The Taste of Ginger(79)

Carrie shrugged it off. “I get it. Not a lot of red hair and freckles around here.”

She became much more comfortable and relaxed as we chatted while watching cut kites flutter to the ground. Children in the streets chased after them, their laughter floating to the rooftop.

“California Girl, do you know how to fly a kite?” Tushar asked me, picking up a spool of string. His eyes shimmered. I wasn’t sure if it was from the sunlight or his sheer excitement. I had never seen him radiate such joy.

Carrie, never one to miss an opportunity to tease someone, jumped in before I could answer. “That’s cute. You have a nickname for me already.”

Tushar’s cheeks reddened.

“It can’t be that hard,” I said, playfully grabbing the spool from him. “You can do it, right?”

His eyebrows shot upward. “Let’s hope you fly kites better than you take photos.”

I slapped his arm. “I can’t believe you went there.”

My eyes darted to his parents, making sure I hadn’t been disrespectful by touching him. Thankfully, they seemed more interested in the kites flying overhead. It seemed that on Uttarayan societal formalities were abandoned.

With an expert flick of his wrist, Tushar’s orange kite caught the wind and began soaring upward. As it ascended, he released tension on the string, allowing the kite to glide up through the crowded sky.

Never one to be outdone, I confidently dangled my kite from my fingers and flicked my wrist the way I had seen him do. But rather than flying up to join Tushar’s kite, mine fell to the floor with a faint tapping sound as it landed against the cement rooftop.

Tushar and Carrie laughed, and after a second, I couldn’t help but join in.

“Now do you want help?” he asked.

Defeated, I nodded. Tushar handed his spool to Carrie so she could take over flying the kite. He showed me how to dangle the kite from my fingertips, flick it up to catch the wind, and immediately release the spool. After a few attempts and some more pointers, my turquoise kite was sailing into the sea overhead, the thin paper making a flapping sound against the gusts of the wind. My palms began to burn from the friction of the wooden spool handles rotating in my hands as more and more string released.

“Pull it back!” Tushar yelled. He used his hand to shade his eyes from the sun as he followed my kite into the air.

I held the spool in my left hand and wrapped my right fingers around the glass-laced string to stop my kite from traveling any farther. The string made tiny cuts in the pads of my fingers, but I didn’t care. As the wind floated through my hair and the sun kissed my face, the only tension I felt was that on the kite string.

“Careful!” Tushar called, reaching out and jerking my spool toward him. “Someone is trying to cut you.”

Sure enough, a bright-red kite was closing in on mine. Tushar yanked the string with a few sharp jerks. The kite caught a breeze, and he maneuvered it out of harm’s way.

He laughed. “If you take your eyes off for even a second, someone will come. Let me show you how to go after those people before they can come to you!”

He taught us the tricks of kite cutting—releasing the string as fast as the spool would allow when two strings were tangled, or pulling it in quickly. As he showed us his skills, I saw kite after kite spiral downward from the sky and into the arms of children running along the streets collecting the fallen soldiers.

Jayesh brought Tushar a yellow kite to launch into the air, so all three of us now had warriors in the sky.

I saw Tushar’s kite, so I stealthily steered mine in his direction.

“What is this? You try to cut your teacher’s kite?” His eyes shone as he said the words.

Our strings were now intertwined high above the building. “You taught me well.”

I tried to cut his kite using the release method he’d taught me earlier, but he guided his kite to the safety of higher air. He then looped his string back and was in prime position to cut mine. I tugged on my string, frantically trying to move my kite away from the danger zone. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him glance at me and then ease up on his string, allowing my kite to cut his. We watched his yellow kite swirl headfirst back toward earth.

“Got it!” I shouted.

“You have learned well,” he said.

We both ignored the fact that he had let me win.

I noticed Carrie staring at us, a question in her eyes.





37


After a traditional dinner of undhiyu, Carrie and I took a ricksha back to Lakshmi. Box-lantern kites lit the night sky, soft glowing steps leading to the heavens. Fireworks crackled around us, and sparks fell on the road as we swerved through the streets. The air was heavier than usual, thick with the scents of incense and burnt paper. Street vendors added the aromas of fresh roasted peanuts and sugary fried jelabi to the mix. Scraps of fallen kites littered the road like confetti, fluttering around with the light airiness of snowflakes as cars and rickshas cruised past.

When we arrived back at Lakshmi, my relatives were still on the roof. Two lines of neon-pink string stretched upward. Bharat was still flying kites despite the darkness. Carrie and I joined my family on the roof and rehashed stories of our day at Tushar’s. Virag Mama was impressed Carrie had caught on to kite cutting so quickly and ended up with twelve kite war victories on her first attempt.