Sir looked at the paper, then at Aashwin, and smiled. With a thumbs-up, he folded the paper, put it in his pocket, and walked away.
Maybe my coupon will get selected in the lucky draw, Aashwin thought. Then they’ll call my dad. My parents can dress up nicely, go out, and enjoy a day that’s just for them—a very, very special date...