Serving Crazy With Curry (26 page)

And even now, I am proud of you. You decided to give up your unhappy life and search for a new, happy one. And I will be there, standing right behind you, whether you like it or not, to make damn sure you find that happy life.

I should have fought harder with Saroj, with you, against that damn arranged marriage. This time I will, this time I will be the hard-ass parent and not let you make any more mistakes.

As for Girish, I'd still like to break that boy's legs!

I love you, Shobha.

Daddy

It was early in the morning when Vasu woke up to a small knock on the door. She didn't sleep well anymore; small sounds woke her up. Not like the old days when she was young and slept like the dead. When death was close people didn't sleep as soundly worried that it would snap them up when their eyes were closed.

“Come in,” Vasu whispered, her throat feeling tight after having just woken up. She reached for the glass of water she always kept at her bedside and soaked her parched tongue and throat.

She had to go back to India, she thought as she coughed a little. The dryness of the Bay Area was sucking the energy out of her. She had to go back, she thought again, and decided to talk to everyone in the morning.

“G'ma, it's me,” Devi said as she came inside, wearing a white T-shirt with the logo of one of her ex-companies and the tagline
THIS ISN'T YOUR GRANDFATHER'S DOTCOM
printed on it, big and bold in black.

“Are you okay?” Vasu sat up immediately.

“I just wanted a snuggle,” Devi said as she got under the covers.

Vasu smiled and nodded. “It has been a long time since you wanted a snuggle.”

“It has been a long time since I woke up this early after having slept through the night,” Devi said and leaned against Vasu.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Perfect.”

Vasu wet her lips and then squeezed Devi against her. This was her flesh and blood and she felt her heart warm at the closeness.

“I love you,” Vasu said. She didn't often say things like this, she was a private person, not usually open with her affections, but with Devi all defenses were down. She was the granddaughter who always slipped through.

“I love you, too,” Devi responded, her tone childlike.

They fell silent for a while and Devi was dozing off when Vasu spoke, almost silently, almost in a whisper.

“I know,” Vasu said and Devi raised her head. For an instant there was confusion and then there was understanding. “I know,” Vasu repeated and Devi sighed, leaning her head back against her grandmother's shoulder.

“I should've known that you'd know,” Devi said wearily.

“I could see,” Vasu sadly. “And it broke my heart. I know how hard it is to love another woman's husband.”

“It was not just another woman, it was my sister,” Devi pointed out.

Vasu nodded. “Hmm, I know. I knew Shekhar's wife quite well before we started … what should I call it? Our friendship? Our affair?”

“Isn't there that Hindi song,
pyaar ko pyaar he rehane do, rishtoen ka ilzaam na do,
maybe we should abide by it,” Devi suggested.

It was one of Vasu's favorite Hindi songs and she'd introduced Devi to it. It made her happy that Devi remembered it and joyous that Devi was alive to remember it. If Saroj had been a little late, the songs, the love, the memories, everything Devi had within her would be buried along with her. It would've been such a terrible waste.

“Let love be love, let's not accuse it with a name,” Devi translated. “I'd like to see that movie again. It was one of the good Hindi movies.”

“Yes,” Vasu agreed. “Maybe you can come with me when I go back and spend some time with me. We could watch Hindi movies, take long walks, and eat roadside food. What do you think?”

“I'm thinking about going back to school,” Devi told her, “and I want to start as soon as they'll let me.”

“School?”

“Yes,” Devi said and smiled. “I want to go to culinary school.”

“Are you sure?” Vasu frowned. She wasn't sure if Devi should make a career out of a hobby that helped her resolve her feelings after the “incident.”

“Yes,” Devi said and then asked hastily, “Why? You think it's a mistake?”

“No, no,” Vasu said immediately. She believed in letting people make their own mistakes. She wasn't one to offer advice and interfere in other people's lives even if the other person was her own granddaughter. That was the difference between Saroj and her: Saroj didn't respect others the way Vasu did.

“How did you deal with Shekhar Uncle's wife after you starting seeing him?” Devi asked curiously.

“I didn't,” Vasu said. “Anu never spoke with me again and I couldn't go to her and apologize. I loved Shekhar, what would I apologize for?”

Vasu never wanted to be involved with a married man or any other man after her husband committed suicide. It was almost three years after Ramakant died that she was posted to Poona. Shekhar was the commanding officer, a colonel, then. Already an old man by all Indian standards. But he was handsome, riveting. He was forty-eight years to her thirty-one and had the well-deserved reputation of being a rake. Every place he was transferred to he had an affair and there were rumors, gossip, a broken heart, usually not his.

The last broken heart had been that of a nurse, who'd left the army for civilian life. It was rumored that she'd been pregnant and an abortion was arranged for at a civilian hospital. Later on Vasu found out that there'd been no pregnancy and no abortion. In the fashion of all good rumors, this one also had nothing to do with the truth.

“The first time I saw him was at the party they threw for me when I was posted to Poona,” Vasu said, a dreamy smile on her face. “He was wearing his dress uniform because he had come from a meeting with the Chief of Staff. I thought he looked so good and so important. But I heard that he slept around and that Anu kept track and made life for the woman miserable after the affair was over.”

“I thought you said she was nice,” Devi said.

“She was,” Vasu said with a laugh. “She was just taking some revenge in the only way she could. At that party, Anu came to me and started talking to me, and I was drawn to her. She is very beautiful, and very charming.”

“But Shekhar Uncle never loved her, right?”

Vasu smacked her lips together. “He did. He loved her.”

“And he loved you?”

“Yes. He loved us both. He couldn't leave her, he couldn't leave me,” Vasu said flatly. It was fact. She hated it that he couldn't leave Anu to be with her. That their relationship would always be on the wrong side of society. But when love slammed into her with full force she hadn't been able to stop herself.

“It was all right,” Vasu said, keeping the bitterness she could still feel out of her voice. “We met when we could, we shared, we loved. We wrote long letters, we talked on the phone. We went away alone on vacation.”

“But he had a wife,” Devi said. She couldn't accept that Girish was married, especially to Shobha, not that it would've made any difference if he were married to someone else. She'd ended the relationship because sanity finally claimed her. He was married to her sister and Devi couldn't be their home wrecker. On the other hand she couldn't, she wouldn't, continue to love and have a clandestine relationship with a married man. No matter how much she sympathized with her grandmother, for herself she'd decided that it wouldn't matter how deep the love, how strong the feeling.

“Yes, he had a wife and we were in love,” Vasu said. “But that isn't enough for you, is it?”

“You say it like it's a bad thing.” Devi sat up, angry with her grandmother for judging her. Love wasn't enough because it never
was enough. Not everyone could just live on the boundaries of society like Vasu had and drag everyone who cared for her along. For the first time in her life, Devi understood why Saroj and Vasu didn't get along.

“For some love is just not enough. For me it was,” Vasu said unable to comprehend Devi's defensiveness.

“Love is never enough just as it is,” Devi said, getting out of Vasu's bed. “I couldn't hurt Shobha and Mama and Daddy and you. I love all of you, too, and that love superseded this love because I wanted to protect my family and continue to be part of it. That doesn't mean I feel less love or that my love is smaller than yours.”

Vasu sat up in the bed. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did,” Devi said. “You did, G'ma.”

Vasu wanted to deny it again but realized she said exactly that. In defending herself for what she did she'd attacked Devi.

“No, that's not what I meant,” she lied. “I love you, Devi.”

“I know,” Devi said and then smiled. “I love you, too, G'ma. But this is why Mama and you don't get along. Don't you see, she always knew that you cared more for Shekhar Uncle than you did for her.”

It was as if a curtain had been raised and everything behind it revealed. Vasu felt a familiar tightening in her chest and bitterness rose into her throat. All her life she'd believed that Saroj hated her because she'd divorced Ramakant, but now Vasu was being forced to admit that Saroj hated her for not loving her enough. Vasu loved Shekhar the most. She neglected her child for that man. She ignored society and she let the world fall around her as long as she could be with him, on
his
terms.

Had he loved her enough? If he loved her more than he had, would he have left his wife and married her? Oh, what was the point of this? Life was too short already and Shekhar was dead.

“I love Saroj,” Vasu said sincerely. “I just loved him more.”

Devi nodded and then leaned over to kiss Vasu on the cheek. “That's okay. I won't tell anyone.”

Vasu felt tears in her eyes. “I hurt her very much.”

“Don't worry, she hurt you right back,” Devi said, not wanting to
aggravate the matter. “And she can nag with the best of them. So I think you're pretty even.”

A searing pain shot through Vasu's arm as she tried to respond to Devi teasingly. Vasu collapsed on the bed, her hand dramatically clutching her left breast. Devi cried out for help as she ran toward the telephone to dial 911.

When Saroj first heard Devi's call for help there was a paralyzing moment when Saroj saw a bathtub and her bleeding daughter lying in it.

As she waited in the lounge of yet another emergency room, her second one this summer, Saroj truly started to contemplate her mother's death. Until now she'd never imagined the old lady would die. She was infallible, always healthy, always on the go. Now she lay in a hospital bed while doctors performed tests to see how bad the paralysis was.

Vasu had had a massive heart attack that had led to a stroke. It was too early to say anything, but the doctors didn't think that Vasu would be able to walk again, and since she hadn't shown any signs of waking up they were suspecting a “hemorrhagic stroke,” which the doctor explained was bleeding in Vasu's brain.

Saroj wished she'd nagged more, forced Vasu to see a doctor here in the United States where doctors didn't buy their degrees as they were sometimes rumored to do in India.

Would she die? Would it all end today? Her first thought was that all the years of bitterness and anger she'd felt for Vasu were a waste. After her death, what would Saroj complain about and to whom? No, no, Saroj told herself as her eyes kept watch at the revolving door that led to the rooms in one of which her mother lay, Vasu wouldn't die. She'd pull through. That's what tough women did, they pulled through, and God knew Vasu was tough.

Saroj remembered the time when Vasu called from India and with no tears told Saroj that Shekhar was dead. The cancer had eaten away his body, and thankfully it all ended before the pain became intolerable and he a parody of what he used to be.

“You should come here right away,” Saroj instructed her mother then. “No point living in India anymore. He's gone and you should come and live here with us.”

“But that's not my home, Saroj. I don't live here because of Shekhar, I live here because this is my home,” Vasu had explained patiently.

Saroj wondered then if she'd be half as sane if Avi died before she did. Would she able to even talk coherently? Saroj knew how Vasu felt about
that man.
There was no doubt in Saroj's mind that all the love Vasu had inside her, she gave to that man, every last iota of it. There was nothing left for anyone else. Oh, she loved Devi and Shobha, but that was a different, once-a-year kind of love. And that was how often they met, and rarely for more than six to eight weeks at a time.