Chapter 3
Amonth ago, I was excited about this opportunity. Now I was exhausted, and it had only been two weeks. With a dramatic sigh, I crashed onto the couch in my rented, furnished uptown apartment and pulled out my cell phone to call Sona.
Sona Thomas, my closest friend, was a geographer by training and an Assistant Professor of Feminist Studies at a college in Brooklyn. And that told you everything you needed to know about her. Brilliant, wise, street-smart, with a generous side of sass, she was gifted with the patience and impulse control that I lacked.
We shared the kind of bond that women without sisters tend to form, but we had more in common than the mere absence of a female sibling. We shared the same mother tongue, Marathi, although, on account of her father, Sona was also fluent in Malayalam. We had both migrated from Western India, having grown up in the neighboring states of Gujarat and Maharashtra. With so many overlaps in food, language, and culture, we could put a Venn diagram to shame.
So it was a no-brainer that we connected. But it was our uncanny ability to understand and read each other that had brought us closer over the past five years.
“Hey.” Her sweet voice jingled over the phone. “How’s it going there?”
“Okay, considering. I miss home.”
“Already?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Was it him?”
“I’ll tell you. But first, how’s Aai? I called her twice today. She didn’t answer and hasn’t called me back. Just wanted to check with you before I begin to panic.”
Her amused laughter spilled over the phone. “Your mom is fine. I stopped by to see her on my way back from campus. She didn’t want to bother you at work, so my guess is she’ll be calling you later tonight.”
“Thank goodness!”
“Oh, and your knight in shining armor was there too.” That would be my boyfriend, Sujit. “He’d also come to check on her.”
“Stop calling him that. It makes me sound like a damsel in distress.” I slid down the couch.
“As if,” she said with a snort. “Tell me, was it Sameer who bought the painting?”
“Yup, and I saw him. In the flesh.”
“Hmm, so can I start bashing him now, so you feel better?”
I laughed. “We’re way past that age, Sona.”
“Never. We’ll bash our exes when we’re in our nineties and in a retirement home together.”
I laughed again, grateful for her endearing self.
“What did he say?”
“A lot of things, but it’s what I said that bothers me. Or rather what I didn’t say.”
I recapped the encounter for her.
“Tara?” she asked in her gentle, beautiful voice. “Do you really have feelings for him? I mean, I know you do, but they’re in the abstract, right? You’re in love with a certain image of Sameer, your first boyfriend, who knew you better than anyone. It’s a memory you’ve built and carried throughout your life. We all do that. But that’s not the real Sameer, is it?”
“Then why couldn’t I say it to him, Sona? Why couldn’t I tell him to his face that he meant nothing to me anymore?”
“Because you have a history, but it’s time to move on. You have a solid relationship with Sujit. Don’t waste your time and energy chasing an imaginary one. You gave me the same advice once, remember?”
“I know, I know!” I cried. “It’s just that being so close to him again stirred up a lot of buried emotions, but Sameer’s in the past. Plus, Sujit has helped me so much with Aai’s situation. I can never be ungrateful to him.”
“Hey,” Sona said. “I know you feel obligated to Sujit for his help. But I hope that’s not the only thread binding you to him. Is it?”
“No! I didn’t mean it that way. I care about him the way he does about me.”
Thankfully, my phone buzzed in my hand.
“Aai’s calling, Sona. Talk to you later?”
“Sure, but we’ll talk about this.”
“I promise,” I said and ended the call.
“Hi, Aai, I called. Twice,” I teased my mother in Marathi.
“Aga, I was at yoga class, then Shaila called me over for tea. How are you?”
“I’m okay. Tired. Had a long day at work.”
“Do you have any homecooked food, or are you going out to eat?”
I smiled. “I have some leftovers. How are you doing? Are you bored yet?”
“I get bored sometimes, but I go for a walk. It’s getting hotter now. Sujit came over today. He’s such a kind boy.”
Sujit was my age, but anyone my age was a child in her eyes.
“Yes, Sona told me. I just talked to her.”
“She came over too. I’m so glad you have such good people in your life.”
“Yes, Aai, they’re both gems. But it’s a big city. Don’t trust everyone around you, okay? I’m worried about leaving you alone there. You should’ve come here with me. Maybe you would’ve made new friends here.”
“I’ll come for a visit when you’ve settled in. But this is a good routine for me. I have my phone, and I don’t travel too far from the apartment.”
“Okay. I worry about you, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry. Get your work done quickly and come back. It does get lonely without you.”
“I know. There’s no one to bug you all the time,” I teased, visualizing a warm smile on her gentle face. “Okay, I’ll hang up now. I’ll eat something then call Sujit.”
“Bara,” she said and disconnected.
Aai had refused to move from Brooklyn to Dallas, to relocate again. Despite my worry for her living on her own, I had to applaud her grit and feel grateful that she could express herself freely now. She didn’t have many chances to do that in the past.
In our rather conservative community in a small town on the outskirts of Baroda in western India, women were seen as less worthy than men. But my father had dreamed of raising an educated, independent daughter.
“Be famous. Be powerful. Don’t live and die in obscurity,” he’d tell me.
People ridiculed him for sending me to an English school alongside my brother. Daughters are strangers, they said. Daughters get married and become part of another family, so give them just enough education to land them a good husband. Any more than that, and it was money down the drain, an investment that would never pay off. But my father defied all norms and expectations to give me everything he couldn’t afford. An ardent supporter, a true champion, he stretched himself thin trying to give me the right opportunities. He raised me to be strong-willed, self-reliant, and outspoken, but didn’t extend the same rights to his wife. He expected her unquestioned obedience while rejoicing in all the ways that I challenged him.
It wasn’t that Aai couldn’t speak to him or contradict him. But there were things she could talk about and things she couldn’t. They often bickered about the right amount of money to gift a certain relative or how to budget the household, but always within the privacy of the home and never in front of a non-family member. The rising prices of meat and vegetables, inching steadily toward unaffordability, were a recurring theme in our home, but the discussions never touched the sacred parameters of politics or economics. Women didn’t understand these things. Well, women of Aai’s generation didn’t, my father held. And if they did, they should keep their opinions to themselves. Such was the paradox of a man who fought against his family and his community to hold all doors open for his daughter.
But Aai had always been smart and industrious, and within two months of being in the U.S., she had become unprecedentedly independent. When she first arrived, she felt stifled by her tenuous grasp of English. But I took her everywhere, waiting patiently while she spoke in her broken language, until she found her confidence. She realized that despite the erroneous tenses and misplaced pronouns, most people understood her if they made an effort. Those who had no patience for her, she ignored. I loved her for that.
Last month, before I left Brooklyn, Sona helped me persuade her to join us at the local salon. Its owner, a fellow Indian immigrant, had mastered the secret art of coaxing recalcitrant women of my mother’s age to agree to eyebrow threading and a facial massage. Aai had never looked better, and I felt a deep contentment then. I was finally at a place where I didn’t need to worry about her.
I reheated the previous night’s leftovers for a light dinner. A sad situation for a Friday evening, but I didn’t have the energy or the motivation to explore the city solo. Then there was the other thing consuming my thoughts. Seeing Sameer again had muddled my head and confused my heart in ways I had not anticipated.
To stop myself from dwelling on the past, I placed a video call to Sujit. It rang for a while before he answered with dripping hair.
“Hey!” That soft voice, those kind eyes, brought me an instant sense of calm. Seeing Sujit felt like home. With Sameer, it was always heat and agitation. All fire and brimstone.
“Hi there. Are you working out? You look all hot and sweaty,” I said.
“No, just got out of the shower. I’m wet, not sweaty.”
“So… you’re naked?”
“Yes, very naked and very wet.” When he smiled, his deep dimples set off the laugh lines around his eyes. He was a shy, bashful man, and I never missed a chance to tease him about it.
“Show me your chest.” He blushed, then moved the phone away from his body to show me his wet, naked torso.
“Mmm.” I summoned the deep, seductive voice I rarely used. “Wish I was there.”
“Okay, you have to stop. I’m already getting a little too worked up.”
“Can you show me how much?”
“No, I’ll save myself the embarrassment.”
I laughed but didn’t yield. “I could’ve helped you out, you know. Maybe with a warm oral compress?”
“Damn! You know you’re killing me, right?” he said, wiping his hair.
“Yes,” I said, then softly added, “I miss you.”
“Me too.” He smiled. “Especially on the weekends. I feel lost without you here.”
“You know what I miss the most? It’s your smell.”
He laughed. “That’s a weird thing to miss.”
“No, it’s the most natural thing. We’re animals, first and foremost.”
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply to recall his scent. A heady, woodsy fragrance filled my head, and my heart rumbled at a recent memory. Sameer’s full lips, the way he looked right through me and saw everything. My face turned warm, and my pulse quickened. I gasped and opened my eyes, my heart hammering as if I had been caught cheating.
“Well, go put on some clothes, then call me,” I said, suddenly anxious to get off the call.
“Actually, I’m going out to dinner. Talk to you tomorrow?”
“Tsk-tsk. I’ve been gone only two weeks, and you’re already going out on dates.”
“No, darling, it’s just a business dinner. We’ll be talking about the new software.”
“That’s boring. Okay, stay safe, and get back home at a decent time.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Then he gave me a warm smile and added, “I miss you so much. Wish I could touch you right now.”
“Me too. Call me when you’re up tomorrow. I love you,” I said.
He frowned. “Did you just say what I heard you say?”
I sat upright in an attempt to defy the gravity of my words. “No.”
A few months ago, on a playful evening, I went on a rant about how stupid the idea of romantic love was. I had ridiculed the importance assigned to the phrase “I love you” in our shared cultural imaginary. Desire is more amorphous and more fluid than the edifice of “I love you” suggested, I had argued.
“It is rebellious, and transgressive, and dangerous. So, don’t ever expect me to say BS like I love you,” I had scoffed.
Only now, my words had come back to bite me in the rear.
Sujit threw his head back in his joyful, infectious laugh, his sculpted torso shaking with delight. “I could’ve never pried those words out of you. Looks like distance is doing wonders for our relationship.”
“You’d want to believe that, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, absolutely! You finally went for that BS,” he said, still laughing. “Can’t wait to hear it again.”
“Again ain’t happening. Ever again,” I teased, trying hard not to break into laughter myself.
When his laugh simmered to a smile, he said, “Well, here’s something that might ease your angst. I love you too, Ms. Tara Kadam. Only I had been bullied into never saying it.”
This time I laughed. “Alright, get off the phone now, or you’re going to be late for your date,” I teased.
“Talk soon, darling. Have a wonderful evening. Love you, for real,” he said with a wink before hanging up.
I shook my head with a smile, then lolled on the couch, but a faint thought made me sit right back up. “I love you, Sameer,” it had whispered like a fool. Desire was rebellious, alright!