Serving Crazy With Curry (23 page)

“That's okay, too.”

“When do you leave?”

“Soon. Fall.”

“So what's the procedure now? Lawyers … what?” Shobha asked, her heart heavy but her mind was starting to feel free, open, loose.

“I think we can just use a mediator because we … Are we going to fight over things?” Girish asked.

“No, though I'm taking all the carpets, no matter who bought them,” Shobha announced, trying to lighten the mood.

“And I'll keep all the books,” Girish said in the same spirit.

“Fair enough. But not the records. I take most of those. Anything else?”

Girish thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “I can't think of anything I'd want to go to war over. How about you?”

“No, nothing,” Shobha agreed and then stood up. “I'm really sorry that it didn't work out.”

“Me, too,” Girish said, standing up as well.

They hugged tightly and then Shobha stepped away from him. “I think I'm going to stay with my parents for a while.”

“Okay. I'll call your dad next week or so and talk to him,” Girish said.

“Good, by then they'll all hate you because I'll put all the blame on you,” Shobha said, but she was smiling. For once, she wasn't angry, just relieved.

“I… say good-bye to Devi for me,” Girish said and he licked his lips. “I … I… just tell her I'm leaving, going to Oxford.”

“Okay,” Shobha said. “Anything else?”

“I'll talk to Vasu and Saroj as well,” Girish said. “And we'll keep in touch.”

“We'll have to until at least the legalities are cleared up,” Shobha said.

Girish nodded and then bent his head to look at the floor. This was it, there was nothing more to say. It was finally over. It was all so civilized that it was almost indecent.

“I think I'll go and pack now,” Shobha said when there was nothing more to say and left his study.

Half an hour later Shobha was driving down the interstate to her parents’ house. She wondered with a broad smile what Saroj would think about having both her grown daughters home.

MAMA'S RECIPE
bread and
aloo
grenades with
TAMARIND-YOGURT CHUTNEY
The day Vikram Uncle came home for dinner

This is the easiest Indian dish to make in the world. But Mama insists that only she can make it well. I can't understand what the fuss is all about anyway. She boiled potatoes and peas, mashed them, added some salt, chili powder,
garam masala,
and fresh coriander, and mixed everything well.

Then she took day-old Wonder Bread, sliced the edges off, dipped the bread in water, and then squeezed the water out. She scooped some of the potato mixture and covered it with the bread in the shape of a grenade.

(Shobha and I came up with that name when we were small.
We
called them potato grenades and ate them with ketchup until we felt sick.)

Once the grenade is shaped, Mama deep-fried them in oil until they were crispy and golden.

The chutney is insanely simple as well. She took yogurt and mixed it with tamarind pulp, sugar, salt, and
chaat masala.

As simple as it is, I have to admit Mama does a fine job of making those grenades. I could still eat a dozen with ketchup!

The Truth About Devi

Saroj looked questioningly at Shobha's black travel bag.

“What? I can't come and stay here for a while?” Shobha demanded belligerently. “My room is still my room, you know.”

“No, I don't know,” Saroj said and then looked at Vasu. “Do you know anything about this, Mummy?”

Vasu shook her head and looked at Shobha with questioning eyes, then at Devi who was sitting on the floor. A newspaper was spread on the carpet as Devi stripped strings off the green beans and dumped them in a bowl of water.

“Where's Daddy?” Shobha asked, looking around the living room.

“Out,” Saroj said. “Where's Girish?”

“I'm not sure,” Shobha answered. “We're going our separate ways.”

Devi, who was putting a green bean in the steel bowl of water, made a sharp motion and spilled some water from the bowl.

“What does that mean?” Saroj asked, watching the water Devi spilled spread on the floor and carpet.

“I'm leaving him. We're leaving each other.”

“You are getting a divorce.” Saroj gasped the word
divorce,
her eyes ready to pop out of her head, and then she turned to face Vasu. “Mummy, this is your influence.”

“They were never happy, Saroj,” Vasu said sadly. Would no woman in her family ever find a man to keep her content?

“They didn't even try,” Saroj said and then shook her head. “What bad have I done to both of you?” she demanded, looking from Devi who was sitting, shocked, on the floor, to Shobha who was standing with a cocky expression on her face. “She tries to kill herself and you leave your husband. And you are both here now. I see parents complain about how their children never come to see them. My kids, they come and live with me because one wanted to die and the other doesn't want her husband. So, what wrong did I ever do to you?”

Shobha shrugged and hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans. “Mama, my marriage was over a long time ago, long before we decided to officially end it. In the meantime, Girish has been diddling around a little.”

“What is this diddling you talk about?” Saroj asked. “Girish is a decent man.”

“Who was fucking some woman with a pearl earring,” Shobha said, almost shouting.

“Pearl earring? What nonsense is this?” Saroj looked accusingly at Vasu again. It was her fault. It had to be. Influencing her children in this way, ruining their lives.

“I found a pearl earring in Girish's car once. I knew then that he was seeing someone. Now he confirmed it,” Shobha said and then sighed loudly, dramatically. “Look, Mama, my life is a mess right now. I'd think you'd want me to be here, to get support and love.”

“You don't need support and love, you need a good whack on the head,” Saroj said.

Shobha laughed. “And I have to stay here, we're selling the house, you see, and … I lost my job.”

Saroj gasped. “What?”

Devi rested her head against the palm of her right hand and closed her eyes.

Vasu shook her head.

“How?” Saroj demanded.

“I screwed up and they fired me,” Shobha said flatly.

“How do you get fired from your job? How? I don't know anyone who gets fired,” Saroj said angrily. “Shobha, this is unacceptable.”

“That's what I thought when they asked me to quit. I work and work and work and then they fuck me over,” Shobha said casually and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds from her jeans pocket. “If you don't mind, I'll go and smoke outside.”

“Smoke?” Saroj could barely form the words now. As Shobha left the living room, she spluttered with rage, her accusations all centered on Vasu.

“How am I to blame?” Vasu demanded.
“You
got them married and I don't smoke, never did.”

“All your fault, Mummy,” Saroj said, convinced. “All of it. You ruined my life.”

“I ruined your life?” Vasu seemed flabbergasted. “Your life is your own. You are fifty-three years old, you are responsible for your own life.”

Devi came outside and found Shobha smoking a cigarette, sitting on the stairs.

Devi sat next to her, her jean-clad leg brushed against Shobha's.

“Want one?” Shobha asked, holding up the pack of cigarettes. Devi took one and lit it with the lighter her sister gave her.

“I wasn't going to smoke, but I had to fill up with gas and I saw the cigarettes at the gas station. I'm thinking of smoking and drinking all night,” Shobha said, not sounding as cocky about her divorce and joblessness as she had inside the house.

They smoked companionably for a while. After they crushed the first cigarettes on the cobblestones, they lit two more. It was nice to just sit there, smoke a cigarette, and not bother about the women inside, mother and daughter, fighting over who ruined whose life.

“That pearl earring, that was mine,” Devi said, speaking very quickly, the words merging into one another. She then immediately put the cigarette to her lips and inhaled.

“I know,” Shobha said.

The smoke cluttering up Devi's chest moved, and she coughed
violently, dropping her half-smoked cigarette between lax fingers. Tears were streaming down from her red eyes by the time the choking, smoky sensation passed.

“You okay?” Shobha asked when Devi could breathe again.

“No,” Devi said, her voice scratchy. “What you do mean you know?”

“Of course I know,” Shobha retorted and threw the cigarette she was smoking on the cobblestones. “Do you think I'm stupid?”

“Oh hell.” Devi sighed. “I'm the stupid one, Shobha.”

Shobha shrugged. “I saw the other earring in your jewelry box … but I was suspecting. I'm not blind.”

“I feel like I should be on Ricki Lake or Jenny Jones,” Devi said in self-disgust.

“In the ‘I slept with my sister's husband’ episode?” Shobha asked coldly.

“Yes,” Devi admitted. “But it would be the ‘I slept with my sister's husband, got pregnant, lost the baby, and attempted suicide’ episode.”

“Fuck,” Shobha said and blew out some air. “I didn't know … I didn't think that the baby … I just didn't think. No wonder he's so messed up.”

They both fell silent and contemplated what they'd just learned.

“I don't know how to feel about this,” Shobha finally said.

“Why not just be angry? That's your safety-net emotion,” Devi suggested.

“But who am I supposed to be angry with? You? Or Girish? Or myself?” Shobha said and sighed deeply. “When I first thought that you and he … I told myself I was crazy. But then it was like a bad whodunit novel unraveling.”

“And now that you know?”

Shobha shrugged and crushed the cigarette butt lying on the stones in front of her under the heel of her boot.

“Do you hate me?” Devi asked, tears filling her voice.

Shobha didn't look up for a long moment and then shook her head.

“I thought you'd hate me if you ever found out,” Devi said shakily, almost hysterical. “So, do you, Shobha?”

Shobha looked up then, faced Devi.

“I don't know how I feel, but I don't hate you,” she said carefully. “For once I'm not sure what to feel and how to deal with this.”

“Hating me would be easy, wouldn't it?”

Shobha smiled. “Being angry would be easy and yeah, hating both of you would be so easy. But I'm not and I don't and … fuck, Devi, of all the people in the world, Girish?”

“I want to apologize but I'm not sure what the apology should be for,” Devi said. “I did you wrong. I betrayed you. I should've never slept with Girish. But now I don't know if saying sorry is enough.”

Shobha buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath.

“You know,” Shobha said, looking up and putting her hand on Devi's shoulder, “he and I never ripped up the sheets. It never happened.”

Devi nodded and then waited for Shobha to say more.

“We never fell in love, we never became friends, we didn't even become roommates like all those pathetic arranged-marriage couples do. I can't understand why you'd want him,” Shobha said honestly. “He was boring. You said so yourself. He… I can't understand why you and he would want to … I mean, why?”

Devi raised both her eyebrows and sighed. “If you're looking for a blow-by-blow account…”

“No,” Shobha cried out. “No, please God, no.”

“I don't know,” Devi said desperately. “It just happened one day and then it happened another day and another. It was like watching a terrible car accident. You stay enthralled and you can't look away.”

“Oh, there was that much passion?” Shobha asked caustically.

“I don't know,” Devi repeated. “I'm so sorry that your marriage failed. I'm sorry that I slept with your husband. I'm sorry I got pregnant … that was an accident, a stupid accident, and I'm sorry …”

“My marriage didn't fail because of you,” Shobha said quietly. “It failed because it was wrong from the start. I can't really blame you or him for … what the hell, Devi, Girish is a dud in bed.”

Devi shrugged.

“Oh, and he was great with you? Is that it?” Shobha asked.

Devi shrugged again.

“What, silence mode again?”

“I can't… What do you want to know?”

Shobha grinned all of a sudden. “So he was something in bed with you, wasn't he?”

Devi heard the teasing note in Shobha's voice and cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Good old Girish. Who would've thought,” Shobha said, amusement filling her voice.

“He felt very guilty,” Devi said because she thought it was important Shobha knew.

“With his sense of justice and morality, I'm sure he did,” Shobha said and then added after a pause, “I'm sorry about the baby.”

“Yeah, that was shit luck,” Devi agreed.

“Do you ever feel relieved that you lost the baby?”

Devi took a deep breath and then blew out some air. “For the longest time I was just in shock. I was so happy to be pregnant and then it was over and I didn't know what to do. I didn't tell anyone. By then Girish and I decided that it was over … God.” She paused as the enormity of her confession hit her again. “He was your husband, Shobha. Hell! What we did was wrong, so bloody wrong.”

Shobha nodded. “Yeah, it was wrong. But shit happens, you know.”

Devi shook her head. She couldn't quite believe that Shobha wasn't yelling the place down, telling Saroj and Vasu of this ultimate deception. This kind of betrayal ruined families, ended relationships. When Shobha told them that she was getting a divorce, Devi knew the time to hide was over.

“I thought you didn't like Girish,” Shobha said, shaking her head. “You were so anti-him. You didn't like the idea of our arranged marriage, of him being a boring professor. So what the fuck happened?”

Devi chewed on her lower lip as she debated what she could say, what would sound the most dignified. “I think I always had a crush on him. He was different from the guys I dated. He was steady, polite, opened the door, pulled out the chair. He was always nice to me. It didn't matter to him that I wasn't successful, the way Daddy is, you are.”

“I just got fired and my husband dumped me. I don't know how much of a success I am,” Shobha reminded her sister. “Who'd have thought? You and Girish sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Devi asked, a new paralyzing fear coursing through her because there was a hitch to Shobha's voice as if she would crack any minute and the real Shobha would emerge. “I mean are you now just pretending to be okay but you are soon going to start yelling at me and hating me?”

Shobha sighed. “Lord, Devi. I'm not into those dramatics. I just don't fucking get it. You've always slept around with … well, everything that has a penis. I just don't understand why with Girish and why Girish with you?”

“Did you just call me a slut?”

“You slept with my husband,” Shobha said pointedly. “How can you take umbrage at me for calling you a slut? You are a slut, a sister-husband-sleeping slut.”

“I can't really argue with that,” Devi said, admitting defeat. “Are you going to use this for the rest of our lives to win fights?”

“Oh yes,” Shobha said smugly. “And to borrow clothes and perfume and whatever else I want. I mean,” she snickered, “you slept with my husband, I can't lose ever again with you.”