A Good Indian Wife: A Novel (20 page)

“I think we both liked the idea of an arranged marriage. And we trusted our parents to find us a suitable partner.”

“Whoa! That’s a whole lot of trust.”

“But that’s the way it is in India. We have complete faith in our parents.”

“What if the parents are wrong?”

“But how can that be? They want the best for their children.”

“So-ooo. Tell me, did the two of you like each other right away?”

“We liked each other,” Leila echoed softly. She felt shy to elaborate. Everyone had said how Neel must have really liked her because his aunt had come back up the stairs even before they left their compound and because he refused to see other girls. But if Neel had liked her so much, why did she feel like they were two strangers in a train compartment? Polite, but uncomfortable about being in the same space.

“Was it love at first sight?” Rekha teased.

“I don’t know about that.” Neel had said that in Ooty and she had believed him. Since then she had heard him be American suave many times. “Maybe.” Her discomfort increased. “It’s a very charged meeting because everyone knows it will end in marriage or rejection.” Hers, finally, had been marriage. She felt again the absolute thrill when she saw Neel’s father the next morning with a big smile on his face. Leila had served him coffee (sweetened with the condensed milk Kila had not managed to finish), all the while thinking that he was now her father too.

“That would be intense. But how do parents go about choosing someone?”

“They match education, social standing, and of course, religion. If a couple is like-minded there is a better chance for the marriage to work out. But you know, people do it even here in America. The radio advertisement for Perfect Strings always says that the singles who join are professional and music lovers.”

“I know we have video dating services, even dinners for singles. But here it’s a question of getting people who want to marry into the same place so they can check each other out. It’s up to the individuals. Parents never get involved.”

“In India, parents have always been present. Maybe because in the old days of joint families it was important for everyone to get along. Of course it was most important for the boy and girl to like each other.”

“But what if the boy and girl,” here Rekha smiled, “don’t get along after they marry?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know any couples who are like that.” She crossed her fingers as she said it. A childhood leftover, though Indy always said fingers couldn’t cross out the lie in a lie.

“That’s amazing. No divorce?”

“Not in our town. But I think divorce is becoming common in big cities like Bombay. It’s considered fashionable, people daring to follow a Western idea.”

“The things we Americans export.” Rekha shook her head. “But there must be couples in your town who are unhappy. What do they do?”

“I suppose they have to live with their fate. A divorce is too shameful, not just for the girl—I mean woman—but for her whole family.”

“That’s it right there! The angle for my thesis. Here women
can
get divorced. There’s no social stigma since almost half of all marriages go kaput. I’ll have to research women’s shelters, see if they get any Indians coming in.” Rekha thought ahead to where she would find such women. “So in India the women just stay put?”

“Sometimes the wife will be sent back to her home. But usually the family will not keep her. It’s expensive and shameful.” Leila remembered Amma saying that Nalini was lucky her parents were letting her stay home instead of forcing her to return to Malaysia.

“Are those the women who get burned?”

“Oh no. Those are usually from the lower class. And it’s not because the boy, man, is unhappy with his wife. It’s because of dowry. His family will demand more money, which they need to marry off their daughters. If they don’t get it, they pour kerosene on the girl, burn her, and then he gets another bride. And another dowry. But I’ve only read about such cases in the newspaper. We’ve never had it happen in our town.”

“I had the impression it happened all over India.”

“No, not at all. That’s just the media blowing things out of proportion. Before I came to San Francisco I thought I’d see people dying of AIDS everywhere.”

Rekha took a sip of coffee. “I know this is kind of personal, but remember, I want to be a journalist, and am always on a quest.”

Leila felt her heart beat faster. What question was she going to have to answer?

“Did you give a dowry?”

She smiled in relief. Rekha hadn’t asked about their first nights and days together. How could she tell Rekha that it was the same as now, except that then Neel used his grandfather as an excuse and here in America he used his work?

“No. Neel didn’t want one.” She was too embarrassed to say her family didn’t have the money.

“Is that unusual?”

“Yes, though there are modern men who realize the girl is her own dowry. You know, of course, that in the old days men were the ones who gave dowries. But then it became the women. Maybe it will change again and stop completely.”

“I certainly hope so. And I’m happy you married an enlightened man. Though I suspect he fell in love with you immediately. You’re just too bashful to say so. You tell him I said he’s a lucky man.”

Leila just smiled and wondered what Amma would make of that order. “I brought you my children’s story.”

“‘
Annigma, the Cat Who Loved to Solve Puzzles
.’ What does the name mean?”

“It’s from the Greek, for ‘riddle.’”

“Oh, clever. Thanks. I look forward to reading it.”

“Rekha, is it very difficult to get admission into Berkeley?”

“Usually. Why?”

“I was thinking of doing another MA degree.”

“Another one? So you can be a MaMa before you become a mother?” Rekha smiled.

“Very funny. No, I used to teach in India, but I’d like to do something different. New country, new career.”

“What did you teach?”

“English literature.”

“In school?”

“In a college.”

“Wow. You never told me that. So many of the women in my mother’s generation don’t have careers. Yours is pretty impressive.”

“It was nothing, really. Just a job till I got married.”

“Just a job!” Rekha snorted. “You know how difficult it is to get jobs like that over here? The competition is way fierce.”

“Maybe it’s easier in India because girls’ colleges like to hire women. And then we usually teach till we get married.”

“What do you want to study now?”

“Creative writing.”

“I think it’s part of the English Department. And yes, it’s difficult to get into that department,” she warned.

“What else can I do with my education and experience?”

“How about volunteering? The YWCA is always looking for English teachers. These would be young immigrant kids, Chinese, Vietnamese, who need help learning basic skills. It’s not Shakespeare, but they could really use you.”

“I’m a little tired of teaching all those dead authors. It would be a nice change to help young children. That way I can also begin to understand the school system here. Should I just ring, I mean phone, the YWCA?”

“That would be a start.”

“Thank you. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Yes, Leila thought as she walked home, tomorrow is another day. Maybe she would get a volunteer position. It was a good compromise between what Neel wanted and her own desires. She still didn’t understand why he was so eager for her to find a job.

Perhaps Neel would be waiting for her like the last time she met with Rekha. She pictured him in his suit and immediately thought of the nude scene she had seen yesterday in
Romeo and Juliet
. The censor board had cut it in India, just like all love scenes in foreign movies. Leila had seen more naked bodies on the TV screen than the flesh of her own husband. He had been bare-chested at their wedding, but she was too shy to look. He always slept in pajamas, not a lungi like Appa, and kept to his side of the bed.

At every crosswalk she hoped the lights would be green, so she could get home faster to Neel. The green also meant he would be home waiting for her. It was a game she had devised to enliven her walks, letting the outside world decide her future. The first three lights were red. As she waited for the little man to flash, she looked up to the sky to make a wish. But the bright orbs of the street lamps obliterated the stars and only a sliver of moon was visible.

“SEVEN-SIX-FOUR-TWO
Gulf requesting frequency change.”

Full of pride, Leila stared at the back of Neel’s head, marveling at his expertise.

The radio crackled and a voice floated into their confined space. “Frequency change approved, seven-six-four-two Gulf. Good day and safe flying.”

Jake Robson, one of the three co-owners of the four-seater, was flying with them to Reno. He turned around to Leila. “How are you enjoying yourself so far?”

“It’s wonderful. But I don’t think I want to be Beryl Markham anymore. It’s much too complicated to fly a plane.”

“Oh, nonsense. You can learn in no time. I’ll give you a quick lesson now,” Jake offered.

Leila leaned forward eagerly, but Neel’s words snapped her into an upright position. “Don’t do that. You’ll change the trim.”

Neel could barely contain his anger. The taxi had been late. He had almost lost the hard copy of his conference paper. And then Jake had decided to join them at the last minute. Neel couldn’t refuse Jake, who traveled so much he hardly ever used the plane.

They all heard the big thud at the same time. “I’ll go…” Jake started to get up but Neel stayed him. “Lee can get it. It’s just behind her.”

Leila looked back carefully. She didn’t want to jeopardize the trim again. Their flight bag was on its side. She found the handle and tried to straighten it.

“Did you get it?” Neel could feel her tugging.

“It’s too heavy.”

The bag was heavy because of
her
, Neel thought. Inside, nestled between his shirts and pants, were her clothes. There had been no time to buy another overnight bag and the Samsonite was too big. Her things in his luggage. Her body in his bed. Caroline didn’t know they slept in the same bed. But it was easier than getting another one. That would be making too loud of a statement, though she must know by now that he hadn’t wanted to marry her.

He wished he were going up to Reno alone. But Sanjay and Oona had invited her and it would look bad if Leila drove up with them.

“Don’t worry, Lee, I’ll do it.” Jake smiled at her. “See down there? We’re just getting to the mountains.”

They looked like papier-mâché mounds, mostly brown, though Leila could see the pointed rise of reddish-green trees. It didn’t seem possible that mountains could kill. These looked so harmless, as if the poke of a finger would deflate their swell.

“Lee, this must be yours? It was in the side pocket.” Jake handed her a scarf.

Perfume, unfamiliar, like the sugary scent of crushed petals, drifted up from the silk piece Jake put into her hand.

“It’s not mine.” She had bought suits, pants, sweaters, even jeans, but no accessories. She was still learning about American fashion, and had trouble enough getting a sense of the big items. She doubted she would ever reach the stage of wearing scarves.

“Hey, Jason must have landed a girlfriend.” Jake laughed. “Jason’s the other owner,” he explained to Leila. “We always tease him because he’s kind of shy. I’d better leave it here so she can find it again.” He tucked the pale blue and pink scarf where he had found it.

Neel realized that Caroline must have left it there last weekend. He hadn’t told her that Leila was going to Reno. She would never understand and what she didn’t know couldn’t lead to a fight. He’d make it up to her—fly up to Sonoma and surprise her with a mud bath and massage.

When they landed, Jake took off with a friend while Neel hailed a taxi. Everyone seemed to have arrived at the hotel en masse and they found themselves at the end of a long line at the check-in counter. Neel could not understand how big hotels stayed in business with such inefficient workers. Fifteen minutes later, they were still waiting behind six people.

He wanted to scream. Leila was just standing there, not saying or doing anything. He had told her they wouldn’t have time together, that even his evenings would be filled with dinner meetings. But she had insisted on accompanying him. “Oona will keep me company,” she had stated.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Patrick approach.

“Neel, hello there. Just get in?” Patrick held out a large pink hand that seemed an extension of his equally large, florid body.

“Patrick,” Neel shook the proffered hand. “This is Lee. Lee, Dr. Patrick Connery from OB/GYN.”

Leila felt as though someone had snatched the mangalsutra from her neck. She touched the black and gold wedding beads, wondering why Neel had not simply said, “This is Leila, my wife.” Or even joked, “This is my worse half, Leila.” His mood had not improved after they landed. She should have followed her instincts and stayed in San Francisco. But Oona had convinced her to come, and she had cancelled the appointment at the YWCA, guilty because the woman was going away on vacation and didn’t have an opening for another month. A part of her, it was true, had also reacted to Neel’s resistance.

She said the words Neel should have. “I’m Mrs. Sarath.”

“A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” She felt a little phony using this American phrase, but it was useful. It both said and didn’t say anything.

“And how is our country treating you so far?”

Neel tried not to listen as he checked in. But Patrick always spoke as though the world were deaf. The insistent volume of his words and Leila’s softer, accented speech grated on his ears. Patrick was going on and on about yoga.

“Mrs. Sarath?” the clerk called. At first Leila didn’t connect the “Sairath” with her name, which she though of as “Surruth.” Then she turned toward the man. “A message for you.”

“It’s Shanti,” she told Neel, feeling happy for the first time that day. “She wants me to meet her in front of the slot machines. Where would they be?”

Neel pointed her in the right direction and reminded her he would be out for dinner. She had just disappeared from view when Sanjay came around the corner.

“Hey, Neel. Where’s Leila?” he asked.

“Where’s Oona?” Neel countered. He knew that Sanjay was checking up on him.

First Oona had invited Leila to Reno, then last week Sanjay had cornered Neel in the cafeteria. “Listen, man, you can’t just leave Leila in San Francisco.”

“She has things to do,” Neel said.

“On the weekend? What’s the matter with you? You’re acting like a bachelor.”

“What’s the matter with
you
?” Neel hit back. “You’re acting like my parents.”

“Arre, I’ll back off. I was just reminding you that we husbands have responsibilities.”

Sanjay could afford to be Mr. Super Husband. He hadn’t been foisted with a wife he didn’t want. Neel’s plan to get rid of Leila by making her independent wasn’t going very well. She wasn’t looking for a job in any organized fashion and didn’t seem interested in learning how to do it the American way. If she kept following this route, he’d be stuck with her forever.

Now Sanjay said, “Oona’s up in our room. The drive tired her. Though I was the one driving the whole way. Go figure.”

“Women,” Neel commiserated, trying to smooth over his earlier words. “Lee’s with Shanti. They’re probably winning at the slot machines.”

“Good. We’re having dinner together tomorrow, right? Big buffet, here I come!” He rubbed his stomach.

Sitting in the room by himself, Neel felt defeated. Marriage had a greater reach than he could ever have imagined. He’d thought he could leave Leila at home and continue on with his life, until she got the point and left. But people were forcing him to play the role of husband.

Except for Caroline, who seemed to expect him to compensate for his husband role by being an ever-present boyfriend. She had even refused to make love the other night, angry that he wasn’t taking her to Reno.

“THIS IS A WHOLE DIFFERENT AMERICA.
” Shanti waved her hand, indicating the bright lights and levers. “Want to try your luck?” She jingled the change she’d won.

“Maybe a little later.” Leila yearned to get away from the smoke and the desperate look in people’s eyes. The atmosphere was palpable with longing. Two years ago, Amma had taken her to see a reputed palmist, and they had waited behind another mother anxious to find out why her daughter was still unmarried. The smelly, walnut-faced man held Leila’s hand too long and emitted great sighs between bouts of coughing. “You, my daughter, ah. You will to suffer. Yes, definitely I see that. But you are born under a lucky star. Many many happy things will happen to you. Definitely. So you must not at all worry. In the final everything will come out okay.” Amma had beamed until Leila reminded her the words didn’t mean anything. He probably said the same to all his clients.

“Go on, try one.” Shanti held out a quarter.

Leila popped in the coin and pulled the lever, watching to see what would come up. No match. No cascade of metal as in the machine next to them. “I guess I’m not lucky.” She grimaced. For a brief second she had been caught up in the excitement of the colors and the noise and hoped for a win.

“You know what they say,” Shanti comforted her, “unlucky in gambling, lucky in love. Speaking of which, where is that handsome husband of yours?” Shanti felt guilty that she hadn’t made a greater effort to get to know Leila. But every time she planned to call, something came up. The interference of America, she called it privately, since the pace was so much slower in India and visits were always possible.

“Handsome husband has become Mr. Busy Bee,” Leila joked, not wanting Shanti to guess the truth. Indians were so good at looking beneath the words, unlike Americans, who took things at face value.

“He’s not going to be busy the whole time, is he?”

“He warned me that he had meetings and what-not. I actually came to see Reno, and to spend some time with you and Oona. That is, if you have the time?”

“Sure I do. But I’ll have to talk to Neel about this. He can’t bring you here and expect you to play Little Orphan Annie.”

If only she could ask Shanti about Neel. Did Shanti know about Savannah? Had there been other girls? During that walk in the garden, right after putting ET down, and knowing he was going to reject her and accept Amita, Leila had asked Neel why he wanted an arranged marriage, implying the obvious: Don’t you have an American girlfriend? So many foreign-returned men married to please their parents even though they loved someone else. Neel had shrugged his shoulders and responded, “I didn’t wake up one morning and say, ‘I want an arranged marriage.’ It just seems the logical choice now.” After their marriage, she had taken great comfort from his words.

“I suppose he will find some time.” Leila smiled.

“Neel’s a great guy. And from what Bob tells me, he’s a superb anesthesiologist. You may not know this, but it’s difficult for anesthesiologists to get jobs these days. Neel had four offers.” Shanti focused on Neel the professional. Leila didn’t need to know about Caroline. That was in the past, and since most Indians don’t date, at least not openly, it would be difficult for Leila to understand.

“I didn’t know that.” Leila felt a swelling of pride. She was married to a very accomplished man. Everyone wanted him in the operating room. That was why Neel worked so late at night.

“His job really suits him, don’t you think? It calls for absolute knowledge of the situation and precision. No mistakes allowed. That’s Neel in a nutshell and probably why he’s so good. Though he’s not the bragging kind. He talks, but not about himself. Or you, for that matter. I just know that you both are from the same town, that you taught in a college and of course that you are very charming and pretty, which is why Neel married you.”

Leila looked away, realizing that she would never be able to take any comfort from Shanti. In just a few sentences, Shanti had progressed from Indian to suave American. Shanti would never have tagged on the charming and pretty compliment in India. And what was she
really
saying about Neel? That he was quiet and didn’t open up about himself? He did like to talk and joke. But perhaps Shanti was right. Neel could banter around, but even with the others she had never heard him say anything personal.

“You can say thank you, you know.” Shanti laughed. “It’s something you will have to learn here. People are very free with their compliments and they won’t understand if you don’t respond.”

Leila looked down and played with her napkin. Shanti’s forthrightness was even more difficult to take than the compliment. None of her friends in India would have been so bold as to correct her. Now Shanti was almost accusing her of being rude.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s just that I went through all that in the beginning. When I met Bob’s mother, she took one look at me and said, ‘Bob, you never told us you married an Indian princess. She is beautiful!’ I had never, ever, been called even pretty, so of course I kept quiet. Then Bob nudged me. I looked up and there were all these smiling faces looking at me, waiting for me to say something. Do you know what I said?”

“No.”

“I’m mortified just thinking about it. I hid my chin in my neck and muttered, ‘I wish the earth would open up and take me in.’” Both Shanti and Leila laughed.