Chapter 4
“Mom, I would really prefer not to talk about my personal life in public. I have my boundaries when it comes to matchmaking and dating, and I don’t want Uncle Parm involved in any of it.
He’s probably already on the phone with all his uncle friends who have single sons,” Manisha said, navigating the busy traffic.
Her driving was a bit more hurried than usual, mirroring the turmoil of her emotions.
“Manisha, he’s a nice man, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Stop driving so fast. You are giving me a headache,” her mother replied.
Manisha gently eased off the gas pedal. To be fair, she hadn’t driven in more than six months, so her footing was a bit off. In London, it was all about the Tube. She and most of her friends didn’t own a car. Client meetings, after-work drinks, and date nights were more convenient via the subway.
“It’s our Indian culture; you know that by now! We see a single person who needs a match, and we send a POS!”
Manisha winced. “Um, you mean SOS, Mom.”
“Just let me finish! We send out a P—SOS, and suddenly, we have all sorts of potential matches showing up at our doorstep,” her mother carried on, unfazed.
“Like Aman Basara?”
“Well, not every option is a winner.”
“I just don’t want an SOS going out when it concerns me,” Manisha said firmly. “I’m sure Uncle Parm is one of the best uncles in the community, but as I said, please stop making me and how single I am the talk of the town. I am being serious.”
Manisha knew her tone was strong, but she needed her mother to hear her.
“I can’t help it if my beautiful daughter is the talk of the town! You saw it with your own eyes. I was just walking through the store, minding my own business and searching for the milk and butter sale, and Uncle Parm started asking me questions about you,” her mother insisted.
“Right, Mom, that’s exactly how I remember it going down. All I’m saying is, if you stopped talking about me being single, people wouldn’t know that I’m single, and I wouldn’t be the talk of the town.”
“Why are you talking so loudly?” Manisha’s mom said, covering her ears. “Now my ears are also aching.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just a lot you’re coming at me with today. First the twenty-thousand-dollar cheque, then Uncle Parm…”
“But Manisha, you returned the cheque, so no problem,” her mother said. “I know the money is like pennies to my successful lawyer daughter,” she continued with a smile. “Senior partner. Va, va.”
Manisha felt her stomach sink. Now’s as good a time as any…
“Well, Mom, about that…Some things happened in London, and it was a lot…too much, some would say. I mean, I’m not so sure I really loved where I was heading anyway…” Manisha trailed off, struggling to find the right words.
Her mother studied her face and then patted her arm. “Okay, chup. You are right. Too much for one morning.”
Initial relief gave way to disappointment. Yes, Manisha had avoided having this conversation with her mother, but now, when she’d finally gathered the courage to bring it up, her mother stopped her.
“Today has been a lot.” She sighed. “Especially with Uncle Parm’s cringeworthy wall of single shame and Rohit Khanna’s atrocious driving.
” Her grip on the steering wheel tightened again as the memory of Rohit’s smug face flashed in her mind.
“Honestly, I can’t understand how a grown man thinks it’s okay to behave like that.
In public, no less, and with such an attitude!
And then he had the audacity to insult my shoes! And my purse!”
Manisha turned another corner, entering their cul-de-sac.
“Chal. Forget him,” her mother said. “We don’t know what is going on with him right now. You know, maybe he was having a bad morning. Anyway, we got everything we needed, and we found a lucky tree!”
“He just had such an attitude. This full-of-yourself ‘don’t you know who I am?’ thing going on. And then as soon as he realized I was Sammy’s sister, suddenly everything shifted. I hate people who act all entitled, and who treat strangers like garbage.”
Manisha slowed as they pulled up to the house.
“Oh va…looks like we have guests,” her mother said, taking in the unfamiliar car parked in their driveway. “I wonder who it could be at this hour.”
“I was really looking forward to a peaceful afternoon,” Manisha grumbled as she parked beside the sleek Jaguar. “What is it with everyone in Baskin and their flashy cars? First, that ridiculous Lamborghini, and now this.”
“What about all your flashy tashy items? Those shoes, the clothes upstairs in your bedroom—you and Rohit might have more in common than you think, Manisha,” her mother remarked as she unbuckled her seatbelt and eyed the Jaguar.
“I can promise you the only thing we had in common was that parking spot we both wanted,” Manisha muttered, realizing she was talking to herself while her mother hurried into the house.
“Sure, no problem, Mom. I’ll handle the groceries and the lemon tree I never asked for.
I’ve got it all under control. Don’t worry about a thing. ”
Manisha entered the house, carefully juggling everything in one go.
She set the bags down in the hallway, slipped off her shoes, and continued through to the kitchen with the tree, which kept swinging its branches and smacking her in the face.
She found her mother busily preparing tea, moving with purpose as Manisha tried to find a spot for the tree without losing any of the precious lemons.
After all, who knew which one was blessed and would bring her the promised good, good, very good luck?
“Manisha, my dear. Come here, beta.” Manisha was taken aback, spinning around to see who was calling her. A lemon walloped her in the head in the process.
“Oh, it’s you, Meena Auntie. I mean, um…I mean, it’s you. Nice to see you,” Manisha said, her voice laced with a hint of annoyance.
“It’s good to see you,” Meena Auntie said warmly. Manisha grumbled, placing the tree aside before stepping forward to hug the older woman. She knew all too well that any good Patel child was expected to do this—if not, her mother would launch into another of her familiar lectures.
Manisha had heard it all before—the expectation to greet every visiting uncle and auntie, no matter the circumstance—be it waking from a deep sleep, cramming for an exam, or handling an important call.
The moment her mother called her name, followed by the dreaded phrase “Come say hi to your uncle and auntie,” she had to abandon everything.
These encounters usually began with a forced greeting, followed by an inescapably long hug.
Then came a relentless stream of questions about her academic performance, favourite subjects, and the inevitable “So, when do you plan to get married?” The only enjoyable visits were from Uncle Ritesh.
He always slipped her a crisp $100 bill, which, thanks to her brother Sammy, she learned was his not-so-subtle way of encouraging her to marry his son in the future.
When she uncovered Uncle Ritesh’s real motive, she firmly decided to reject any further money from him.
Meena Auntie was dressed in a wildly eclectic style today, sporting a long, flowing dark-blue dress and wearing a seemingly endless array of mismatched, chunky bracelets that nearly obscured her henna-adorned arm.
A natural beauty, she had long black hair, freckles that highlighted her nose, and full lips.
Yet to Manisha, Meena Auntie was nothing more than a mysterious woman, perpetually stirring up mischief in Baskin.
As she pulled away, Meena Auntie gripped Manisha’s hand tightly, leading her into the family living room. “Come, sit with me.”
Manisha groaned inwardly. Sitting with Meena Auntie and casually chatting was the last thing she wanted to be doing right now. She’d even rather go another round with Rohit Khanna. She looked around for a diversion. “Oh! Where’s Dad?”
“He’s out in the garden, dear,” Meena Auntie said, gesturing to the window.
“Now, let me take a good look at you first.” She inhaled deeply, her chest rising and falling in a measured rhythm; as she exhaled, her nostrils flared slightly, expelling the air with an almost primal force.
Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, fingers adorned with gaudy gold rings, each positioned with meticulous precision, radiating an aura of control and calm.
Fixating her gaze on Manisha, she stared unflinchingly as if attempting to pierce the very depths of her soul.
The intensity of her stare was unnerving.
Manisha felt a chill creep up her spine, her heart quickening as she wrestled with the weight of that penetrating look.
It was as if the woman were dissecting her thoughts and emotions, leaving Manisha feeling achingly exposed and vulnerable.
The room around them faded away, isolating the two of them in a moment of connection that felt both intimate and deeply unsettling.
“Relax, beta. I’m simply absorbing the beauty that you are, along with the strength, confidence, and resilience you’ve shown in the face of so many challenges recently.” With a gentle motion, she lifted Manisha’s chin, tilting it upward.
“The lemon tree wasn’t that heavy, Meena Auntie,” Manisha said, attempting to shake off the spell Meena Auntie might have on her.
“Hold your head high, my dear. It’s been a difficult few months, but you’ve managed. You understand your truth now.” She leaned in and whispered to Manisha, “Deep down, you’ve always known it.”
Manisha’s eyes widened. Was Meena Auntie really referencing Oliver and everything that had taken place in London? Gently, Meena Auntie pried the cell phone from Manisha’s tight grip. Manisha hadn’t even realized she had been holding it all this time.
“The past is behind you, my dear. It won’t shadow your future,” Meena Auntie reassured her. “And your future is here in Baskin. Do not worry.”