The Taste of Ginger(86)
My skin tingled when Tushar touched my shoulder. “What is wrong?”
His hand on my shoulder made me feel tainted, dirty, against the purity of his worried expression. A reminder that above all the other obstacles that would be in our way, I was damaged in the Indian sense. Even someone of a lower caste wouldn’t want me, knowing I’d dated other men.
I was torn, and then before I could stop them, the words tumbled out of me. “I came to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” He stared at me blankly.
Yes, this was the right thing. To just leave and not think again of the moments we had shared. Nothing could come of them anyway.
I forced a smile onto my face. “Yes, Neel and Dipti are ready to go home, so we’re all heading back.”
“I see.” His face dropped, showing concern, and something more—much more. I felt the same current between us that I had on New Year’s Eve and Uttarayan.
In an overly polite tone, I said, “I just wanted to come here in person and—and thank you for everything you’ve done for me while I’ve been here. I’ve learned so much from you.”
“I suppose it’s easy for you to just go back home then,” he said.
His face turned to stone, and he looked hurt. I could see he felt like he had been a mere distraction to me, something to pass the time before I returned to my real life. I wanted to correct him, but what could I say? It was best for both of us to move on and back into the social circles in which we belonged, to play the roles we were born to play.
“I guess there’s nothing left to keep me here,” I said, intently watching his reaction.
Even though all logic told me to just say goodbye and leave, I still longed to know what was really going through his mind. But what had I expected from Tushar? To tell me to stay the way I had tried to get Alex to stay when he first brought up New York? Did I even want that? We both knew the caste system would never let us be anything more than what we were. He was the only son in his family. It would shame them if he didn’t abide by the customs. That was why he’d become my closest friend here and nothing more, right?
He looked me in the eyes, and I held his gaze. His lips pressed together as if he wanted to say something more. I leaned forward, urging him to voice whatever he was thinking. I wanted—no, needed—to hear it.
The familiar ring of the bell above the door sounded, followed by champals clomping against the floor. A customer.
Whatever moment we had was lost. He shook his head, wiping away the remnants of whatever thoughts he had been having.
“You will be happy back at home,” he said.
He sounded so distant. Tears stung my eyes, but I couldn’t let him see them.
I nodded half-heartedly. Then I dashed out of Happy Snaps. Among the throngs of people sauntering along the street around me, I’d never felt so alone. But it was clearer than ever that there was nothing left for me in India and it was time for me to go back to Los Angeles.
I walked around the city for a couple hours, taking in the sights that had felt so foreign upon my arrival but now felt comfortable and familiar. I wanted to breathe in the smells, memorize the sounds and buildings, because I wasn’t sure when I would be there again. By the time I returned to the house, I knew I wanted to talk to my mother about what had happened with Alex while I’d been in India. I’d been thinking about my conversation with Biren, and it had opened my eyes to the choices of my parents. I wanted to clear the air between my mother and me so we could pave a path forward. She deserved to know that I now thought perhaps she had been right all along, and I wished I hadn’t shunned everything Indian in favor of everything American. I wanted to balance the Eastern and Western cultures in which I had been raised, and not have to choose one to the exclusion of the other. It would be a new chapter for both of us, but I was ready to turn the page and hoped she was too.
Gravel crunched underneath my feet as I opened the gate to the driveway. Fluorescent lighting shone through the windows of the living room and parlor area. An unfamiliar black Maruti was parked in the driveway. It was too old and worn to be a relative’s car. Mentally exhausted, I opened the front door with every intention of saying a polite hello, sneaking past the guests, and pulling my mother aside.
I was taken aback upon seeing Tushar in the living room sitting with Mom, Virag Mama, and Indira Mami. Carrie sat on a corner of the sofa looking uncomfortable. The mood was tense.
“Tushar? What are you doing here?” I asked.
His eyes glistened with hope before he shifted his gaze toward his lap. His expression was much softer than when I had seen him earlier. Everyone else was focused on me. Mom’s expression was weary, and her lips were set into a thin line. Virag Mama looked angry. The smell of cardamom and cinnamon from the chai hung in the air.
Mom gestured for me to sit. My instincts told me to back out of the room and pretend that I had never walked in, but obediently, I did as she indicated and sat between my mother and Carrie.
“Do you know why Tushar is here?” Mom asked.
I scanned Tushar’s face for an answer, but he offered nothing. I wondered if his parents had somehow found out about the wine Tushar and I had smuggled into the shop on New Year’s Eve. Perhaps the old lady in the shop had complained about the way I’d been acting earlier. I thought about Tushar’s father being angry with him because of something I had done and felt sick. I slowly shook my head.