Inconvenient Relations (34 page)

***

She found a small, secluded spot behind a large boulder where a shallow pool of water had lodged. Without a second thought, she waded in, feet skimming over the river rock worn smooth by eons of erosion, deeper and deeper till her waist was submerged, letting the cool wetness seep into her skin, numbing the burning ache in the lower reaches of her body.

Standing there, she let her gaze spread far and wide, absorbing the early morning light as it bounced off the rippling waves rushing in their endless quest in all the brilliant colors of the rainbow. Her hands tried to catch them but failed; her fingers were like a sieve. She saw a face in the water but failed to recognize it. Confused, she splashed then gathered the water; it was none other than her own.

She had changed; Ruhi Sharma had changed. She didn’t belong to herself anymore; instead, she belonged to him. She bore his indelible stamp, yet it did not frighten or bewilder her. It didn’t make her want to run away or to take a breath that wasn’t enmeshed with his though he influenced every little notion, manipulated every idea that occurred in her mind, and made her invariably sway to his tune.

Strangely, she felt liberated and at peace. Finally! ‘Cause this was the day and the moment she had been waiting for all along. Yes!

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled when she heard his beloved voice call her name.

Then rushing back into his loving embrace, she whispered to herself, “I’ve kept my word, and there is no turning back.”

Ruhi’s Piping Hot
Gobhi Parathas!

P
aratha [par-AA- THA] Hindi
is one of the most popular types of unleavened flat breads in the North Indian Cuisine. Prepared from pan frying whole wheat dough which usually has
ghee
(clarified butter) or cooking oil in it to make them crispy, parathas are often stuffed with vegetables such as
aloo
(mashed boiled potatoes),
gobhi
(cauliflower),
mooli
(radish), other vegetables or paneer (fresh Indian cheese). Regardless, plain or stuffed with a side of
achar
(Indian pickle) and
dahi
(plain yogurt), they make for a wholesome meal at any time of the day.

Ingredients

For the dough

2 cups whole wheat flour—makes around 8-10 parathas (you can pick up great chapati/roti (Indian flat bread) flour from any Indian grocery store.)

1/4 tsp salt (optional)

Water

1 tbsp of cooking oil or
ghee
(optional)

Make a well in the middle of the dough, add salt, oil or ghee and a little water and mix. Continue to bring the flour together and knead by adding small amounts of water at a time. Don’t add too much. For parathas the consistency of the dough should be medium-soft. Keep kneading until the dough is smooth. Cover and set aside for 10-20 minutes.

For the stuffing

1 1/2 cups finely grated cauliflower

2 tbsp finely chopped cilantro leaves

1 tsp grated ginger

1 tsp garam masala (available at any Indian grocery store)

1 tsp salt

Mix ingredients together.

Method

Pinch off the dough into balls slightly larger than golf size and flatten. Pinch the edges to shape into cups and place a small amount of the cauliflower mixture in the center. Extend the edges to enclose the filling and pinch together to seal. Now dust the stuffed ball with dry flour and flatten. Roll out into a circle, as thin as possible, without tearing the paratha. If this is difficult, you can place the mixture between two pieces of flattened dough, pinch the edges to seal and then roll out. Heat a
tawa
(flat pan such as a pan cake pan) until very hot. Lower the temperature and carefully place the paratha on it. When the edges begin to separate from the pan, drizzle the sides and the surface of the dough with a small amount of ghee or cooking oil. Flip over. Brown both sides and serve with yogurt and/or
achar
.

Recipe courtesy of Subha

Glossary

Most terms are in Hindi unless otherwise specified.

ABCD
:
American-born confused desi. A term often used to refer to South Asian Americans born in the United States.

Aata, Daal:
Flour, lentils.

Adrak wali chai:
Ginger-flavored tea.

Bahu:
Daughter-in-law.

Beta:
Child, son.

Beti:
Child, daughter.

Bekaar:
Unemployed.

Bhabhi:
Sister-in-law.

Bhaiyya:
Brother.

Bhetki Fry
(Bengali)
:
Fish fry. A popular Bengali dish.

Biwi:
Wife.

Mishti Bon
(Bengali)
:
Sweet person.

Chaku:
Knife

Chole:
Dish made from garbanzo beans.

Churi:
Scalpel

Dadaji:
Paternal grandfather.

Damaadji:
Son-in-law.

Dadamoni
(Bengali)
:
Elder brother.

Dekho:
Look, see.

Desi/desiness:
Indian.

Dhaba:
Roadside food stalls popular in the state of Punjab and northern India.

Dhonnabad
(Bengali)
:
Thank you.

Di:
Elder sister.

Dimaag ka doctor
: Head doctor

Ek aur:
Another

Fida:
Besotted.

Haan:
Yes.

Haina:
Isn’t it.

Hanuman Chalisa:
Devotional song based on Lord Hanuman written by Tulsidas.

Hey Bhagwan:
Oh Lord.

Jiju:
Brother-in-law

Kabab mein Haddi:
Bone in the meat or odd man out.

Karwa Chauth:
A ritual of fasting observed by married Hindu women seeking the longevity, well-being, and prosperity of their husbands.

Kheer:
Indian-style rice pudding flavored with cardamom, raisins, and a variety of nuts.

Khuddar:
Someone with self-respect.

Koi Shaq:
Any doubts.

Kurta pyjama:
lengthy shirt, loose drawstring trousers

Lassi:
Popular, refreshing, yogurt-based drink, which originated from the Punjab region.

Maaji:
Mother.

Macher Jhol
(Bengali)
:
Fish curry.

Mahashay:
Mister.

Mangalsutra:
Sacred thread that a married woman wears around her neck.

Mehendi, Sangeet, Haldi:
Traditional marriage rituals conducted during a North Indian Hindu marriage ceremony. During the Mehendi ceremony, henna is applied to the bride’s hands to strengthen the bond of love in the marriage. During the Sangeet or music ceremony, the families of the bride and groom celebrate the upcoming wedding with music and dance. During the Haldi or turmeric ceremony, turmeric is applied to the bride and groom in their respective homes as part of the cleansing and beautification process.

Mem:
White woman (formerly in India). A married European woman.

Meri Jaan:
My life.

Naamkaran:
Naming ceremony

Namaste:
Customary greeting when individuals meet.

Pallu:
The edge of a sari.

Panditji:
Priest.

Papaji:
Papa or father, ‘ji’ is added to show respect.

Parathas:
Indian flat bread pan fried and usually stuffed with vegetables.

Patka:
A cloth head covering worn by Sikhs.

Pav Bhaji:
Bread and vegetable dish.

Pujas:
Prayer ceremonies

Rajma Chawal:
Curried kidney beans with rice.

Sahi:
Correct, right.

Saas:
Mother-in-law

Saat Phera:
Seven sacred vows taken during a traditional Hindu wedding ceremony by the bride and groom.

Sher:
Tiger.

Shona
(Bengali)
:
Sweetheart

Shukr hai:
Thankful.

Sindoor:
Red vermillion powder worn by married women along the parting of their hair.

Sooswagatam
(Sanskrit)
:
Welcome.

Sona munda
(Punjabi)
:
Handsome boy.

An excerpt from…

The Accidental Wife

PROLOGUE

“E
k aur
beer to calm the nerves?”

A loud burst of laughter. “Rihaan doesn’t need anything to cool him down. He’s going to be full-on man! Can’t afford to disappoint
bhabhi
, right?” This was promptly followed by another outburst of mirth.

Rihaan submitted to several friendly thumps on his back and returned them with the obligatory wry smile, that could be interpreted any way desired.

Yes, he hadn’t let a single drop of alcohol pass through his gullet. Not because he was anxious to perform well on his wedding night and impress his brand new wife. Rather, he wanted to keep all his faculties intact, so to confirm the suspicion that had been gnawing at his brain ever since the wedding ceremony. And with each moment that passed, his unease grew steadily.

Unable to bide time any longer, he stood up and marched toward his room, paying no heed to the numerous whistles and catcalls that followed in his wake. Thrusting the door wide open he strode toward the marital bed.

It was bare except for his bride’s wedding finery that lay in a neat pile in one corner. Heart pounding inside his chest, he scanned the vicinity fervently hoping his concerns weren’t true.

He approached the balcony door that stood wide open, and his pulse slowed down slightly. Perhaps he’d just been imagining it all.

A girl stood there leaning against the railing, her face upturned toward the full moon. Hearing him approach she turned around, “Finally! I’ve been waiting like forever!”

He frowned, straining to peruse her features obscured by deep shadow, “Deepika?”

“Naa…, not Deepika.” She stepped forward into the light; a bright smile illuminating her beautiful face.

His heart sank.

“My name is Naina. Good-bye Rihaan.”

WISHES AND DEMANDS

N
ew York, NY Two months ago…

Rihaan Mehta was a confirmed bachelor, at least he had been determined to be one, until now.

There were several reasons why. The most significant being his independence. To not have a girl nagging him day and night to determine his whereabouts or harrying him to present himself at home sharp at 6:00 p.m., was an asset that he guarded
jealously. He pitied his dad who was probably so accustomed to being henpecked that he wouldn’t know what to do if he was left alone for even a day or two.

Another consideration which urged him toward bachelorhood was that he’d never really appreciated an inclination toward the fairer sex. No girl had ever been able to bowl him over with her charms, though not for the lack of trying; many had. He just wasn’t adequately stimulated by what he called superficial accoutrements. Nor had he felt the need for feminine company, except on rare occasions when he’d been obligated to. His work provided him with all the company he desired and he couldn’t be happier, for he loved what he did.

Six months ago, after graduating
summa cum laude
from the very demanding and rigorous neurosurgical residency program at Mass General/Harvard Medical School, Rihaan had joined as the youngest associate of one of the busiest neurosurgical practices in New York City. And he had distinguished himself so well that today his chief had offered to make him partner. He was delighted beyond imagination and would have been off flying on cloud nine, ten, or maybe even eleven, if it hadn’t been for the untimely demands of his mother.

Shashank and Shobha Mehta of the ‘famed’ (for various reasons) Mehta clan of New Delhi, along with their two children Rima and Rihaan had immigrated to the United States more than twenty years ago, defying the expectations of their elders. Shashank was ambitious. He had undertaken to spread the Mehta business beyond the
desi
shores by establishing one of the biggest and finest jewelry chains abroad. And where best to commence such a venture but the Big Apple? He kept his word, accomplishing exactly what he said he would, thus making the entire family proud.

But his younger son Rihaan, instead of joining his father, and continuing with the tradition had opted for medical school and became a
dimaag ka doctor
(head doctor). No, not one who deals with mad people, but one who wields a
chaku
and a
churi
(knife and scalpel). Everybody including his favorite uncle Rajbir shook their heads in disapproval. “We don’t care for
such mumbo jumbo. Business
mein kya kharaabi hai?”
(What’s wrong with business?)

But on a bitter cold day when Mama and Papa Mehta saw their defiant son felicitated as one of the best to have passed through the hallowed grounds of the famed university, they couldn’t check the flood of joyous tears from flowing unchecked down their ruddy cheeks.

From then on, the youngest Mehta was given free rein. When he chose to relocate to a tiny rental in the city and give up the luxurious trappings of the family’s huge suburban villa pleading inconvenience, his father gave his grudging assent. When he opted to stay away from the many communal
pujas
and parties that his mother threw (mostly in the hope of finding a suitable daughter-in-law
for herself) the senior Mehta looked the other way. And when he pruned his visitations to one weekend every other month, often less, his parents could only hope he perceived their distress. Rihaan thus succeeded in slowly but surely distancing himself from the crazy chaos of his massive family, except for occasions such as his sister Rima’s wedding and the
naamkaran
of her child.

Finally he felt at peace.

But this state of affairs was intolerable for Shobha, his mother. She felt cheated. How many years had she spent yearning for someone she could order around the house and who would wait upon her hand and foot. How long she had hankered to be the
Saas
to beat all
Saases.

But her son wouldn’t oblige. Despite her lining up hundreds upon hundreds of suitable girls (handpicked by her of course), he just wouldn’t bow his hard head down. What a waste of such a handsome face and a six figure income to boot!

One day she threw in her final salvo and served him the ultimatum in typical Bollywood style,
“Shaadi ke liye tayyaar ho jao nahin toh tum mera mara muh dekhoge.”
(Get ready to marry or you’ll see me on my death bed.)

He didn’t stay over that weekend.

“Do you think she is serious?” Rihaan asked his father while he was being shuttled to the local subway station. Rihaan hated driving, particularly in a city like New York, where a car is considered a handicap. Instead he preferred the subway or his faithful bicycle which he rode every day to and from work; come rain, snow or shine.

Shashank guffawed. He was very loud for not so large a man. Rihaan, who towered above him at more than six feet, apparently had inherited the lanky genes from his Uncle Rajbir.

“No son, she won’t kill herself. But she’ll certainly kill you if you don’t bring her a
bahu
!”

That provoked a chuckle from Rihaan. “Guess that is one reason why I don’t wish to get hitched. Because no girl deserves to be a victim of Mom’s ministrations, no matter how well intentioned they may be. I’d rather stay single.”

His father voiced sagely. “You say so now. But soon you will change your mind.”

“Why would I? I can see how happy
you
are married to Mom!”

Shashank turned to face his son in all seriousness. “I’m as happy as I will ever be.
You
could be even happier.”

Rihaan eyed him skeptically. “I don’t get it.”

Shashank continued with a patient smile. “You are young. You have everything going your way—choice of education, job, respect, incredible success. But for how long? How long can you sustain this pace? Life comes with its share of unpleasant surprises.” His expression grew somber. “I was like you once—young, dynamic, impatient and indestructible. I didn’t need anybody. But then
papaji
coerced me into tying the knot. Now, when I think about it, I’m glad he did. Though perhaps I’d have preferred a less forceful woman.” He erupted into an awkward laugh. “Anyway that is beside the point,” he said, glancing at his son whose fine features had assumed a dubious expression. “What I mean is that a time will come when you’ll find an empty space inside that can only be filled with love. Mark my words.”

And on that cryptic note Shashank pulled to a halt. Rihaan adjusted the ubiquitous backpack on his shoulder. “I’ll think about it, Dad,” he said before nodding good-bye and walking away. He didn’t intend on doing any such thing. He’d said so just to humor his father whom he was very fond of.

Yet that night, he tossed and turned restlessly in his single bed, whence typically he’d have fallen fast asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. His mother’s threat along with his father’s pearls of wisdom were together raising a clamor inside his skull.

He knew his mother wouldn’t rest without seeing him wearing the noose called matrimony. But by no means was he willing to forsake his entire future
by assenting to one of her favored picks and roll over and play dead. They were all unbearable—each and every one! What was a man to do when he found himself in such a bind?

Swearing fervently, he kicked off the sheets and swung his long legs off the bed. A shuddering chill shot straight through his spine as soon as his feet came in contact with the cold, hardwood floor. Gripping the edge of the bed to steady himself, he shot a glance at the digital clock—morning already and chances of sleep fading rapidly into oblivion. Might as well get a move on. Pulling on a pair of worn out sweats he’d had ever since college and his dependable trainers, he grabbed his bicycle and headed out toward Central park.

Rihaan rented a one bedroom apartment in the posh Upper East Side of Manhattan. He had secured it at a bargain as the owner who happened to be a close friend, had just got himself hitched, thereby pressed to move to larger quarters.
Rihaan l
oved the place, even though many would consider it slightly cramped. But for him it was perfectly convenient, located at an ideal distance from the park and a half-hour to forty-five minutes at most from work.

He pedaled furiously down 5th Avenue, which at this early hour looked very unlike its jazzy self and swung onto one of the numerous paths leading into the park. There, after docking his bike, he took off at a brisk paced jog. This marked his daily routine. The unencumbered spaces and crisp, clean air helped keep his brain robust and operating in top gear for the rest of the day.

It was late in autumn. Soon, very soon, a glittering white powder would descend from the skies and cover everything in a blanket of snow—a pristine, flawless layer of crystallized water vapor—one of the most beautiful scenes nature could offer its patrons.
Rihaan
contemplated, as his breath steamed in front of his face. Passing a few other travelers like himself, he nodded to a couple of nameless yet familiar souls he recognized from before: a young man exercising a playful boxer; an elderly gent with his wife out on a leisurely stroll, their faces serene and blissful.

He then came upon another couple voraciously making out on a bench even in the bitter cold. They continued undeterred as he ran by. He snickered.
Idiots! Wait till she springs
the surprise!

Abruptly, he found his steady momentum disrupted. His feet came to a jarring halt and he had to grab on to the trunk of a red oak to keep from pitching flat on to his face—the effect of the memory was such, it gave him a mini stroke every time even though the incident had occurred a great while ago. The occasion had been the night of the prom. Cindy, the prom queen had dared him to a kiss and he’d obliged quite willingly. And then in the girls’ bathroom, in a tiny stall, his raging hormones had taken over. Egged on by a few slugs of beer, one thing led to another. Thank heavens someone had barged in at the right moment—or else.

“PHEW!” Rihaan slid down onto a bed of flaming red leaves. Cindy had been pregnant and the perpetrator had dumped her, making him, Rihaan, the dumb, rich fall guy.

“I’ll never let that happen to me again. Ever!” He blurted out to no one in particular. All he saw was the spectacular image of the skyscrapers reflected in the calm waters of the lake, where two white swans were taking a lazy turn.
Bloody couples everywhere!

His pager came alive, springing him out of his reverie. It was from Lenox Hill ED. He reached for his cell phone in his back pocket and didn’t find it there. For a brief moment he was caught in a panic, thinking he’d omitted it in his rush to scram that morning. But then located it stuck deep inside his right sock, though he had no clue how it made it there. He called back.

“Hi Rihaan! This is Jasmine Walsh. A very good Monday morning to you. I think we can use your help here!”

“Hi Jazz. Morning to you, too. What’s the matter? I thought you ER docs had everything covered,” Rihaan responded with a grin. Jasmine Walsh was a fiery red-headed Irish woman who had attended med school with him, and he didn’t let go any opportunity to tease her. She was known for her short fuse. But not today.

“I thought I did until this fifteen-year-old rolled in with a bullet in his back. His friend had accidentally shot him while playing with his father’s gun.”

“Tell me you’re joking! What were they doing playing with guns so early in the morning?”

“Having a party.” Jasmine sighed. “The parents are out in Cancun celebrating their 20
th
anniversary or some such thing, so the kids chose to have their own bit of fun. Lot of booze, drugs and horseplay with guns. Anyway, when can I expect you here? I’ve already assured the hysterical mom that you are the best hope her kid has.”

“Thanks for blowing my horn, especially when I haven’t even peeked at the scans yet. Alert the OR team. I’ll be there in 40 tops.”

Rihaan could feel the adrenalin pumping as he jogged back. This was why he loved his job so much. His skills could prevent someone from losing the use of his legs for life. In his mind, he could already visualize himself performing the delicate procedure, and the most wonderful thing about it all was that his hands never shook.

***

Success!

Releasing a prolonged sigh, Rihaan sunk back into his swivel chair at the Manhattan clinic of Central Neurosurgical Associates. Four long, bloody painstaking hours to extract the bullet but he’d done it. The blood had been evacuated and the spinal cord saved. The boy would be able to walk again!

Grudgingly he’d accepted the praise for accomplishing one of the toughest procedures that a neurosurgeon could undertake. But the best part of it all was when the boy’s father with tears in his eyes, had taken Rihaan’s hands and reverently kissed them. That was enough to validate all the years of toil and hard work he’d put himself through.

But his achievement failed to make the slightest dent in his mother’s demands. She screeched into the phone like a witch who discovers she’d slept through Halloween. “Rihaan! Do you want me to kill myself? If so, prescribe me some poison!”

Damnit! Why can’t I be left alone for even a moment!
He closed his eyes, counted slowly to five and replied, “Okay. I’ll give the matter serious consideration.”