A Good Indian Wife: A Novel (33 page)

He hadn’t, but someone must have seen them entering the cinema, because Appa came to get her even before the interval.

They didn’t speak the whole way home. Amma met them at the gate and immediately took Leila to her room.

“So you went to your friend Saranjeet’s house today? Such lies from my own daughter. No more college for you from now on. You are not to be trusted. Shaming our whole family. Stay here and don’t move until I tell you.”

For two weeks Leila lay in bed, her only companion an irate Amma. Indy wasn’t allowed to comfort her. “I will not have you spoiling your sister,” Amma shouted. “A Muslim boy. You want to be seen with a Muslim boy? Did you know that they can have three-four wives? His sister Yasmin is now the third wife to an old man. Is that what you want in your life?”

Each day was the same. Amma lectured and Leila listened through her tears. Her repeated sobs—“I’m sorry, Amma, I won’t do it again”—weren’t acknowledged. It was as if her tears had baptized her and she went from being the girl who always challenged Amma (“Why can’t I cut my hair? I cut one inch yesterday and you didn’t notice.”) to being just another daughter squashed under her parents’ will. Amma was unstoppable. Leila was too old to be beaten, so Amma used her only weapon: words. And when she left the room, the door was locked so Leila could not escape. When Amma returned, the berating started again as if nothing had been said earlier.

There was no need for Leila to finish college. A proposal had just come from a farmer, an older man who wouldn’t care if he heard about Leila’s shameless behavior. Appa was checking into it. By next month, Leila would be married. No more going out with a Muslim boy. Letting the whole world know by seeing a film together. What kind of daughter had she raised? And this Muslim boy? Did Leila think he really liked her? Hah! He was already seeing another girl. Saving her a place on the bus.

All this time Leila had been comforting herself with the thought that Janni, too, was suffering. That he was looking for her on the bus. Maybe standing around the college gate hoping to pass a note. Now Amma even took Janni away from her. Leila felt she had nothing to live for. How long could she listen? How long did Amma expect her to pay for this? She didn’t want to marry an old farmer.

Now, almost half a lifetime later, Leila allowed herself to open up—fully—to that evening when the crows cawed so frantically, as if they sensed the approaching change and had to hurry to the safety of their nests. They gnawed at the calm of the evening, black sounds for a black event.

She emptied the bottle of pills, each white pellet innocent until massed together and swallowed with a glass of tap water. Her last thought was that Amma would be relieved, one less daughter to marry, Leila’s bad behavior burned along with her body.

Afterwards, Indy told her how she had come into the room and tried to wake Leila for dinner. Then she screamed for Amma and Appa. The hushed, rushed taxi ride to the hospital, the extra money given to the driver so he would forget what he had seen.

Trying to get to the other side, Leila knew none of this.

Her hearing was the first of her senses to return to life. Voices, sobs, silence. A voice again, and this time she recognized it as Amma’s. “My oldest child, my first baby. I could not have lived if she had died.” Another voice, also broken. Indy. “Amma, she is going to be okay.” Amma again, “We must go to the Temple tomorrow. I shall to scrub the floor in thanks.”

A door whined as it was pushed ajar. A light was switched on and Leila opened her eyes. A nurse bent down, wagging her index finger in Leila’s face. “Next time you better not eat chicken. See, eating flesh can be very dangerous.” In a flash Leila knew what had happened. She had not succeeded and someone, Appa, probably, was telling people the suicide attempt had been food poisoning.

The old farmer was forgotten. They sent her away to Appa’s village with Indy, two weeks during which Indy kept her sister in constant sight, afraid she might try something again. Leila had been tempted. But every time she wanted to throw herself in the river, she thought of Amma’s words. “My oldest child, my first baby. I could not have lived if she had died.”

When the rejections started coming, the incident was not brought up. But in the back of everyone’s mind was the fear that people knew about Janni, that the suicide attempt had leaked out of the hospital. Had the gossip been started by the questioning nurse who knew it wasn’t food poisoning? Perhaps Appa’s insistence that his cousin be the doctor alerted suspicious minds. Was that why the men kept saying no? Were they afraid that Leila was unstable? Or did they think she had compromised her virtue and was too cheap for them?

Leila held the phone tight against her ear and stared at the dishwasher. Janni had wanted to be a mechanic and own his own TV shop. She would never see him again, the man who had bought her a movie ticket and made her think of passages in Mills & Boon books.

“How did he die?”

“A motorcycle accident.”

Leila touched her mangalsutra and asked, “Was he married?”

“Yes, he had two children.”

Leila didn’t want to know any more.

She herself had died so many deaths over Janni. It had changed her whole life. Amma had made sure she paid for her mistake. Just like the time she caught Leila turning down the waistband of her skirt so the hem would hang above the knee, the way other girls wore it. But Victorian, thrifty Amma wanted the skirt to look decent and last a long time. Then, too, she had stamped Leila down, insisting on checking her skirt every morning. Though Leila wore skirts and pants now, Amma would say it was okay because of Neel. He was the do-no-wrong son-in-law. But compared to Neel’s dalliance, her brief tryst with Janni was so innocent.

“Poor children,” Leila said, looking down at her stomach.

“Death comes in threes,” Indy reminded her, but Leila didn’t want to talk of Janni and dying anymore.

Babies also came in threes; she, Indy, Kila. Maybe the one she was carrying was the first of a trio.

NEEL RETURNED ON FRIDAY NIGHT
wearing Tattappa’s watch. The timepiece had yellowed with age and the thin, brown leather strap was tight around his wrist. Leila noticed it immediately but didn’t say anything. She was happy to see him, happy to set the table with the meal she had prepared.

She had spent the whole evening making the dinner, excited that Neel was coming home. She had counted the days of his absence in terms of meals eaten alone. Four more breakfasts without Neel, three more dinners alone, until the final, solitary lunch today.

First she cleaned the whole condo, including the windows and the floors. Leila did not like the long-handled American mops, and squatted on the kitchen linoleum like Heera, using a cloth to swab it. She scrubbed the bathroom sink till it sparkled, thinking that soon Neel’s toothbrush would be back in its place.

Only when everything was ready did she take a shower, lingering under the hot water. She had called the airline and timed everything down to the minute. Half an hour for Neel to get through Customs and another half hour to get a taxi home, where she would be waiting.

She had been saving the sample of perfume for months, hoping for just such an opportunity. She wanted to smell like America for Neel. She hoped he would like her new outfit. The yellow top enriched her own coloring and the slim cut of the jeans suited her. It still thrilled her that her legs were not wrapped into one by a saree. She had thought nothing of baring her midriff the first time she wore a saree, but had felt almost naked that day in Macy’s when her legs stood apart like the metal divider in Kila’s geometry box.

Neel had lost weight in the last week and there were new lines on his face. His words sounded gruff, interrupted by long spells of coughing. He was hungry, and Leila watched as he served himself some more rosemary risotto. She was used to thinking of rosemary as the herb of remembrance in
Hamlet
or a girl’s name, not something used in cooking. The recipe for the courgettes and bottleneck squash called for just salt and pepper, but she had sprinkled on a little cayenne. It pleased her that she was beginning to experiment with American recipes. She had done the same with the green salad, adding the sharp-tasting baby bok choy to the bland butter lettuce.

That night, Neel walked into the bathroom as Leila brushed her teeth. Since his departure for India she had gotten used to leaving the door open and now felt shy to be doing something so personal in front of him. But he didn’t seem to notice and began squeezing paste onto his brush. Their eyes met in the mirror, two bodies side by side, sharing a sink. And so much more, Leila thought happily.

Leila felt conspicuously different in her new nightie and fragrant Joy perfume. She watched as Neel switched off the lights and came to bed.

He sneezed and she asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m just bushed.” He yawned, then sneezed again. “The dinner was great, Leila. Maybe a good night’s sleep will help my cold.”

“Good night,” Leila said. She wished he had not come back so tired and sick. She rolled over to be closer to him, but by the time she touched his hand, he was already snoring. She started to pull her fingers away, but his tightened. Leila smiled. Even in his sleep he was holding her. She was still smiling when she fell asleep.

The next day, his cold had gotten worse. His eyes and nose were red. Leila made the special tea Amma always brewed when they got sore throats and coughs. She boiled equal parts of milk and water and then spooned in the black tea leaves along with cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and sugar. She let it steep for a few minutes and then poured Neel a cup.

She wanted him to get well quickly. He had turned off his pager. It was to be just the two of them spending the weekend together before he returned to work Monday morning.

“I’m feeling a little better,” Neel thanked her after breakfast. “I’d like to get out, do something. Is there anything you need? I’ve been gone a while.”

“I have to go to the Indian store,” Leila said, pleased but hesitant. She wanted Indian almonds. She knew Neel preferred the health food store, which carried many of the same ingredients. He still talked about seeing a mouse in the corner of the Indian one and how the owner had very nonchalantly said, “Oh, they’re back again.”

“The Indian store is too far away,” Neel said immediately. He had just returned from the heat and overpowering odors of India and didn’t want to be immersed in them again.

“Shanti says there’s a new one just ten minutes from here.” Leila jumped at her chance. “She brought me some jalebis from there.”

They even found parking right outside the store, which Neel proclaimed a miracle. Leila simply thought it fit the day. Everything was turning out wonderfully.

They walked down aisles of freshly ground spices and products brought especially from India. Vajradanti toothpowder, Horlicks, incense. It was so reminiscent of the shops she used to frequent with Amma that Leila felt she might run into a former classmate at any moment. She wished she would. Then she could say casually, “Hello. This is my husband Neel.” The word wasn’t just a label anymore.

Neel walked alongside as she filled the blue basket with lentils and spices. With nothing else to do, he began to read the names. Garam masala. Ajwain. Panch poran. The array of pickles sent him back to college days when all the boys brought back bottles of lemon, mango, chili, bitter gourd, even meat and fish pickle. One of the doctors at the hospital who had spent a year in Bombay joked, “If you stand still long enough in India they’ll pickle you.” Neel had laughed, but pickles supplemented the meager diet of dorm food and he had even spread the spicy mixture on bread. A hot mango pickle sandwich was a popular midnight snack, with boys competing to eat the spiciest one, bragging that this was the way to become a real man and put hair on one’s chest.

“Shall we get some whole mango pickle?” He suddenly wanted to taste his memory.

It was his chosen bottle, knocking around the other necessities, that made Leila say as she reached for the almonds, “It’s for the baby.”

“As long as I don’t have to,” Neel responded.

“Do you think the baby could be allergic to them, too?” she worried immediately.

“I doubt that. Eat whatever you want. Is there anything else you crave? Some other type of pickle?”

“Vadu manga is fine.” She pointed to the tiny mangoes floating in the red chili sauce. “When I was small I used to frighten my friends by saying it was like a shrunken head, only it was a shrunken mango.”

The woman who rang up their purchases was in a chatty mood. She spoke with the customer just ahead of them for such a long time Leila was afraid Neel would want to leave without the groceries.

“You handle it,” Neel whispered. “My Hindi isn’t very good anyway.”

So Leila took care of the transaction, while Neel waited by the door.

“She’s the owner,” Leila shared the information.

“Really? She had better bone up on English if she wants to make a success of her store.”

“I think she’s already a success. Imagine running a store in a foreign country.” The woman was so different from Anu, who was intimidated by her husband and her new country. Leila admired the woman’s ability to take on such a large and confusing endeavor.

When they got home, the phone was ringing. Thinking it might be India, Leila grabbed it before Neel could free his hands.

“Hello?” There was no response and she said again, louder, “Hello?” A buzzing replaced the silence and Leila said, “I don’t think it was India. Someone just hung up. It happened yesterday also.”

“Wrong number, I guess,” Neel said casually.

FIVE MILES AWAY
, Caroline lit a cigarette. She’d taken up smoking in the past week, back to the one-packet-a-day habit she had given up since moving out west. It gave her something to do as she worried about Neel, their future, his odd behavior, and now his silence. He hadn’t even told her about his grandfather’s death. It was also from the hospital grapevine that she learned he was coming back to work on Monday. Hoping he might return early, she had called his pager. When she realized he must have turned it off, she called the house all morning. Each time the wife—soon to be ex-wife—answered.

Neel
had
to call her. There was so much to discuss. Maybe they could fly up to Sonoma to celebrate. She stubbed out the cigarette and reached for another one. Her fingers trembled. She hadn’t eaten all day and it was mid-afternoon. If only she knew where Neel was. Was he home? On his way to see her? In case he was, she showered. She didn’t want him to see her fat-faced again, like the other time he had returned from India and she cried so much they had to put his shirt in the dryer.

She came out of the bathroom, clean and smokeless, and immediately noticed the blinking green light on the answering machine. One call. Hope cranking up her heartbeats, she played it. It was Neel: “Caroline, it’s Neel. I’ll try and call you later. Don’t call me.” He was home. He wanted to talk to her! Sure that he would call before the night was over, she kept the phone beside her.

Neel bided his time, waiting for an opportunity to phone Caroline again. He didn’t want her calling here again. Leila might begin to suspect that the hang-ups were Caroline clicking off because he hadn’t answered the phone. He was quiet during dinner, allowing Leila to believe his cold was the reason. He ate quickly, eyeing his watch, hoping Caroline was not getting impatient. Leila chattered on, and he nodded to the tone of her voice, not the words. He was busy conducting his next conversation with Caroline.

“Wonderful quesadilla.” Neel pushed away his empty plate. “You’re becoming a real gourmet cook, galloping through all the Western countries. But you will make Indian food occasionally, right?”

“I thought you might like a change after being in India. Indian food tomorrow,” she promised.

“Great. Listen, do you mind if I leave you to do the dishes? I need to make some calls to get ready for Monday. I left in such a hurry.” This was going to be his last Caroline-inspired lie.

He sat down at the desk, reluctant to pick up the phone. If only he could put the entire episode, especially the last incident, to sleep. Close off that furtive part of his life so he could start dealing with the instant family in the other room. He hoped Caroline would take it well, that she would not create additional problems. Did she really think he would stay with her after she had told Leila everything?

He stared at the black phone and realized, through the throbbing of his temples, that he couldn’t remember her number. It had been a while since he had called her and he had long erased her name from the auto menu. If only the pounding would go away. The cold had accosted his head and made thinking clearly difficult.

He dialed slowly, then with greater sureness as his memory returned.

Caroline answered on the first ring, as if she had been sitting there, waiting for his call.

“Neel, sweetie, you’re back. I’m so sorry to hear about your grandfather.”

“Thanks. You called earlier today, didn’t you?” This was how he had planned to launch into the breakup. Put her on the defensive.

Caroline hesitated briefly. “Yes. I hung up.”

“I told you never to call here.” Neel considered bringing up that other call to Leila, but decided it would take too long. He wanted to do this as quickly as possible.

“But sweetie, I wanted to talk to you. I didn’t know when you’d be back.” She couldn’t keep the reproach out of her voice.

“Monday. Didn’t they tell you at the hospital?”

“They did, but I was talking about us.”

There was a pause, and Caroline held the receiver tightly, her heart surging in loud, erratic thumps. Please, please, let him say he is coming over right now.

Neel was just about to start talking when she said, “Sweetie, I haven’t seen you since my brother…I haven’t had a chance to tell you. I was so angry that I kicked him out. I told him that I didn’t like the way he treated you and if he couldn’t be nice to you, the man I love, I didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Ever.”

Her words penetrated the miasma surrounding his brain and found that small vice of vanity he had thought was buried. For one glorious second his head cleared and he felt vindicated, victorious. She had chosen him.

Then his senses righted themselves and he realized that this was too much, too late. Indeed, it was something he had never really wanted from her. “You shouldn’t have. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I had to. He got the whole family involved so now I’ve cut them out of my life. I only want to be with you.”

This was what he had wanted to hear from Savannah. Instead, she had ended things the day after he flew to see her. It still puzzled Neel that she hadn’t broken up with him at Stanford. Why had she made him spend money on a plane ticket and a hotel room?

“Neel, when can I see you? We have so much to talk about.”

He was pondering how exactly to answer when she suggested, “Tomorrow?”

Tomorrow was Sunday. He hadn’t made any plans with Leila. Should he meet Caroline? The two options sifted slowly through the painful currents in his head. He was going to end it. That was certain. At least he wouldn’t feel like a total heel if he did it in person.