9. Sona
SONA
Y et another sleepless night. I had been sleep-deprived since before I met Mihir, and yet my mind refused to grant me this small grace.
Grabbing my e-reader and phone, I tiptoed downstairs. A faint light from somewhere along the water streamed in through the large living room windows as I traversed the length of the house into the backyard. Whoever owned this property had money, real money. Six huge bedrooms with attached baths. A pretentiously large game room with a pool table in the center and a card table in a corner, flanked by a well-stocked dry bar. There was even a theatre-style media room with plush leather sofas set up to hold drinks and popcorn tubs along with a fully-stocked beverage refrigerator.
The kitchen was a whole different story. Built with gorgeous marble that glimmered like a star, it had an island the size of the entire kitchen in my Brooklyn apartment.
But it was definitely the backyard that stole the show. Right along the water, it was serene in the truest sense. The nearest neighbor was a few miles away, making it private and tranquil, with only the gentle sound of the water lapping against the parapet. Lights shone from a temperature-controlled pool, at the end of which a lush green lawn extended around the house. A gazebo housed a set of sofas and a dining table set. I spotted a line of poolside chaise loungers and slipped onto the one nearest to the door.
I had barely gotten through the first paragraph when my phone buzzed with a polite ding. A text from Appa. Are you up, mōl?
I clicked video chat, and he answered instantly.
“Ah, princess, looks like you’ve forgotten us. How many days has it been?”
“I told you I was visiting Tara, remember? It’s been busy. We had a party yesterday, and today, I’m at a lake house with them.”
“That’s what I told Medha, that you’re probably busy, but she kept bugging me to check on you.”
“Yes, you did say that.” Aai pulled the phone from his hand. “He’s the one who’s been worrying himself sick. I said it’s only been two days.”
I giggled. “I hope you both are behaving. Remember, you don’t have me to broker peace if you start arguing.”
“She’s recruited Lata for that,” Appa said, pulling the phone back to him. Lata was our cook and Aai’s help through the day. “And I know she bribes her because I can hardly get a word in when Lata starts saying ‘ Aai’s right .’ I know there’s foul play.”
I laughed just as the door opened. Mihir walked out in a plush cotton robe identical to the one I was wearing, a towel over his arm.
“Oh, hey,” he said, briefly halting in his tracks. “Do you mind if I step into the pool?”
“Not at all. I’ll be heading in soon.”
“You don’t have to leave on my account. I won’t bother you, I promise,” he said, and I returned a shy smile.
He trekked the length of the pool and put down his towel. I tried to keep my eyes off him but caught his silhouette as he pulled the robe off. My stomach dipped at the curve of his shoulder and the way it cut into a chiseled arm before I returned my attention to the screen.
“Who’s that?” Appa asked, and I tried to modulate my heartbeat.
“Tara’s friend,” I replied in Malayalam. “He planned this trip to celebrate his father’s sixty-fifth birthday.”
Appa got the hint and switched languages. “What a good son. Maybe you can get some tips on how to make your father feel special. His sixtieth is not too far away.”
I laughed again. “You are impish, Appa,” I said in English before Aai snatched the phone back.
“Enough. It’s my turn to talk to my daughter,” she said. “So, this friend, is he married? Eligible? Interested? Any crumbs you can throw our way?” she asked in Marathi.
“I’m so not having this conversation with you, Aai. Goodnight.”
“Okay, okay, don’t hang up,” she cajoled. “How’s Dallas? How’s Tara doing?”
We talked for about five more minutes before a domestic emergency called her away. Perhaps Lata got the wrong vegetable again or forgot to switch off the stove with the milk on it.
I could almost smell the mornings in that house. The milk that was boiled like a ritual. Before she even brushed her teeth, Aai went to the kitchen with her dewy face, put the milk on the stove, and by the time she returned, the milk would be at the right temperature. She always arrived in the nick of time to turn off the stove before it boiled over. I wondered how she timed it so accurately.
I had tried it once, when Aai thought I was mature enough to be trusted with this delicate task—I had been in college—but I had failed miserably. I had spent the next half hour cleaning the stove and the counter. Aai had never trusted me with it again.
When the milk was ready, Appa ventured into the kitchen to make tea while Aai brought in the newspaper. She set aside the financial pages for him, crisp and fresh, then went through the entire paper. First, the headlines and world news, then local news, and finally, the gossip column. She wasn’t a snob when it came to reading. She was the one who had imbued in me a love of reading and taught me how to enjoy everything I read.
The house then would fill with the scent of the incense that Aai lit during her morning puja, mingling with the waxy smell of the candle Appa lit at the altar. The ghee diya and the candle burned in harmony at the shared altar in the interfaith household, trying to bring peace and joy in a world overrun by hatred and bigotry.
Appa wasn’t terribly religious, but he never missed his morning prayers. His ritual was simple. He lit a candle and spent precisely five minutes with his eyes closed, hands straight down in front, one palm cupping the other. When he finished, he had a glow on his face as if he had attained enlightenment and peace in those short minutes.
I sighed. There was so much I missed about home, but this particular sigh was layered—layers I hesitated to peel because, just like an onion, they were guaranteed to bring tears to my eyes. Despite my satisfying career and life here, I missed my parents. I missed home . The top layer, though, was dry and crisp enough to decode without much introspection. I was done talking to my parents, and I should’ve returned to my room, but the memory of last night’s missed kiss kept me there.
I saw Mihir swim lap after lap, never stopping, never looking up. Gazing at his mostly naked body cutting through water wasn’t good for my health. The lights in the pool did me no favors either, but the darkness that enveloped me was my saving grace. I was reminded of his warm breath on my skin and wondered what the touch of his fingers would feel like. I sat there, pretending to be engrossed in the e-reader, while goosebumps rippled across my body.
What was I reading anyway? I got my eyes to focus on the paperwhite screen. Ah, yes, I was re-reading a book on phenomenology for my seminar on feminist spatialities. Of course, right now, the only space that seemed persuasive enough to hold my attention was the one between Mihir and me, the distance between his body and mine.
Darn it, I needed to get a grip. Did I reek of desperation? I decided to give up the farce and regain a semblance of self-respect by retreating to my room. Except Mihir chose that exact moment to swim to the far end and climb out of the pool. My heart scrambled and scuttled as he walked to the open shower and stood underneath it.
In the dark corner, I only saw the outline of his graceful figure, but it was enough to send a tingling sensation through me. My stomach tightened as I saw him tip his face up toward the water, his arms lifted, raking his fingers through his hair. I wanted details, specific ones, but he was too far, and it was too dark. As though sensing my perusal, he turned around and caught me watching him. A blaze engulfed me. Decency mandated that I avert my gaze, but he seemed to have locked his sight on me as he let the water cascade over his body. Drawing his fingers back through the hair, he gave me a show that I should not be enjoying this much.
Better belated than never! With a thudding heart, I tore my gaze from him and focused on the vacant screen in my hand. I heard the shower turn off and waited with errant anticipation until he walked up. I lifted my tentative eyes to acknowledge his presence near me. His robe was tied loosely around his waist, his hair was wet and raked back, and his beard was damp. A rustle swept across my skin as I managed a smile.
“Can I join you?” he asked, pointing to the recliner next to mine.
“Sure.” I sat upright in my seat. I was wearing my sleep shorts and a camisole underneath the warm robe, and I adjusted the robe to cover my legs. “That was a lovely celebration today. I hope your father enjoyed it,” I said when he relaxed into his chair.
“Thank you. I think he particularly liked your gift. Mom did too. That was very kind of you.”
“Hope I didn’t steal your thunder. I can’t help it. Gifting makes me very happy.”
“I’m sure you make everyone around you very happy,” he said without looking at me, and I chose to deflect it.
“I guess there was a hidden message somewhere behind your gift.”
He released a suave laugh. “There was hidden intent for sure. To annoy the hell out of them.”
“I’m sure they loved it.”
The gentle lapping of water filled the silence between us.
“This house is fantastic,” I said. “Looks like it has been built with love and care.”
He laughed again, but this time, it was louder, crasser. “Believe me when I say that Grant didn’t build it with love and care. He built it to spite his family. He’s…got issues.”
“How does owning a gorgeous house spite his family?”
“It’s what he uses it for, but I’ll let him know you loved it. He’ll appreciate that.”
“So is he, like, loaded?”
He grinned. “You can say that. He’s local royalty. Generations of oil money.”
“Ah, one of those.”
“He’s a good guy, true as they come. We’ve been friends since the third grade.”
“Well, tell him I loved this house and wish him all the happiness.”
Mihir crossed his feet at the ankles and relaxed against the lounger. In the silence that followed, I heard the river singing sweet songs of the night. A lazy lull, then rhythmic lapping against the parapet, followed by another lull pressing lightly into the languid breeze.
“You couldn’t sleep either, huh?” he said in the pause between the lull and the lapping.
“No, I thought I’d read a little, and then my parents called.”
“What language was that? That’s not what you speak with Tara, is it?” he asked.
I felt warm. “No, my father speaks Malayalam. My mother is Marathi.”
“And that’s what you speak with Tara?”
“Marathi, yes.”
“So what’s their story? I bet they have an intriguing one.”
I smiled that he knew enough about India to surmise they did. “They met on the bus,” I said. “They took the same bus to work every day. One day, Appa gave up his seat to her, and after that, he began saving her a seat. Appa says when Aai asked his name, her face registered shock and disappointment. His name is Thomas, so she knew he wasn’t a Hindu. She didn’t sit beside him for the next few days, but he continued to save a seat for her. A week later, she slid into the seat beside him.”
“I bet that landed them in trouble.”
“Well, more drama than trouble, I guess,” I said. We laughed about it now, but I couldn’t imagine being in their shoes, being that brave.
“Appa had moved from Kerala to Mumbai for college, then found a job there,” I continued. “His family made a little noise, but he didn’t have to face them daily. Aai, on the other hand, lived with her parents, and they flipped out when she told them. They threatened to disown, disinherit, and ostracize her. It was her oldest aunt, her mother’s sister, who came to her rescue. She commanded much respect in the family. She summoned my grandparents and said, ‘ You have raised your daughter with the education she needs to be a responsible adult. Don’t you trust your own upbringing? If she thinks she’ll be happy with Thomas, why would you doubt her? Talk to the boy. See if he is worthy of your daughter. ’”
Mihir’s expression softened. “And they did.”
I nodded. “Aai was Ajoba’s favorite child—that’s my grandfather. They agreed to meet Appa with the rather empty threat that if they didn’t like him, she’d have to give up any hope of marrying him. But he wowed them. He was educated, intelligent, and polite. Not all educated people are intelligent and kind, Ajoba had said. Begrudgingly, they agreed.”
“Good for them,” Mihir said.
“You can say that because my grandparents lived with us until they passed. They didn’t feel at home with any of their other children. Appa treated them like his parents, not in-laws. He loved them and argued with them, and they loved him back like a son. Toward the end, they trusted him more than their own son, which caused some friction in the family for a while. But Appa is so humble, it is difficult to stay mad at him for long.”
The happy memories flooding my heart in the moment brought a big smile to my face. In hindsight, much of the family dynamic eased out because Appa had surpassed all expectations of success. When they got married, both Aai and Appa had normal jobs, classic Indian middle-class. Then, Appa rose quickly through the ranks. He changed a few jobs, landing better positions with higher pay. Currently, he was the CFO of a multinational corporation in Mumbai. When the money flooded in, everyone’s attitudes changed. Aai’s extended family, who’d initially shunned them as outcastes, were now tripping over themselves to congratulate my parents. They used to call my grandparents to applaud them for such a wonderful son-in-law who took such good care of them.
“What about your father’s parents?” Mihir’s voice broke my thought, and I turned my eyes to him.
“My grandfather passed away. Grandmother lives in Kerala. My aunt is in the same city, but Ammachi likes living on her own. She’s a strong, fiercely independent woman. I think that’s why she likes my mother. She says Aai’s the best thing that could’ve happened to her son.” I chuckled.
“That’s how it is, isn’t it? Inter-faith relationships are castigated, and yet love is so simple if we just allow it to be.”
I let the silence leech away some of the pain in those words before softly asking, “Is that coming from a personal experience?”
His eyes strained against the dark shadows, and I saw a faint outline of a not-yet-manifested wrinkle. It made him look older, gentler. I glanced at the waters in the distance, my head leaning back against the chaise.
“Dad’s father was a doctor in Lucknow,” he said in a voice so soft, I had to concentrate to hear him. His gaze bounced over the water beyond the parapet. “I visited him a few times. After the third time, I wasn’t allowed to visit.”
I pulled myself upright. He turned to give me a sad smile, then looked away into the distance. “Dadaji had earned his name as a competent doctor, but he also came from a rich, high-profile family, which made him a well-regarded, respected man in the city. I was fifteen when I last visited him. His next-door neighbor, Usman Dadaji, was also a doctor and came from a similarly wealthy family. They had been friends ever since the two young couples moved into their homes in a swanky neighborhood. It was one big, happy extended family, in and out of each other’s homes. Their children were of similar age and so were their grandchildren.”
He paused abruptly, but I didn’t interrupt. When I interlaced my fingers over my stomach, I heard a soft sigh. I looked at him and found a small curve on his lips.
“One of his grandchildren was a lovely girl, Gul. She was also fifteen. When we were younger, we used to play together, but that summer, teenage hormones raged through our bodies. She was a gorgeous girl with gentle curls that framed her round face. Delicate rose-colored lips. Pink cheeks that grew darker every time we were close. And she was smart, knew a lot about astronomy. Her father had gifted her a telescope, and we spent hours looking at the night sky. We talked about constellations and possibilities of life on other planets and in other galaxies. When she learned I played the piano, she lugged her keyboard to the terrace and tugged along her sisters and cousins. Her parents came up too, and I gave a mini-performance one night after dinner.”
I gazed at his forlorn smile, frozen over the tranquil water illuminated by the moonlight.
“Then one hot, humid night when we met on her terrace after dinner to gaze at the sky, something came over us, and we kissed. An innocuous teenage kiss, just a graze. We didn’t even touch each other, only a tender brush of the lips. But her younger sister saw us and told her mother, who brought it to her father, who complained to her grandfather, who came barging into Dadaji’s study. I was summoned. I stood staring at my shoes as Mom had instructed before bringing me to Dadaji. He wasn’t angry, just morose as he explained how I had erred. Of course, it was wrong that I had kissed her, but we were from two different religions, and I hadn’t respected that.”
His eyes darted to me for a quick glance.
“Suddenly, it wasn’t an indiscretion between two kids. It was a transgression of the worst kind, a malicious one. I think what softened the situation was that I was cast as an American kid who didn’t know the ways of India and was excused, in a manner of speaking. But in a snap, there was a dent in the friendship that had spanned several decades. Gul and I were forbidden from interacting after that, although she would give me a wave and a sad smile from her window whenever we happened to see each other. After that, I wasn’t allowed to visit my grandparents. We visited Mom’s family in Indore, but no more visits to Lucknow. They came to the U.S. to visit us. They didn’t stop loving me, but well into my adulthood, Dadaji always had a word for me about right and wrong. When they became too old to travel, my parents visited without me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said and leaned in to put a light hand on his arm.
“You know what the saddest part of that story is? It was the first kiss for the both of us, and its memory is forever linked with hurt and loss.”
I gave his arm a squeeze.
He looked into my eyes and said, “I looked her up once. She’s a doctor now. I hope she’s happy. She deserves to be.”
“All of us deserve happiness. You do too,” I said and quickly followed up that gaffe with a redirect. “So, your father is also a doctor, right?”
He looked away and nodded. A single nod. His trademark. “He just retired. Now he’s honing his skills in the kitchen and driving Mom nuts by making her his guinea pig.”
I smiled at the image. “They seem very happy.”
“They are. Incredibly so.”
I didn’t want the night to end, but I knew I was leading myself into quicksand. It was best if I got out fast. “It’s getting late. We should get some sleep,” I said.
He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair before pulling his long legs off the recliner, and my insides let out a miserable groan. I wanted that hand on my body.
“Hope you get a good night’s sleep,” I said as I stood.
“Goodnight, Sona. I had a great time talking with you. Thank you for listening.”
“You don’t have to thank me. You’re wonderful company. I had a great time too.” I stepped closer to him, got on my toes, and kissed his cheek.
“Goodnight, Mihir,” I whispered against his beard.
As I turned to walk away, I heard him suck in a quick breath. He touched my wrist, and I looked at him. “I’ll be here tomorrow, same time. Swim with me.”
There was a desperation in his eyes that mirrored how I felt, but it wasn’t wise to let my guard down. “What if I can’t swim?”
“I’ll teach you. Or we can just float in the water.”
I lowered my eyes and nodded.
“Good,” he said with a satisfied nod. “And I’ll drive you to the grocery store in the morning. See you at nine?”
I nodded again, then shifted my gaze. “Get some sleep. Wrinkles aren’t a flattering look on you.”