Inconvenient Relations (3 page)

“Down, Pepper, down!” She heard before she saw the yelping white puppy frolicking on a leash, held by a pretty young teenage girl who looked up and waved.

Ruhi smiled, waving back.
Mama, it’s not so bad after all!
But where was he?

Wheeling back on her heels, she hurried in. “O Lord what would he think of me…a good for nothing sleepyhead!” Behind the first door she came across was an attached bathroom—clean with a fresh towel, soap, as well as toothpaste, and a new toothbrush on the counter. So thoughtful of him. She quickly brushed her teeth and ran a hurried hand through her hair. Her skin looked sallow; perhaps it was the light?

She rushed out into the hallway and glanced around; it was truly empty and so was the couch. There was another door right across from hers. Another bedroom? She knocked on it softly, waited, and cautiously tried the handle; it was unlocked.

So this was where he had slept; she could tell immediately by the look of the unmade bed with two of the pillows lying strewn on the carpet. A couple of tall bookshelves stood against the far wall, jam-packed with books and magazines of all kinds—mostly technical ones though there were some with strange and interesting titles. She would check them out at leisure later.

There was the inevitable computer desk with a desktop turned off, and a notepad filled with unintelligible squiggles. All very impersonal. Unsatisfied, but feeling like an intruder, she scanned desperately for something different and found it. Next to the bed on a small nightstand stood a framed photograph, not of his girlfriend but of his family. It was an old group picture with everybody smiling stiffly at the camera. He was right in the center, the place of pride with his father’s and older brother’s arms around his shoulders. The rest including his beautiful mother, his two other brothers and their wives, one with a brand-new baby in her arms, stood close by or sat in the front. It was a happy picture taken perhaps before he had embarked for foreign shores. He looked bright and eager, all set to take on the world and the future.

She replaced the frame gently; it saddened her. Where had all the innocence gone? Could she help bring it back? Then she strode into the living room with a new determination…at least she was going to give it a sound try.

He had left a tiny piece of paper on the raised kitchen counter, which held a hurriedly scrawled note. “Good morning! Had to go to work. Will be back by noon. You’ll find some tea and cereal in the cupboards and milk in the refrigerator. EAT!”

Ruhi smiled and saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain! Good morning to you too…! At noon?”

Flustered, she looked up at the clock—ten past ten.

Sighing with relief, she hurried into the bathroom and, after some struggle with the knobs, took a luxurious shower—the heat easing away most of her aches and cares. But it took awhile for her to decide what to wear; she had never been married before. Her hands wavered between a bright pink and blue suit, a dazzling gold and lavender sari, and a sober sunshine yellow and olive green
churidaar
. She decided on the latter, not wanting to appear to be trying too hard.

Standing in front of the large bathroom mirror, she combed her long thick hair. Should I leave it loose or braid it? Should I put on makeup or go bare? Should I wear all my bangles or a couple of them? So many questions. Why don’t all men come with a user guide?

She braided her hair, glossed her lips, chose a pair of gold bangles for each side, and figured she was done. Then she offered a silent prayer, thanking God for the absence of her mother-in-law.

Tea and breakfast.

What? Herbal raspberry tea bags and Cheerios! And this man expects me to eat?

Her spirits taking a dive, she put her head down on the table and mournfully longed for a piping hot refreshing cup of masala chai with cauliflower stuffed
paratha
on the side… Mama!

“Still off in neverland?”

She sat up, startled, to gaze dolefully at him while he smiled cheerfully at her, looking handsome and crisp in casual white shirt and jeans. Why was she always at a disadvantage?

“Care for some hot pizza?” He swept a large colorful cardboard box in front of her nose. “Authentic Neapolitan from our very own Tony’s. My favorite!”

She didn’t care for it, too cheesy.

He frowned at her while she pursed her lips together feeling helpless.

“This is crazy! If you don’t eat, you will disappear in no time. Then there wouldn’t be anything left to send back home!”

She glared at him, acutely hurt. They had just reached here, and he was already thinking of sending her back home? What did he take her for?

“I guess I’m homesick.”

“Ah! I see. How stupid of me! Your parents must be terribly worried!”

Getting up immediately, he dialed her home; and yes, they were in a state of panic.

Hearing their voices, she nearly broke down…wanting to reach out and touch the loose end of her mother’s sari.

“
Accha.
All right, I shall hang up now,” she said and handed him the phone, just as a tear threatened to roll down her cheek. She rushed to the window—the purple flowers had taken on a silver hue.

***

Ruhi was excited.

Her husband had offered to take her out for dinner to an Indian restaurant. “It’s in Artesia on Pioneer Blvd, the longest stretch of everything Indian in LA where you can immerse yourself in complete
desiness
!”

“Is it close by?” she asked eagerly, wondering if she could walk over every day.

“No, at least an hour away, and with the LA traffic, you can never be sure. Hope there are no major car chases or accidents.” He crossed his fingers.

“Car chases?” she inquired, puzzled, as he held open the door of his Prius.

Laughing, he replied, while starting the engine and easing the car smoothly onto the street, “If LA is notorious for something, it is for car chases. People steal cars and race them at breakneck speed on these highways, and the cops give chase. It’s an adrenaline rush. The pursuit can go on for hours—across counties and cities till the poor fellow gives up. It’s frequently shown live on TV. You should watch it sometime. It can be fun.”

“Getting your thrills out of watching car chases? Not my idea of entertainment.”

“Suit yourself. It’s mind-numbing to a degree, helps when you are lonely and don’t wish to think.”

So that’s why you’re having an affair, a very noble pastime.

“You said something?”

She shook her head and turned her attention to the window. What was she like?

They were playing old Hindi movie songs on the radio.

“One thing I must say though, there is no beating these classic tunes, so soulful. And Kishore da, RD combo wah simply magic!” Glancing sideways, she took in the blissful look on his face as he hummed along. At least he liked something Indian. You can’t escape your roots no matter how much you try.
“Aap yahaan kitne saalon se hain?”
(How long have you been here?)

“What?” He frowned at her then smiled. “Hmmm…Hindi…Okay!
Pichle che saalon se.
” (For the past six years.) “Came for higher education, then decided to stay when they offered me the job. Anyhow, no potential for aerospace engineering back home.”

“Don’t you get bored living alone?” she persisted.

“Bored? That’s a relative term. Just work, work, work then crash back in the apartment. There’s no time to get bored. Nevertheless, that’s how I like it.” He didn’t look comfortable.

Then you intend to remain closemouthed about her. I need to know more.

“But how do you—”

“Here we are!” he interrupted.

Climbing out of the car, she looked around wide-eyed. It felt as though she had been transported back home. Brown faces walking on the streets conversing in a familiar tongue, shop fronts announcing twenty-two-carat jewelry, displaying colorful Indian clothes and goods. Posters of Indian movies and visiting
desi
performing artists. Oh, and there was Salman coming to LA on the fourteenth.

“So what do you think?”

“It’s…it’s great! Thank you!” she exclaimed with her large eyes shining and a wondrous smile on her face. Shaan stared enraptured; she was quite beautiful.

“So when can we eat?” She was hungry.

“Yes, food, of course!” he said, dropping his gaze, flustered. “What do you want?
Udipi, Gujju, Marwari,
or
Punjabi
?”

“Punjabi…?” she ventured with a doubtful smile.

“Yes, a great choice, and it happens to be right here! Our own Americanized
Desi dhaba
! It doesn’t look like very much, but they say the food is good.”

They stepped into the bright small fluorescent-lit place with several small round tables and chairs squeezed into a tight space and the typical glass display showing off a mouthwatering array of sweets and savories. The pleasant elderly sardarji behind the counter smiled at Ruhi kindly while he patiently waited for her order.

She glanced at Shaan, who offered an unsure shrug.
“Gobhi ka paratha.”
Then spying several patrons drinking from Styrofoam cups, she added, “And a cup of tea!”

Shaan asked for
Pav Bhaji
.Their order was ready within minutes. “Too oily, right?” he said, handing her a paper towel. “Here, blot it!”

She took his advice, then placed a piece of hot bread tentatively in her mouth.

Throwing his head back, he laughed. “You are something else I must tell you! You don’t like American Chinese or American Italian nor do you like Americanized Indian! Even Des—” He stopped mid-sentence.

Ruhi stared at him. “Des? What about Des?”

A sudden change came over his countenance; he seemed irritated. “Nothing, it’s nothing. Now tell me how do you plan to survive the next few weeks?”

So that was her name, Des… She was real. Ruhi had hoped it was all make-believe, an act he had put on to get out of an unwanted marriage because he treasured being single. But it wasn’t true.

“Is there some place I can get a few Indian groceries?
Aata, daal
, etc.?”

“I’m sure there is, though I’ve never stepped into one.”

They found a huge
Gujarati
grocery store nearby. Ruhi blindly piled several items in her cart: spices, flour, oil, pulses, a few vegetables, things she considered essential and of which she hadn’t found any trace in the apartment. She pulled up in front of the counter where Shaan was waiting anxiously. He stared bewildered at the loaded cart.

“Do you plan to eat all that?”

“I’ve picked the smallest quantities I could get. You are welcome to share too if you wish!” She didn’t want to talk to him; she wanted to scream.

“Thanks but I don’t want to get spoiled. It’ll be hard to recover after you leave.”

“You don’t have to remind me about that over and over again! I have decent memory, and I shall keep my word. Before you know it, I’ll be gone from your life, and you won’t even miss me.”

He looked up sharply. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s all right. I’d prefer you being honest with me. It’s bitter but healthier in the end. Shall we leave?”

***

The following day Shaan woke up to the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread. Closing his eyes, he tried to shut out the tempting vision.

After a shower and shave, he walked into the living room to find the kitchen look like one for the first time since he’d moved in. Ruhi seemed different; her cheeks were flushed by the heat of the range, busy preparing one of her favorite dishes on the pan, humming under her breath, appearing relaxed and happy.

“Hi!” he greeted her cautiously while reaching for his box of cereals.

“Hello. No good morning today?”

“Good morning.”

She watched as he examined with interest the tiny shrine she had created in one corner of the kitchen counter with a small brass Ganesha along with a tiny oil lamp and a couple of fragrant incense sticks.

“I felt this house was missing something. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, not at all!” He brought his hands together briefly in front of the idol before taking a seat at the dinette. But he didn’t proceed.

Smiling, she said, “You can try a sample if you wish. I won’t force you.”

“Perhaps a tiny piece.”

Gingerly, he placed a fragment in his mouth. She waited apprehensively.

“May I kiss your hands?”

“You like it?” she asked, beaming with pleasure.

“Like it? Gosh I love it! It’s even better than what I recall Mother used to make. Now I get the reason for your absurdly high standards. Can I have a whole one?”

For the next several minutes, Ruhi looked on as her reluctant spouse devoured every morsel of her handiwork.

“Ahh…! That tastes so much better than cold, boring cereal. Would you mind packing me a couple for lunch? I’ve been eating cold sandwiches for ages!” he said, licking his fingers.

“But then your good habits will get spoiled, in your own words.”

“No one can resist an in-house gourmet chef, temporary or permanent. I’m going to miss you.”

She packed a box for him.

“Thank you. I’ll see you later. Take care.” He left after hesitating for a moment at the door.

***

When he returned that evening, he found her chitchatting with Sujoy. They appeared to have bonded well. She was bent over, her face red, tears of mirth flowing down her cheeks at one of his silly jokes.

Shaan suddenly felt envious; why did everyone take to Sujoy right away?

“Sooj! Stop before my wife has a fit!”

Ruhi stopped laughing and stared at him.

Chagrined, he looked away.

“She may be your wife, but she is my little sis, and she is teaching me Hindi!
Haina
, Ruhi?”

“
Haan, dadamoni!
Yes, you are absolutely right!”

“And she fed me her
Gobhi Parathas! Bah!
Amazing, or I’d have starved today! Debo is so nauseous that she runs away from anything that smells good. Pregnancy is not a very pleasant thing, I think.”

“
Dadamoni
, how miserable! Can I make some
khichdi
or soup for her?”