The Rearranged Life (20 page)

My parents taught us Telugu, the language of Andhra Pradesh (our state) as our first language. Their logic was that we would learn English and American culture in school anyway, so at home, we were encouraged to speak Telugu and practice Indian traditions. I used to be able to write Telugu as well, but I am out of practice now. It takes me roughly three minutes to read every word. Though they hope I will take the time to learn again, I have a feeling reading and writing Telugu will be a lost art after this generation.

“You always have put a lot of pressure on yourself. Remind yourself why you wanted to go to medical school in the first place. Your hard work will show everything else.” He says this with so much faith in me that I believe him. I tell him thanks, that I’m glad I have him in my life.

“I’m glad you’re home! This place always feels more full when you are around.” Nanna pats my head affectionately.

“I’m glad to be back. I’ve missed home.” It’s the truth. The smell of cardamom, cloves, and cumin warm me inside. The familiarity, like entering a safe bubble, washes over me like a wave every time I set foot into this house.

“Tell me what’s been going on at college. Do you have any interesting stories?” he asks, reminding me how many times he’s listened to my gossip just for the sake of listening instead of casting judgments, unlike most of the aunties and uncles we know.

“The usual… a lot of studying, meetings, hanging out…” I want to say,
Being with James
, but am unable to.

He asks me how everyone is handling their senior year, whether they are coping with the stress and having fun. My dad’s stories of the competitive nature of Indian schooling, the way his high school valedictorian had to come in with the measles to take finals because he would lose his top rank otherwise, contrast with Sophia’s proclamations that she is only following in the footsteps of our predecessors when she ditches class.

“Sophia parties a little more than she used to. She met a guy so she’s always with him. She still goes to class, though… sometimes,” I add as an afterthought, and he chuckles, delighted with a different narrative of college than the one he is used to.

He says we are young, and as long as we maintain a good balance, we should enjoy our lives. His dream of getting the best of both worlds is coming true now: while I stress about school, it will never become as central as it had to be for him, and he is relieved.

“Is something on your mind?”

“Amma said Karishma is getting married this summer.”

“Yes, in May. Her parents sent us an invitation, and the engagement party is in a few weeks. The boy’s family has been very accommodating.”

This is my in, my opportunity to find out how my parents would feel about James. I have to put this within a marriage context because I know my parents wouldn’t support me dating for its own sake. Seeing someone should be considered only if marriage is an outcome–that is non-negotiable. I can date James only if I see myself marrying him, otherwise all the struggles with my family will be for naught.

“What would you do if I brought home an American boy?”

“Do you have someone in mind?” Is that a knowing look I catch in his eyes?

“I’m just curious. You said Karishma’s fiancé’s family has been accommodating. It seems like they all get on. I was just wondering what you’d do.” I shrug.

He
hmms
, thinking, and I interrupt him before he gets a chance to say anything.

“Would you hate me?”

“Of course not, pumpkin. You’re my daughter. I’d never hate you. I think I would be disappointed that our culture might be lost. It’s so tough maintaining it as is. You have done a beautiful job so far. I don’t want you to lose all you’ve worked for.”

“So then you’d be upset.”

“I don’t know if upset is the right word. At some point, as a parent, you have to trust that your children will make the right decision for everyone. Whether that’s an American or an Indian, I hope you just consider everybody and make the decision best for everyone, whatever that may be.” A beacon of hope is on the horizon when he continues. “Just as it is your prerogative to choose, however, it’s mine to never feel completely at ease.”

“What do you mean?”

“You saw how easy it was when Nishanth’s family was here. No translations, no lost jokes, no one feeling like an outsider to the conversation. That’s what marriage is, Nithya. You try to include everyone. You become a sister, a daughter-in-law, a sister-in-law, a niece, an aunt… You have many relationships to balance. When two families come together who are very different, that balance can be very complicated, and people can feel sad when they are left out of the magic. I don’t know if I would ever feel completely comfortable coming to your house if everything was completely changed from the way you were raised.”

“So you want me to marry Nishanth,” I say, somewhat glumly.

“I want you to marry someone who you fit with and who fits in with your family, too,” he corrects me with a kind smile. “It doesn’t have to be Nishanth. Just don’t tell your mom I said that.”

I try to insert James into our family dynamic. The conversations usually run in Telugu, shouted jokes and laughter at comments that cannot be translated easily or as funnily in English. And vice-versa, things in American culture are untranslatable so the beauty of the expressions is lost. Spending family gatherings translating each joke or statement is a picture I’m not sure I’d like to see painted. But in the end, how important are differences like these?

“Don’t you think though, Nanna, these reasons are just conveniences? Language barriers, religion. I’m sure Karishma and her fiancé can manage them.”

“Of course, those are conveniences. But those conveniences lead to bigger questions: how do you raise children? What do you do in a house where the wife cannot touch meat, but the husband likes to have it every day and their meals cannot be shared? What do you do on religious holidays? Do you attend ceremonies or functions you do not agree with? Those conveniences sound small, but they do take care of the bigger issues down the road, the ones that lead to big problems. I am not saying Karishma will get divorced. I am just saying why our system has worked so far.”

“Who is getting divorced?” Amma walks in and catches the tail end of my father’s explanation.

“No one. We were talking about what you guys would do if I told you I wanted to marry an American.” Sometimes, my naïveté astounds me. I automatically assume that because my father has been open to a discussion, my mother will be the same. No such luck.

She switches from curious to terrified in a millisecond.

“You want to marry an American? Who? Why?!”

“No, Amma–”.

“Is that what we sent you to school for? To date boys?”

Once again, I am an idiot. I haven’t even confessed to dating James, but I am getting a preview of her reaction. It’s not encouraging.

“Priya, this was a hypothetical conversation.”

“Why are you asking?” My mom gives me a suspicious look. She has no idea how much I want to squirm under her X-ray gaze.

“It was just a conversation about Karishma and came to what you guys would do if the situation arose, Amma. No big deal.” I look her in the eye.
Not bad, liar.

“That would be a very big deal, Nithya, if that situation arose. Don’t talk like that.”

“Don’t silence her, Priya. If our daughter has concerns, she should be free to express them.”

“It was a question, Amma.” I flash my dad a look of thanks.

“Nithya, we don’t expect you to understand these rules just yet,” Amma says.

You have no idea how much I do understand and how much they’re influencing me right now,
I want to shoot back.

“These guidelines are put in place to keep a marriage from splitting up down the road. This is what is best for everyone. We, your grandparents, everyone feels more comfortable with someone like us, who understands us. Don’t think about rocking the boat.”

Remaining silent is the best option for now. Nanna makes a gesture to slow down from behind my mother’s penetrating look, a show of support that I shouldn’t be scared to speak up and that in time, she’ll make peace. The fact is, I’m terrified. I could date James without telling my parents, but how long could I keep up the charade? At some point, wouldn’t it become too arduous to keep lying? Yet, my mother has reacted so negatively to my hypothetically marrying someone from another culture. If I actually went through with it, she would blow a coronary. Is it worth telling them about James without knowing whether it’s a permanent thing? There are so many variables involved with this decision that question marks literally multiply before my eyes.

And so I don’t rock the boat. The holiday season stretches before me, comfortable and full of Indian meals that make me think my jeans might be a size too snug when I get back to school.

All at once, Christmas morning is here.

“Oh my gosh, Amma! This is perfect!” squeals Anisha when she opens her gift on Christmas morning. It’s a name brand watch all the cool girls have in high school. It glints underneath the lights of the tree and looks comically large on her thin wrist.

“Next is Nithya’s gift!” Amma exclaims.

I wait expectantly, but my parents exchange giddy glances.

“We have to go in the basement for this.” Nanna stands up and offers my mother a hand.

We all parade down the stairs to the basement, like a line of ducks. This is some seriously dramatic buildup for people who don’t celebrate Christmas. I love my family for wholeheartedly going big or going home. My mother covers my eyes as I walk into the wide space of the finished family room.

“Ready? Open!” She whips her hands off my eyes.

In the middle of the floor glistens a beautiful mahogany desk with a credenza on top. A brand new laptop box sits square in the center.

“For medical school,” my dad says, proudly.

“Oh my gosh!” I shriek. “But I haven’t even gotten in yet.”

“We know you will.” My mother pats my back. “We just didn’t want to wait until graduation to tell you how proud we are of you.”

Gratitude floods me. What did I do in my past life to be granted such an amazing family in this incredible turn of karmic payback? How lucky I am to have people who believe in me so much they would celebrate an accomplishment that hasn’t happened yet, spending thousands of dollars during a holiday we don’t even partake in seriously. Tears sting my eyes.

“Thank you,” I manage.

“Don’t cry, kanna. You earned this.” Nanna smiles down at me.

“You deserve it,” Amma says with so much conviction, I believe I do deserve people this wonderful around me. “You bring so much joy to this house.”

I am truly the most blessed girl in the universe.

mma barges into the kitchen after Christmas dinner, an understated meal of
mutter paneer
and
naan
. I barely pay attention as she stops in front of the kitchen table where Anisha is on her laptop, chatting on Facebook, and Nanna catches up on some late-night work. I am so engrossed in the novel I am reading that it takes Amma clearing her throat loudly for me to look up.