I don’t know how this is justified. Having a crush on someone you won’t have any relations with. That too when you are trying to salvage your stable relation in life. But I am loving the feeling of getting on a mental high with R. In a few hours that we spent together today, he made me realize how good the company of someone emoting verbally is. He has showered me the attention and flirtatiousness I have never gotten from any man in my life. For everyone I am the Mrs. Shah that needs to be respected. I don’t understand how women cheat on their husbands. Even a stray attraction is causing ethical havocs in my mind. May be that’s where culture comes into play. But then, culture is not a barrier to love and lust, as history has proven time and again.
Jignesh doesn’t even notice my happiness over nothing, and life is as usual in the Shah household. Silent, and dead emotionally. My two daughters are back on track with their singing and dancing and math, like good Indian kids. Madhuri has forgotten or pretends to forget everything she went through and has moved on with better things in life.
I didn’t think it would be that easy after that suicide attempt. We still go to her counseling sessions twice a week where she is supposed to talk to a psychiatrist about her mental state, as of now, and looks like she has no plans to do anything dangerous any more. Her grandparents think that it was all because of me, pestering her to do well in studies and pressurizing her with Kumon and stuff while she has a bright future singing bhajans in the temple on the weekends. I am conditioned to ignore their existence by now, and I carry on as if they were invisible.
My daughter needs to live life on her own terms and learn from her own mistakes. No one will tell her what to do, and she will not follow their heartless decisions and sacrifice her soul.
I sit down, sipping a cup of cold orange juice when I hear a thud upstairs. My girls can be very loud at times. They forget that they are old enough to stop jumping up and down the beds and furniture. I put my drink to the side and go to check on them, only to see my father-in-law lying in the bathroom, unconscious. Another call to 9-1-1 and here we are the hospital, signing paperwork while supporting Jignesh’s mother and answering thousand questions by her, asking thousand questions to the doctors. He is in coma we are told.
His mother sits on the chair as if the doom’s day was declared and Jignesh stood against the wall, without uttering a word. I wanted someone to say something, that they feel sad, that they are heartbroken, but they seal their lips. On a whim, I go and hug Jignesh, and next thing I know is he is crying, with his head over my shoulder, holding me tight. I forget all about the ailing old man and wonder if I didn’t take the first step to open my arms for him.
I go home to be with the girls, worried that they shouldn’t have invited someone over, or shouldn’t have slashed their wrists over nothing. Madhuri has made me an overly cautious mother. Nimisha will bear the brunt of the air of mistrust her sister has created. But, better safe than sorry.
I cancel the next day’s appointment for our marriage counseling. There was something I noticed in the folder that we got from the front desk.. It was a checklist to screen us for other psychiatric illnesses, and the one that Jignesh completed showed all signs of depression. He said he had suicidal tendencies. He said he never feels loved. He said he felt disinterest in life. How could he? With all the attention we gave him? His parents gave him enough attention, enough love. Wasn’t that not enough for him? I wanted to leave everything and go hold him and tell him that I love him more than anyone else in the whole world. I nag, but only to love him more. I pick up the phone, and send him a lovely email to make him loved, and supported, and notice Vani’s email.
These days Vani is trying to be a writer. She writes, but I don’t see a writer. I may be wrong. I am not the one who would spend time reading some Indian author and analyze their lives. I am rather content reading “The Firm” and “The Associate” that won’t have any associations with my life, and my thoughts. I read Black, and I have to agree that Vani is improving. It won’t be long before she dishes out the samosa-ic episodes of her life and ours in some bindi-bangle-sari book and pass it off as a thin fiction. Especially with a good story like Madhuri’s, you never know. I send a “great” comment to keep her happy, and move on with my life. Sixteen years after we married each other I send him a love note to tell him that he is loved and appreciated by his family, and moreover by his wife. I hope it gives him the much needed support.
The next few weeks went very fast. There were so many things happening around us. Iyer bought a house, and just for preparing his paperwork, gave me a three percent commission. I felt guilty for charging such a hefty amount for almost no work, and returned half a percent. That was the end of him in my life. But now that he is pleased with my services, there will be many more Iyer clients. We had a moment at the new house when we went for the walk through and were waiting for the seller’s realtor to show up. It felt as if I will give in and ruin sixteen years of faithful married life, but I didn’t. I closed my eyes and all I could see was the little paper that Jignesh ticked of “not loved”, and I pushed away any thoughts that would pollute my mind and my body.
My father-in-law is in a care center, still in coma, and I shuttle my mother-in-law once every evening to see him. At first Jignesh and the kids came everyday and spent two hours in the evening. Then it became an hour a day, and these days it’s once during the week and once during the weekend. But I can’t see my mother-in-law’s face if she doesn’t meet her husband. I forget, I forgive and move on with life with a larger heart, and she probably is guilty of her actions now. She doesn’t say anything, but her silence says a thousand words. There is something nice about being a bigger person, and I am enjoying that vague emotion.
Neena had a tragic accident in the fire, and has lost her house. I am playing mommy to her kids also while she is recovering. Shri has blanked out emotionally, and I am amazed by the love he has for Neena. I heard he quit his job to be with her at this difficult time. She is mostly on sedatives and looks a little, may I say, scary, but he sits outside her room and spends his days and nights on a small chair. I have to get her paperwork done for the insurance, and find them a new house to move in soon. This time it would be without commission.
I spy my girls. Every move them make on the internet and in real life, I am scared that they are doing something wrong. Madhuri has matured a lot, and probably that was the end of exploration for now, and Nimisha doesn’t show any signs of doing the mistake her sister did. I am on guard anyway. I am conditioned to be now. I make an effort to talk to their friends, and their parents and know them well. My girls still don’t wear the teen fashion nor do they follow teen icons. But that is their personal choice.
Jignesh and I never made it to the counselor’s office, but we have opened up a lot to each other. I have learnt to let go, and he has learnt to cling on to what is his to keep it his. We are not picture perfect happy couple but we are happy. I still think Shri loves Neena a lot and she is very lucky to have him in her life, and so is Vani. With all her crazy moods, she should be glad that she has everything a woman wishes for. A great career, a loving husband and a lot of money. I pick three things that make me happy everyday and try to focus on myself and my relation with Jignesh than compare him to others and lose heart. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail. That is life, and it will go on.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Mimosa with Samosa, Manisha (Part-8)
So, Mr. Iyer will come to look for houses today. I don’t know what kind of a character this person is, but just to be on the safe side, I get my clickety-clakity black high heels and a black Armani A-line dress to go with the grey skies. I pull my hair into a tight pony tail, and wear a Movado with a diamond. Accentuate that diamond with a pair of cubic zirconia earrings and a pendent that look like diamonds, and stuffed my blackberry in a Gucci purse and get going. Jignesh look at me as if to say you could have dressed up like this and we could have gone out for a mini vacation, but I know what happens on our weekends that I am home.
Parents and kids will be dropped off at the temple so that they can socialize while the kids learn singing and dancing, and Indian culture. We will go to Costco and Trader Joes to do the weekly groceries. I will be in my sweats, without a shower, without make up, and he will be in his shorts and a T-shirt, unshowered as well. We will do groceries, and come home, clean up everything, pay the bills, discuss financial matters and it will be time to pick the kids and parents. Before we snap our fingers, it will be Saturday night, and if we are not invited to one of our friends house for a potluck, we will be hosting one.
Sunday morning will either be after party clean up, or a lazy day with everyone sitting in front of the TV, and me working in the kitchen, or looking up MLS. Sometimes either Vani or Neena send emails, or call for a while, but other than that, there is really nothing much. In between somewhere Jignesh will want to have sex, and we just do it. No noise, no voice to our feelings. Just a physical act. One wall is shared with kids, and the other one with parents. Not a word about how it was, or what we want. A toy would satisfy our needs better in a bathroom than us together.
I don’t know if all arranged marriages are like this, or is it just mine. At times like this, I do feel that having sex with your partner before marrying is vital. May be that is the reason I didn’t freak out when Madhuri said that she was pregnant. In the back of my mind, I always wanted her to explore her options before settling down, but safely. I am glad that my daughter didn’t end up like me, listening to parents and ending up with someone who can’t even pleasure you, and still keeping your mouth shut, because that would be a silly complaint to make.
I wonder what happens when we see our counselor on Friday evening. Would he ask us why agreed for an arranged marriage? Would he try to brand us as victims of a culture, or would he laugh at the insensitivity of the practice? Would he wonder why we have parents living with us each moment of our marriage shared with them? Would he ask Jignesh to loosen up? Would he ask me to stop nagging? What would that experience be like? On one hand I am glad it’s not an Indian who will blurt it out probably in a potluck party in a half drunken state, but on the other hand, I would have been comfortable with someone who knows what it is like to grow up in a country that is set on morals that are a world apart from the one you live in. Jignesh might have his fears also, but he never talks. So I will never know. The counselor will know more than me. Or I will know more through the counselor.
I slip out of the house with no guilt for skipping my grocery duties of the day, ignoring the whining of my mother-in-law about her poor dear son has to take care of the house as well as work. They don’t really care that I work at least five hours a day, including weekends, take care of the house and them, and the kids, shuttle them all around the town for their various classes. They think that just because I put on pretty clothes and a pretty lipstick, my job is a cushy one, and I get paid to look pretty and giggle with my clients. If that were the case, I would not be a realtor. I would be a Geisha. I am stuck in a career that is perfectly alright with my lack of ambitions and my lifestyle. I am not complaining, but it gives me no happiness to be around people who think that there is no energy or intelligence or skill needed to run this career, or at least put it on a cruise control.
Mr. Iyer was waiting for me at the local Starbucks coffee shop, and told me to join him there before we set out on our house hunt. Typically the clients come to my house first, and we discuss the areas, the price range, I run fake paperwork to come up with a preapproval number and pretend to go through a lot of documentation to get information on property taxes, mello roos for the area. But Mr. Iyer said he doesn’t want to do all that gimmicks and he knows what he can afford. Oh, he was rude enough to say that he didn’t need a realtor to tell him how much of his money should be invested in real estate, and I wasn’t angry at him at all. I smiled at his rudeness and the amount of my commission for a job that didn’t need me to pretend to do a lot of work.
I didn’t know how he looked. I didn’t want to ask him to send his picture. That would sound like an internet date. He knew how I looked probably, going by his internet knowledge. My name and a realtor tag shows at least fifty of my pictures, all probably ten years old. Still he will be able to recognize me. I walk into the Starbucks store, imagining some well dressed middle aged guy looking like Kamal Hassan in his Dockers and Polo Ralph Lauren T-shirt, and here he was, the only Indian guy meeting the profile of Mr. Iyer sitting in a designer sweat suit and sneakers reading Wall Street Journal with a cup of coffee. Suddenly I felt over dressed, but then reminded myself that I am a professional, and I need to portray a serious image at all times with clients.
“Mr. Iyer?”
“Yes?”
“I am Manisha Shah, your realtor”
“Oh yes, Mona! I didn’t recognize you”
“Sorry, the pictures are a little dated”
“Oh no, you are prettier than the pictures project you to be”
“You are being generous”
“No, if I were to be generous, I would tell you that you are one MILF, but since we are meeting each other under an ethical relation, I shall just tell you that you are a pretty woman”
“Thank you”
“So, shall we go?”
“Yes, I brought a list of houses we will see today. I will give them to you as soon as we go to my car. You let me know if you want to see all of them, or focus on a few”
“Let’s get that list and go in my car”
“I don’t let my clients drive. It’s part of my job description”
“I don’t feel comfortable sitting in a car watching a woman drive, unless that woman is heavily into role playing and wants to chauffer in around the city”
“You leave me with no options Mr. Iyer”
“R, call me just R Mona”
“Sure R”
Parents and kids will be dropped off at the temple so that they can socialize while the kids learn singing and dancing, and Indian culture. We will go to Costco and Trader Joes to do the weekly groceries. I will be in my sweats, without a shower, without make up, and he will be in his shorts and a T-shirt, unshowered as well. We will do groceries, and come home, clean up everything, pay the bills, discuss financial matters and it will be time to pick the kids and parents. Before we snap our fingers, it will be Saturday night, and if we are not invited to one of our friends house for a potluck, we will be hosting one.
Sunday morning will either be after party clean up, or a lazy day with everyone sitting in front of the TV, and me working in the kitchen, or looking up MLS. Sometimes either Vani or Neena send emails, or call for a while, but other than that, there is really nothing much. In between somewhere Jignesh will want to have sex, and we just do it. No noise, no voice to our feelings. Just a physical act. One wall is shared with kids, and the other one with parents. Not a word about how it was, or what we want. A toy would satisfy our needs better in a bathroom than us together.
I don’t know if all arranged marriages are like this, or is it just mine. At times like this, I do feel that having sex with your partner before marrying is vital. May be that is the reason I didn’t freak out when Madhuri said that she was pregnant. In the back of my mind, I always wanted her to explore her options before settling down, but safely. I am glad that my daughter didn’t end up like me, listening to parents and ending up with someone who can’t even pleasure you, and still keeping your mouth shut, because that would be a silly complaint to make.
I wonder what happens when we see our counselor on Friday evening. Would he ask us why agreed for an arranged marriage? Would he try to brand us as victims of a culture, or would he laugh at the insensitivity of the practice? Would he wonder why we have parents living with us each moment of our marriage shared with them? Would he ask Jignesh to loosen up? Would he ask me to stop nagging? What would that experience be like? On one hand I am glad it’s not an Indian who will blurt it out probably in a potluck party in a half drunken state, but on the other hand, I would have been comfortable with someone who knows what it is like to grow up in a country that is set on morals that are a world apart from the one you live in. Jignesh might have his fears also, but he never talks. So I will never know. The counselor will know more than me. Or I will know more through the counselor.
I slip out of the house with no guilt for skipping my grocery duties of the day, ignoring the whining of my mother-in-law about her poor dear son has to take care of the house as well as work. They don’t really care that I work at least five hours a day, including weekends, take care of the house and them, and the kids, shuttle them all around the town for their various classes. They think that just because I put on pretty clothes and a pretty lipstick, my job is a cushy one, and I get paid to look pretty and giggle with my clients. If that were the case, I would not be a realtor. I would be a Geisha. I am stuck in a career that is perfectly alright with my lack of ambitions and my lifestyle. I am not complaining, but it gives me no happiness to be around people who think that there is no energy or intelligence or skill needed to run this career, or at least put it on a cruise control.
Mr. Iyer was waiting for me at the local Starbucks coffee shop, and told me to join him there before we set out on our house hunt. Typically the clients come to my house first, and we discuss the areas, the price range, I run fake paperwork to come up with a preapproval number and pretend to go through a lot of documentation to get information on property taxes, mello roos for the area. But Mr. Iyer said he doesn’t want to do all that gimmicks and he knows what he can afford. Oh, he was rude enough to say that he didn’t need a realtor to tell him how much of his money should be invested in real estate, and I wasn’t angry at him at all. I smiled at his rudeness and the amount of my commission for a job that didn’t need me to pretend to do a lot of work.
I didn’t know how he looked. I didn’t want to ask him to send his picture. That would sound like an internet date. He knew how I looked probably, going by his internet knowledge. My name and a realtor tag shows at least fifty of my pictures, all probably ten years old. Still he will be able to recognize me. I walk into the Starbucks store, imagining some well dressed middle aged guy looking like Kamal Hassan in his Dockers and Polo Ralph Lauren T-shirt, and here he was, the only Indian guy meeting the profile of Mr. Iyer sitting in a designer sweat suit and sneakers reading Wall Street Journal with a cup of coffee. Suddenly I felt over dressed, but then reminded myself that I am a professional, and I need to portray a serious image at all times with clients.
“Mr. Iyer?”
“Yes?”
“I am Manisha Shah, your realtor”
“Oh yes, Mona! I didn’t recognize you”
“Sorry, the pictures are a little dated”
“Oh no, you are prettier than the pictures project you to be”
“You are being generous”
“No, if I were to be generous, I would tell you that you are one MILF, but since we are meeting each other under an ethical relation, I shall just tell you that you are a pretty woman”
“Thank you”
“So, shall we go?”
“Yes, I brought a list of houses we will see today. I will give them to you as soon as we go to my car. You let me know if you want to see all of them, or focus on a few”
“Let’s get that list and go in my car”
“I don’t let my clients drive. It’s part of my job description”
“I don’t feel comfortable sitting in a car watching a woman drive, unless that woman is heavily into role playing and wants to chauffer in around the city”
“You leave me with no options Mr. Iyer”
“R, call me just R Mona”
“Sure R”
Mimosa with Samosa, Manisha (Part-7)
“Jignesh, I am sorry for what I said yesterday”
“It’s OK Manisha. I just wish you would open up to me and tell me what’s hurting you”
“You never listen”
“You never tell. You are always busy with the house, or with kids, or with your clients”
“I keep myself occupied so that I don’t feel your absence in my life”
“Where have I gone that you feel it?”
“You are never there for me?”
“That isn’t true. I am always there for you”
“We went to India to get procedure done on Madhuri, Jignesh”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come with you”
“You would have told your parents and labeled her a tramp, and me a bad mother”
“How could you think that Manisha? She is my daughter and you are my wife. I know how hard you struggle to balance everything in the family. I would never say anything like that, or even talk to my parents about that”
“Jignesh, we were so scared, and I thought after all this, I still lost her yesterday”
“And I didn’t know what all I lost. We all live under the same roof and we don’t anything that does on each other’s lives. How weird can it get?”
“You are to be blamed, solely. You have to step out of your parent’s shell and come to us if you want to be with us”
“If that means I have to send them to India and not see them again like my brothers, that’s not happening Manisha. They have gone through enough pains to bring us up and educate us. If we are all leading decent lives today, it’s because of them. My brothers may have forgotten all this, but I haven’t”
“But that doesn’t mean we have to live all our life like this”
“What has happened to us Manisha? We have a lovely house, healthy children and luxury cars. You buy what you want to, when you want to, and so do the kids. What’s missing?”
“Love. From you. Attention. From you”
“I have no affairs with anyone if that’s what is in your mind. You are the only one in my life. And I work hard all day to make this happen to you. Isn’t that enough attention?”
“That is not attention, or love. Don’t you feel the need to connect to me on day to day basis”
“Connect what? I thought I knew everything I should know about you and you about me?”
“That’s not it Jignesh. You just don’t feel the need to be with me emotionally”
“What’s the problem? Tell me, and I will help you resolve it”
“I don’t need your help. I just want you to listen, and be supportive”
“OK…”
“And there comes the legendary silence”
“No, I am silent because I have nothing to say”
“Why don’t you say that you have nothing to say instead of just ignoring me!”
“Now you are nagging”
“And when you talk, you have to be critical?”
“Manisha, you complain that we don’t talk, and when I talk, you don’t like it”
“It’s not like that. You just don’t talk the way you should talk to your wife. You talk as if I am your business partner”
“You want to go to a counselor?”
“Huh?”
“I love you, and don’t want to let go of you. But I don’t want to spend an unhappy life either”
“Why counselor? What will people think? What would your parents think?”
“What would they think? That we are trying to live happy, and doing whatever we can to make it happen?”
“Then we would be admitting that we have problems”
“Better than looking for someone else to pleasure us”
“That’s not what I am saying”
“Whatever it is Manisha, I am not bothered about others. I need you , I need my girls, and I need my parents. All under the same roof, happy”
“Ok. We will go to an American counselor. Indian counselors will tell someone and the word will spread. After all, our community is so small”
“You want to go on a short trip this weekend?”
For a moment my heart wanted to cancel Mr. Iyer and go out Jignesh, but I steeled my heart and told him that I was busy. That I skipped enough appointments when I was in India. He understood.
We sip the coffee in silence thinking different things probably. I am not ready mentally to let someone tell me how to love my husband or manage my household. I still wish we would resolve whatever problems we have mutually than let someone sit in a leather chair and judge us, our relation, our culture and our lifestyle. I don’t want to end up as a case study for someone’s new self-help book that covers people from all cultures.
I wonder how Vani and Neena will take the news. Vani will make a sympathetic face and tell me about someone at her work place or someone in her distant relations going through something similar and tell me that it will all be OK. Later on Saturday nights when they drink and talk, she will tell Shekhar all about it and analyze it together. Neena will listen to me, and then tell me that it’s all my doing. She will give a small preaching on how women should be assertive, especially when they have daughters who look up to them. It’s all about women’s rights and respect for Neena. Love takes a back seat. I wonder how it is with Sri and her. May be Sri just listens and she orders on. Jignesh doesn’t value me for who I am, and these guys are stuck with women who don’t value them. Such is life!
“It’s OK Manisha. I just wish you would open up to me and tell me what’s hurting you”
“You never listen”
“You never tell. You are always busy with the house, or with kids, or with your clients”
“I keep myself occupied so that I don’t feel your absence in my life”
“Where have I gone that you feel it?”
“You are never there for me?”
“That isn’t true. I am always there for you”
“We went to India to get procedure done on Madhuri, Jignesh”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come with you”
“You would have told your parents and labeled her a tramp, and me a bad mother”
“How could you think that Manisha? She is my daughter and you are my wife. I know how hard you struggle to balance everything in the family. I would never say anything like that, or even talk to my parents about that”
“Jignesh, we were so scared, and I thought after all this, I still lost her yesterday”
“And I didn’t know what all I lost. We all live under the same roof and we don’t anything that does on each other’s lives. How weird can it get?”
“You are to be blamed, solely. You have to step out of your parent’s shell and come to us if you want to be with us”
“If that means I have to send them to India and not see them again like my brothers, that’s not happening Manisha. They have gone through enough pains to bring us up and educate us. If we are all leading decent lives today, it’s because of them. My brothers may have forgotten all this, but I haven’t”
“But that doesn’t mean we have to live all our life like this”
“What has happened to us Manisha? We have a lovely house, healthy children and luxury cars. You buy what you want to, when you want to, and so do the kids. What’s missing?”
“Love. From you. Attention. From you”
“I have no affairs with anyone if that’s what is in your mind. You are the only one in my life. And I work hard all day to make this happen to you. Isn’t that enough attention?”
“That is not attention, or love. Don’t you feel the need to connect to me on day to day basis”
“Connect what? I thought I knew everything I should know about you and you about me?”
“That’s not it Jignesh. You just don’t feel the need to be with me emotionally”
“What’s the problem? Tell me, and I will help you resolve it”
“I don’t need your help. I just want you to listen, and be supportive”
“OK…”
“And there comes the legendary silence”
“No, I am silent because I have nothing to say”
“Why don’t you say that you have nothing to say instead of just ignoring me!”
“Now you are nagging”
“And when you talk, you have to be critical?”
“Manisha, you complain that we don’t talk, and when I talk, you don’t like it”
“It’s not like that. You just don’t talk the way you should talk to your wife. You talk as if I am your business partner”
“You want to go to a counselor?”
“Huh?”
“I love you, and don’t want to let go of you. But I don’t want to spend an unhappy life either”
“Why counselor? What will people think? What would your parents think?”
“What would they think? That we are trying to live happy, and doing whatever we can to make it happen?”
“Then we would be admitting that we have problems”
“Better than looking for someone else to pleasure us”
“That’s not what I am saying”
“Whatever it is Manisha, I am not bothered about others. I need you , I need my girls, and I need my parents. All under the same roof, happy”
“Ok. We will go to an American counselor. Indian counselors will tell someone and the word will spread. After all, our community is so small”
“You want to go on a short trip this weekend?”
For a moment my heart wanted to cancel Mr. Iyer and go out Jignesh, but I steeled my heart and told him that I was busy. That I skipped enough appointments when I was in India. He understood.
We sip the coffee in silence thinking different things probably. I am not ready mentally to let someone tell me how to love my husband or manage my household. I still wish we would resolve whatever problems we have mutually than let someone sit in a leather chair and judge us, our relation, our culture and our lifestyle. I don’t want to end up as a case study for someone’s new self-help book that covers people from all cultures.
I wonder how Vani and Neena will take the news. Vani will make a sympathetic face and tell me about someone at her work place or someone in her distant relations going through something similar and tell me that it will all be OK. Later on Saturday nights when they drink and talk, she will tell Shekhar all about it and analyze it together. Neena will listen to me, and then tell me that it’s all my doing. She will give a small preaching on how women should be assertive, especially when they have daughters who look up to them. It’s all about women’s rights and respect for Neena. Love takes a back seat. I wonder how it is with Sri and her. May be Sri just listens and she orders on. Jignesh doesn’t value me for who I am, and these guys are stuck with women who don’t value them. Such is life!
Mimosa with Samosa, Manisha (Part-6)
The whole night I sat in a hospital couch and kept dreaming that Jignesh will come to me, and apologize for his behavior. That he would kiss my worries away and want to rebuild life. My phone rang, and woke me up, and there I was, putting on a happy face for a client forgetting all my worries in life. It was Mr. Iyer, wanting to talk more about his house, and his plans to buy a casa in the caza. There is no Mrs. Iyer. He is a divorcee. There are no junior Iyers to live in the house. This client of mine is a Director at some semi-conductor company that he also founded, wants to buy a six bedroom mansion overlooking a golf course. He is preapproved for a very large sum and if he buys for that, my commission might just help me get out of Jignesh and his life, forever.
I always thought of every commission as something I would be able to use for my new life. But the money is never enough, and I never move out. One of my client was a single mom, and she narrated to me how she couldn’t take it anymore one day, and moved out of the house, eight months pregnant with only clothes on her back and nowhere to go. I lack that courage and conviction.
On the other hand, if I had some spine, I would have had a happy family like my sisters-in-law. None of them work, they all have kids older than me, but have always avoided mummyji and paapaji and their intrusion in their lives. Their husbands support them I guess, unlike Jignesh who feels that it is his duty to take care of his parents who cared for him when he was young. Which I agree also, but it becomes too much when he lets them treat me like their slave, ordering the menu for lunch and dinner, and taking calls from my clients. I wish Jignesh cared for me for all the care I take of the family. He lives an aloof life. But, knowing him, he won’t. Either I have to live like this, or walk out.
I set up an appointment with Iyer on early Saturday morning so that I can be home in time to serve breakfast. So, sometimes I wonder what would happen if I were to behave like Vani. Leave everything as it is and go to work, and not bother to clean up until the cleaning lady shows up. Stink the kitchen with dishes to do, throw around the pillows in the house, keep the bed unmade. Shekhar is a very good husband. Vani is very lucky to have him in her life. I wish she cared for him more. But then, he doesn’t seem to complain. So is Neena. Even with her obsessive cleaning habits, she hasn’t driven away Shri. He loves her so much and respects her opinion on everything unlike me who has agreed to be a doormat willingly and regret sometimes.
The phone rings again, and it’s Mr. Iyer.
“Hello Mr. Iyer”
“Hello Mona, drop that Mr and Iyer and just call me R. Makes life easier”
He took the liberty of dropping Manisha and making a Mona out of it without my permission and I am not complaining. He is Mr. Moneybags who will rescue me from this low life. Not that money buys you courage, but money just makes you confident.
Mr. Iyer wants me to send the details of the properties so that can do his own research. Meaning plug the address on google, and go to redfin, zillow, ziprealty and check the price it sold for last, price the neighbors are selling for, and the price drop in the zip code. He will also map it, and see how far it is from golf course, and what the views will be. South Indian, he doesn’t want a South facing entrance. He would want a study facing South though. He will also check on the county’s website the property tax and melloroos, and call the HOA to check the monthly amount.
If he is like that techie couple I showed houses last winter, he will also scan Robert Shiller’s charts and check if the price index is right for the city, and tell me if it will fall further. With all that knowledge, they should just go ahead and get a license themselves. But they still want me to approve their decision and handle the sale. Easy for me in a way. No one to blame that the “realtard” did it. They just signed wherever asked. Like the subprime victims tell the media. As if we were holding a gun on their head to sign on the escrow papers. They wanted something, and someone gave it to them, we were just middle men. When tables turned, we are being blamed by both the parties. There is nothing we can do too except lay low and ignore what’s going on. There is still enough money and people to keep us in the business.
Madhuri is sleeping peacefully like a child, showing no strains of the emotional toll for the past few days. I am helping her, supporting her but still she has alienated me. Guess I should have gotten involved with all this talk a little early. I didn’t have any clue that the geek wannabe would pull this on me so fast. But I am glad we resolved it. At least she didn’t pull a Bristol Palin and have the baby. With the boyfriend, his visitation, his parents’ intrusion, it would have been too messy. Only people with power can handle that. Not mere mortals like Jignesh and I.
Sometimes I think I am nagging Jignesh. I think I drive him out every time he comes to me. I take out the anger I have for his parents on him. In my mind, it is his responsibility that he dumped on me, and doesn’t even support me, or admire me for what I do to hold this family together. If I complain, he asks me to resolve it any how I want to. I just want him to tell me that he understands my pains. Is that so hard to do? Just a hug at the end of the day, and a kiss, and little whisper in my ears that he loves and understands my plight? I have never hugged him and told him that I admire the way works his ass off every day to let five of us enjoy good life. If taking care of the house is my forte, bringing the bacon should be his. I just never felt the necessity to admire anything in there. That’s all. But I do feel bad that I have alienated him from our lives just like I do to his parents. It’s just a live in relation of convenience for everyone. I should have told Jignesh about Madhuri and showed him that he is a part of us, as much as he is part of his parents. May be I wasn’t being too fair also. I breathe a sigh and go out to look for Jignesh, and I see him walk in two coffees in hand, and all I want to do is give him a hug, and unload the sorrow of my heart.
I always thought of every commission as something I would be able to use for my new life. But the money is never enough, and I never move out. One of my client was a single mom, and she narrated to me how she couldn’t take it anymore one day, and moved out of the house, eight months pregnant with only clothes on her back and nowhere to go. I lack that courage and conviction.
On the other hand, if I had some spine, I would have had a happy family like my sisters-in-law. None of them work, they all have kids older than me, but have always avoided mummyji and paapaji and their intrusion in their lives. Their husbands support them I guess, unlike Jignesh who feels that it is his duty to take care of his parents who cared for him when he was young. Which I agree also, but it becomes too much when he lets them treat me like their slave, ordering the menu for lunch and dinner, and taking calls from my clients. I wish Jignesh cared for me for all the care I take of the family. He lives an aloof life. But, knowing him, he won’t. Either I have to live like this, or walk out.
I set up an appointment with Iyer on early Saturday morning so that I can be home in time to serve breakfast. So, sometimes I wonder what would happen if I were to behave like Vani. Leave everything as it is and go to work, and not bother to clean up until the cleaning lady shows up. Stink the kitchen with dishes to do, throw around the pillows in the house, keep the bed unmade. Shekhar is a very good husband. Vani is very lucky to have him in her life. I wish she cared for him more. But then, he doesn’t seem to complain. So is Neena. Even with her obsessive cleaning habits, she hasn’t driven away Shri. He loves her so much and respects her opinion on everything unlike me who has agreed to be a doormat willingly and regret sometimes.
The phone rings again, and it’s Mr. Iyer.
“Hello Mr. Iyer”
“Hello Mona, drop that Mr and Iyer and just call me R. Makes life easier”
He took the liberty of dropping Manisha and making a Mona out of it without my permission and I am not complaining. He is Mr. Moneybags who will rescue me from this low life. Not that money buys you courage, but money just makes you confident.
Mr. Iyer wants me to send the details of the properties so that can do his own research. Meaning plug the address on google, and go to redfin, zillow, ziprealty and check the price it sold for last, price the neighbors are selling for, and the price drop in the zip code. He will also map it, and see how far it is from golf course, and what the views will be. South Indian, he doesn’t want a South facing entrance. He would want a study facing South though. He will also check on the county’s website the property tax and melloroos, and call the HOA to check the monthly amount.
If he is like that techie couple I showed houses last winter, he will also scan Robert Shiller’s charts and check if the price index is right for the city, and tell me if it will fall further. With all that knowledge, they should just go ahead and get a license themselves. But they still want me to approve their decision and handle the sale. Easy for me in a way. No one to blame that the “realtard” did it. They just signed wherever asked. Like the subprime victims tell the media. As if we were holding a gun on their head to sign on the escrow papers. They wanted something, and someone gave it to them, we were just middle men. When tables turned, we are being blamed by both the parties. There is nothing we can do too except lay low and ignore what’s going on. There is still enough money and people to keep us in the business.
Madhuri is sleeping peacefully like a child, showing no strains of the emotional toll for the past few days. I am helping her, supporting her but still she has alienated me. Guess I should have gotten involved with all this talk a little early. I didn’t have any clue that the geek wannabe would pull this on me so fast. But I am glad we resolved it. At least she didn’t pull a Bristol Palin and have the baby. With the boyfriend, his visitation, his parents’ intrusion, it would have been too messy. Only people with power can handle that. Not mere mortals like Jignesh and I.
Sometimes I think I am nagging Jignesh. I think I drive him out every time he comes to me. I take out the anger I have for his parents on him. In my mind, it is his responsibility that he dumped on me, and doesn’t even support me, or admire me for what I do to hold this family together. If I complain, he asks me to resolve it any how I want to. I just want him to tell me that he understands my pains. Is that so hard to do? Just a hug at the end of the day, and a kiss, and little whisper in my ears that he loves and understands my plight? I have never hugged him and told him that I admire the way works his ass off every day to let five of us enjoy good life. If taking care of the house is my forte, bringing the bacon should be his. I just never felt the necessity to admire anything in there. That’s all. But I do feel bad that I have alienated him from our lives just like I do to his parents. It’s just a live in relation of convenience for everyone. I should have told Jignesh about Madhuri and showed him that he is a part of us, as much as he is part of his parents. May be I wasn’t being too fair also. I breathe a sigh and go out to look for Jignesh, and I see him walk in two coffees in hand, and all I want to do is give him a hug, and unload the sorrow of my heart.
Mimosa with Samosa, Manisha (Part-5)
“Madhuri, how do you feel now?”
“Sorry mom”
“Why beta? Why now? After all we have been through”
“I don’t have the courage to live anymore”
“What do you mean you don’t have the courage? I steeled myself to support you through all this mess you made, you return the favor like this? Did you even think of your mom before you did something so drastic?”
“I feel disgusted by myself”
“Why do you think so? You did a mistake, and you can move on. It’s not something that nobody has ever done”
“People have kids when they are ready to have them. Not like me”
“But you didn’t have the kid. That’s the difference”
“But you know and I know that we killed the baby”
“It is for your own good”
“It haunts me”
“What haunts you? An unborn baby that wasn’t even out of love? If you are so sensitive, you shouldn’t have thought before planning your mating with that Chinese boy. If you are so sensitive you should told me that day itself. When did you become so selfish Madhuri? How come it’s all about you and your sensitivities suddenly?”
“I didn’t mean like that”
“Then what do you mean? You declare suddenly that you are pregnant. I do everything I could to make you feel normal and loved, and you still act up? What do you expect me to do madhuri? Haven’t I done enough for you guys already? Am I not a good mother to you that you are bothered only about some unborn and not me if something were to happen to you”
“I am sorry”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it out. It just doesn’t! You know how hard it is for me to go through all this alone”
“Mom, I miss the baby. It had already started moving”
“Pull yourself together Madhuri! It has no future! It wasn’t even born out of love!”
“Neither was I!”
And here I am supposed to say that no, you misunderstood, Jignesh and I love each other very much. But I sit there, on the hospital bed with my jaw open, unable to reply. Jignesh rushed in and wanted to know what happened. Was it a love affair? Did something happen on the India trip? Did she get a low grade? I ignore all questions as the nurse gives a sheet to fill in parent history with questions like “pregnancies” “live births” “miscarriages”. Those appeared huge than three people making their own stories behind the attempted suicide.
I click on pregnancy and miscarriage as Jignesh watches me.
“What are you doing?”
“I know what I am doing”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No, you are out of the knowing”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“When have you bothered to know?”
“I am the father”
“Yes, so we use your last name”
“Manisha, I have a right to know what’s going on with my daughters”
“You know what, I am tired of you and your habits of not talking. Next time if you want to know something, make an attempt to ask and to listen”
“When have I been a bad father? And you bring this up when our daughter is on a hospital bed for an attempted suicide, with a pregnancy that her father didn’t know of”
“When should I? Tell me. You always have your guardian angel parents hovering around you, or you are at work, you don’t want to be disturbed. Have you ever spent a little time with me, or with the kids asking us how our day was?”
“I work twelve hours a day to provide you and kids a stable life and all I get is a speech about how callous I am?”
“It’s not the quantity Jignesh, it’s the quality. You never made me feel loved, or cared for. For you, it’s all about you. You are the one who need attention every moment. We give it to you and you don’t even think that we need some of that back”
“Do you really want to discuss all that after sixteen years of good married life?”
“Sixteen years of married life. May be good for you, but not the rest of us”
“Manisha!”
“Is that shock, or surprise or a threat?”
“You are out of your mind to talk like this. I will stay outside in the waiting lounge. Let me know if you need anything”
“No need. You may go sleep if you want to. Your mother will worry about your health if you don’t get a good night sleep. We can manage ourselves. We are strong enough”
“There is no use talking to you”
“There has never been any use telling you anything also, neither will be”
And he walks out. I wish he walked out of my life, and never came back. But he doesn’t. I don’t either. Today was the first time in our married life that I told him some truth about our relation, and he is already done listening. Whoever talked of open communication between a couple. I talked, he didn’t even listen. It would have been better if I didn’t talk at all. I wish I had the courage Madhuri had to slash my wrist and end my agonies. Or dare to have to boyfriend like Demi Moore who will show me a good time in life. Poor me, I am stuck dreaming that someone sweeping me off my feet every night for the past sixteen years. No one ever stepped into reality. Or if they did, they didn’t think I had to be rescued from Jignesh’s dungeon, with his parents guarding me like twin dragons.
“Sorry mom”
“Why beta? Why now? After all we have been through”
“I don’t have the courage to live anymore”
“What do you mean you don’t have the courage? I steeled myself to support you through all this mess you made, you return the favor like this? Did you even think of your mom before you did something so drastic?”
“I feel disgusted by myself”
“Why do you think so? You did a mistake, and you can move on. It’s not something that nobody has ever done”
“People have kids when they are ready to have them. Not like me”
“But you didn’t have the kid. That’s the difference”
“But you know and I know that we killed the baby”
“It is for your own good”
“It haunts me”
“What haunts you? An unborn baby that wasn’t even out of love? If you are so sensitive, you shouldn’t have thought before planning your mating with that Chinese boy. If you are so sensitive you should told me that day itself. When did you become so selfish Madhuri? How come it’s all about you and your sensitivities suddenly?”
“I didn’t mean like that”
“Then what do you mean? You declare suddenly that you are pregnant. I do everything I could to make you feel normal and loved, and you still act up? What do you expect me to do madhuri? Haven’t I done enough for you guys already? Am I not a good mother to you that you are bothered only about some unborn and not me if something were to happen to you”
“I am sorry”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it out. It just doesn’t! You know how hard it is for me to go through all this alone”
“Mom, I miss the baby. It had already started moving”
“Pull yourself together Madhuri! It has no future! It wasn’t even born out of love!”
“Neither was I!”
And here I am supposed to say that no, you misunderstood, Jignesh and I love each other very much. But I sit there, on the hospital bed with my jaw open, unable to reply. Jignesh rushed in and wanted to know what happened. Was it a love affair? Did something happen on the India trip? Did she get a low grade? I ignore all questions as the nurse gives a sheet to fill in parent history with questions like “pregnancies” “live births” “miscarriages”. Those appeared huge than three people making their own stories behind the attempted suicide.
I click on pregnancy and miscarriage as Jignesh watches me.
“What are you doing?”
“I know what I am doing”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No, you are out of the knowing”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“When have you bothered to know?”
“I am the father”
“Yes, so we use your last name”
“Manisha, I have a right to know what’s going on with my daughters”
“You know what, I am tired of you and your habits of not talking. Next time if you want to know something, make an attempt to ask and to listen”
“When have I been a bad father? And you bring this up when our daughter is on a hospital bed for an attempted suicide, with a pregnancy that her father didn’t know of”
“When should I? Tell me. You always have your guardian angel parents hovering around you, or you are at work, you don’t want to be disturbed. Have you ever spent a little time with me, or with the kids asking us how our day was?”
“I work twelve hours a day to provide you and kids a stable life and all I get is a speech about how callous I am?”
“It’s not the quantity Jignesh, it’s the quality. You never made me feel loved, or cared for. For you, it’s all about you. You are the one who need attention every moment. We give it to you and you don’t even think that we need some of that back”
“Do you really want to discuss all that after sixteen years of good married life?”
“Sixteen years of married life. May be good for you, but not the rest of us”
“Manisha!”
“Is that shock, or surprise or a threat?”
“You are out of your mind to talk like this. I will stay outside in the waiting lounge. Let me know if you need anything”
“No need. You may go sleep if you want to. Your mother will worry about your health if you don’t get a good night sleep. We can manage ourselves. We are strong enough”
“There is no use talking to you”
“There has never been any use telling you anything also, neither will be”
And he walks out. I wish he walked out of my life, and never came back. But he doesn’t. I don’t either. Today was the first time in our married life that I told him some truth about our relation, and he is already done listening. Whoever talked of open communication between a couple. I talked, he didn’t even listen. It would have been better if I didn’t talk at all. I wish I had the courage Madhuri had to slash my wrist and end my agonies. Or dare to have to boyfriend like Demi Moore who will show me a good time in life. Poor me, I am stuck dreaming that someone sweeping me off my feet every night for the past sixteen years. No one ever stepped into reality. Or if they did, they didn’t think I had to be rescued from Jignesh’s dungeon, with his parents guarding me like twin dragons.
Mimosa with Samosa, Manisha (Part-4)
“Manisha, these are the messages that your clients left when you were in India”, my father in law walked in with his notebook that he takes down the messages for me. This was exactly half an hour after we landed from a seventeen hour flight. They just don’t care for other lives. It is always the son that matters. He should eat well, and he should drink well. Rest will survive. They don’t need to be loved. They will love us though, because we are your parents. I wish I had the guts to tell the old man not to disturb me till the next morning, but I say my usual “Ji Pappaji” and put the notebook to the side. I called all of them before I left and I told them that I won’t be available for two weeks. But my clients think a realtor cannot have a life of their own. They call me for anything and everything. I can’t blame them also. They are doing the biggest purchase of their life and they want to make sure they did a good decision. For me it’s just another house that will bring in my commission but for them it is the house that they will live in.
No one noticed that Madhuri looked pale and weak. For once I was glad that my family was so full of themselves and didn’t care for anything that didn’t matter to them. I told her to rest in her room, and asked Nimisha not to disturb her. No one asked me how my mother was, but I didn’t care much. Probably because my mother wasn’t sick at all and it didn’t matter if they asked me. I rest my eyes and get ready to clean the house and shop for the groceries so that Jignesh can have a proper meal tonight without having to worry about the family. Jignesh sounds more as an incompetent boss of the family scouting for respect rather than the head of the family that everyone respects. My kids and I are so detached with the rest of the family. It’s as if there are two units here. My daughters and I. Jignesh and his parents. We live together for convenience. I don’t make enough money to support my daughters on my own. He can’t take care of himself or his parents if I am gone.
I go through the notebook returning calls, and I notice a new name. Iyer. Looking for a house in coto de caza. A gated city as I call it, in Orange County where the richest people live. Two 18-hole golf courses and a wonderful weather almost year round are something that can’t be found everywhere. And not many kids. Probably no kids in the community. I have never seen any when I take my clients. Average house costs 3 million dollars. Hope Mr. and Mrs. Iyer thought before deciding on this location because Manisha Shah is not ready to sell another house in Turtle Ridge when she can push them to buy in caza.
I loved the good old days when a client picked a house, and got financed to buy it irrespective of his credit or repayment ability. I could make a quick buck and have happy clients. These days things have changed. The bank appraises the properties and then goes through series of credit checks and then approves the loan. With the unemployment in two digits, it’s only luck on my side if the client wasn’t laid off by the time everything was done. Saurabh and his wife lost on a historic property in Pasadena when Saurabh got laid off. They did have enough money to put a fifty percent down, but the bank wouldn’t listen. All my time and efforts were wasted on that case. I decide to prepare a questionnaire to screen my clients and see what it is that they want rather than guess. People always take the written questions seriously and answer them more faithfully than the spoken ones.
Tired, I wanted to sleep around eleven, when Jignesh came home from work. I have no idea what he does at work this long. The economy never affected him. He always worked twelve hour days unlike others who had fun with families when things were better. I just hope he doesn’t have another family somewhere else. On second thoughts, he can’t even take care of one that is legitimate, he won’t dare to have another one. He talks in monosyllables and bound by habit, I still ask many questions, hoping some day he will answer them with an open heart.
I ask for too much. I see couples in love every day. May be that is the problem. I see the husbands showing the wives the houses as if giving to them was the sole purpose of their lives. I have seen wives see each room as if it is up to them to make this a heaven for their husbands. Jignesh and I never felt that way. When we bought a house, Jignesh just signed wherever I asked him to, and saw the house casually. You and kids spend more time in it than me was his reason. I wish he was like other husbands. A little imperfect so that I could crave for perfection.
I served him dinner, and cleaned up the kitchen and came to the bedroom. Jignesh was asleep already. I didn’t hope that he would be waiting for me with his arms open to hold me and whisper in my ears that he missed me when I was gone. But a little talk would have been good enough for me. I routinely go to the kids’ room to check on them, and see that Madhuri is too sound asleep. I shake her slightly to see if everything was alright, and there! There she lay in a pool of blood, oozing from a slashed wrist!
I dial 911 and help arrives in less than two minutes, and the whole house woke up at the sound of sirens. They didn’t know what happened, but they were already blaming me that something happened in India and I probably didn’t pay attention. I ignored them as I ignore a wall in the hallway and followed the ambulance praying to the Gods up there to leave my daughter alone. I murdered her child cruelly but I wasn’t ready to lose my own child. I threatened God that I will kill myself if something happened to Madhuri. As if he would care. For me, or for Madhuri. Or even Nimisha. If he did we wouldn’t be with Jignesh and his parents who are probably more worried about their son not getting a good night’s sleep than the granddaughter fighting life and death in a hospital bed.
No one noticed that Madhuri looked pale and weak. For once I was glad that my family was so full of themselves and didn’t care for anything that didn’t matter to them. I told her to rest in her room, and asked Nimisha not to disturb her. No one asked me how my mother was, but I didn’t care much. Probably because my mother wasn’t sick at all and it didn’t matter if they asked me. I rest my eyes and get ready to clean the house and shop for the groceries so that Jignesh can have a proper meal tonight without having to worry about the family. Jignesh sounds more as an incompetent boss of the family scouting for respect rather than the head of the family that everyone respects. My kids and I are so detached with the rest of the family. It’s as if there are two units here. My daughters and I. Jignesh and his parents. We live together for convenience. I don’t make enough money to support my daughters on my own. He can’t take care of himself or his parents if I am gone.
I go through the notebook returning calls, and I notice a new name. Iyer. Looking for a house in coto de caza. A gated city as I call it, in Orange County where the richest people live. Two 18-hole golf courses and a wonderful weather almost year round are something that can’t be found everywhere. And not many kids. Probably no kids in the community. I have never seen any when I take my clients. Average house costs 3 million dollars. Hope Mr. and Mrs. Iyer thought before deciding on this location because Manisha Shah is not ready to sell another house in Turtle Ridge when she can push them to buy in caza.
I loved the good old days when a client picked a house, and got financed to buy it irrespective of his credit or repayment ability. I could make a quick buck and have happy clients. These days things have changed. The bank appraises the properties and then goes through series of credit checks and then approves the loan. With the unemployment in two digits, it’s only luck on my side if the client wasn’t laid off by the time everything was done. Saurabh and his wife lost on a historic property in Pasadena when Saurabh got laid off. They did have enough money to put a fifty percent down, but the bank wouldn’t listen. All my time and efforts were wasted on that case. I decide to prepare a questionnaire to screen my clients and see what it is that they want rather than guess. People always take the written questions seriously and answer them more faithfully than the spoken ones.
Tired, I wanted to sleep around eleven, when Jignesh came home from work. I have no idea what he does at work this long. The economy never affected him. He always worked twelve hour days unlike others who had fun with families when things were better. I just hope he doesn’t have another family somewhere else. On second thoughts, he can’t even take care of one that is legitimate, he won’t dare to have another one. He talks in monosyllables and bound by habit, I still ask many questions, hoping some day he will answer them with an open heart.
I ask for too much. I see couples in love every day. May be that is the problem. I see the husbands showing the wives the houses as if giving to them was the sole purpose of their lives. I have seen wives see each room as if it is up to them to make this a heaven for their husbands. Jignesh and I never felt that way. When we bought a house, Jignesh just signed wherever I asked him to, and saw the house casually. You and kids spend more time in it than me was his reason. I wish he was like other husbands. A little imperfect so that I could crave for perfection.
I served him dinner, and cleaned up the kitchen and came to the bedroom. Jignesh was asleep already. I didn’t hope that he would be waiting for me with his arms open to hold me and whisper in my ears that he missed me when I was gone. But a little talk would have been good enough for me. I routinely go to the kids’ room to check on them, and see that Madhuri is too sound asleep. I shake her slightly to see if everything was alright, and there! There she lay in a pool of blood, oozing from a slashed wrist!
I dial 911 and help arrives in less than two minutes, and the whole house woke up at the sound of sirens. They didn’t know what happened, but they were already blaming me that something happened in India and I probably didn’t pay attention. I ignored them as I ignore a wall in the hallway and followed the ambulance praying to the Gods up there to leave my daughter alone. I murdered her child cruelly but I wasn’t ready to lose my own child. I threatened God that I will kill myself if something happened to Madhuri. As if he would care. For me, or for Madhuri. Or even Nimisha. If he did we wouldn’t be with Jignesh and his parents who are probably more worried about their son not getting a good night’s sleep than the granddaughter fighting life and death in a hospital bed.
Mimosa with Samosa, Manisha (Part-3)
“So, she is only fourteen?”
“Yes. Actually she just turned fourteen”
“Manisha, this is too late. It might be dangerous”
“Why don’t you ask someone to assist you?”
“The foetus is fully formed now”
“What difference does it make?”
“It’s killing a life that is just shaping up”
“It will kill my daughter’s life if I let it grow”
“It’s a baby”
“My daughter is still a baby”
“Did you ask her?”
“She is scared anyway”
“It’s risky”
“At her age having a baby is too”
“I have stopped doing this”
“Why? Earned enough screening the sex and aborting a thousand?”
“Not that. I felt bad for what I was doing and stopped”
“You did a thousand before that, what is one more?”
“It haunts me at night”
“This one won’t. Mom doesn’t cry for this one”
“Have you asked her?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just do it”
“You have become very cruel”
“At least I do it for her good. You did it to earn money all these days”
“Manisha, think over it”
“We did. That’s why we are here. If you can’t, let me know. There are other doctors in the city”
“I will. Just sign a few papers”
“Make sure this is a secret. News spreads so fast. Admit her under a fake name and don’t tell anyone that we are from US”
“Don’t worry. My staff is trustworthy”
“Thanks Hetal”
“No problem Manisha. I will see you tomorrow with Madhuri”
“Give her anesthesia. I don’t want her panicking”
“I will. She is too young to go local. It can be traumatic”
“I have to do an ultrasound to check everything”
“I will bring her in”
The nurse wheeled in the machine while I brought Madhuri in. Funny that she gave me the gown and asked to change. She might have thought that I am trying to have a boy third time around. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I am happy with my two girls and it’s my grandchild we are going to see on the ultrasound. Hetal understood and asked her to lock the door and leave, and did the screening herself.
Wait, what did I say? I said my grandchild. Sounds so weird, but that is the truth. People call it a second outing at motherhood, and a wonderful and enjoyable experience. My mother actually had dreams of becoming a grandma and when I was pregnant with Madhuri, she was so happy. Circumstances change everything. My eyes well up seeing a baby boy, as Hetal likes to call the foetus on the screen. With a heartbeat thumping at 140 per minute, and a tiny body in her uterus, the little boy seems to look at me and ask, why. Why me? Why can’t you have a heart and adopt me as your own child? Be my Yashoda and I be your Krishna?
I don’t know what Madhuri’s feelings are. She has turned her face the other side, and is not talking to anyone, or reacting to anything Hetal says. But she cannot get weak now and have this baby. It will ruin the future for her. Emotionally it will wreck her. This baby is better off sent to the God’s house than given a hell everyday of its life. I remember how happy Jignesh was when I was pregnant. Even then I had a miserable time. My mother cared for me and my baby, but still I had doubts whether I will be a good mother or not. Madhuri can’t go through all that at this age. I will let this be a pleasurable experience for her and her future husband later in life when they are ready for it. This is nothing but a mistake. I have to develop a heart of stone and let this happen.
I wish that I had someone I could talk to. Jignesh. Or mother. And tell them how this hurts my heart. How it tears my soul apart to make such a decision. I want a shoulder to cry on and empty the sorrow of my heart. But logic tells me that it won’t be a good idea. They will brand me a bad mother and my little Madhuri a tramp. She will never be trusted and always be doubted. No one has to know anything that they don’t need to know.
Jignesh will tell his parents. And his mother will unleash hell on the poor girl. Of course she will torture me. Jignesh acts like a baby in front of his parents. Right from the time he married. So many of my friends don’t even let their in-laws visit them, even though their husbands are the only kids to them, and here I am, stuck with in-laws right after I got married. He has three brothers in US, but they don’t want to take responsibility. They always have a reason not to take them home. I made a big mistake of not drawing the lines right after I got married. Now we have come too far to do anything.
I come back to the world as Hetal tells me to come in at 5 am sharp so that we can be done with this before the other staff comes. I have to told my mother that we are going on a short trip to Bombay for some shopping. Hopefully we don’t have to tell anyone the truth. I steel myself for the morning and bring on the courage to support Madhuri and give up the craving to find a support for my own self. Probably I lost that chance of finding a special someone in my life forever. This was the rude awakening that my life is over, and that of daughters has begun. That I lived without loving and being loved.
“Yes. Actually she just turned fourteen”
“Manisha, this is too late. It might be dangerous”
“Why don’t you ask someone to assist you?”
“The foetus is fully formed now”
“What difference does it make?”
“It’s killing a life that is just shaping up”
“It will kill my daughter’s life if I let it grow”
“It’s a baby”
“My daughter is still a baby”
“Did you ask her?”
“She is scared anyway”
“It’s risky”
“At her age having a baby is too”
“I have stopped doing this”
“Why? Earned enough screening the sex and aborting a thousand?”
“Not that. I felt bad for what I was doing and stopped”
“You did a thousand before that, what is one more?”
“It haunts me at night”
“This one won’t. Mom doesn’t cry for this one”
“Have you asked her?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just do it”
“You have become very cruel”
“At least I do it for her good. You did it to earn money all these days”
“Manisha, think over it”
“We did. That’s why we are here. If you can’t, let me know. There are other doctors in the city”
“I will. Just sign a few papers”
“Make sure this is a secret. News spreads so fast. Admit her under a fake name and don’t tell anyone that we are from US”
“Don’t worry. My staff is trustworthy”
“Thanks Hetal”
“No problem Manisha. I will see you tomorrow with Madhuri”
“Give her anesthesia. I don’t want her panicking”
“I will. She is too young to go local. It can be traumatic”
“I have to do an ultrasound to check everything”
“I will bring her in”
The nurse wheeled in the machine while I brought Madhuri in. Funny that she gave me the gown and asked to change. She might have thought that I am trying to have a boy third time around. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I am happy with my two girls and it’s my grandchild we are going to see on the ultrasound. Hetal understood and asked her to lock the door and leave, and did the screening herself.
Wait, what did I say? I said my grandchild. Sounds so weird, but that is the truth. People call it a second outing at motherhood, and a wonderful and enjoyable experience. My mother actually had dreams of becoming a grandma and when I was pregnant with Madhuri, she was so happy. Circumstances change everything. My eyes well up seeing a baby boy, as Hetal likes to call the foetus on the screen. With a heartbeat thumping at 140 per minute, and a tiny body in her uterus, the little boy seems to look at me and ask, why. Why me? Why can’t you have a heart and adopt me as your own child? Be my Yashoda and I be your Krishna?
I don’t know what Madhuri’s feelings are. She has turned her face the other side, and is not talking to anyone, or reacting to anything Hetal says. But she cannot get weak now and have this baby. It will ruin the future for her. Emotionally it will wreck her. This baby is better off sent to the God’s house than given a hell everyday of its life. I remember how happy Jignesh was when I was pregnant. Even then I had a miserable time. My mother cared for me and my baby, but still I had doubts whether I will be a good mother or not. Madhuri can’t go through all that at this age. I will let this be a pleasurable experience for her and her future husband later in life when they are ready for it. This is nothing but a mistake. I have to develop a heart of stone and let this happen.
I wish that I had someone I could talk to. Jignesh. Or mother. And tell them how this hurts my heart. How it tears my soul apart to make such a decision. I want a shoulder to cry on and empty the sorrow of my heart. But logic tells me that it won’t be a good idea. They will brand me a bad mother and my little Madhuri a tramp. She will never be trusted and always be doubted. No one has to know anything that they don’t need to know.
Jignesh will tell his parents. And his mother will unleash hell on the poor girl. Of course she will torture me. Jignesh acts like a baby in front of his parents. Right from the time he married. So many of my friends don’t even let their in-laws visit them, even though their husbands are the only kids to them, and here I am, stuck with in-laws right after I got married. He has three brothers in US, but they don’t want to take responsibility. They always have a reason not to take them home. I made a big mistake of not drawing the lines right after I got married. Now we have come too far to do anything.
I come back to the world as Hetal tells me to come in at 5 am sharp so that we can be done with this before the other staff comes. I have to told my mother that we are going on a short trip to Bombay for some shopping. Hopefully we don’t have to tell anyone the truth. I steel myself for the morning and bring on the courage to support Madhuri and give up the craving to find a support for my own self. Probably I lost that chance of finding a special someone in my life forever. This was the rude awakening that my life is over, and that of daughters has begun. That I lived without loving and being loved.
Mimosa with Samosa, Manisha (Part-2)
“Hi mom”
“Wear your seat belt”
“I am sorry”
“Back pack in the trunk. Don’t ruin my car and dump things all over the place”
“Mom”
“Sit inside, I will make a call to my client and cancel the appointment”
“Ok, I will”
“So, what happened?”
“Vani aunty told you?”
“I want to hear it from you. Vani is a no one to me”
“Fourteen weeks along”
“That’s too long already. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I was scared”
“Were you thinking that you can hide it all nine months?”
“I thought something bad would happen and I don’t have to tell you”
“Like?”
“Kids my age miscarry..”
“Who gives you such information?”
“Nobody, I read in magazines and on the internet”
“What next?”
“I don’t know. I am scared mom.. I don’t want to be a mother”
“I know that. Neither do I want to take that responsibility and mother your child”
“What happens now mom?”
“Options are limited. Either you have the baby, take care of it and finish school, and forget all about marrying a good Indian boy and settling down in life, or you can get rid of it and move on with life”
“I don’t know..”
“Who is the boy?”
“Mike Yo”
“That Chinese guy in Kumon class??”
“He is a good friend”
“Not a boy friend?”
“No”
“Does he know about the baby?”
“No”
“Don’t tell him. Sometimes the guys and their parents will force you to have the baby, and limit their role only to visiting the baby once in a while, but you will be ruining your life running after the baby at this age”
“I won’t”
“Listen to what I say, and trust me that it will set your life right on the track again”
“Uhmm”
“We will go to India this Friday for two weeks. We will get rid of it and come back. No one has to know”
“Not even Nimisha and dad? Grandma?”
“No one has to”
“Uhm. What will you tell them?”
“I will tell them that my mother is sick and we have to go see her”
“Ok”
“Everything will be alright”
“Thanks mom. I thought you would be mad”
“Next time, remember, even if your family gets mad at you, they care about your safety and future more than some random acquaintance of your mother”
“I was scared”
“I can understand”
“I don’t know how this happened”
“It’s Ok”
“I didn’t know that just with once this could happen, that too with Mike. It was the first time for him also”
“Where did you meet him?”
“Kumon”
“No, where did you do it?”
“In our house”
“What?”
“In my bedroom”
“And what was I doing?”
“You were out with a client for open house tour”
“Your father?”
“At work”
“Grandparents? Nimisha?”
“In the temple. I told them that I will stay home and study for the test”
“You planned it so well and forgot planning your own safety”
“Actually we did. Mike didn’t know how to use it”
“No one taught you before?”
“They did. But this was different”
“So, it came off?”
“This is getting embarrassing mom, can we not talk about it?”
“Sorry. I won’t ask those questions. So, you want to have some Boba tea?”
“I don’t want to have to do anything Chinese. Gives me creeps”
“That’s rude. You love your papaya shakes with boba”
“Cantaloupe with boba. Nimisha drinks papaya, without boba”
“Sorry, both of you are the same for me”
“But we are not”
“Thanks for the reminder. I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise”
“Sorry”
“Let’s book our tickets before we go home. Or else your grandfather will start calling his contacts and asking hundred questions. Also, let me call my friend in India who is an Ob-gyn and set things up. I don’t want to leave anything for the last minute”
“Mom, will it hurt?”
“Having a baby will hurt you more. Trust your mother on this one”
“I am scared”
“Mommy is here. Don’t be. We will be OK”
“Wear your seat belt”
“I am sorry”
“Back pack in the trunk. Don’t ruin my car and dump things all over the place”
“Mom”
“Sit inside, I will make a call to my client and cancel the appointment”
“Ok, I will”
“So, what happened?”
“Vani aunty told you?”
“I want to hear it from you. Vani is a no one to me”
“Fourteen weeks along”
“That’s too long already. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I was scared”
“Were you thinking that you can hide it all nine months?”
“I thought something bad would happen and I don’t have to tell you”
“Like?”
“Kids my age miscarry..”
“Who gives you such information?”
“Nobody, I read in magazines and on the internet”
“What next?”
“I don’t know. I am scared mom.. I don’t want to be a mother”
“I know that. Neither do I want to take that responsibility and mother your child”
“What happens now mom?”
“Options are limited. Either you have the baby, take care of it and finish school, and forget all about marrying a good Indian boy and settling down in life, or you can get rid of it and move on with life”
“I don’t know..”
“Who is the boy?”
“Mike Yo”
“That Chinese guy in Kumon class??”
“He is a good friend”
“Not a boy friend?”
“No”
“Does he know about the baby?”
“No”
“Don’t tell him. Sometimes the guys and their parents will force you to have the baby, and limit their role only to visiting the baby once in a while, but you will be ruining your life running after the baby at this age”
“I won’t”
“Listen to what I say, and trust me that it will set your life right on the track again”
“Uhmm”
“We will go to India this Friday for two weeks. We will get rid of it and come back. No one has to know”
“Not even Nimisha and dad? Grandma?”
“No one has to”
“Uhm. What will you tell them?”
“I will tell them that my mother is sick and we have to go see her”
“Ok”
“Everything will be alright”
“Thanks mom. I thought you would be mad”
“Next time, remember, even if your family gets mad at you, they care about your safety and future more than some random acquaintance of your mother”
“I was scared”
“I can understand”
“I don’t know how this happened”
“It’s Ok”
“I didn’t know that just with once this could happen, that too with Mike. It was the first time for him also”
“Where did you meet him?”
“Kumon”
“No, where did you do it?”
“In our house”
“What?”
“In my bedroom”
“And what was I doing?”
“You were out with a client for open house tour”
“Your father?”
“At work”
“Grandparents? Nimisha?”
“In the temple. I told them that I will stay home and study for the test”
“You planned it so well and forgot planning your own safety”
“Actually we did. Mike didn’t know how to use it”
“No one taught you before?”
“They did. But this was different”
“So, it came off?”
“This is getting embarrassing mom, can we not talk about it?”
“Sorry. I won’t ask those questions. So, you want to have some Boba tea?”
“I don’t want to have to do anything Chinese. Gives me creeps”
“That’s rude. You love your papaya shakes with boba”
“Cantaloupe with boba. Nimisha drinks papaya, without boba”
“Sorry, both of you are the same for me”
“But we are not”
“Thanks for the reminder. I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise”
“Sorry”
“Let’s book our tickets before we go home. Or else your grandfather will start calling his contacts and asking hundred questions. Also, let me call my friend in India who is an Ob-gyn and set things up. I don’t want to leave anything for the last minute”
“Mom, will it hurt?”
“Having a baby will hurt you more. Trust your mother on this one”
“I am scared”
“Mommy is here. Don’t be. We will be OK”
Mimosa with Samosa, Manisha (Part-1)
“Manisha, Rashmi Agarwal just called. She wants to fix an appointment for this afternoon. Call her”
“Ji Paapaji”
Rashmi Agarwal is my new client, introduced through one of my father-in-law’s temple contacts. She wants to buy a house. That’s it. She hasn’t zeroed in on a location yet. That means I will have to take her around the Orange County as well as the San Bernardino County to show her some houses and give her some knowledge about each community so that she can pick one. That means I will have to drive around all over the place hoping that she might buy a house through me at least to cover my expenses. Most of the times people who start out like this without a budget or a zip code end up buying somewhere else, with another realtor. I hope that is not the case this time. With the economy going downhill, as it is we aren’t making as much as we were, and if the people who make us run around ditch us, there is no way our profession will recover in this economy. People think being a realtor is easy. Take some pictures, list a house, wear pretty clothes and shoes, drive a swanky car and sit browsing the internet in an open house on the weekends, and make money for all of this. It’s not. We have an image of success to portray so that clients think we actually sold a lot of homes and made a lot of money and they are good hands.
I call Rashmi Agarwal and fix an appointment for the afternoon to go to Shady canyon. Apparently Ms. Agarwal has a decent amount stashed and might be able to buy something there. Or at least I can try that she does. It will be a decent earning if it happens. I get dressed to project the image of a suave realtor and pull out the Armani shades to go with it, and start the car to see Ms. Agarwal in her house first and then hit the freeway. The phone rings! I hate to use my blue tooth, but it’s the law and for my own safety.
“Hello, Vani, How are you?”
“Manisha, I am doing good, how are you?”
“Good, so, what’s up?”
“Hmm.. Madhuri is here. She wanted to talk to you”
“She lost her cell phone?”
“No, she wants to talk to you about something important, and didn’t have the courage to tell you herself. So, she came to me this afternoon”
“She came to your office? What happened? She lost her money or something?”
“Manisha, listen, this is important”
“What happened that she couldn’t lift the phone and tell me, but disturbed you at work?”
“Manisha, calm down and meet us at our house in half an hour. We are driving home”
I hate going to Vani’s house. There will be things strewn all over the place and Vani will give the same old Oh-I-am-so-busy expression. She behaves as though being a realtor is not a job at all. I am responsible for everything at home and make money in whatever time I spare each day. I spend hours reading blogs about local real estate. With the market crashing, there are blogs sprouting everywhere calling the bluffs of realtors. They check our spellings, they post the loss on the house we are about to sell, they already tell if it’s close to a freeway or in a not-so-good school district. Not like before when the client depended on you solely for all the information. I have to do that, get up-to-date with the fashion so that I don’t look dated and jaded, reading about latest gossip and movies so that I can engage my client in small talk. Politics, Bollywood, Hollywood, sports.. all ice breakers need to be ready for us. I am judged everyday on how I look, how I behave. Unlike her, who has to interview once for a job and is chained to the cubicle and the computer till they let go of her. She never cooks or cleans. She has a full-time job, so the kid is dumped in an after-school program till she or Shekhar pick her up. I have to drop off the kids, pick them up, cook for everyone, and make do with a weekly help on housecleaning. I don’t understand why this kid of mine went to her for help. I don’t even know what kind of help it is that her own mother couldn’t offer.
“Hi Vani”
“Hi Manisha, come in”
“So, where is Madhuri?”
“She is upstairs, in the game room playing some Wii game”
“What happened”
“Sit down, I will bring you something to drink”
“Actually I have to go and see a client soon”
“May be you want to cancel”
“Huh?”
“Madhuri did something and now she is worried that you will be mad at her”
“Oh! She probably didn’t get a 100% on her math again. This time she promised”
“No Manisha, it’s not that trivial”
“What happened?”
“She is pregnant”
“What!”
“I told you.. you have to calm down and listen to me”
“How could she be? I haven’t even talked to her about the birds and bees”
“Manisha, she is fourteen”
“That’s what! She is too young, Besides, she is not that kind. There might be some mistake”
“She told me that she took a test. Manisha, just because you didn’t talk doesn’t mean she doesn’t know”
“But she is not that kind. She is a good Indian girl who spends time singing bhajans in temples when her friends are singing and dancing like they are next Rihannas”
“That has nothing to do with this Manisha. Our grandmothers never wore miniskirts and danced around shaking their butts, but had babies in their teens. They never had anyone talk to them about birds and bees or show them educative videos but they knew what to do when the time came. We on the other hand went to school, educated ourselves and waited several years to experience the bodily pleasures”
“So, how far along? Who is the boy?”
“Someone she goes to Kumon with. A Chinese boy”
“Oh no!”
“What does it matter? If he is Indian, and Gujarati are you going to get them married?”
“No, that’s not the issue”
“She hasn’t told me how far along she is. But I think far enough to worry and take a test, and get a positive in the school restroom”
“Who all know about this?”
“I don’t know, I think only me. If she had told any of the girl friends, they would have helped her, and she wouldn’t have to call me”
“Vani, do me a favor”
“What?”
“Don’t tell anyone about this. Think of Madhuri like you would for Ruchi, and forget that this happened”
“Sure Manisha, you can trust me on this”
“Not even Shekhar or Ruchi should know about this”
“Sure, I promise. So, what will you do next?”
“Let me talk to her”
“Don’t be mad at her”
“I won’t be. What’s done is done. There is no point troubling the already troubled soul”
“Right”
“Hey listen, don’t tell anything to Jignesh”
“Manisha, he is the father”
“Just don’t, OK. I will figure out how to handle this mess. I don’t want everyone in the house to know and put her down every moment of the day after this”
“What are you going to do Manisha?”
“Don’t worry. I am her mother. I will do whatever is good for her”
“Madhuri, your mother is here. Come downstairs”
Madhuri still looks like a little girl walking down the stairs in her school uniform and two braids, and that messenger bag. No makeup on her face, no earrings or even a bracelet. So simple, unlike girls of her age. I still can’t believe she would do something as huge as this. I wish she had talked to me instead of going to Vani. When did I become so distant? She told me everything about school when I picked her up. About the boys, about the girls, about math that day, about how she is trying to a nerd like other Indian kids. Why did she hide just one thing, and a very important one at that?
“Ji Paapaji”
Rashmi Agarwal is my new client, introduced through one of my father-in-law’s temple contacts. She wants to buy a house. That’s it. She hasn’t zeroed in on a location yet. That means I will have to take her around the Orange County as well as the San Bernardino County to show her some houses and give her some knowledge about each community so that she can pick one. That means I will have to drive around all over the place hoping that she might buy a house through me at least to cover my expenses. Most of the times people who start out like this without a budget or a zip code end up buying somewhere else, with another realtor. I hope that is not the case this time. With the economy going downhill, as it is we aren’t making as much as we were, and if the people who make us run around ditch us, there is no way our profession will recover in this economy. People think being a realtor is easy. Take some pictures, list a house, wear pretty clothes and shoes, drive a swanky car and sit browsing the internet in an open house on the weekends, and make money for all of this. It’s not. We have an image of success to portray so that clients think we actually sold a lot of homes and made a lot of money and they are good hands.
I call Rashmi Agarwal and fix an appointment for the afternoon to go to Shady canyon. Apparently Ms. Agarwal has a decent amount stashed and might be able to buy something there. Or at least I can try that she does. It will be a decent earning if it happens. I get dressed to project the image of a suave realtor and pull out the Armani shades to go with it, and start the car to see Ms. Agarwal in her house first and then hit the freeway. The phone rings! I hate to use my blue tooth, but it’s the law and for my own safety.
“Hello, Vani, How are you?”
“Manisha, I am doing good, how are you?”
“Good, so, what’s up?”
“Hmm.. Madhuri is here. She wanted to talk to you”
“She lost her cell phone?”
“No, she wants to talk to you about something important, and didn’t have the courage to tell you herself. So, she came to me this afternoon”
“She came to your office? What happened? She lost her money or something?”
“Manisha, listen, this is important”
“What happened that she couldn’t lift the phone and tell me, but disturbed you at work?”
“Manisha, calm down and meet us at our house in half an hour. We are driving home”
I hate going to Vani’s house. There will be things strewn all over the place and Vani will give the same old Oh-I-am-so-busy expression. She behaves as though being a realtor is not a job at all. I am responsible for everything at home and make money in whatever time I spare each day. I spend hours reading blogs about local real estate. With the market crashing, there are blogs sprouting everywhere calling the bluffs of realtors. They check our spellings, they post the loss on the house we are about to sell, they already tell if it’s close to a freeway or in a not-so-good school district. Not like before when the client depended on you solely for all the information. I have to do that, get up-to-date with the fashion so that I don’t look dated and jaded, reading about latest gossip and movies so that I can engage my client in small talk. Politics, Bollywood, Hollywood, sports.. all ice breakers need to be ready for us. I am judged everyday on how I look, how I behave. Unlike her, who has to interview once for a job and is chained to the cubicle and the computer till they let go of her. She never cooks or cleans. She has a full-time job, so the kid is dumped in an after-school program till she or Shekhar pick her up. I have to drop off the kids, pick them up, cook for everyone, and make do with a weekly help on housecleaning. I don’t understand why this kid of mine went to her for help. I don’t even know what kind of help it is that her own mother couldn’t offer.
“Hi Vani”
“Hi Manisha, come in”
“So, where is Madhuri?”
“She is upstairs, in the game room playing some Wii game”
“What happened”
“Sit down, I will bring you something to drink”
“Actually I have to go and see a client soon”
“May be you want to cancel”
“Huh?”
“Madhuri did something and now she is worried that you will be mad at her”
“Oh! She probably didn’t get a 100% on her math again. This time she promised”
“No Manisha, it’s not that trivial”
“What happened?”
“She is pregnant”
“What!”
“I told you.. you have to calm down and listen to me”
“How could she be? I haven’t even talked to her about the birds and bees”
“Manisha, she is fourteen”
“That’s what! She is too young, Besides, she is not that kind. There might be some mistake”
“She told me that she took a test. Manisha, just because you didn’t talk doesn’t mean she doesn’t know”
“But she is not that kind. She is a good Indian girl who spends time singing bhajans in temples when her friends are singing and dancing like they are next Rihannas”
“That has nothing to do with this Manisha. Our grandmothers never wore miniskirts and danced around shaking their butts, but had babies in their teens. They never had anyone talk to them about birds and bees or show them educative videos but they knew what to do when the time came. We on the other hand went to school, educated ourselves and waited several years to experience the bodily pleasures”
“So, how far along? Who is the boy?”
“Someone she goes to Kumon with. A Chinese boy”
“Oh no!”
“What does it matter? If he is Indian, and Gujarati are you going to get them married?”
“No, that’s not the issue”
“She hasn’t told me how far along she is. But I think far enough to worry and take a test, and get a positive in the school restroom”
“Who all know about this?”
“I don’t know, I think only me. If she had told any of the girl friends, they would have helped her, and she wouldn’t have to call me”
“Vani, do me a favor”
“What?”
“Don’t tell anyone about this. Think of Madhuri like you would for Ruchi, and forget that this happened”
“Sure Manisha, you can trust me on this”
“Not even Shekhar or Ruchi should know about this”
“Sure, I promise. So, what will you do next?”
“Let me talk to her”
“Don’t be mad at her”
“I won’t be. What’s done is done. There is no point troubling the already troubled soul”
“Right”
“Hey listen, don’t tell anything to Jignesh”
“Manisha, he is the father”
“Just don’t, OK. I will figure out how to handle this mess. I don’t want everyone in the house to know and put her down every moment of the day after this”
“What are you going to do Manisha?”
“Don’t worry. I am her mother. I will do whatever is good for her”
“Madhuri, your mother is here. Come downstairs”
Madhuri still looks like a little girl walking down the stairs in her school uniform and two braids, and that messenger bag. No makeup on her face, no earrings or even a bracelet. So simple, unlike girls of her age. I still can’t believe she would do something as huge as this. I wish she had talked to me instead of going to Vani. When did I become so distant? She told me everything about school when I picked her up. About the boys, about the girls, about math that day, about how she is trying to a nerd like other Indian kids. Why did she hide just one thing, and a very important one at that?
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