Dev Dreams, Volume One (5 page)

But Priyanka knew something wasn't right. A
man as good as Auntie described would have no need to scrape the
bottom of the barrel to find her, poor and with tragedy in her
horoscope. Most NRIs returned to India to find their brides,
married while there, then brought them back. Why had her groom
insisted she come alone to the other side of the world with only
his picture? This was not how things were done. Daksha Auntie
didn't care, she would take whatever offer she could get for
Priyanka.

Daksha Auntie gave Priyanka only one gold
necklace set. She was surprised to receive even that. If things
went badly, this necklace set could be sold to get Priyanka out of
difficulty. Girls with mothers went to their husband's homes with
as much jewelry as the family could afford, for protection and also
for show. No one cared enough about Priyanka for that. She packed
the necklace set in her traveling bag. She had seen enough American
movies that she didn't want to wear the jewelry, for fear it might
be ripped from her body in a dramatic mugging.

Priyanka filed out of the airplane with the
others. She was a small woman, short and diminutive in every regard
and easily overlooked. She often went unnoticed in the crowds of
Bangalore. She looked like hundreds of women on the street, a
bright sari wrapped around her and her hair plaited to her mid-back
with a string of jasmine in it. She was thin and willowy and her
complexion was dark enough that Daksha Auntie rubbed lightening
creams on her face every night. Nothing about her stood out.

Until she walked into Logan airport and
quickly lost sight of any other Indians. There were no saris here,
not even any salwar suits. The crowd of people around her were
dressed drably and all she could see around her was white and grey.
She tried to keep sight of one person from her flight, to figure
out where to go.

They walked through a wide glass doorway and
all of a sudden there was a crowd of people holding signs. She
quickly spotted the one with her name written in Hindi script, but
it was lower than the others. She widened her gaze and realized the
man holding the sign was sitting in a wheelchair. Her first thought
was that he must be a servant or a driver, though who would use a
crippled driver?

She pulled out the photograph of her groom
and compared them. Same strong jaw line, same hooked nose, same
shock of curly black hair, and same kind twinkle in the eye. It was
him. Strange for the groom to be the one to pick her up, she had
expected a sister or just a driver. The picture she held was only
of his face. Now she looked over the rest of him. He was dressed
neatly in a button shirt and slacks. He was small all around, but
his legs seemed frail even for his thin frame. He wore brown lace
shoes and his feet rested inches above the ground. Priyanka had
never seen a wheelchair like this one before, it was almost
artistic in its fluid lines.

She had an urge suddenly to bolt, but she
squashed it. There was no where to go. She looked back up to his
face and saw that he was looking at her with an apologetic smile.
She walked towards him, no expression on her face.

“Priayanka?” he said.

She nodded.

“I'm Deepak. I'm sorry to surprise you like
this. I know you weren't expecting the wheelchair.”

“No,” she said. She would usually keep her
next thought to herself, but it seemed fair to shock him in return,
“I knew there must be a reason you petitioned to marry a loser like
me.”

She was rewarded with his startled stare.
“You don't look like a loser,” he said eventually.

“I guess you haven't looked at my
horoscope.”

He laughed. “No, it's true, I don't put much
stock in those things.”

“It spells tragedy for my husband.”

“Ah, in that case, I guess my parents figured
I'd already had mine.”

He laughed so freely that she found herself
joining in, though she hadn't meant to laugh about his
situation.

“Anyway,” he said, “I know it's a shock, but
it's sort-of like Gandhari finding out that Driterastra was blind,
right?”

Priyanka smiled again, she had always found
that story very romantic. “Are you secretly a king?” she
teased.

“Better.”

“Acha?”

“Heart specialist with my own house.”

“My aunt thought all her prayers paid
off.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Did it excite you to
think of moving to America to marry a doctor?”

“Little, little bit.”

“I wish I could have been who you were
expecting.” He was quiet a moment, then said, “Shall we go get your
bag?”

She walked slightly behind him and could see
the top of his head. As a short woman she had never expected to be
able to see the top of her husband's head. From this angle she
observed him more closely. The skin on the back of his neck was
smooth and the color of milked coffee. His ears were almost
entirely covered by thick black waves of hair. His shoulders rose
as he moved and his hands seemed to barely graze the rims on the
wheels with each stroke. She had never seen anyone with such
precise control over a wheelchair, he wasn't like the cripples she
had seen occasionally in the city, most of them beggars.

Next to the baggage claim, he put brakes on
his wheels. When she pointed out her small blue suitcase, he leaned
forward in the wheelchair, twisting and keeping one hand on the
back of the chair while he grabbed the suitcase with the other and
yanked it onto the ground. Priyanka felt a tickle of admiration.
She expected someone like him to have others do things for him. In
fact, she imagined that's why he had decided he wanted a wife.

“Can I help you out, mate?” A strong looking,
tan young man said, but Deepak smiled and said no. He picked up the
suitcase and positioned it on his lap. “The car's this way,” he
said.

As he got in, Priyanka watched him. When the
wheelchair was stored in the backseat she said, “Can I ask what it
is for?”

“The wheelchair? I had an accident when I was
a kid, in India. My parents brought me here hoping for better
treatment, but even American doctors couldn't make me walk.”

“Acha,” she said solemnly.

“I didn't want to do this whole arranged
marriage thing, but American dating is brutal and my parents
finally talked me into this.”

Priyanka didn't say anything. She had never
expected anything else, although she thought she would be married
to a low-level shop worker.

They drove through Boston, just the two of
them. Priyanka looked out the window. The city seemed empty and
cold. The streets were thick with cars, but all proceeding in a
solid, polite line, only a honk occasionally.

As they headed out of the city and the
landscape became manicured lawns and wide houses, Deepak said, “You
don't have to go through with this, you know. My family lied and it
won't hurt my feelings if you turn me down now. Well, it will hurt
my feelings, but I'll understand. They wanted me to wait until the
wedding to see you, or rather for you to see me. I didn't want you
to be trapped.”

She felt a little ill as she looked again at
his motionless legs. She almost couldn't tell when they were in the
car, the only thing that gave it away was the machinery that
allowed his hands to control the gas and brake. But remembering how
he looked in the wheelchair it was hard to imagine him touching her
in an intimate way, even if he was handsome. It was as though the
two halves of his body were fighting each other. The handsome face
canceled out by the tragedy of the lower part.

“I have no where to go,” she said.

“Right.” He sighed. “Well, let's get you
introduced to the family.”

He pulled into a driveway and people came
rushing out of the house. The women wore salwar suits and the men
were in western dress. They stood so close to the car that Deepak
seemed to have trouble getting his wheelchair out. Everyone was
peering in and trying to get a look at her. She waited until Deepak
was out and settled before she got out of the car and allowed
herself to be enveloped in strangers.

Inside, the kitchen table was covered in
food, like a buffet, and people swarmed all over the house.
Priyanka looked around, assuming that Deepak lived here and that
she would be moving in after the marriage had taken place.

“A small wedding. Hundred people only.” His
mother darted her head to the side as she said this. “We will
provide the sari and the jewels and we'll have some relatives to
stand in for yours.” Priyanka nodded, saying nothing. The wedding
would be something done to her, not something she felt a part of.
She looked over at Deepak, who was filling a plate with rice and
daal and vegetables. He put it on his lap and stuck a glass of
water between his knees. Once she was a daughter-in-law, it would
be her job to serve him and the rest of the family. He was an only
child, there was no other daughter-in-law.

His mother grabbed Priyanka's chin and turned
her face back and forth. “Very nice,” she said,

“Now, you will stay here with us until the
wedding.”

Deepak got back in his car and left. Priyanka
spent the next week living with his parents and trying to figure
out what was expected of her. Actually, it seemed that they were so
grateful she had agreed to marry Deepak, that nothing else
mattered. His mother quizzed her about friends and family from the
Bangalore area and reminisced about her school days in a nearby
town. His father never said much, but did tell her to sit and eat
when she tried to serve dinner. She didn't see Deepak at all, it
seemed he did have a separate home.

The morning of the wedding, the priest took
her over to a tree behind the house and performed a ceremony. Some
sort of diversion for her bad horoscope. The priest assured her the
tragedy would now befall the tree.

The wedding itself went by in a series of
moments whenever Priyanka wasn't too overwhelmed to tune in. The
room was full of people she had never seen before and she was
grateful for the few minutes of alone time she had already had with
Deepak. It made the entire thing less frightening.

She draped the flower garland over his head
and bent forward so that he could place his over her head. She
entered the mandap first, kicking off her shoes in a practiced
motion, then sat on a bench that was at wheelchair height. Deepak
approached and lifted each leg by its ankle to pull his shoes off
one at a time. He pushed up the sloped edge of the mandap platform
and maneuvered in beside Priyanka, his feet bare. She was
fascinated by the feet. They looked so normal. She was completely
distracted from what the priest was chanting as she cast her eyes
down to his still feet.

There was an unusual amount of space between
them and the fire. Deepak rolled forward each time they threw
something in. When it was time to walk around the fire, Priyanka
realized the reason for the space, so that Deepak's wheelchair
could fit. Deepak tied the end of her shawl around one of his knees
and followed her in seven circles around the fire.

She knelt on the ground with her back to him
so that he could tie the mangal sutra around her neck. Everyone in
the room then pelted them with flower blossoms and rice. Outside
the mandap, they both leaned down to touch his parents' feet. He
stayed down while touching his eyes and doing namaskar and pulled
himself back to sitting upright by grabbing the edges of his
chair.

The party lasted well into the night and they
watched many people perform dances and eat and laugh and play
games. Most people didn't seem to care that it was Deepak's
wedding, it was just an excuse to be merry. Finally as Priyanka
could feel her head dipping in exhaustion, they were able to make
an exit. They got into Deepak's car and Priyanka began pulling
jewelry off as he drove.

“So, that's that,” he said eventually.

“Yes,” she said. She didn't know what came
next. She didn't know how husbands and wives became comfortable
with each other. All the spouses she knew were very familiar with
each other and she still felt nervous and uncertain around her
husband.

He didn't really want a wife, she was sure
she must be here to help care for him. She wondered at first if she
would even sleep in the same room. They would look like a couple to
the outside world, but in reality she would be little more than a
maid and a nurse. Things could be worse.

Though she expected a separate room, there
was only one bed. She changed in the bathroom into a long, thick
nightgown and lay down on one edge of the bed. Deepak moved his
wheelchair up next to the other side. He put his hands on the bed
and pulled himself over.

“Would you like help?” Priyanka asked.

“I'm fine,” he said, lifting his legs onto
the bed.

She had expected that he must live with his
parents when she first saw him. How was he getting by on his own
without a wife or parents to help him? How did he dress? How did he
bathe? Her mind swirled with questions, but she decided to just
observe and step in if he asked. They slept on opposite sides of
the bed all night.

In the morning, while Deepak was in the
bathroom, Priyanka stood in front of her little suitcase and had no
idea what to wear. She didn't have many clothes, her aunt either
couldn't afford to buy her a treassou or didn't want to waste the
money on it. She didn't know what was expected of her here. Did
Deepak want a traditional wife? He didn't live with his parents.
Would they be coming by to check that she was wearing sari and
cooking roti? They didn't seem to be too concerned with that. They
must be progressive people to have come to America, to have pushed
a crippled son to achieve the same goals expected of normal
boys.

She had bought a skirt and two short kurtas
that looked like something she could imagine Julia Roberts wearing
in America. But today, just in case, she selected a sari and
expertly wrapped it around her body, tucking the pallu end into the
waist. When Deepak emerged, she followed him to the kitchen.