33. Sona
SONA
I retired for the night, trying to fend off the conflicting feelings of want and anger.
Mihir had completely beguiled my parents. My father thought he was god’s gift to the world of business, and I made a face at him every time Appa complimented him. As if his ego needed any more padding. Still, he behaved. He didn’t try to flirt or suggest in any way that we were more than friends. I should’ve been grateful, but that annoyed me too. He was being too decent for a man who had crushed my heart. And that made me miss him more. It was a ridiculous paradox, but then, love is ridiculous. Love sounded good only in fiction, like the sexy book I held in my hand right now. Sliding down my bed, I tried to direct my attention off Mihir and onto the book when a gentle knock on the door roused me.
“Are you up, mōl?” Appa asked from the other side.
“Adhe. Come in, Appa,” I said and sat up.
He entered with a smile. “Reading?”
“Yes.” I quickly slipped the book under the pillow. “Is Aai asleep?”
“Yes, she had a long day.” He sat at the foot of the bed. “I thought we could talk.”
“Sure. We haven’t had a chance to catch up properly. How’s work? Are they planning to extend your appointment?” He was turning sixty in a year, but the company had promised to renew his appointment for another two years.
“I don’t know what the board is thinking, but I’ll be happy either way.”
“I know. You’re the definition of content.”
A humble smile illuminated his gentle visage. “How is America? Tell me about this new job.”
I gave him a quick, bullet-point version. “Tara has promised to help me settle in. I’m glad I’ll be closer to her.”
“Why did you decide to move, mōl? You were happy in New York, weren’t you?”
My mind raced to find plausible excuses as I stared into his face. “I was, but it was time to make a change,” I managed to explain.
“Was this about Ajay?”
“In a way, Appa. But there were other considerations.”
“Is it a better job?”
“Yes, it’s a research university with a much lighter teaching load.”
“Were you looking to change?”
“Why all these questions, Appa?” I cried with exasperation. “I found a better job. I’m happy.”
“Ah, see, that’s where I don’t believe you. You have been telling us how great this new job is, and yet, I don’t see real happiness on your face.”
“It’s just anxiety about the new place and new people.”
My flimsy explanations stood no chance before my astute father. He was too smart to buy the lies I was trying to peddle. “Mihir lives in Texas, doesn’t he?” he asked, cutting to the chase. “Do you like him, mōl?”
When my head dropped low, he moved up to sit with me.
“Tell me about him,” he said, extending his legs on the bed. “He seems to like you, and you’ve spent all day avoiding him.”
So much for trying to hide it from my parents!
I leaned against him, and a tear slipped out as I told him about our relationship in as few words as I could manage.
Appa pulled his arm around me and patted my arm. “And he didn’t give a reason for breaking up?”
“Not a good one. I feel cheated and humiliated.”
“And it forced you to relive your breakup with Ajay?” my considerate father asked.
I found myself fumbling for an answer, but I had never found it easy to lie to my parents. “Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking. With Mihir it was different. There was love and respect on both sides. But he didn’t trust me enough to give me the real reason for distancing himself,” I explained, trying very hard not to burst into tears. That would crush my father.
Appa patted my back, consoling me.
“And you say he proposed marriage to you?” I was surprised he had chosen to latch on to that part of my narrative.
Gathering myself, I nodded. “But I said I’d reserve my yes until he’d met you both.”
“Is he here to reconcile? He has been very nice to us. Is it all for you?”
“No, Appa. He knows we are over. He’s here about something personal, and I’ve agreed to help him. For his parents. They loved me too. They probably still do…”
Appa exhaled.
“And despite everything, Mihir is a decent guy. Whatever he was with you today wasn’t a show. That is the real him. He is smart, caring, and mostly kind. Except his ego is the size of Texas because, unfortunately, he knows how good he is. And it didn’t help that you kept praising him all evening,” I griped.
Appa smiled back warmly. “Look mōl, you are a sensible woman, and your mother and I both trust you. You know that, right?” I nodded. “So whatever decision you make, we will support you.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “Thank you.”
“He’s a good-looking chap, though, I must admit.”
“Are you teasing me?” I demanded with incredulity.
“No, my child,” he said with a soothing grin. “Goodnight.” He placed a tap on my head and left the room.
When I woke up the next morning, my heart felt lighter. Sharing my pain with Appa had worked like a magic pill. It felt like he’d lifted a boulder off my chest and flung it far away. Parents really were heroes with superpowers. At least, some of them were.
I looked at my phone. 9:30 a.m . I jumped out of bed. Mihir was supposed to arrive around ten, and bedhead was the least of my worries. After freshening up, I rushed to the dining room for tea.
“Ah, the princess is up!” Appa smiled from behind his newspaper. Like most people of his generation, he preferred to read his news in print.
“Why are you still home?” I frowned and decided I wanted coffee instead.
“I’m leaving in a bit. I’ve told my office not to expect me while you are here.”
“That does not prevent them from calling at all hours,” Mom chimed in from the kitchen.
I put a pod in the coffee machine and turned it on. The machine whirred with enthusiasm before dispensing a surprisingly fragrant cup with an exquisite foam top.
“What’s for breakfast?” I asked. “Mihir will be here in a bit. Appa, have you sent the car to get him? And we’ll need a car for the day.”
Appa nodded. “I’ve sent Sanjay to get him. He will drive you today. Take the small car. It’ll be easier to navigate the city streets.”
“How do you know where we are going? I don’t even know.” I narrowed my eyes at him as I sipped the coffee and nodded in approval.
“I’m your father,” Appa said dramatically. “I know everything.”
I scoffed at him and teased, “Don’t let Aai hear you say that.”
We both shared a secret chuckle while Aai called from the kitchen, “I heard that!” We laughed harder.
When the doorbell rang, my heart skipped a beat. Stupid heart .
Lata answered the door, and our neighbor walked in. She was in her mid-eighties but still sharp and sprightly. “Sona, how are you?” she asked in Marathi as she walked toward the dining table.
Appa stood promptly and pulled a chair out for her. “Sit here, Aaji,” he said in Hindi. After making her comfortable, he returned to his newspaper.
“I’m well, Aaji. How are you?”
She was regaling us with stories of her multiple grandchildren when the doorbell rang again. This time, I knew it was Mihir and rushed to the door.
“Hey.” He smiled as he stepped inside and slipped off his shoes. He looked more striking this morning, well-rested and healthy. He had put in more effort in his appearance as well. My heart warmed at the thought until he scrutinized my head and frowned. “Wow, you were not kidding about your frizz.”
Then, I grumbled. “And how is it that your mane is still intact? Doesn’t the humidity affect it at all?” I was tempted to touch his hair and see if it felt as soft as it looked.
“What can I say? Good genes and the right hair products.” He beamed with pride. Then suddenly, the grin vanished, like something had sucked it off of his face.
“Everything alright?”
“Yes. Are you ready to hear what I have?”
“Sure, but I’m still in my PJs, so don’t blame me if I’m grumpy.”
“Huh, I hadn’t noticed.”
I responded with an eye roll and led him inside.
“Good morning, sir,” he said to Appa, who looked up at him with a sunny smile.
“Ah, morning. How is your jetlag?”
“My body was jostled up around three, and I stayed up a while. I should’ve taken your advice about the sleep-aid.”
Aai walked out of the kitchen. “Good morning, beta. Did you have breakfast?”
“Yes, Mrs. Thomas. The hotel had a morning spread.” Then his eyes fell on Aaji, who was gazing at him with extreme curiosity.
“This is our next-door neighbor. Her family is visiting relatives, so Aai invites her over,” I told Mihir. “You can call her Aaji, Marathi for grandmother.”
“Aaji, ha Mihir. Mazha mitra. Amerikehoon aalay.” This is my friend, Mihir. He’s visiting from America , I introduced him in Marathi.
While she sat spellbound at his beauty, Mihir brought his palms together and bowed slightly. “Namaste, Aaji.”
That raised him to the status of a demigod in her eyes—and my mother’s—who stood awestruck.
“Agdi rajkumarasarkha disto ga!” Aaji swooned to Aai.
Aai smiled and said, “Ho na, kharach!”
Aaji kept her admiring gaze locked on him as he continued to smile back with love.
“Ugh, let’s go inside,” I mumbled. “Too many people swooning over you,”
He gave me an amused look, then followed me, but not before gesturing namaste again to Aaji. She was about as impressed as I was annoyed.
“Appa, we’re using your study. Hope you don’t mind.” I didn’t wait for his response before stepping inside.
Mihir strode along and whispered, “Are you jealous of all the attention I’m getting?”
“Please!” I huffed. “Do you even know what they were saying about you?”
“No, but judging from those bright smiles, I assume it’s something good.”
He took a seat on the small sofa in the study while I slid into Appa’s chair. “Aaji thinks you look like a prince, and Aai wholeheartedly agrees.”
“Really?” He sat upright with a bright look.
“And Aaji would know,” I added with a smile. “She was the princess of Sangli.”
Mihir’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Yes, her husband was a Sardar. They were the landed aristocracy. She would know all about princes,” I teased as Mihir soaked it all up with glee.
“Her son is a technocrat, though,” I added. “He’s the CTO of a software company here.”
“Fascinating!” Mihir blinked his eyes in thought.
“Enough of that. Tell me what you have. Where are we going today?”
His jaw squared as his eyes turned harsh. A thick vein emerged on his forehead as he pulled up an address on his phone and showed it to me.
“That’s Dadar, not too far from here,” I said. “Who are we looking for?”
“His name is Jayant Kamte. He knew my parents.”
I nodded, debating if I should be nosy and ask for more details.
“I need some information from him,” he said upon reading my face.
“Give me a few minutes to get ready. You can sit here or go back out to be swooned over.”
Back in my room, I took a quick shower and used a curl tamer to calm down the frizz. I swiped my signature day color over my lips and wrapped a stole around my neck to compliment the short Indian top I wore over jeans.
A happy crowd was gathered around the dining table when I returned. Mihir nursed a mug of coffee, a genuine smile on his face while Appa chatted on. Aaji ate breakfast, her eyes still glossy from admiring Mihir, and Aai sat looking at Appa with unmistakable love in her eyes.
“I’m ready,” I said, and everyone gave me dirty looks like I was raining on their joy.
“What about your breakfast?” Aai said.
“I’ll grab something on the way back,” I said to her, then looked at Mihir. “Come on, get up.” I gestured with my hands.
“Don’t be rude,” Aai rebuked.
“I’m sorry. Shall we, Your Royal Highness?” I looked at Aai. “Is that better?”
Mihir and Aai shared a smile before I groused and led him out. While our driver, Sanjay, drove us through the morning traffic to Dadar, I inquired about his parents.
“They are well,” was all he offered me.
I hadn’t spoken or texted with Sneha aunty after he had warned me to stay away. I often wondered if I’d given up on a friendship that would have brought me joy.
Then curiosity got the better of me. He was here with a cryptic clue, asking for my help, and I decided to be nosy. “Did you find out what they were hiding from you?”
He looked straight ahead. “Yes.”
“Is this person related to that?”
“Yes,” he said softly.
Since he wasn’t forthcoming, I chatted with Sanjay. He was only a few years older and had been with us since I was in high school. I inquired about his family, his parents, and his children, until the car turned around a corner, and Sanjay said in Marathi, “It looks like this is the building.”
“We are here,” I said to Mihir and got out of the car. Mihir followed me while Sanjay maneuvered the vehicle into a tight parking spot on the street. Walking into the building compound, we saw a resident list near the elevators.
“These numbers look different,” I said. “Your address says A-312. There is no A-312 in the building, and there’s no Kamte on this list either.”
I remembered the tea stall I saw outside. “Come,” I said to Mihir and walked toward it.
“Is this the only Prashant Building around here?” I asked the stall owner in Marathi.
“Yes. Who are you looking for?”
“Kamte. Jayant Kamte. There’s no one listed by that name here. Do you know them?”
“That building was demolished and rebuilt about ten years ago. Many people moved away. Some moved back in.”
“Who are you looking for?” an elderly man sitting on a bench by the stall asked me.
I turned to him. “Jayant Kamte. Do you know him?”
He shifted on the rickety wood and nodded. “Yes, he lived here, but he died some years ago.”
I glanced at Mihir, who looked back with hopeful eyes. “Does he know him?”
“He says Kamte passed away some time ago.”
Mihir’s face deflated fast, and he slumped to the bench beside the elderly gentleman.
“But I think his daughter lives here,” the man said to me.
“Yes?”
“I don’t remember her married name. Let me ask.”
He yelled over to a small “provision” store across the narrow alley. “Hey, do you know Kamte’s daughter? She lives here, right?”
“Yes,” the shopkeeper yelled back. “Trying to recollect her name. Sonale? Sonavane?”
I nudged Mihir as he looked at me and sat upright. “We might have something,” I whispered. His body perked up, and he stood quickly.
“Yes, yes, Malati Sonavane,” the elderly man said. “Kamte was such a good soul. His daughter is very nice too, like her father.”
“Thank you very much! It really means a lot to us,” I said with a deferential smile.
We went back to the elevators and looked at the list again. This time, we found Sonavane on the fifth floor. We rode the elevator up and rang the bell. A busy-looking woman around my age answered the door and inspected us through an iron grill.
“Yes? Who do you want?” she said in Hindi.
“Are you Malati Sonavane?” I asked in Marathi.
“Yes.” She let her guard down and opened the door a little more.
“My name is Sona, and this is Mihir Seth. His parents knew your father, and he has some questions.”
“My father? He’s been gone six years.”
“Yes, we just learned.”
She regarded us for a few seconds, then unlocked the grill. “Come in.”
We entered a cramped but neatly kept living room while she hurried inside and returned with water.
“We’re alright, thank you,” I said, and she put the tray on the coffee table between us.
“What did you say your name was?” she asked Mihir in Marathi.
“Mihir Seth,” I replied. “He doesn’t speak Marathi, but he understands Hindi.”
“Seth…” she said with a frown and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel.
“Your father knew my mother,” Mihir said in his gently accented Hindi. “I wondered if he had more information.”
It took me a minute to process the incongruity of the statement. His mother? I stole a glance at him. His mother ? Did she have an affair with this woman’s father? Is that what he discovered that day?
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Malati said. “My father is gone, but I know that name. Are you a doctor?” she asked him.
“No, my father is a doctor.”
“Oh!” She sat upright as if something had clicked. “Maybe they worked together. My father knew a lot of doctors.”
“Yes, they did before he moved to the U.S.,” Mihir said.
Meanwhile, I tried hard to rein in the wild flights of my imagination.
“What information do you need?” Malati asked him.
Mihir’s gaze darted to me. There was something raw and panicked in his gaze.
“Do you want me to step outside?” I asked him softly.
“No,” he said, holding my wrist. Despite the solemn setting in the room, his touch felt good. It felt familiar and right, but he promptly removed his hand and turned to Malati.
“He helped my mother a long time ago. I want to know who she is.”
Who she is? Now I was completely perplexed.
Malati was too. “I don’t understand. You don’t know who your mother is?”
“No…”
Huh?
“But your father, he, uh, I thought he might have some information about her.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to help you. I wish you had come a few years ago.”
Mihir’s tall body deflated again. “Thank you for everything,” he said in English and rose. I stood as well.
I thanked Malati for her kindness and hospitality and for opening her door to two strangers. Then, on impulse and driven by old habits, I pulled out my visiting card and wrote my Indian cell phone number on the back. “Here’s my card. Can you please call me if you remember anything?”
She nodded.
“Did he keep a diary, a journal, or notes of any sort?” I asked from the experience of having conducted several interviews over the years.
She pulled back with a frown. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, thank you. And please call me if you think of anything.”
While Sanjay brought the car around, Mihir and I stood in silence. There were so many unanswered questions between us, but he seemed disturbed, and I decided not to pry.
“Can you drop me off at the hotel?” he said when we started our ride back home.
“Yes,” I said and instructed Sanjay.
“Thank you for everything, Sona,” he whispered and slipped his hand in mine.
I quickly wrapped my fingers around his palm and gave a squeeze. “I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for.”
I waited for him to trust me, confide in me, but he still refused to let me near his pain.
He glanced away. “I’ll probably leave in a day or two. I have nothing else left to do here now.”
With a sinking heart, I withdrew my hand promptly. “Yes.”
“Your mom mentioned you’re moving to Houston. Congratulations.”
If I weren’t so absolutely furious and hurt, I might have been swayed by the forlorn look in his eyes.
“I’m not celebrating,” I said, deliberately avoiding his gaze.
“I’m very proud of you, nonetheless.”
“It’s irrelevant now.” I threw him a glance and then looked out the window. “And meaningless.”