Happy had to be weaned off his mother’s milk on his sixth birthday. He skipped home from kindergarten, singing, while holding his uncle Minder’s hand. Minder was on night shifts so he was tasked with walking their neighbour’s daughter, Sweety, home as well. ‘Happy sang a happy song’ she would tease alongside them as they skipped together towards their apartment complex at 10 Garfella Drive.
It was seeing the first hints of his moustache coming in that had jolted his mother into weaning him off. He was her only living child. The first baby had died at two weeks old. But it was finally time to ease him out of his babyhood.
As soon as Happy walked in the apartment door he was expecting to push Mummi onto the sofa and suckle on her breast as usual. He was expecting to look up at her prideful expression, comforted that she could still produce milk for him. Instead, he was denied his milk. He cried that day and each day afterwards upon his return from school. His uncle Minder would pat his back in his stiff, rhythmic manner to sooth him. Their walks home became slower paced. Happy and Sweety now had the time and mind to ask Minder things. He told them about the whispers he heard when no one was around. The kids tried to figure out who they belonged to and what they wanted. They got so curious they asked the other adults to help with the mystery. Sweety’s mother started picking her up after that. Minder got quiet on the walks home with Happy. He kept walking Happy home for a few years until the other kids started making fun of it.
Now Happy was seven years older. His moustache had filled in with sideburns to match. The memories of milk and whispers rippled through his mind, making him sick1 and causing him to mistime his exit from the elevator door. It’s rubber bumper bounced off his bare shoulder, passing a signal to the circuitry to reopen too late. The blow caused his fingers to slip closer the bottom edges of the cardboard box he was carrying. Mummi would find out and yell at him if he dropped another one. He renewed his grip and regained his balance as he stepped onwards towards the old apartment. The heels of his worn golden juttis clapped, giving his gait the clip-clop of a beast of burden. Overhead in the hallway, a light flickered in four/four time signature. Streaks of pencil ran the length of one wall at toddler height. Apartment 211’s tharka starter was pushing scents of frying garlic and onion into the hall through their closed door.
Apartment 219 was at one far end of the building, kitty corner to Sweety’s 217. The entrance was propped open inwards to the foyer. Inside, four mirror panes were arranged into a square to create a mega-mirror. The bottom right pane was missing. Happy had broken it play-pretending that the family broomstick was a medieval longsword in his first post-milk year. Mummi had gotten Minder to beat him for it since she couldn’t do it herself. Now, Happy was tall enough to see his pimpled forehead reflected into the top two panes - the zone of the grown-ups. His neck had sprouted further past his shoulder than it should have. He felt he didn’t have enough muscles on his chest and back to support his new giraffe neck. His growing hair added yet more weight to carry. It was tied into a bun on the top of his head, like all Sikhs. The bun was covered in a white cloth ramaal held in place by a thick blue elastic band repurposed from two stalks of broccoli. Mummi liked reusing most plastics that came in the house due to their sturdiness. Sikhs weren’t permitted hair cuts, ever, so the strands of hair too short to make it to the elastic flowed two his shoulders at varying lengths. The heat of moving day caused him to itch the top of his head under the bun, where the temperature was a couple of degrees hotter. Each time he itched another strand of hair was shook loose to dance it’s way to join the other young’ns.
Once through the doorway, he heaved a sigh as he put down finally put down the box on the doorway. He looked down at it to see a picture of a microwave adorned the side facing him, marked with a Punjabi word in red.
Happy looked down the long hall to the left. The first bedroom was formerly shared between himself and Mummi. Daddi liked to sleep in the living room. He used a thin mat on the floor, a habit he’d failed to shake from his cross-country truckdrives in India. He viewed the ceiling overhead as his way of moving-on-up from the starry sky that used to be above him. Beyond Happy’s old bedroom was the other one, shared by Minder Uncle, Jagpreet Auntie and their new shrieker Jimmy. Happy listened for noise. He detected some cooing coming from the bathroom, substantiated by the interior light casting an adult shadow into the hallway.
Happy looked at his juttis: Mummi had fashioned Minder Uncle’s wedding shoes into slippers by cutting the heels cut off. The toes had excess fabric in points that curled in on themselves to give them a distinctly Aladdin aesthetic. The faux-gold embroidery was pealing rapidly, revealing the plan faux-leather underneath. The soles were hardboard with no padding. They hurt the pads of his paws. Happy slipped them off in front of the mega-mirror.
He turned into the living room but froze as soon as one bare foot hit the purple polyester carpet.
Minder Uncle was seated on one side of the grey loveseat. He favoured this one since the other cushion had a burnt spot from the sparkler Happy had dropped on his eighth birthday party. His gaze was affixed on the wall ahead, apparently unaware of Happy’s entry. He was younger than Mummi but had more grey hair than her. It had just begun thinning at the corners of his forehead recently. His underbite caused his bottom lip to poke out a bit as the edges of the top lip drooped downwards in his signature perma-frown. His skin was charred brown from years of farmwork in the old country.
“Uncle,” Happy said. There was no response.
“Uncle ji,” Happy said in a louder voice, tacking on the polite honorific to offset it.
Happy’s voice successfully cut through all the others he couldn’t hear and Minder turned towards him.
“Mummi ji said this is Auntie’s. What does it say on the box?” Happy said to Minder.
Minder got up and came to the foyer, himself peaking down the hall with anticipation. He lowered himself into the comfortable squat a jatt (Punjabi farmer) could hold for hours. He narrowed his eyes to decipher the writing. He was near-illiterate. His own father had favoured keeping him home to care for the farm while Mummi and their older brother Pinder went to school. The burdens of the baby when the finances run thin.
“Pa, pa, Painta. There’s pants in here,” Minder said.
“Why did she want pants brought back?” Happy said.
Minder jammed the heel of one palm into the side of the box enough that a bit of the tape holding the flaps lifted off. He pinched that bit with the other hand and pulled until the box flaps opened to reveal their secret. The first pair of pants he pulled out where dress slacks in a brownish grey with silver accent threading throughout. Minder held them and peaked to see similar ones stacked underneath.
“These are the paints that your auntie brought your daddi from India,” Minder said.
Happy remembered when Jagpreet had gifted them upon her arrival to her family after marriage. Returning them was an insult.
“Let’s hide them before she comes out,” Happy said.
Minder picked up the bought box and lifted from his squat with ease. As he passed, Happy noticed his cologne was strong and pleasant. His gold chain kept glinting under his white kurta. Getting closer, a musk was wafting from his socks from the labour of the all-day move. He was found time to spritz himself since they’d last crossed paths. His crisp white white kurta and pajama were in contrast to Happy’s home clothes: A pair of longer boxer shorts and a Canadian flag t-shirt Mummi had gotten for free from a lady at her job before the arthritis got too bad.
Minder walked over to place the box behind the loveseat, out of sight. It matched with the three seater opposite, along the wall. Jagpreet Auntie was keeping both of those since there wasn’t any room in the new apartment. In the open dining room, dust bunnies lay in the fashion of the a chalk outline for the table and chairs that Daddi and Babbu Uncle had moved earlier. Happy could of one word to describe his old apartment now; luxurious. One bedroom for three people should be the same as two bedrooms for six people, but the latter felt like a party while the former felt like a prison.
“Sit down puth. I’ll get you a coke,” Minder said, patting the crest of the loveseat he’d been keeping warm.
Happy paused and considered the offer. Then he heard the toilet flushing down the hall and cousin Jimmy’s squawks close behind.
“I can’t. Mummi says we need to finish. What’s left to take?” Happy said.
Minder stared at him blankly.
“You remember what’s left right?” Happy said.
“One second,” Minder said, before walking through the open arch in the wall to the kitchen.
He opened the freezer and produced two white, plump plastic grocery bags tied shut in double knots. The weight of the bags slumped his shoulders. He used one to close the door.
“These are heavy beta. Use the stroller,” Minder said, pointing to it in the corner with one bagged hand.
Happy collected his hand-me-down stroller. Since the grocery store had installed GPS locks on the tires of their shopping carts to prevent theft, the family often used the stroller in lieu. Whenever Happy used it, he faced disappointed scowls from strangers who slowed to peak at a baby but instead saw a 10-pound bag of russet potatoes strapped in.
“Did you give the elevator keys back to the super?,” Happy asked.
He pulled back the sunshade while Minder placed the grocery bags inside.
“I put them in the mail slot,” Minder said, fastening the seat belt.
“He needs to reset the elevator so other people else can use it,” Happy said.
“I hear his voice in the walls. I think he’s turning the neighbours against me. I don’t want anything to do with him,” Minder said.
He stood still, awaiting his judgement, rubbing his fingertips against themselves on on each hand at his waist.
Happy thought for a moment.
“If Auntie or Mummi ask, you gave the keys back,” Happy said.
Minder tipped his head subtly to one side, then to the other, in an Indian nod. Then he took hold of the stroller and turned it towards the foyer.
“Make sure to lift these out with your knees and not your back,” he said.
“OK Uncle. I need your help putting together my computer desk tomorrow,” Happy said, walking ahead of Minder to the door.
“As long as your Mummi agrees,” Minder said.
Happy slipped his juttis back on.
“You should just come. We can’t let Mummi pick every time we can sneeze. We can even team up to get the family back together. We’re the men. Be a man. Please,” Happy said.
“Ask your Mummi,” Minder said.
The Super was whacking weeds in front of his ground floor balcony when Happy rolled up with his stroller full of thawing groceries. The herby smell of food stuffs began to waft when the sun hit them. Happy told him about the much-needed elevator keys that were sitting on the parquet floor behind his mail slot. The Super spoke in the broken English of a Chinese immigrant when he chastised Happy’s whole family about their intra-building move. He lifted the weed-whacker high with both hands until it’s staff came to a rest behind his neck like a baseball hitter between pitches. According to him, Happy’s family was wasting everyone’s time waiting for one elevator. He’d received complaints. Maybe Minder’s whispers weren’t The Super himself, but pissed off neighbours invoking his name. Happy had reinforced within himself that they couldn’t all be made up. Happy apologized to the Super for their collective existence while backing up his bag vehicle. He had to hustle upstairs, where he would already be missed.
When the elevator opened on the fifth floor, Mummi was waiting for it.
“There you are. Your daddi’s not back yet,” Mummi said.
She was already rotating herself to face towards the apartment. Her obese frame swayed to from one side to the other with each step owing to not being able to bend her knees. Arthritis had worn down her cartilage to the point that her bones were grinding against each other the whole time she was upright. She was still in her ragged, ruby sleeveless kameez and the mismatching vanilla pilling salwar. Happy lifted the front wheels of the stroller to clear the ledge created by the misaligned elevator.
“He should still be returning the dolly to Babbu Uncle,” Happy said.
“We both know he’s probably gone drinking at Albion mall. We’ll be waiting for him all day. Come home and help me unpack. I can’t be alone with her,” Mummi said as she walked down the opposite hallway to 219 three floors below.
Apartment 504 was mercifully closer to the stairwell for Mummi. Her tilting waddle in flip-flops gave Happy’s juttis a harmony partner. Happy’s quicker pace meant he had to be mindful not to clip her heels, inadvertently jostle her and send her tumbling to the floor.
Mummi stopped in front of 502, who’s Assyrian residents kept a red cross emblem on their door. She waved at Happy to do the same.
“Can I take a break after this?” Happy said.
When she didn’t wear her glasses, her chubby, rounded face seemed to barely hold her bugged eyes in place. Her light moustache and baby chin hairs gave Happy no doubt where he got his hairy genes from. She grabbed his arm and pulled him closer.
“God kill me. We need to appear busy and start unpacking right away. That kanjari is sitting in the living room and needs to take a hint. She wanted us out, called in someone to change the locks and now doesn’t seem in a rush to leave,” Mummi said.
She inhaled and looked at the stroller.
“And you took the sabji on a tour of the building you donkey. Get it in the fridge, now.”
She let go and Happy followed her the remaining paces to the front door. It had been propped open by one of Daddi’s steel-toe boots. Mummi crossed the slight threshold with a groan into the cramped foyer. Happy thought it best to leave the stroller outside. He unbuckled the straps and lifted the wet grocery bags. They’d peed a puddle of condensation that would hopefully dry unscented.
Once inside, there was no pearing down a hall like the old place. Happy could take in the entire apartment with a single turn of his head. To his left was the kitchen Mummi had just struggled through. Ahead was the living room, where Jagpreet sat without Jimmy, who must’ve been in Minder’s silent care. She wore a new two-tone purple salwar kameez that reminded Happy of the print on the more expensive sofas at the liquidation store. She also work a pink chunni scarf around her neck for the traditional accent. Although they were meant to cover heads at the gurdwara, they were fashion in every other setting. She was the youngest adult in the old apartment, having married in 5 years ago. She’d spent 3 of those years alone in India while awaiting her visa. Happy had initially blushed when she’d looked his way, but now the reflex was gone.
Jagpreet stood looking at the dining table, it’s surface mostly covered in boxes.
“You need to throw some things out. You have nowhere to sit down,” Jagpreet said.
She was taking down one of the dining chairs, with the rest haphazardly tetris-ed together closer to the balcony door behind her. The view from the balcony windows was obscured by two rolled mattresses, upright and tilted. Two small dressers were stacked on top of one another in another corner. Along the way opposite Jagpreet was the single futon that Mummi would sleep on, with Daddi taking up the remainder of the floorspace with one of the rolling mattresses.
Turning his head further to the right, the sole bedroom and bathroom had their doors closed but Mummi had seen to it that they were at capacity with stuff as well.
Happy stepped into the kitchen. It was floored in beige linoleum tile and had newly renovated cupboards. Many of the doors were open and the counter currently hosted enough dishes to feed a gurdwara worth of people. Mummi had been cramming the cupboards from back to front with dishes to make space for their continuing deluge.
Mummi and Jagpreet’s voices were picking up in volume. When Happy tuned them out they were akin like chirping pigeons to him. He tuned in for jsut a moment.
“He hasn’t seen his daddi either,” Mummi said.
Punjabi women didn’t refer to their husbands directly by name out of fear of attracting najjar or the evil eye to them and summoning tragedy.
Happy opened the bags and started loading the contents into the freezer. He pulled out frozen garlic cloves in clear produce bags. The garlic was the same yellow as unbrushed teeth. Happy pulled out frozen ginger cut up like wood chips. At the discount grocer, Mummi would also pull the produce bag dispenser until she could wrap it around one hand and keep pulling. She tore off 10 bags for every one she needed in store as they were needed at home for storage. Happy would always look around to see if anyone had spotted her as she did it.
Happy peaked his head over the fridge door to see Jagpreet watching him as she spoke to Mummi. Mummi followed her eyes.
“Happy, make sure you close the freezer door. Take this box into the room,” Mummi said.
She was pointed to an open top box that had been used to import lettuce heads from Salinas California. It was now full of spare shoelaces and the braided fabric used to hold pajamas and salwars at the waist.
“Where? We can’t fit any more boxes in there,” Happy said.
“When we start unpacking we’ll make room and make it look great. It’ll be better than before. We need to keep everything for now. We don’t know when we’re going to need something to replace something we’ve lost. We’re losing half our family today, for example,” Mummi said.
Happy picked the box up and walked to the bedroom. He opened the door with a sharp kick. The far left corner of the room housed three more dressers. Two of them were stacked hugging the wall. They were four levels high and made of fibreboard with a faux-wood veneer in dark amber. The third dresser was parking in front of the first two, making the drawers of the lower rear one useless for the time being.
The far right quadrant of the room held a queen mattress on the floor. It would eventually be elevated by one of the two bed frames in the living room. For now it looked like it belonged in a crack den. The small room meants that the mattress was pressed against the vent that brought central heating from the building’s boiler room. Happy had had to stand on the mattress to open the window on the far wall to bring in a few gasps of hot air for circulation. The furniture held the hanging musk odour of the last house well, creating an in between nasal-brain sensation.
The near right quarter of the room was piled to the ceiling with boxes in a three by three grid. The closet in that quarter had been filled pre-emptively before the grid was stacked and blocked it from opening. Happy used a box in the newly forming fourth row of the array as a foot stool and pushed the box of string into place two rows back, it’s open top gently rubbing against the white popcorn of the ceiling.
He needed to find his new clothes for the first day of high school. Mummi had taken him to Stitches, were the cool kids shopped. He looked through a box at the foot of the box wall but it only contained a loose assortment of VHS tapes.
“Happy!” Mummi called.
He walked back through the kitchen and paused. His juttis pressed into his heels where the linoleum floor ended at the edge of the living room.
“Did Minder give back the elevator key?” Mummi said, now sitting in the lone available chair that Jagpreet had vacated for her.
She sat out-turned from the table, in the mafia don position. The padded seat beneath her was ripped from years of use, with the white stuffing yellowed from tharka cooking fumes.
“Um yeah, he told me he gave it back,” Happy said.
“Then why was the second elevator still out of service when I came down beta? I waited five minutes for a lift,” Jagpreet said.
Her cheeks had puffed since she’d gotten pregnant and they hadn’t gotten thin again.
“I can’t help if it the Super is slow,” Happy said.
Jagpreet’s eyebrow’s narrowed and her tightened lips parted open fast like a fish.
“I overheard you two scheming. I know you covered for him,” Jagpreet said.
Before Happy could respond Jagpreet had averted her gaze to Mummi.
“This is what I’ve been telling you about him. My parents don’t know yet that I married an idiot. I keep it all from them so save you the sharam. He’s your brother, you need to do more for him and us,” Jagpreet said.
“He’s quiet, I know that, but he works hard at that factory. You go with him and see that. And he won’t be one of those guys out there doing drugs and womanizing. Moving away from us isn’t going to make it easier for me to help you,” Mummi said.
“I don’t need your help, he does,” Jagpreet said.
“He’s not an idiot. He would’ve gave the keys but he didn’t want to talk to him. He only speaks Punjabi. No one talk him how to read or write anything,” Happy said.
Jagpreet responded but was still facing Mummi instead of Happy.
“He didn’t want to talk to him? He needs to talk to people in life. Is he going to talk to Jimmy’s teachers? Now the whole building is on one elevator until he goes home for the day or until he comes and yells at me,” Jagpreet said.
“I handled the Super. And talking to the teachers is your job,” Happy said.
“And you gave me back the pants I got bheerji. Why not just spit on me and get it over with,” Jagpreet said.
“We don’t have room here. We had more space living together and it was cheaper. You should’ve thought about that before you acted rash,” Mummi said.
Her voice was rising into the high pitched squeal of a pig. Jagpreet looked around at the junk around them.
“That was never going to work. And you have seven dressers but can’t let Happy’s daddi wear nice pants. He looks like a bum getting drunk with the kunjars he calls friends at the mall,” Jagpreet said.
“You’re one to talk. I bet you’re moving out so you can run around town,” Mummi said.
Her long pink chunni had drooped low around her neck. She took it off one shoulder and swung it back up to put it back into place. The end of it fell onto the stacked chairs behind her.
“Calling me a whore isn’t going to help your brother. I do everything for him and us and that’s what you call me?” Jagpreet said,
The end of her chunni swifty fell back to her knee. She had started walked quickly for the kitchen.
She was screaming from the foyer by the end of it. Then she left.
“How could you lie? She’s splitting us up and playing us off each other too. You’re bringing shame to me while your father worked hard to move our lives here. Hai rabah,” Mummi said.
She used the back of her hand to wipe the tears brewing in each eye.
“Waheguru, waheguru,” she chanted God’s name to self-sooze.
Happy stepped towards her timidly.
“Mummi, it’s OK,” Happy said.
“Come here beta, its ok.” She pulled Happy close to her bosom. He could feel the percussion of her heart beating. He tried to move away and made eye contact with Jagpreet.
“Do you know where your Daddi is?” Mummi asked.
“No Mummi, you asked already. She’s gone, can we find my clothes for school?” Happy said.
“It’s getting dark. You should go look for him,” Mummi said.
Footnotes
-
He feels shame ↩