As Sweet as Honey (12 page)

Shanti-Mami had made some pakoras, and Aunt Pa brought them in. Greedily, Rasi, Sanjay, and I reached for them, ignoring Auntie’s pointed looks. They were hot and crispy, and we tried to be careful about them crumbling and leaving oily stains on our dresses and shirtfront. Receiving Simon-Archer (for that was what we called him in secret, though Aunt Meterling, overhearing, corrected us and told us his name was Simon Peter Harold Forster) was different from receiving Nalani’s intended bridegroom. There was an awkwardness, created
perhaps by color or gender. Our grandfather had worked with white men, and frequently brought one or two home, his supervisor mainly, but sometimes the younger engineers, who came for a good home-cooked meal. Uncle Archer had been made welcome, too, after the wedding was announced. Once a wedding is announced, tensions ease somewhat. After a wedding, there’s much hearty laughter and joking.

Simon was unmarried. He was a journalist, and traveled a good deal. No, he’d never had anything in the
News
or the
Accent
, but he had published in the
Lincolnshire Post
. He covered local fairs, and garden shows, and wrote theater and book reviews; abroad, he wrote travel pieces. Meterling mentioned Neela, the poet, but he didn’t know her works. He mentioned the works of Indian poets he was familiar with, and for a few minutes, he and Meterling spoke easily about them. But perhaps fearing they were leaving the others out, they began to speak of the weather, the unusual rain. Uncle Darshan, who by this time had come back from his college, and was seated with a hot cup of coffee, said the pollutants we released into the atmosphere mixed up nature. Icebergs, he said, were melting, but Aunt Pa said that was nonsense.

Simon-Archer was offered a second cup of coffee, but he stood up, saying he had already taken up so much of our time. He was staying in a guesthouse, and the proprietress would have dinner waiting for him. Then he blushed once again, looked at Meterling, and asked if she would meet him for dinner tomorrow. At once, Grandmother and Aunt Pa put up a fuss, saying that she was in her eighth month, but Meterling, to everyone’s surprise, accepted. The doula had not wanted her to be bedridden, but also to be sensitive to her fatigue. Later, Aunt Pa and Grandmother decided it must have to do with the will.

•   •   •

While Meterling waited for Simon-Archer to call for her, Aunt Pa told her to be very careful of what she ate. Under no circumstances was she to eat deep-fried foods. And the minute she felt tired, she should come home. Meterling looked pretty that evening, wearing a soft georgette silk that had small red blooms on a cream background. She had put up her hair, and used a decorative comb in the bun. Again, she selected jasmine to wind around it. They smelled especially good, since the blooms were just beginning to open.

Simon-Archer arrived and they set off. Ajay came over a half-hour later. He had been visiting regularly, and he and Nalani took us to the movies. We argued over James Bond or Disney, and we finally settled for Disney, a showing of
Snow White
. It was much scarier than I thought, with the wicked queen. Sanjay and Rasi made fun of me afterwards, teasing me with “How about an apple?” until Nalani told them to stop. Ajay asked if we wanted ice creams, and Nalani laughed, saying, “As if there’s any question!” They seemed to like each other more. He was funny, cracking jokes and breaking into bits of film song, trying to win Nalani’s heart. He drove us to the beach, which was crowded as usual. The vendors were busy, and groups of people sat together eating and laughing. Carefully watching out for dog droppings, we walked to the midnight-colored water as the waves crashed. Walking to the right, we soon left some of the crowds behind, aside from the occasional family or lovers who had the same idea as us. It wasn’t an entirely crime-free area, especially at night, so we didn’t go far. It was a good thing Aunt Pa wasn’t with us. Sanjay, Rasi, and I looked for good, gleaming shells and rocks, but the water was too rough to seek them, and it was too dark. Nalani was still laughing.

We made our way back, and found a café that sold ice cream in a dish. We each had a scoop topped by a sugar wafer, and Nalani and Ajay had coffee. They were talking about France. It seemed Rajan was forgotten. Maybe they had just been good friends, and not in love, as Rasi said. I hoped he would come to the wedding. Already, Rasi and I had been fitted for new clothes, even though the wedding was a long way off.

Simon took Meterling to the Tanjore Hotel restaurant, renowned for not only its food but also its cleanliness. It was completely vegetarian; the cooks trained in Madras, and then had to pass additional tests in Madhupur. The Tanjore was full; lively couples poring over menus, family groups celebrating birthdays. The women were draped in soft silks and vibrant prints, ears full of gold and silver, cholis cut fashionably low. The waitress, who herself was fashionably outfitted, led them to their reserved table.

“Archer and I used to come here, when he first moved down. I stayed for about a month. I was on school holiday,” he told her as they sat down.

It began simply: “Tell me everything about him,” she asked.

The cousin told her about Archer’s childhood, his parents who died young, as had Meterling’s parents. He told her about the school they both went to, the games they played. All through dinner, he talked and answered questions, and asked some of his own. Over coffee, he told her Archer liked pickle-and-cheese sandwiches and Cadbury’s Fingers. “Cadbury’s,” whispered Meterling, “I like those chocolates, too,” thinking of Archer as a boy, how Oscar might grow up like him. All she knew of Archer was so brief, so slight—his humor, his kindness, his patience. His gaze, as he looked at her, had
said: “Would you marry me?”—and hers had replied, “Yes, yes.” Thinking that the fates had been kind to her for once, thinking that she too would have a chance at happiness. And a few months later, the wedding and that dance. But the cousin was talking again, not letting her mind go down its familiar path. Instead, he said, simply, “Let’s take a walk, Meterling.” And she was startled to hear her name in his mouth.

He paid, and offered his arm. She took it. Next to the Tanjore were the famed Narati Gardens, a park that was often used for films and weddings. It featured hundreds of varieties of flowers in continual, orchestrated bloom. The jasmine was heady. A few couples, just-marrieds most likely, walked hand in hand. Meterling was embarrassed, but there was still so much to learn about Archer. How had he been at school? Where did they go for vacations? What sports did he play besides the cricket he had told her about?

The cousin was patient, and told her as much as he knew. They had left the gardens and were going to get a milky drink for her and a coffee for him before they noticed the time. Meterling wondered that she didn’t feel tired, but happy, somehow. Still, she’d promised to be in before ten.

When he left her at the door, Meterling asked if they could talk some more the next day, and he agreed with a smile.

“I’m glad you came out to dinner.”

“I’m glad you asked.”

Not sure how to take her leave, she hurriedly kissed him on the cheek, and quickly went inside.

21

T
hey spent the next weeks talking about Archer’s habits and his character. Meterling felt she knew more to tell the baby, and the cousin said he felt more settled with Archer’s death.

“It’s good to talk with someone who knew him now, not in the past as a boy. Susan won’t talk. She just went on holiday to Scotland, and refuses phone calls. She’s very upset, but can’t bring herself to accept it.”

“She must blame me.”

“She shouldn’t.” Simon hesitated. “This is unrelated, but Archer also had a heart condition.”

“He never told me!”

“That’s why he was at a desk job. He was supposed to lead a quiet life, which is hard to imagine.”

“He was dancing at the wedding, exerting himself, drinking—” Meterling faltered.

“And happier than I’d seen him in a long time.”

“I wished he’d told me. I could have done something.”

“He would have told you later about the heart. But no one can prevent an aneurysm,” said Simon.

They were quiet in their embarrassment. Simon wondered if their lovemaking had been too exuberant, if that was why Meterling was blushing so deeply. Then he wondered why on earth he thought that.

“Susan—she’ll be an aunt soon. I wonder if the baby will inherit her characteristics,” said Meterling presently.

“Stubborn, fiercely loyal, and smart. She’s head of her company, you know, and will probably receive an MBE.”

Meterling hadn’t known.

“I’m joking about the MBE. Their mother died young. She had just wanted both of them to settle down, have children—oh, God, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—”

Meterling’s eyes had filled with tears. “No, it’s not that, it’s just that it’s all so confusing,” she sobbed.

And Simon, stricken, just enveloped her in his arms.

We came to like both Ajay and Simon-Archer more. We felt bad for Rajan, since there seemed some injustice there, but we couldn’t put our fingers on it. Ajay was smart, funny, and handsome, too, in a way. He seemed to be concerned for Nalani’s welfare. It could be a show, although I didn’t know how to put that into words. He always asked her if she was chilly, or needed water. He played with Scrap, who was larger now, with sleek fur, and a habit of needing her belly rubbed often. He drove well, too, and unlike Uncle Darshan never cursed at the other drivers. Was this what it meant when my aunties spoke of “suitable boys”? But did Nalani long for Rajan? She didn’t show it. A bride would be chosen for Rajan as well. It was just horoscopes.

Our family didn’t believe in horoscopes. Regularly we went to temple, and every morning we chanted at the kitchen shrine. We had favorite gods and goddesses. But we left some of the trappings behind, the ones that said sect must marry within sect. Uncle Darshan, especially, was vocal about modernity. He could, and did, orate at length about women’s rights, and the
capacity of female brains. Aunt Pa sometimes rolled her eyes, because her female brain knew that brains had no gender, they were simply brains, and no one used his as much as Einstein had.

Rajan’s family did believe in horoscopes, and they were the ones to say no to Nalani. Theirs was an orthodox family that required the women in the household to isolate once a month, eat separately, and not let anyone, except for babies and toddlers, touch them. Auntie Pa wouldn’t explain why, but we found out from school friends that one day, both Rasi and I would bleed, and need some bandages, that it wasn’t that anything was wrong, but something that just happened. For months, I feared that day, expecting the worst, until I forgot about it. We couldn’t use something called tampons like my mother carried in her purse, because then we’d no longer be virgins, and being a virgin was important, like getting good marks at school.

Ajay’s family did not believe in the isolation laws, and were on the fence about horoscopes. They didn’t particularly want Nalani to work after marriage, but would not stand in her way. Nalani had decided to become a doctor, and after the wedding would go to medical school. She would have more degrees than Ajay, which only bothered Ajay’s mother, but Ajay’s father thought they would be lucky to have a first-class doctor in the family.

My parents were modern as well, but theirs was an arranged marriage. From America, they sent me photographs, taken in parks and from their car, and they looked happy. I had become so used to their absence. Sometimes I wished I could ask my mother things about marriage, about Ajay and Nalani, about all our strange old customs. In my letters to her, I usually said I was fine, the weather good, and what I was reading. She was a great reader herself, and sent packages of books for all of
us to share. That was how I got to know
Ramona the Pest
, and
The Four-Story Mistake
, and Encyclopedia Brown. Sometimes a strange disquiet would come over me at bedtime, and perhaps that was when I missed my mother the most, but reading usually made the feeling go away.

22

H
ow strange it is to record what I saw and knew at ten. There was so much I learned later. The Puranas advised that women marry quickly. The very sensual nature of a woman’s body was feared, and I learned it was not just that a man’s thoughts might be, well,
inflamed
, but that it was the woman’s yearning that was the trouble. Without marriage, sex was merely for pleasure, experimental, thoughtless. With marriage, it was for offspring.

Maybe that was why their families gave some destitute widows to brothels. She could be either virginal or experienced; either way, her body, if not her soul, was ready to be bought, as maybe it had in marriage. Perhaps a family had given a dowry of a milch cow to the groom. When the groom died, they lost the cow and gained a widow. Other widows seemed so taken with the idea of purity, wearing white, changing saris throughout the day, white for white, bathing several times a day as well. There was also the custom of
madi
, a holy cleanliness which pervaded a person after a bath, and after fresh clothes were donned, lasting until prayers were completed.