Blue Jasmine (15 page)

Zeeno smiled and began cleaning the spiderwebs off the walls.

Dadima looked at Kaki and said, “If we can't eat all the fruit that people have brought, then give it to the poor outside the temple.”

“If the people who gave you the fruit baskets find out you're giving them away, their brows will wrinkle.”

“Once they give me a gift, what business is it of theirs what i do with it? We'll eat what we can and the rest must go where it can do some good. Let's give some of it to the poor to relieve their hunger.”

“I'll go to temple today,” Kaki said.

Dadima turned to me. “Seema, come and sit by me and tell me about your Grandma Milan.”

“I told you everything, three times over,” I said.

“Tell me again. Don't you know that the older we get the younger we become? Like Mela, I need to hear stories again and again to remember them.”

So I told her again about Grandma Milan.

In the evening Kaki, Zeeno, and I went to the temple with the extra papayas, pomegranates, bananas, and guavas. There were so many poor people lined up outside the temple that in a few minutes our baskets were empty. I realized that in Iowa City I'd rarely seen a beggar.

The next day Raju said, “Why don't you come to school tomorrow?”

“I'll come next week,” I said.

“Why next week? Urvashi, Nalini, all of them have been asking for you,” he said.

I wanted to tell him that they could have come to our house to see me. Instead I said, “I'll come Monday, I promise.”

Again on Saturday evening I went to see Mukta, but the store was locked and even the tailor's shop was closed, so I couldn't ask him about them. On Sunday we were invited to spend the day at Masiba's house.

The next morning I went to school with Raju. Nalini and Urvashi came running to me, and before I knew it there were six of my old classmates surrounding me.

“Sit by us,” Nalini said.

“No,” Raju said. “She's going to sit with me.”

“You're with Seema all the time. Let her sit with us.”

Raju considered. “I suppose Seema can sit by anyone she wants to.”

With five minutes left before the bell, I looked around and saw Mukta hurrying through the front gate.

Nalini saw her, too, and made a face, saying, “Maybe Seema wants to sit by her friend Mukta. Remember they shared a desk in fifth grade?”

“Yes, maybe she should sit by her. Wouldn't that be funny?” said Urvashi.

“Do you want to?” asked Nalini, expecting me to twist my face.

“For the first period I'll sit by Mukta,” I said.

“Don't joke now. It's not April Fool's Day,” Urvashi said.

By now Mukta was only ten feet away. “Seema, is that you?” She walked two steps and stopped. All the eyes were on her and they were not all friendly.

“Mukta,” I said, breaking away from the crowd. “I came to your house twice, but you weren't there.”

“We got back late last night. I wasn't going to come to school today, but when I woke up I felt I had to come, and now I know why!”

Mukta and I walked toward the class. I was so busy talking to her that I forgot what the other girls were doing. Raju was walking next to me. “I'm going to sit by Mukta for the first class, and for the next class, I'll sit by you,” I told him.

“That's fine,” he said.

Once I had sat down, I looked around. There were fifty-five kids in the class, all with the same dark heads. The boys had short hair and the girls all wore braids. All the boys looked the same from the back and all the girls looked the same from the back. I realized that in Iowa City I'd learned to recognize my classmates from the color and style of their hair.

I was afraid that if the teacher asked me a question I'd forget to stand up while answering it. In the first period the teacher asked me to read aloud from a Gujarati play. As I stood up to read, I felt glad that I'd read to Dadima before, so that my tongue rolled out the words as smoothly as my eyes floated over them.

In the class, Mukta and I couldn't talk much, but I did get a chance to ask her how her
kaki
was. She was better,
but she was still at the sanitarium in the dry region of Jitheri. We both wanted to tell each other many things, so we decided to spend a day together before I left. I didn't want to invite her to our house. All those years it had been my home, but now I felt that it was more Raju's home than mine. Mukta didn't want me to come to her house, because there was no privacy for us, and she was afraid that the smoke from the frying in their shop might make me sick. When Raju and I walked home, we passed the acacia. Because of all the rain, ferny leaves covered the entire tree. It reminded me of spring in Iowa.

That Friday I went to spend the day with Mukta. Mommy took me to the market at ten and said she'd pick me up at four. The tailor's shop was busy, and as soon as we were close enough he emerged with a dress for a young girl. The dress was red with light blue smocking on the front.

“Look at this, sister,” he said to Mommy. “This is my work. All mine.”

Mommy took the dress in her hands and I touched the cotton sateen. It was soft, with a glossy finish, and the blue smocking was done in matte thread. It reminded me of the pictures we sent to be developed. It always asked on the envelope if you wanted a glossy or matte finish. On the dress the tailor had combined both beautifully.

Mommy turned it around in her hand and said, “What do you think, Seema?”

Before I could answer, the tailor said, “I know you have no use for this little dress. This is to show you my work. I can make one for her.”

“Get one for Mela,” I whispered to Mommy.

“How much?” she asked.

“Two hundred rupees. This belongs to a client, though, and I have to deliver it this afternoon, but I can make you one in four hours,” he said.

“Make me one exactly the same,” she said.

The tailor nodded happily and returned to his shop.

“See you in a few hours,” Mommy said to me.

Before I could climb the steps to Mukta's shop, she came out.

Mukta and I were going to the temple. There was a big courtyard in the temple, and we decided that we'd spend a day under the shade of the
neem
tree there, and if it rained we could always go into the temple. No sooner had we walked past three shops than we passed two boys carrying three baskets of flowers. The smell filled the air. Mukta stopped and looked back.

“Are they going to your house?” I asked.

“Yes. But I thought we weren't going to have flowers today.”

“Do you want to go back and find out what's happening?”

She hesitated.

“Let's check,” I said.

We approached the open area behind Mukta's house where the baskets filled with roses and marigolds were delivered by the boys. Mukta looked at the flowers, and glanced at her mother.

“Go.” her mother said. “You've made plans with Seema.”

“But this is a special order. We'll get so much money for it.” Mukta said.

“I'll get them done.”

“How? That's too much work for you, and if the tailor's wife helps you, we won't make much money.”

I noticed the spools of thread and needles in a plastic box, and I realized that they made their garlands outside. If we didn't have to be in a dark room all day I didn't mind talking to her right there. “Why don't we sit here and talk while you make garlands?” I said.

“Maybe I can do some and then we can go out,” Mukta said.

Mukta's fingers moved as fast as Asha's fingers when she played the piano. They both had a lot of practice. “Can I try?” I asked.

One flower after another slid down the thread until it turned into a garland. While I made one garland, Mukta made twelve.

“Are schools different in America?” Mukta said.

“In a way they are and in a way they're not. In the beginning it was difficult to face other students who spoke satin-smooth English that I didn't understand. When I saw their skin, eyes, and hair so different from mine, I realized I was far from my home. But I had my friends Jennifer and Ria to help me. My teacher, Ms. Wilson, was kind and patient with me, and slowly, as I began to understand English, I felt comfortable.”

“So with each passing day it became easier and easier?”

I thought of the cold winter and Carrie. “It was like a
saap-sidi
, a chutes-and-ladders game. Many days when I did well in school and talked to my friends, I felt that I'd climbed a ladder, but then there were days when I slid down the chutes.”

I told Mukta about winter and snow, about my struggle with English and all the things I had done wrong, including putting dandelions in my hair.

“Sometimes I'm jealous of Mela,” I said.

“Why?”

“Because Mela is only five. She speaks English without an accent. She has hardly any memory of India to haunt her. She'll start kindergarten next year and I know she'll be so happy. I wish I could be like her, with no yearning and, and . . .” I trailed off.

“And complete belonging?” Mukta said, laying a rose garland she'd just finished in the basket.

“Yes. That's it.”

She didn't reply. She began a new garland of marigolds. I realized that she would never understand how it was to go to a foreign country. She was where she'd always been. After a few minutes Mukta said, “You get twice as long a vacation as I do. I wish I had that.”

“Raju wishes the same. Everyone wants a long vacation. No one wants long school and all the work that goes with it,” I said.

Mukta drew a deep, breath. “It's different for me. If I had a longer vacation I could work and make money and help my family. Around here none of the girls my age are in school. The tailor's girl only finished fourth grade and now she helps sew and makes money. Their son is in eighth grade, and they're talking about not sending him to school anymore.”

“You're smart. You're different from all those girls who don't study after fifth grade,” I said.

“Seema, all those girls are not dumb. They don't study because they don't have money.”

“You're right. You said your tuition was paid by someone last year. What about this year?” I said.

“My tuition has been paid until I graduate from high school. That's what our principal told Mommy, so I'll continue school, but it worries me.”

“If your fees are paid, what's there to worry about?”

“Plenty. I'm thirteen. I should be making money and helping my family. In our community the girls get married by the time they're sixteen or so, and if I work for the next few years I can make money and save some for my wedding. With Kaki's sickness we've used up all our money, including Mommy's two gold bangles.”

“You're not like the girls who get married at sixteen. You have to go to school,” I said.

“What do you mean I'm not like a girl who gets married at sixteen? Going to school doesn't make me like you, or Urvashi, or Nalini. Your parents are educated: they have money. You don't have to worry about food, and you don't have to share a room with six other people. When holidays come and everyone talks about going on vacations, I cringe. We've no place to go. Going to Ambaji was our first trip. Kaki got better, but she needs to stay in the sanitarium for three more months.”

“Oh, Mukta!”

“Seema,” she whispered, “ever since I can remember I've dreamed of being like all of you at school. Do you know that I've never bought a snow cone in the summer or salted peanuts from a vendor? The only time I have a lollipop or a candy is when someone brings it to school as a treat to share, and I am ashamed to eat it, because I've never brought any for anyone else. Every birthday I've wished that the next birthday I could take sweets for
the class. Now that I'm old enough I know how impossible it is.”

My heart was stunned into silence. I stared at the peeling paint on the outside wall of Mukta's house. The door was open and I peered inside, but it was so dark that I saw nothing but a gaping hole. I thought of the handkerchief that Mukta had given me. It was a thousand times more precious now. I wondered how she'd bought it.

“How did you buy the material and the embroidery threads for the handkerchief you made me?” I asked.

“I didn't buy it. It's good to have a tailor living next door. We always barter with our neighbors. The tailor sews our clothes for free and gives us scraps of material and we give him snacks in return. For your handkerchief he took a white piece of muslin and finished the edging and then gave me thread to embroider it. Do you still have it?”

“Yes. I do.”

Mukta smiled. “You're making the garlands really fast now.” she said.

“Yes, I am,” I said, realizing I was stringing them faster than when I'd started. It takes practice to string together both flowers and words.

The next few days passed quickly. For a week we went to see my other grandparents, Nanima and Nanaji, and
when we came back I saw Mukta one last time.

“Seema. I was thinking about you. I wanted to see you, but I thought you might be busy with your family,” Mukta said.

“I will be this evening. I came to give you this,” I said, giving her a gift.

“What's in it?” she said as she carefully unwrapped the package. I was anxious for her to rip it open.

When she saw the set of mechanical pencils and bundle of refills her face brightened in a smile that reminded me of her mother's smile. “I . . . these are too beautiful for me. I . . . I don't think I'll ever want to use them.”

“I brought them for you to use, not to save,” I said.

“But what if I lose or break one?” she said, more to herself than to me.

“Then I'll bring another set next time,” I said.

“
Na, na
,” she said, grabbing my hand. “That's not what I meant. I'll use it carefully. You shouldn't buy me such an expensive gift again.”