The Taste of Ginger(44)

“Dad, this is about more than a job. Neel needs me. I have to make sure he and Dipti are okay.”

I could see my parents envisioning a future in which both of their highly educated, once-successful children were unemployed, and weighing that against Neel ending up divorced. Both were bad outcomes in the Indian gossip circles.

Worry spread across my dad’s face. “You kids have never been in India without us.”

Before I could respond, Mom said, “I’ll stay with them.”

“You don’t have to,” I said quickly. “Neel and I can stay on our own. Really.” He and I would both have clearer minds and more peace if Mom wasn’t helicoptering over our every move. “You should go back with Dad tomorrow like you planned.”

Dad shook his head. “Varsha, I don’t understand how you can be so calm. She’s throwing her life away.”

“Maybe, but yelling at her won’t fix anything,” Mom said.

Dad’s hand went to his forehead as if he had a headache. “Maybe they are both throwing their lives away,” he said, defeated. “Maybe we all threw everything away when we left here,” he muttered, more to himself than to us.

“Trust that you raised us better than that,” I said to him. “And I’m sorry if you don’t like my decision, but I’m staying.”

“See! That is exactly the type of attitude that will not last long here,” Mom said. “This is why I need to stay. You kids are too Western for this culture.”

“This isn’t a time for an Eastern or Western culture debate, Mom. We need to pull together as a family and help Neel. No matter the cost.”





18


The next day I woke up to the dogs barking outside the window. I adjusted my head and felt a crick in my neck from fitful sleep on the dense, brick-like pillow, and looked around the bare room and realized I was single, unemployed, and staying in a country I had spent most of my life running from. I groaned when I realized what I had done and had a pang of regret that I was waking up here again rather than on a flight halfway back to LA like I had planned. I would do everything in my power to bring Dipti around so we could all go back home as soon as possible.

When I went downstairs to breakfast, Neel shot me a look of gratitude and annoyance: annoyance that I had agreed to stay behind with him so he knew he couldn’t go back home either, and gratitude for the sacrifice I’d made for him. Doing the right thing was rarely the easy thing, but we were both trying.

That afternoon, the sounds of scooters and rickshas honking flowed in through the window even louder than usual, but the breeze tempered the stuffiness in my room, so I left it open. It was Saturday, and more people were out and about than during the week. The house still had a heavy sadness that rested upon it. I had to try to do something to break the spell.

I went out to the driveway, where the driver had reclined his seat in the Fiat and was napping. He must have heard the gravel crunching under my feet as I approached, because he bolted upright as soon as my hand touched the door handle. I climbed into the back seat and in Gujarati told him to drive me to Dipti’s foi’s house. Maybe there was a way to get Neel and Dipti on their flights tonight, and we could all go back home. The engine roared when we pulled out of the driveway.

Her family house was only a couple miles from Lakshmi, but with the Ahmedabad traffic, it took us nearly thirty minutes to get there. We had to push our way through various animals ambling through the streets. The cacophony still took some getting used to.

She and her father had been staying with his sister in a large bungalow similar to Lakshmi in a similarly affluent gated community. Her family came from similar wealth and stature as ours by virtue of being part of the same major and minor caste. I recalled how sold out I had felt when Neel met her on his own in medical school. For years before her, he’d dated plenty of non-Indian girls, albeit behind our parents’ backs so they had never known about them, but I thought he was going to be the one who blazed the trail such that I could also bring home whoever was the right match for me, regardless of biodata. I was surprised and disappointed that the first and only girl he’d brought home was Dipti. So much for solidarity in rebellion.

When Dipti’s father led me to her closed bedroom door, I gingerly knocked on it.

“I said I don’t want any food.” Her voice came through the door.

“You have a guest,” her father replied.

“Neel, go home,” she said from inside. “I’m not going back tonight.”

I pushed it open slightly and stuck my head inside. “It’s not Neel.”

She stared at me and blinked twice and then gestured for me to enter.

“I hope it’s okay that I came,” I said.

Showing up unannounced was part of the culture in Ahmedabad, so while she was surprised to see me, she wasn’t surprised that someone had arrived unexpectedly. I’d been worried that if I’d called ahead, she would have said not to come.

“Weren’t you supposed to fly home last night?” she asked.

I nodded. “I didn’t want to leave while things were like this with you and Neel.”

“Since when do you care about us?” she said.

The air-conditioning unit spewed cold air into the room. She sat on the bed, a rajai tucked tightly around her outstretched legs and a notebook resting on top.