The Taste of Ginger(63)

His words stung. Of course I saw the poverty in Ahmedabad; it was all around us. I wasn’t trying to insult anyone. But I also couldn’t help noticing the hypocrisy in his statement.

“I should be respectful of the lower caste, but I should not spend any time with them? What sense does that make?” I said.

Mom sat straighter. She had heard my defiant tone many times before. She perched on the edge of her seat, ready to intervene if needed.

Virag Mama’s eyes widened at my statement. I stared at him, holding my ground. Hari and Bharat would never have dared question him.

“This is not America. We don’t talk back here.” His tone had chilled.

Mom fidgeted. She’d made that same statement to me so many times but seemed more sympathetic today.

Virag Mama opened his mouth, but Indira Mami put a hand on his arm to stop him.

She said, “An unmarried woman must protect her reputation here. It is her greatest gift to the man she marries. Your age will already make that process hard enough.”

Oh God, she was serious. I had to fight to keep my jaw from dropping. Out of the corner of my eye I tried to gauge Mom’s reaction. Some of the color had drained from her face. I sensed she had heard a similar statement a time or two before.

“I think that’s a little extreme,” I said, “but I will be more considerate of your wishes.”

“We want you to be more careful, beta,” Virag Mama said, his tone softening.

Indira Mami said, “Someone like Biren is more appropriate.”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from calling out their bias. I sat silently until it seemed there was closure to the awkward conversation, and I could retreat to the solitude of my room.

After a few minutes, there was a knock. Mom entered and closed the door behind her.

“Are you here to yell at me?” I asked.

She sat on the bed with a small shake of her head. “Life in India can be hard, right?”

I was surprised by her supportive tone. “Sometimes. But some things are better than I remembered.”

“It is these things that made me want to leave in the first place. I didn’t want my children to be under this microscope . . . the way I was,” Mom said.

I chewed on my lower lip while I contemplated her statement. Growing up in Illinois, I’d been more of a tomboy and had gravitated toward male friends. In fact, prior to meeting Carrie, for as long as I could remember, my best friend had always been a guy. If Mom and Dad had stayed in India, friendships with boys would have been forbidden.

“I never realized how interconnected everyone is in this city,” I said.

“In Ahmedabad, everyone knows everyone and everything. That is why I wanted to stay with you kids—to make sure you did not get caught in these traps. I know it is important for you to have friends here. Be discreet when you spend time with Tushar, and be considerate of Biren. Our families are very close.” She patted my leg and then said, “Dinner will be ready soon.”

I couldn’t handle the awkwardness of a family meal after the conversation we’d just had.

“Biren and I had talked about going out to dinner,” I said. “Is that still okay?”

She smiled and nodded. I, again, ignored the hypocrisy and texted Biren that it was an emergency and he needed to meet me for dinner.





27


Biren sauntered up to me in jeans and a blue plaid button-down shirt, and it was hard to ignore how attractive he was with his broad shoulders and trim body. Maybe my family was right, and it wouldn’t hurt to consider him as something other than a friend. It would certainly be simpler that way.

“So, what’s the emergency?” he said.

“Family drama,” I said, shaking my head. “I needed to get out of there for a bit. Sometimes that huge house feels very small with everyone in it.”

He laughed. “I’m sure it does. Privacy is hard to come by.”

I nodded.

He held open the door to the dosa restaurant he had chosen and gestured for me to pass.

“That’s a brilliant top.” He complimented the flowing red tunic I wore over a pair of skinny jeans.

“Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself,” I said, already feeling lighter with the easy banter.

The smells of dosa cooking with ghee and spicy sambar wafting through the crowded restaurant were heavenly. My stomach growled the second we sat down. We ordered our food, him opting for a masala dosa and me going for a classic paper one. They arrived quickly, and the waiters showed up with pitchers of sambar and trays of chutneys in a colorful array of red, white, and green. We dived into our food, and the conversation with my family felt much further away.

He was a perfect biodata match, and I wondered if this could feel as comfortable and familiar as I had with Alex. Neel and Dipti had turned a biodata match into a Western love affair, so I knew it was possible to have both. Biren was the guy my parents and relatives wanted me to end up with, probably had since we were little kids. He was what was expected of me, and I enjoyed spending time with him. Perhaps a common background could take the place of the nebulous spark that growing up in America had led me to believe was love. Perhaps the spark would come later.

“What are Aussie girls like?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

He shrugged. “Same as any other girls, really.”