Secret Daughter (13 page)

Mumbai, India—2000

K
AVITA OPENS THE FRONT DOOR TO THE
CHAWL
. “H
ELLO?” SHE
calls out. Both Jasu and Vijay should be home by now, but the apartment is empty. She fears Jasu is out drinking again. Three weeks ago, he injured his right hand at the factory when another worker mistakenly turned on the fabric press as Jasu was adjusting the setting. The steel plates crushed his bones in three places before the machine was turned off. He was taken to the government hospital, where the doctor applied a brace to his hand and sent him back to the factory. But the foreman told Jasu he was slowing things down and sent him home until he could work properly. He asked Jasu to mark some papers with his thumbprint, then explained he wouldn’t be paid until he returned to work.

The first few days, Jasu sat around at home, moping. Then he began wandering the streets, coming home darkened by the sun and covered in dust. Kavita tried to reassure him. At least they had almost paid off the moneylender, and between her income and Vijay’s messenger pay, they could cover the other household expenses for a few
weeks until his hand healed. This didn’t bring Jasu much comfort; he only became more sullen. After the first week, Kavita began to detect that distinctive smell on him again. She has tried to ignore it. In truth, she doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Each day, she rises early, goes to work, comes home to cook dinner, falls into bed exhausted, and does it all again the next day. If she has the energy, she tries to spend a little time with Vijay at night, though he too has become sullen these days.

She considers going out to look for Jasu but knows both he and Vijay will be hungry when they get home. It is better she get dinner ready first. An hour later, the rice and potato-onion
shaak
are ready. Kavita feels her stomach growl. She has not eaten in over eight hours. She picks gingerly at the food with her fingers. She cannot bring herself to sit down and eat properly without her husband or son. Vijay must be studying with a school friend, as he has been doing more often lately. But Jasu should be home by now. Her uneasiness escalates to worry, and then rapidly to fear. Making up her mind, Kavita covers the food and slides on her
chappals
. She tucks some cash and the key into the folds of her sari before leaving.

O
UTSIDE
, K
AVITA WALKS QUICKLY
. S
HE KEEPS HER EYES FOCUSED
straight ahead: the streets here are not safe for a woman alone after dark.
Where has he gone? How can he behave like such a lout?
Most of the time, she finds she can heed her mother’s advice, to trust in her husband, to be brave for her family. Then occasionally, he will do something stupid like this, disappear in the night or come back smelling of liquor, and in a flash she will lose faith. She wonders if she has been wrong to trust him, if they were all bad decisions—giving up her daughters, leaving their village, trying to survive in this city that will never feel like home.

Her feet carry her down the path to the small park, fenced in
from the shops and lights of the city streets. She walks past the rusted playground equipment that sits empty and toward a small cluster of men seated together under a large tree. As she approaches, she sees a large hookah pipe in their midst, and the trails of smoke drifting upward. It is almost completely dark now. She cannot make out the men’s faces at this distance. They are laughing loudly, and for a moment, she worries what will happen to her at their hands if Jasu is not among them. When she draws closer, she is at first relieved, then disappointed, to see Jasu leaning against the tree, his eyelids drooping and his braced hand sitting lame in his lap. In his good hand, he holds a bottle.

“Jasu,” she says. A couple of men glance at her, then turn back to their conversation. “Jasu!” she says again, loud enough to be heard over the crude joke about a woman and a donkey. She watches as her husband’s reddened eyes drift over and slowly focus on her face. He tries to straighten up once he sees her.

“
Arre,
Jasu, your wife coming to fetch you like a schoolboy?” one man teases.

“Who wears your
dhoti, bhai
?” Another slaps him on the back, slumping him over again.

Jasu offers a weak smile to the taunting men, but Kavita sees the pain in his eyes. She sees the injured pride, the shame, the disappointment she knows he feels. In this moment, witnessing him in his messy, helpless state, Kavita feels her anger and fear washed away by sorrow. All this time, Jasu has had only one goal above all else, to provide for his family. And over the last twenty years, it seems as if God has been dreaming up one cruel complication after another to keep him from even this modest goal. The poor harvests back in Dahanu, the illusive
dhaba-wallah
job, the bicycle factory raid, the moneylender, and now his broken hand, dangling limply at his side as he tries to stand. Kavita rushes over to help him.

“Come, Jasu-ji,” she says, using the respectful term of address for
her husband. “You wanted me to tell you when dinner was ready. I’ve made all your favorites—
bhindi masala, khadi, laddoo
.” Kavita steadies herself under the weight of Jasu’s heavy frame. He looks in her eyes. They haven’t eaten such a meal since they were married.

“Ahh, good thing my wife is such a wonderful cook,” he says as they walk slowly away together. Jasu holds up his good hand to the men and says over his shoulder, “See how lucky I am? You poor bastards should all be so lucky.”

B
ACK IN THE
CHAWL
, K
AVITA HELPS
J
ASU ONTO THE BED AND
covers his forehead with a cold cloth. She feeds him cold rice and
shaak
with her fingers, which he eats clumsily before falling into a heavy sleep. Her stomach growls, and she remembers she still has not eaten dinner. It occurs to Kavita it is now after nine o’clock and Vijay is still not home. She feels the fear return, this time in the form of a bitter taste in her mouth.

Vijay finished his deliveries for Sahib five hours ago. The only reasonable explanation is that he is at a friend’s house. They do not have a phone at home, nor do Vijay’s friends. He probably got caught up with his studies and didn’t notice the time. Yes, that must be it. He is a smart boy, responsible. Kavita breathes deeply a few times as she strokes Jasu’s forehead with the damp cloth. Once he goes back to work, everything will be fine. She sits down on the floor next to the bare bulb that throws some light her way, and sews a button back on Jasu’s shirt while she waits for Vijay. At least she can take some comfort in the fact that a fifteen-year-old boy is safer out there after dark than a woman is. When she finally hears the front door, she feels a wave of relief flood her for the second time this evening. Vijay enters the room.

“Vijay,” she says in a loud whisper, standing up. “Where have
you been? Have you no decency? We’re sitting here worrying about you!”

Her teenaged son, who has the faint beginnings of a mustache on his upper lip, just shrugs his shoulders, hands in his pockets. He notices his father lying in bed. “Why is Papa asleep already?”

“You don’t ask me questions,
achha
. You just answer my questions. Papa and I work hard every day to take care of you. You understand?” The anger in her voice is beginning to mix with fatigue. She feels, at once, utterly exhausted by all of this.

“I work too,” Vijay mutters under his breath.

“Heh? What did you say?”

“I work too. I earn money.” Vijay’s muted voice gets louder as he points to his father. “Look at Papa! Drunk again. He’s not working, he’s sleeping.”

Kavita’s hand rises quickly and she slaps Vijay hard across the face. He pulls back, looking stunned, and touches his face with his hand. His mouth sets into a tight curl and he digs his hand deep inside his pocket. He pulls out a wad of cash and throws it down at her feet. “There! Okay? Now we have enough money. Papa can get drunk and sleep all day if he wants.” He looks at her with defiance.

Kavita’s heart stops. She looks at the money as if it is a cobra uncoiling itself from a basket. There must be at least three thousand rupees. He couldn’t possibly earn this much from messenger work. She looks at her son with disbelief and fear. “
Beta,
where did you get this?”

“Don’t worry about it, Ma,” he answers, then turns away. “You don’t need to worry about me anymore.”

Providence, Rhode Island—2003

T
HE CAMPUS IS COVERED WITH CRISP LEAVES THAT RUSTLE
underfoot as Asha walks across the main green with her parents. It is a cool day, but the bright autumn sun filtering through the tree branches and cups of apple cider keep them warm as she gives them a tour.

“The
Daily Herald
office is over there, a
d
couple blocks down.”

Asha points through the ivy-covered buildings.

“I’d like to see it, since you spend so much time there,” her mother says.

“Sure. More cider, Dad?” Asha asks, her cup poised under a steel urn on one of the tables on College Green, where hundreds of other students and parents are milling around. Asha feels a hand on the middle of her back. She turns and, seeing Jeremy, smiles broadly and turns back to her parents.

“Mom and Dad, this is Jer…Mr. Cooper. I’ve told you about him. He’s the faculty adviser for the
Herald.
”

“Jeremy Cooper,” he repeats, extending a hand to her father.
“You should be very proud of your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Thakkar. She really—”

“Doctor,” her father interrupts.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s
Doctor
. Asha’s mother and I are both physicians,” he says. Asha sees her mother’s eyes cast downward.

“Oh yes, of course.” Jeremy chuckles. “Asha mentioned that. I always forget the ‘Doctor’ bit in my own name,” he says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. Asha gives a small laugh. “As I was saying, you should be very proud of your daughter. Asha is one of the finest young journalists I have seen in my years at Brown.” Asha smiles broadly.

“And how many years is that?” her father asks.

“Uh…well, five years now. Hard to believe. Did you see the piece she wrote this fall on campus military recruiters? Very insightful. Worthy of publication in any major newspaper. Really. Excellent.” Jeremy smiles at Asha.

“Mr. Cooper, what do you do—” her father starts.

“Please, call me Jeremy.” He puts his hands into the flap pockets of his brown tweed blazer, fraying at the edges of the lapels.

“Yes, what do you do,” Krishnan says, “other than oversee the newspaper?”

“Well, I teach a couple classes in the English department, and I also try to do some freelance writing, when I have time.” Jeremy rocks back on the heels of his worn brown loafers. “But I stay pretty busy on campus.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” her father says. “You must like it, the life of a professor? After all, there aren’t too many other good career paths in your field.”

“Dad…,” Asha pleads, her face in a grimace.

“No, no, your father’s right,” Jeremy says. “But I was never as
talented as Asha. She could be our next great foreign correspondent, traveling to distant lands to bring us the news.”

Asha sees her mother look stricken and is about to reassure her when her housemates bound up to them. “Asha! Oh, hey, Jeremy.”

Jeremy excuses himself, saying something about a faculty reception where he is expected. Asha gives him a sympathetic look as he leaves, silently apologizing for her father.

“Hey, guys!” Asha turns to her parents. “Mom, Dad—you remember my housemates? Nisha, Celine, and this is Paula. I don’t think you met her last time.”

Nisha and Celine each wave and say hello. Paula perches her sunglasses on her head, revealing her thick-lashed brown eyes. She leans forward, her cowlneck sweater offering a glimpse of pale cleavage, and thrusts out her hand. “Very nice to meet you both. I’ve heard so much about you.” Asha shares a look with Nisha and Celine. They used to tease Paula about being such a flirt, especially with her professors, until they realized she didn’t know any other way to behave. Paula tilts her head to one side and smiles at her father. “Asha’s been sharing some of your curry recipes with us. You must be a great cook.”

“Oh, not really,” her dad says. “We enjoy cooking together. I make a lot of mistakes, but Asha’s patient with me.” He puts his arm around her.

“You know,” Paula says, “there’s a
bhangra
party on campus later tonight. You should come. There’s going to be a great deejay.”

“Really,
bhangra
?” her dad says. Asha recognizes the confusion on her mother’s face.

“Oh, we don’t want to get in the way,” her mom says, placing her hand on his elbow. “You girls have fun.”

“Okay, so I’ll see you guys at the hotel tomorrow morning for brunch?” Asha says.

“Sure, honey.” Her mother leans over to kiss her. “See you then.”

H
ER MOTHER SLIDES A WRAPPED BOX TIED WITH A LARGE YELLOW
satin ribbon across the table toward her. Asha puts down her orange juice and looks back and forth between her mother’s beaming face and her father’s neutral expression. “What’s this?

“An early birthday gift,” her mother says. “Go ahead, open it.”

Asha unwraps the box to reveal a new handheld video camera.

“I remembered how you liked using ours in Hawaii last summer.” Her mother smiles and looks at her dad. “And you said you’d like to tape your interviews, so you don’t miss anything.”

Asha smiles. She recalls the conversation with Mom, when she meant audio-recording.

“You wouldn’t believe how many different options there are,” her mom continues. “But the man at the camera store said this has the most important features—a zoom lens and a computer connection. You can hook it right up to your Mac for editing.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Asha says. “This is great. I can’t wait to use it.” She holds the camera up to her eye and points it at her father. “C’mon, Dad—smile!”