Since birth, we’re told never to lie. When I was five, Mother said “ If you lie, your nose will grow like Pinocchio’s”. When I was eight, she said “ If you lie, you won’t get God’s blessings”. When I was 13, she said “One lie turns into a hundred, and eventually the truth comes out.”
And so it did.
She was a spitting image of my mother, only more confident and outspoken. I've heard from everyone how beautiful she was. She had dark curly hair, almost afro-like, and big honey eyes which resembled my mothers. She had a height that dominated the room and a voice angel-like.
I never got the chance to meet her, but I always felt connected to my aunt, Bibi. Bibi’s death was caused by a car accident. My cousins, siblings and I were told this from a young age. We were too young to realise that our parents were keeping a secret from us. That was until we grew older and wiser. Eventually, things didn't add up and we noticed that each story told by the adults were slightly redacted. Bibi’s son, Hussain, claimed that he was in the car during the accident, but mother said otherwise. I supposed he didn't remember the incident since he was only four at the time.
So I let it go.
2017
Visiting India was always a good time of the year. At Diego, our ancient family house filled with all the precious memories of my golden childhood, my uncle sat near me as we made conversation. He was the most intelligent man I knew but wasted his life on narcotic drugs. Being a curious teenager, I asked him what really happened to Bibi. He looked at me in a responsive manner and I knew he was never good at telling a lie. His voice was raspy due to all the cigarettes he smoked.
“I can't tell you everything now...the car crash wasn't an accident.” He replied in his thick, exploited voice. My face sent him the signal to elaborate what he meant.
He continued, “The car was tampered with...The whole thing was planned- it was planned.”
My heart sank a little, just hearing the words from his mouth. It raised so many questions in my mind. She was killed? But by who? I could only imagine the pain it must have caused my family. I was eager to know more but my uncle realised he had said too much, so he got up and said he needed to attend some work. He was lying. He was an unemployed man who never had work. I thought Mother would answer my questions. Despite my uncle warning me not to ask or tell anyone, I informed her of what her brother had said. She sat down with a sincere look on her face “My sister's death was very sudden and was very hard for all of us to accept, especially your uncle, being the closest to her. He spent half his life on opioids, can you really trust his words?”
Mother had a point and I didnt know who to believe, but one thing I knew was that mother was more reliable than my uncle. Whenever us children asked elders what happened to Bibi, they would either cry, yell or change the topic.
2018
By this time, my cousin’s and I had grown older and more mature to realise that it isn't any of our business.
Sid has been close to us since we were kids. He went to kindergarten with us when we lived in India and since then, my mum kept in contact with his parents. Now everytime we go to India, we visit him and his family.
Since I hadn’t visited India in a while, I facetimed him and my cousins from Hong Kong. We made jokes and updated one another on our lives, but somehow the topic was diverted to Bibi’s mysterious death. My cousin explained how he couldn't believe that we were still unaware of the truth after all this time and that's when it hit Sid.
He knew something that we didn’t.
He told us he knew the truth about Bibi's death and we immediately bursted out in laughter assuming he was only joking. Yet, his face remained serious. He didn't seem to understand why we were laughing and then explained that he would never joke about such a sensitive topic. Knowing Sid, we all agreed that he was being serious.
We asked him how he found out and he explained that a third party had informed him as Bibi was known all around Bombay. Even Sid’s parents didn’t know the truth. All of us began collectively begging him to tell us the truth but he said that it’s better if we didn‘t find out. My cousin kept arguing with him even after he convinced us that the truth would haunt us forever. He told us that he would let us know after he calls back since he had to cut the call.
He never called back.
2020
By this time, my cousins and I let go of all the suspicions regarding my aunt's death. I thought we may have been overthinking the whole thing. After all, we were young, stupid and inquisitive kids.
It was during summer break when my mum, siblings, two cousins and I had been eating breakfast at our local Indian restaurant ‘good luck’. It was famous for its ‘keema pav’ and ‘bun maska’, our favorite menu items. Once we wiped out our plates, paid and left the restaurant, we had to call for a rickshaw back home.
Being a group of six, there were too many of us to fit into just one rickshaw, so my mum went with my siblings into one rickshaw, leaving me and my cousins in another behind them. The rickshaw driver was a short, sweet-looking man with a hunch back and a faded mustache. In the middle of the ride, our rickshaw breaks down unexpectedly in the middle of the road. The noise of the rickshaw driver sobbing catches my attention. I look over at him to catch him crying. At the time, I found it absurd that he cared so much about his rickshaw. But he turned around and asked us "was that Farah ji?".
Farah was indeed my mother’s name. I was caught off guard as to how a rickshaw driver could possibly know my mother who doesn't even live in this city anymore. My cousins and I asked him how he knew my mother. He replied that his name was 'Abdul' and he worked for our family as their driver. Everything made sense after he informed us of this. That was until he continued his sentence.
"It was very sad what happened to Bibi”.
Bibi was a nickname only members of our family would call our aunt. Her real name was Shahnaz. Shahnaz Aghavali Kavami. A shiver went down my spine when I heard it being used by a random rickshaw driver. It struck me that I knew nothing. Even a rickshaw driver knew more about my family than me. Before I was even done comprehending how he knew something about Bibi’s death, he finished his sentence “how could they kill her?". Our eyes widened after hearing him say this.
“Kon mardiya?” .“Who killed her?". My cousin immediately asked in Hindi. My cousin was desperate yet hesitant, not knowing whether he was prepared for the truth. Abdul remained silent. He figured out that we didn't know anything at all. He didn't say anything else about the incident, instead just asked us to pass his number to my mother and left in his dainty rickshaw.
We went home in another rickshaw, nervous to tell our parents about the driver and when we did, we expected to finally learn the truth and put an end to all the questions. But instead my mother was furious.
"I don't know any Abdul, and you are crazy to save other peoples phone numbers like that.” She yelled.
“This is India, have I not told you to stay away from strangers?”. She snatched the phone out of my hand and deleted his number in an instant, leaving no trace for us to contact him. Up till today, I'm not sure we will ever find out what truly happened.