27. Mihir
MIHIR
S ona visited again in January to celebrate my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary.
I made reservations at the country club where Dad had been a member for decades, playing tennis and golf with his friends. When I could afford the membership, he had urged me to join the “by referral only” club. Something about legacy. I barely used the amenities, but as immigrants, my parents dreamed of hosting my wedding on the grounds of this exclusive club.
I had requested a tailored four-course menu, with wine pairings for Mom, whisky drams for Dad and me, and exclusive non-alcoholic mixes for Sona.
The server had barely placed the appetizers on the table when Mom spotted Anju taking a seat at the bar with a tall, dark-haired man. His posture suggested he was military. She spotted me and promptly turned toward her companion.
Unaware of what had transpired the night of the wedding or with Anju before that, Mom beckoned her over the moment our plates had been cleared. Anju always had a lot of respect for Mom. She excused herself from her companion and walked over.
“Anju, so good to see you, beta.” Mom stood and gave her a hug.
“Happy Anniversary, Aunty,” she said. “Mom mentioned it yesterday.” She leaned over to look at Dad. “And to you, Uncle.”
Dad nodded a thanks, and Mom beamed as she responded, “Thank you, beta. Hope you are doing well.”
That was a coded question to ascertain if she had moved on from her messy divorce.
Anju smiled. “I am, Aunty. Much better now.”
“Good, that’s good,” Mom said and turned to us. “Anju, I don’t think you’ve met Sona.”
Anju merely smiled at us.
“Mihir?” Mom said, unsure about how I wanted to introduce Sona.
I stood and, flipping the introductions etiquette, said, “Anju, this is my girlfriend, Sona.” Sona gave her a short wave from her seated position as Anju smiled in response. “Sona, this is Anju, my ex.”
The expression on Anju’s face mirrored my mother’s. Surprise, shock, disbelief, and uncertainty all rolled into one.
Anju gathered herself. “It’s nice to meet you.” Then, holding us both in an uncharacteristically warm gaze, she added, “I wish you both the best. Have a nice dinner, Aunty.”
She gave Mom another quick hug and, with one final look at me, glided away toward her date, who smiled at her. He looked smitten, and I was happy for her.
“See, baby, I told you,” Sona whispered. “Honey, not acid.”
I clasped her hand under the table as Mom’s gaze lingered over me with a thousand questions.
“Not now, Mom,” I said, and she nodded.
I had expected Mom to pick up the subject the moment we were in the car on our way back home. But she didn’t. Contrary to her upbeat demeanor all evening, when I glanced at her in the rearview mirror, I spotted a distinct sadness on her visage. Then an unsuspecting tear rolled down her cheek and she swiped it away quickly, just as Dad wrapped his arm around her.
“Is everything alright, Mom?” I asked, locking my gaze with her in the rearview mirror for one tiny second.
“Oh yes,” she said as I watched them both sit upright with bright smiles on their faces. “Thank you for today. Sona, I must thank you too. It was a perfect evening.”
The next month, I flew out to see Sona. Spending a freezing February weekend in New York wasn’t my idea of romantic, but here I was, in her cozy Park Slope-adjacent apartment.
With one arm under my head and the other stretched out for her, I lay in bed naked, as we always ended up. Her curls covered my arms, and her eyes closed as a smile danced on her lips. When I pulled her leg over mine, she opened her eyes and turned to her side to face me.
“That was the best gift anyone has ever received for acing an interview,” she said with a giggle.
“Wait till you get the job. I’ll make you the happiest woman on Earth.”
She’d been shortlisted for the campus interview in Houston, and we were celebrating in our own style.
“I’ve been looking into opening a branch in Houston, but it’s on the DL right now. I don’t want my New York investors spooked.”
“And if I get the job?” she asked, sitting up.
“Then I’ll set up in Houston and send Alex to head the Manhattan office. He’s more than ready to make the move.”
She placed an icy hand on my cheek as I sat up and closed my knees around hers.
“Nervous?” I asked.
“A bit. It’s happening too fast. We’ve been together for only a few months.”
“As I see it, I’m not twenty-five anymore. I know who I am, what I want, and where I want to go from here.”
She nodded as I rubbed her palms between mine to warm them.
“Alright, no pressing the panic button now. This isn’t how I imagined doing it, but I’m doing it right now.”
She brought her hands to her mouth, her eyes bulging in disbelief. “No!”
“Yup, it’s happening, babe.”
She dropped her face in her palms.
“Marry me, Sona.”
“No, no, no!” She looked up from between her fingers, the same way she watched horror movies.
“No?” I frowned.
“I mean, this is stupid.”
“I don’t get it. Is that a no?”
She finally removed the hands shielding her face. “I want you to meet my parents first.”
“Alright, but is that a yes or a no?”
“A provisional yes.”
“Contingent on your parents’ approval?”
“Not approval, but I want them to fall in love with you for who you are, not who you will be.”
“Their son-in-law?”
She nodded.
“Uh, that sounds complicated.” I lay back on the bed as she crossed her legs and sat upright.
“They’ve always supported me, and I want them to be a part of this decision.”
“May I venture a wild guess here?” I asked.
She clutched her hands and returned a silent nod.
“They didn’t meet Ajay until you’d already declared you were marrying him, and after it was over, they confessed they felt something was off about him, but they didn’t want to sour your relationship. And now, you want to make sure your decision aligns with their parental instincts.”
When her jaw dropped, I closed it with my finger. “Yeah, I am that smart. Well, let’s get it done then. When can I meet them?”
“This summer? I’ll be in India for my fieldwork. Can you visit then?”
“Done. I’ll put it on my calendar and have my agent book the tickets the moment I return to Dallas.”
“And Mihir, that was most certainly a yes,” she said and leapt into my arms to kiss me.
Later that evening, while we waited for the pizza, she showed me her baby pictures. “I’ve digitized all my pictures. My family calls me kabaadi because I collect all kinds of scraps—pictures of long-gone relatives, diaries, journals, and newspaper clippings. A good scholar knows the best place to find women’s histories is in private spaces and personal relationships. Look, here’s another one.”
“You’re very cute, although I can hardly see your eyes with that massive amount of kajal in them.”
“Hey, don’t tease.” She nudged me with her elbow. “All kids had kajal smeared in their eyes and a big, black dot on the side of the forehead to protect from the evil eye.”
“I don’t remember kajal in mine.”
“Where are your baby pictures?”
“In a box, tucked safely inside Mom’s closet.”
“So you don’t have a single one you can show me right now?”
“Why? Are you curious to see how our baby would look like, if we decide to have one?” I teased quite innocuously, but she blushed.
“No,” she said, and hit my chest.
“Oh! That was the reason you wanted to see my pictures!” I heckled her further. “In that case, I promise to send you some when I’m back.”
The next weekend, I went over to my parents’ house. I didn’t tell Mom I was coming to get my pictures because I didn’t want her to go through her massive closet alone. Instead, I invited myself over for dinner, which made her incredibly happy.
After catching them up on the latest in my life, sans the unplanned proposal, I said, “Actually, that’s why I’m here today. Sona wants to see my baby pictures. Do you still store them in that huge closet next your bedroom?”
They both shifted in their chairs and exchanged tensed looks.
“Yes, but it’s a mess in there,” Mom said. “I’ll pull them out for you during the week. You won’t find anything in there right now.” She glanced at Dad, and I caught her clenching her fist.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, looking between them. “Why are you both tensed? Have you thrown away my pictures?” I chuckled. They didn’t.
“Of course not, beta,” Mom replied before excusing herself with haste and shuffling off to the kitchen.
“I think the closet is a mess,” Dad explained when Mom was out of sight. “Maybe I should help her sort it out.”
“I can help,” I said, sipping the scotch in my hand.
“No, that’s alright. I know you’re busy.”
“What are you two hiding from me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
He threw his head back in an uncharacteristically loud laugh, rife with nervousness. “When have we ever hidden anything from you, son?”
That was true. They’d never intentionally hidden anything from me. At least, until now.
When I’d arrived, I’d been excited about seeing my old pictures again. I hadn’t seen them since middle school. I wasn’t particularly sentimental, and neither were my parents. I hadn’t known them to languish in nostalgia. They were logical, practical, forward-looking. Perhaps that’s why I was too. Now, I was intrigued. What could be the reason behind their furtive glances and disconcerted looks? And Mom’s clenched fist?
“I think I’ll stay over tonight,” I declared after dinner. “I’ve had a little too much to drink.”
It wasn’t unusual for me to stay over, and usually, Mom was ecstatic, but her response that evening was lukewarm. “Make sure you change the bedsheets,” she said before retiring to their bedroom.
When I went upstairs to my room, I pulled out a set of fresh linens from the closet and called Sona, telling her about my parents’ shifty behavior while I changed the sheets.
“What was all that about?” she asked when we switched to video call. She was in bed with her curls spread out on the pillow. I looked at her soft, pillowy lips, naked without the usual lipstick, and reached out to touch the screen.
“Maybe you’re reading too much into it,” she said.
“I’ve never seen them behave this strangely. And there’s something I haven’t told you.” I propped my head up with an arm underneath it. “When we were driving back from their anniversary dinner, I saw something. It was fleeting but unmistakable.”
I told her how I had spotted a desolate look on Mom’s face, and Dad put a reassuring hand around her. “What do you think?” I asked.
“I don’t know, love. But if something’s upsetting them, you should ask them about it. Maybe you can do something to ease it?”
“You’re right. I’ll ask them over breakfast tomorrow.”
“Yes, but be gentle. Don’t push them. Use soft words instead of employing your usual iron-handed approach.”
I smiled. “Wish you were here with me. I bet you could get them talking in no time.”
She smiled back. “I’m glad you trust me that way.”
“I trust you in every way, babe. I can’t wait for summer when I finally meet your parents and ask for your hand in marriage.”
She grimaced. “You’re not asking my parents for my hand. I’m not their property, and neither will I be yours. I certainly want you to seek their blessings, but I’ve already given you my answer.”
“A provisional answer, may I remind you,” I teased.
“Yeah, we’ll see how well you do in India,” she teased back with a smile. “That will determine your destiny, Mr. Seth.”
“My destiny is linked with you, Sona. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”
“Alright, let me know how it goes tomorrow morning.”
My parents were at the kitchen table with their tea when I went downstairs the next morning. I was about to approach them when I overheard something that compelled me to stop and eavesdrop.
“Is the letter with those photos?” Dad’s hushed voice carried clearly in the quiet home.
“Yes,” came Mom’s reply, accompanied by a sigh. “I didn’t know where else to store it. I thought I’d tell him when my end was near.”
“I will help you pick out some photos for him. That will pacify him for the moment. There’s no reason to worry.”
“I told you we should have destroyed it.” Mom’s voice was a tad louder.
“We can’t, my love,” Dad said in his usual calm manner. “It’s his heritage. He has a right to know. It’s our fault we haven’t told him yet.”
“Not our, Arvind. It was my decision. I won’t let you take the blame for it. I won’t let anyone else blame you either.”
“No one blames you, my dear. I don’t blame you.” I imagined Dad holding Mom’s hand as I stood shielded by the wall.
“I’m still terrified. I know it’s been years, and he’s a grown man, but I am still afraid of losing his love. It will kill me for sure.”
“Don’t say such things,” Dad pleaded. “We have raised him well. He is kind and sensible. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Against the clink of the teacups, I stood deliberating if I should let them in on the knowledge that I had heard everything and demand that they come clean. Or probe more into this mysterious letter they mentioned? My best guess was that they had done something in the past. Something so egregious, they couldn’t tell me. That’s why they wrote it in a letter and tucked it away for posterity. They’d often said they were wild in their youth. Maybe they’d broken the law in some way. Had they harmed someone? Or murdered? I refused to believe that, but then, I hadn’t expected this conversation either.
If they knew I’d overheard, they might hide the letter again—or worse—destroy it. I decided to sneak back in at a later time when they weren’t home and find the letter.
That morning over breakfast, I played the loving, unsuspecting son and said to Mom, “It occurred to me that instead of sending the pictures to Sona, it would be more fun to take them with me when I visit her next. So I don’t need them urgently. I’ll come back another time.”
A visible wave of relief washed over her face.
“Alright.” She nodded. “How is Sona? Have you two made any decisions yet?”
Dad’s body seemed to relax at this change in our conversation. I looked at them and realized there was nothing these two could do that would make me love them less. Even if they had murdered someone in cold blood, my love for them wouldn’t diminish in the least. I smiled at them and leaned back in my chair. “There is something.”
Their smiles widened when they saw the grin on my face.
Mom put her hand over mine. “Looks like good news. Tell us quickly.”
“When I was there last weekend, I asked Sona to marry me,” I said. “I wasn’t planning on it, but the moment felt right.”
“Ah, that’s great news!” Dad said.
Mom didn’t speak. She put her hand over her chest and tried to check her tears of joy. “Did she agree?”
“It’s a contingent yes.”
“Contingent on what?”
I pulled a sip of my coffee. “She wants me to meet her parents.”
“Do you want us to talk to them?” Mom asked. “We can plan a formal proposal to the family if they want that sort of thing.”
“No, Mom. She wants her parents to fall in love with me without pressure from her. She wants to introduce me as a potential partner, not present me as her fiancé.”
Mom nodded. “I’m sure they will love you,” she said with a smile that exuded motherly pride.
“Of course, you’d say that, Mom. I’m your son, your blind spot.” I didn’t miss the shifty glance they exchanged before smiling at me. “So what’s up this week?” I asked. “Do you need anything from me? Any doctor’s appointments I need to know about? I’m looking at you, Dad.”
He laughed. “No, nothing this week. And I am quite capable of making it to my appointments. I might be retired, but I’m still functional.”
I smiled. “And a big baby.”
“That’s true,” Mom said. “He’s the worst patient. But nothing this week, beta. We have a dinner invitation for Friday, but we won’t need you there.”
I nodded. That would be my chance to sneak back in.
“Now, about Anju…” Mom started.
“Years ago, Mom, before her marriage. It didn’t last, as you saw.”
Mom tsked in censure, and Dad crossed his arms, which was his way of signaling disapproval.
“I thought you both knew.” I frowned. “She asked her parents to find her a match who was better than me. That’s what I heard.”
“That can’t be true!” Mom shook her head in denial. She’d always been fond of Anju. “Is that why her marriage fell apart? Because she was in love with you?”
“No, Mathur told me the family was unkind to Anju, too meddling in the kids’ lives,” Dad supplied, and both Mom and I turned our heads to him. I felt a pang of sadness for Anju and a certain thankfulness for Sona, who had prevented me from hurting her further.
Mom straightened. “But I can’t imagine you with anyone other than Sona. Anju stood no chance, even if you hadn’t met Sona.”
I returned Mom’s smile. She knew me. It had been only a few months, but I already couldn’t imagine my life without Sona.