The Taste of Ginger(78)

I smiled at Virag Mama’s comments. Today really did put a pause on caste-based norms. All anyone seemed to care about was the kite festival. I could have spent time in public with a beggar if I had wanted, and I wondered if anyone would have looked twice.

I told Virag Mama we would take a ricksha back when we were done and grabbed the turquoise-blue kite and pink spool Bharat had given me the day before. Carrie held her own pink-and-orange kite—the very one she had tied herself in Happy Snaps.

The doorbell made a loud, hollow sound like a gong. A little boy who couldn’t have been more than five years old opened the door holding a gooey piece of tamarind candy between his fingers. Before I could tell him who I was, I heard footsteps running behind him, and the door opened wider, revealing Tushar’s enthusiastic face.

“Come in! We’re already on the roof,” he said, stepping aside so Carrie and I could enter.

“Don’t you look very American?” I pointed at his jeans. It was the first time I’d seen him in anything other than the formal slacks he always wore to Happy Snaps.

He laughed. “It’s important to be comfortable for cutting.”

The little boy grabbed for the kite I was holding.

“No, Jayesh. This is not for you,” Tushar said in a stern but kind voice.

The boy pouted momentarily but then stuffed the candy in his mouth, his smile returning.

The house was small, much smaller than Lakshmi and far simpler in its decor. The living room was set up with mattresses on the floor and takias against the wall as backrests. They did not have the Western-style furniture that Virag Mama had at Lakshmi. We went straight to the stairs and made our way up.

As in most of the houses in Ahmedabad, the staircase led up to a flat roof where people could gather. The roof provided a giant outdoor space with a three-foot-high wall around the perimeter. About fifteen of Tushar’s relatives and family friends were sitting in brightly colored folding chairs. Some had spools of string at their feet and kites flying in the sky; others were sipping chai and munching on nasta.

Tushar’s mother rose from her chair to greet us.

“We are glad to see you again. It is wonderful to meet your friend from America. Would you like a Thums Up?” she said, offering Carrie and me chilled glass bottles.

“Thank you, Kanta Auntie,” I said, taking one, the outside moist from condensation.

Carrie nodded and mumbled a soft thank-you as well.

I noticed Carrie grew more subdued around Tushar’s family, but it was also the first time I was seeing her this far outside her comfort zone. I sensed that after our conversation, she was taking in the feeling of being an outsider and really trying to understand it for the first time.

I took a swig from the Thums Up bottle. The cola was much sweeter than its American counterpart, and the carbonation burned my throat.

We accepted our plates of nasta and began munching on the snacks.

“Whoa!” Carrie began sucking down her soda after taking a bite.

I saw that she had bitten into one of the fried jalapeno peppers.

“You’re going to want to taste everything carefully. Some of it is pretty spicy,” I said.

Carrie finished off her soda. “Your warning is a little late.”

After getting Carrie a lassi to soothe her tongue, Tushar introduced us to the rest of his family. They were very welcoming, and all seemed to know in advance who Carrie and I were.

Tushar, Carrie, and I stood near the edge of the roof, chatting and pointing out unique kites in the sky.

Carrie pointed to a string of kites that looked like Chinese lanterns. It seemed no one was trying to cut those. “What are those box-shaped ones that are all on the same string?”

Tushar’s gaze followed her finger. “Those kites have small electric candles in them. When the sun sets, the lights will look like stars.”

“People don’t try to cut them?” Carrie asked.

Tushar gestured toward the hazy sky. “You see all of this pollution? We would do anything to see stars even if they are not real.”

Seeing them unlocked some memories of beautifully lit box kites, and I couldn’t wait until nightfall to see them again and have the benefit of supplementing my mental images with actual photos.

Jayesh snuck up behind Tushar and began tugging at his jeans. Tushar leaned down so Jayesh could whisper something into his ear.

“You can ask her yourself,” Tushar said to him, rising back to his full height.

Jayesh held Tushar’s hand and looked at the ground. He shuffled his feet while Carrie and I watched, amused.

“Go ahead,” Tushar prodded.

Jayesh raised his head. He pointed at Carrie and said, “Can I touch your hair?”

I stifled my laughter. Carrie hated people touching her, especially children.

“Oh, um, yeah, sure,” she said, awkwardly kneeling until she was at his eye level.

Jayesh reached out his hand. “Why is it the color of the Thums Up label?”

Carrie chuckled. “Because I’m Irish and never had a chance to have pretty dark hair like yours.”

He pondered her answer and broke into a shy smile. He nodded before scurrying off to his mother and hiding in the folds of her sari.

Tushar, Carrie, and I broke into laughter as soon as Jayesh was out of earshot.

“I am sorry,” Tushar said. “He is not used to seeing people who look like you.”