A House for Happy Mothers: A Novel (22 page)

“No,” Ragini said. “No need to see the baby. It’s not mine.”

“Did you see any of the babies?” Asha asked. This was Ragini’s third time. The last time.

“No,” Ragini said. “Neither should you.”

Asha nodded. “I know,” she said as she folded Ragini’s blouses and put them neatly into her black steel trunk.

“You do this a few times and you stop getting attached,” Ragini said. “First time, I also thought, how will I give up a baby and all that nonsense. Now I don’t even think about it. All I think about is the money in the bank and good matches for my daughters.”

Asha sat down on the bed next to the trunk.

“Did you meet your parents?”

“No,” Ragini said. “No need to.”

“My parents call me once a week. They send me presents. And now the mother is going to come to India . . . early. She will come and visit every other day or something. I don’t want her to, but I can’t tell her that,” Asha said. “I don’t like her.”

“It’s still
her
baby,” Ragini said.

“But what if I know that she’ll be a bad mother?” Asha demanded. “What if I know? How can I—”

“It’s
her
baby and it’s none of your business what kind of a mother she is,” Ragini said. “Don’t do something stupid, Asha. When you do something stupid, it doesn’t just mess up your life, it messes up the lives of all the other surrogate mothers. For people like me, this is the only way out. Don’t bring this place a bad name.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Asha said.

“Good,” Ragini said, and smiled at her. “It’s always hard the first time. When you do it again—”

“I’m never doing this again,” Asha said.

Ragini laughed lightly. “That’s what I said. But when you need money . . . you’ll do what it takes. And this is better than being a whore.”

Asha told Doctor Swati about her conversation with the mother during her checkup. While Doctor Swati looked at the baby’s picture on the ultrasound machine, Asha voiced her doubts about having the mother in India before the baby was born.

“She just wants to feel close to the baby,” Doctor Swati said. Asha wiped her belly with the paper napkin the doctor gave her.

“And we’re not the type of clinic that doesn’t allow contact between the surrogate and parents. So if she wants to come, then she can. She just has to follow the rules and come here only during visiting hours. She won’t disturb your schedule, if you’re worried about that.”

Asha stood up and started to put her sari in order. The pleats had been pulled out and her petticoat loosened for the ultrasound.

Asha loved watching the baby on the screen. The thump-thump-thump of the heartbeat always brought tears to her eyes, but she held them back. She didn’t want Doctor Swati to think she was unduly attached. But it was amazing, a sign of life. She wished she had been able to do this with Manoj and Mohini. She wished Pratap could have heard the heartbeat, seen their baby on the black-and-white screen.

“The baby is inside me,” Asha said. “How is the mother going to be close to her?”

“I don’t know,” Doctor Swati said. “Honestly, I think it’s unnecessary, and I have talked to her about her expectations. Once she’s here she’s going to regret it. There’s really nothing for her to do but wait.”

“I’m going to be nervous around her.”

“Don’t be,” Doctor Swati said. “And if it bothers you, just tell me and I will talk to her. Do you want me to tell her that she shouldn’t come and visit you?”

Asha thought about it for a moment, and it seemed cruel to ask a mother not to feel her baby kicking, even if it was through someone else’s belly.

She shook her head. “It’s OK.”

“By the way, I spoke to the headmaster at the school you want Manoj to be admitted to,” Doctor Swati said, and sat down on her chair behind the large wooden table. “He said that Manoj could definitely start there at the beginning of the next school year in September.”

“Can’t he start this September, now?” Asha asked. She was worried about Manoj; she knew that he needed more of a challenge in his school or his brilliant mind would waste away.

“I’ll ask the school, but I doubt it. It’s very tight this year, and it’s too late to apply now,” Doctor Swati said. “The headmaster said he’ll send the admissions materials to me. You can fill them out and pay the admission fees. I think you should wait until after the baby is born and you have the full money to pay the admission fees. They’re quite steep. And if you want Manoj to go there year after year . . . you’ll need to pay a high amount of money every year, nearly half lakh rupees.”

Asha’s heart sank. How would they pay for this? How would they manage?

“But that’s . . . that’s so much money, Doctor Swati.”

“We’ll find a way. For now, just know that for next year Manoj has admission.”

Asha’s legs felt heavy as she walked from the clinic to the surrogate house. Five lakh rupees were only enough for six years of school. He would be just eleven years old then.

If she did this again, then they could get another six years, and then what? How would they pay for college? How many more times would she have to do this to ensure Manoj’s future?

That evening Pratap came alone. Manoj and Mohini had gone to a birthday party with Kaveri, Raman, and their boys.

“I’m very worried about Manoj,” Asha confessed.

“His teachers think that it’s going better now that he’s two grades up. They think that next year they might push him another grade up and then he will be in the right place,” Pratap said.

To deal with Manoj’s behavior, the school had moved him up two grades in one week, hoping that the schoolwork would be more challenging.

“So you’re saying he doesn’t need to go to a special school?” Asha asked. He was going to once again talk about a flat, she just knew it, and she could feel her anger rise.

“No,” Pratap said quietly. “I . . . I think that it’s OK if he doesn’t go to a special school right now. Here he goes to class with much older boys, and that is hard. Just because he’s good at math doesn’t mean he’s good at talking to people or is smart about things that older kids are smart about. But if we can’t afford it . . . I’m not going to sacrifice the future of the whole family to put him in a school that may or may not be good for him.”

“You just want to buy a flat,” Asha spat.

“That’s not true,” Pratap said, and sighed. “I do want a home. Is that so bad? I’ve never had a real home. Just huts in a village. No real walls. No bathroom. Is it so bad that I want my family to have a home? Manoj and Mohini love Raman’s flat. It’s nice. It’s big. And I want one, too. Why do you make that sound like a crime?”

“It’s not a crime,” Asha said. “But Manoj has to be our first priority.”

“A proper home will be important for Manoj and Mohini, too,” Pratap said confidently. “I’m getting some work . . . business is bad all around the world, but I’m getting work here and there. And I hope to get more. And once business starts to pick up, Raman and I will start our own business. But a home . . . if we have a home, the other dreams can come true, too.”

Asha smiled at him. “You’re different,” she said softly. “Before, you would’ve just told me how it was going to be. Now you ask me what I want.”

Pratap smiled back. “You’re different, too, you know. You never would have said what you wanted before. If you had, I would’ve listened.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Pratap said. “My mother did what my father wanted. You did what I wanted. The only woman I know who fights with her husband is Kaveri, and I’m glad you’re not like her, screaming and yelling all the time. But Raman loves his wife. And I love mine.”

He had never said this before. Never used the word
love
. People like them didn’t talk about love.

“I love you, too,” Asha said shyly, embarrassed, her eyes not meeting his.

“When you come back, we’ll go to Tirupati,” Pratap said. “Get Lord Venkateshwara Swami’s blessing.”

“That’s a good idea,” Asha said.

“It’ll be over soon,” Pratap said. “And then you’ll come home.”

“And then I’ll come home,” Asha said. She grabbed his hand then. The first time she had ever done that, ever initiated touching him. They held hands in silence until it was time for Pratap to leave.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Priya said to Madhu. “And you can stop smiling.”

Madhu burst out laughing. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t funny, but in all your fantasies, or your nightmares, I’m not sure which, I’m sure you never saw yourself going to India with your mother.”

It had been like all the other times. Priya and Sush had fought, Sush had stopped speaking to her, and then a few weeks later they had sort of made up.

Priya had called to let her father know that she was going to India for two months. Madhu would join her for the last two weeks before they brought their baby home. In those two weeks, they had to get their daughter a passport and get the legal work in place to bring her to the United States.

“Sush has been planning a trip to India as well,” her father said. “To Hyderabad for some meetings. You should go together; you can take care of your mother.”

“Right, like Sush needs taking care of,” Priya said. “And I don’t think Mama would be too keen on that.”

Priya had been wrong. Sush was quite keen on that.

“Well, we haven’t been to India together since you were a little girl. This will be an excellent opportunity,” Sush said.

“And you can also meet Asha,” Priya suggested, testing the waters.

“I must admit I’m curious to see this clinic and the house where these pregnant women live,” Sush said. “It’ll be informational.”

Sush seemed to have forgotten about her last visit and their fight, and Priya let her. Why fan the flames of a miserable old fire?

So it was decided: Sush would fly into San Francisco, and they would then fly to Singapore together, where they had a three-hour layover before a three-hour flight to Hyderabad.

That was a lot of hours to spend with her mother, Priya thought. They could barely stand each other for a couple of hours; twenty-four hours of nonstop company could cause bodily damage. And once in Hyderabad, it wasn’t going to be a picnic, not with Madhu’s sister visiting as well.

“My mother, your mother, and Mayuri . . . this isn’t happening,” Priya said, and leaned her head against Madhu’s shoulder.

Mayuri and Sush had met only once and had hated each other. The vendetta started during Priya and Madhu’s wedding.

Priya and Madhu got married at a hall near Madhu’s parents’ home in Hyderabad. The whole wedding had been a blur. The
muhurat
, the “auspicious time,” fell at 2:07 a.m. on the twelfth of July. An excruciatingly hot time to begin with, without the added burn of sitting around a fire for the wedding ceremony, wearing a ton of jewelry and a heavy sari.

The whole ceremony had felt alien, and though parts of it had been interesting, by two in the morning, with jet lag hitting hard, Priya had been too tired to enjoy any of it. Madhu had been a rock, his arm around her waist, even as his mother kept asking him to keep his hands to himself.

“It’s inappropriate to touch her like this,” she said. “She isn’t your wife yet, and even if she were, you shouldn’t put your arm around her like this in public.”

Madhu had turned around and looked his mother in the eye. “Amma, we live together; this is way more appropriate than that.”

This wasn’t Madhu’s usual style with his mother, but with the ceremony dragging on, he was exhausted as well. Prasanna had gaped at him and then shut her mouth as if too disgusted to speak.

At some point in the wedding, the groom’s family was supposed to give the bride’s mother a sari. Instead of an elaborate silk sari, which was how it was usually done, Prasanna for some odd reason decided to give Sush a rather plain cotton one. Lalita, Sush’s cousin, had gone berserk. And once that happened, Sush lost her marbles as well.

Halfway through the wedding ceremony, while Madhu and Priya sat in the wedding
mandap
, a fight broke loose. The main players were Sush, Lalita, Prasanna, and Mayuri, who entered the skirmish when it became obvious that Lalita and Sush were winning the vocal war against Prasanna.

“This is a cheap cotton sari,” Lalita said, holding the sari up to Prasanna’s face. “Is this the respect you show the bride’s family?”

“Respect? You want to talk about respect? We’re the groom’s side, but we’re the ones paying for the wedding. In India, the bride pays for the wedding,” Prasanna said.

“My husband has paid for the wedding,” Sush piped in.

“No, he hasn’t. My Madhu paid for the wedding, and we planned the wedding and did all the work to set it up,” Prasanna said.

Madhu had tried to say, “Actually, Amma, Priya’s father did send money . . .” but no one was listening to him.

“You don’t pay for the wedding, you don’t do anything around here, and then you want a good sari? This is the sari we can give you,” Prasanna said.

Usually a mild-mannered woman, for some reason Prasanna seemed to fly into full bitch mode.

“We paid for the wedding,” Sush said, now screaming. “And we’re letting our daughter marry into a lower social economic class.”

“We’re Brahmins,” Prasanna said. “It’s you who are a lower class with your white husband.”

Madhu had buried his head in his hands then, and Priya closed her eyes. She was too tired to stand up and fight. She looked at her father pleadingly.

He tried to pull Sush away from the fight, but that just made her angrier.

“They say that your being white is a big problem here,” Sush said.

Madhu’s father, Sairam, also got into the action, trying to extricate his wife, but like Andrew, he didn’t get very far.

“My brother-in-law is a doctor; he’s very rich,” Lalita said, and Priya groaned at such blatant snobbery. “You have no money, which is obvious, since you gave Sushila a sari like this.”

“We’re not poor,” Mayuri piped in.

“Mayuri,” Madhu called out, standing up. The ceremony had now come to a halt. Technically, they were married, but the rest of the ceremony had to be performed for religious purposes.

“What? Her family is yelling at Amma, and you’re just sitting there listening,” Mayuri said, flashing angry eyes at both Madhu and Priya.

“Stay out of it,” Madhu said.

“You stay out of it,” Sush said to Madhu.

“Oh for God’s sake,” Priya said. Standing up was difficult, with all her wedding finery pulling her down. “It’s a fucking sari, Mummy. You don’t even wear saris.”

“Don’t you dare use language like that with me,” Sush said, and threw the sari at Prasanna’s face. “This is what I think of your lousy gesture.”

“How dare you?” Mayuri was ready to go to blows at this point.

Andrew and Sairam came and stood beside Madhu and Priya.

“So sorry, darling,” Andrew said.

“This happens in Indian weddings,” Sairam said, looking apologetic.

In the meantime, the women were yelling at one another, and the guests were watching them instead of the bride and groom. Even the priest had given up any pretense of being impartial and was supporting Prasanna against the bad Hindu woman who had married a white man.

“There’s a car and a driver outside,” Sairam said when the discussion went into how long Prasanna thought Madhu and Priya would remain married. She was sure that her son would divorce a daughter raised by a woman like Sush in no time.

“You should go,” Andrew said.

“Where?” Priya asked.

“Anywhere,” Madhu said, and got details from his father about where the car was parked.

So, in the middle of their wedding ceremony, Priya and Madhu left the wedding hall and drove to Birla Temple in the middle of the city. It was Madhu’s favorite place. He wasn’t exactly religious, but it was a beautiful temple with a stunning view of the city, and it was the first place he could think of that would give them some peace.

“I can’t believe Mayuri joined that melee,” Madhu said.

“Your mother doesn’t like me,” Priya said.

“She adores you. She just doesn’t like your mother, and once she gets angry, she has no clue what she’s doing or saying,” Madhu said. “You should’ve seen her with my grandmother. It was mother-in-law versus daughter-in-law, Telugu movie style.”

It was nearly five in the morning, and they leaned against each other as they sat outside the gates of the closed temple, the white Honda Civic with their driver in the background. The driver had chatted with them as he had driven them—the news of the catfight in the wedding hall had reached him, and he was amused to drive a bride and groom away from their own wedding halfway through it.

Eventually Sairam called Madhu on his cell phone and convinced him to come back. The women had calmed down, he’d promised.

When they returned to the wedding hall, Sush and Lalita had left, and Andrew had stayed behind. Prasanna and Mayuri apologized to Madhu and Priya for their behavior.

Mayuri later confessed she didn’t know what had gotten into her. “I guess I just don’t like your mother,” she had said.

Priya had nodded. “I understand. It can happen.”

Since then, Madhu and Priya had kept his parents away from her parents, and Mayuri away from Sush. They didn’t quite know how the chemistry would mix when they met again.

Transcript from message board www.surrogacyforyou.org

Trying1Time: I’m packed and ready to go to India. I don’t know what to expect, but I’m going to go and hope for the best. I’m looking forward to seeing the surrogate house and the SM. And I really want to feel the baby kick. And in two months I’ll get to hold her.

NobuNobi: OMG, you’re really doing it! We just got back with the baby and it’s fabulous, just wonderful. Little Cooper is amazing and I have never been this much in love before. DH and I just sit and stare at him for hours. And my in-laws who were so against us using a surrogate are thrilled to be around him. I couldn’t be happier.

Newbie1209: I’m so happy for you. We’ll be going in a few months, too, to get our baby and I can hardly wait. But Trying1Time, won’t it drive you crazy to be in India for two full months? I mean, you did say that you had family there, but still? Do you intend to stay at the surrogate house with the mother?

Trying1Time: I don’t think they allow that! And I don’t think I’d want to stay in the surrogate house. There’s the language issue. I speak some Telugu but not a whole lot. My mother is coming along with me to India and my sister-in-law will be at my in-laws’ place as well. So I’ll have plenty of company. I think it’ll be fine . . . who knows, maybe even fun.

LastHope77: Just do what your heart says. If you’re miserable, you can always come back and then go again. But if you feel it’s important to see the SM and touch your baby while it’s in the SM’s womb, then do it.

YummyMummy2008: I was there a week before the baby and two days before the due date and it drove me up the wall. All that waiting. Is it now? Is it now? We waited for the phone to ring constantly and we were worried that the baby wouldn’t be born on the due date—I mean tickets to India and the hotel stay were expensive. But they said they’d just induce if a week passed by. Thankfully the SM went into labor. It’s nerve-racking enough when you’re pregnant and you don’t know when you’ll go into labor—but this was pure torture.

UnoBaby: I told my friends that I might do what you’re doing, Trying1Time, and they said that it would be torture—but it’s torture being this far away, isn’t it? No matter how you do it, this process is painful. I’m tired of feeling this helpless. And I’m angry that this was the only way we could have our own baby. They put a man on the moon—you’d think they’d have found a way to deal with an inverted uterus.

CantConceive1970: Or get men pregnant?

Mommy8774: LOL. I wish both the man and woman could get pregnant—then at least one of us could conceive. But I agree—using a surrogate is so hard and so painful. It puts you through the emotional wringer.