Madras on Rainy Days: A Novel (24 page)
Read Madras on Rainy Days: A Novel Online
Authors: Samina Ali
Sameer picked up his shirt from the floor and wrapped it around me. “Go change,” he said, his dark eyes locked on his friend. He didn’t move toward Naveed in greeting, but stayed where he was, trying to stick his hands down his wet pockets. His skin was glistening.
I quickly salaamed his friend and made my way to the inner part of the house. As I was doing so, I heard Sameer behind me.
“Bloody hell, what are you doing here?” he said. Angry, I suspected, like I was, for having been interrupted like this.
“
Ar’re
,
yaar,
I haven’t seen you since the wedding and this is how you greet me? I thought I was your closest friend! If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding me, not wanting your beautiful wife to meet your
yaar
.” He laughed, clapping again. “Great show, great show .. just like the
walima
dinner.”
Ar’re
,
yaar,
I haven’t seen you since the wedding and this is how you greet me? I thought I was your closest friend! If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding me, not wanting your beautiful wife to meet your
yaar
.” He laughed, clapping again. “Great show, great show .. just like the
walima
dinner.”
WE WERE CROWDED around the bamboo table, the two friends on either side of me. Nafiza had served us chai and guavas sliced down the center, the pink flesh sprinkled with lemon and pepper, stinging the tongue.
“Okay this is what I don’t understand, Bhabhi,” Naveed was saying to me, calling me sister-in-law as Feroz did. He pushed a guava piece into his mouth and his slim cheek puffed out. He spoke as he chewed. “You are beautiful, I see that now I mean,
hahn,
you looked beautiful on the wedding day itself, but you know, with this old tradition of flowers and veils, man, you can’t see a damn thing. But now I
see why Sameer has been absent for the whole month,” he winked as he gestured to the open door. The rain was falling furiously, wetting the stone floor around it, while pools of water grew wider in the courtyard. The sky captured inside was as dark as the wet dirt. He lowered his voice and leaned into me, “Tell me, Bhabhi, has it been this passionate since he married you?”
hahn,
you looked beautiful on the wedding day itself, but you know, with this old tradition of flowers and veils, man, you can’t see a damn thing. But now I
see why Sameer has been absent for the whole month,” he winked as he gestured to the open door. The rain was falling furiously, wetting the stone floor around it, while pools of water grew wider in the courtyard. The sky captured inside was as dark as the wet dirt. He lowered his voice and leaned into me, “Tell me, Bhabhi, has it been this passionate since he married you?”
Sameer kicked him under the table. He was still in his wet jeans, refusing my urges to go and change. Finally, I’d dug into his trunk and brought back a blue shirt that I admired on him. Those creases he’d inherited from his mother now ran deep across his forehead, a sign I had begun associating with strain, but he was smiling. He said, “Watch yourself, or I’ll make you walk to the
chow-rasta
to catch an auto-rickshaw,” he meant the highway near the jailhouse.
chow-rasta
to catch an auto-rickshaw,” he meant the highway near the jailhouse.
“
Ar’re
, Layla is an American. She can handle sexy talk,” Naveed protested, but then waved a hand in dismissal. “Anyway, you are right, I am missing my own point. What I was going to ask, Bhabhi, is this. Here you are, an American, with an American passport, an American education, so why did you come back and get married in such a way? You know what I mean,
arranged.
This is so backward. Your husband and I used to talk about this very thing in college. All the time, we would say, ‘No, no, not us. We will never succumb to our parents’ arranging our marriage. We will marry whomever we love, Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, it doesn’t matter, as long as it is our own choice.’ Of course, we are in India, and when you have a mother like Sameer’s, it is not always possible to do what you want. But you, Layla, you are from America. Don’t you see this system like … like …
ar’re, yaar,
what did we used to call it?” He ran his hand through his thick hair, knocking off his glasses. They clinked on the floor.
Ar’re
, Layla is an American. She can handle sexy talk,” Naveed protested, but then waved a hand in dismissal. “Anyway, you are right, I am missing my own point. What I was going to ask, Bhabhi, is this. Here you are, an American, with an American passport, an American education, so why did you come back and get married in such a way? You know what I mean,
arranged.
This is so backward. Your husband and I used to talk about this very thing in college. All the time, we would say, ‘No, no, not us. We will never succumb to our parents’ arranging our marriage. We will marry whomever we love, Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, it doesn’t matter, as long as it is our own choice.’ Of course, we are in India, and when you have a mother like Sameer’s, it is not always possible to do what you want. But you, Layla, you are from America. Don’t you see this system like … like …
ar’re, yaar,
what did we used to call it?” He ran his hand through his thick hair, knocking off his glasses. They clinked on the floor.
“Pagan sacrifice,” Sameer said.
“
Hahn !
Right! Pagan sacrifice.” He picked up his glasses and pointed them at Sameer. “You’ve always had the better mind,
yaar,
even in classes you never struggled.”
Hahn !
Right! Pagan sacrifice.” He picked up his glasses and pointed them at Sameer. “You’ve always had the better mind,
yaar,
even in classes you never struggled.”
“Did you also study engineering?” I asked. “Is that how you met?”
Naveed gulped down his chai while he watched Sameer over the
cup’s rim with a look I could not read. Blue hollows shadowed his light eyes, flecks of gold in them as I’d never seen before.
cup’s rim with a look I could not read. Blue hollows shadowed his light eyes, flecks of gold in them as I’d never seen before.
“The park,” Sameer finally said. “We met at the park where I go exercising. A long time ago,
hahn,
Naveed? Seven, eight years.”
hahn,
Naveed? Seven, eight years.”
“Seven,” Naveed said. “I still remember the exact day.”
The two stared at each other a moment, before Sameer took my hand and brought it to his lips. “We’re leaving for Madras this Friday,” he said. “Then off to the U.S. A different life for me, Naveed, one I choose.”
Naveed laughed. “Oh, yes, the modern arrangement. Passport for degree. I am telling you,
yaar,
India is changing, you don’t have any reason to run away. Just look at these marriage rites,
hahn,
the very thing that defines India. It used to be two people came together over commonalities, religion, family status, wealth,” he counted by pressing his thumb into the three joints of his pinkie. “Now, these very ideas of family status and wealth are obsolete, replaced by passports and degrees, all the dowry cartable in a single purse or pocket. Who cares who you are and what you were, let us only see what you can change into! I am telling you,
yaar,
America’s influence is here. It won’t be long before even the idea of marriage is obsolete. Or, if marriage must continue, it won’t matter who marries whom.” He sucked in air before saying, “Please,
yaar,
there is no reason to run off to the U.S. when the U.S. is coming to your very doorstep.”
yaar,
India is changing, you don’t have any reason to run away. Just look at these marriage rites,
hahn,
the very thing that defines India. It used to be two people came together over commonalities, religion, family status, wealth,” he counted by pressing his thumb into the three joints of his pinkie. “Now, these very ideas of family status and wealth are obsolete, replaced by passports and degrees, all the dowry cartable in a single purse or pocket. Who cares who you are and what you were, let us only see what you can change into! I am telling you,
yaar,
America’s influence is here. It won’t be long before even the idea of marriage is obsolete. Or, if marriage must continue, it won’t matter who marries whom.” He sucked in air before saying, “Please,
yaar,
there is no reason to run off to the U.S. when the U.S. is coming to your very doorstep.”
Nafiza entered the room and asked if Naveed was staying for dinner. She looked especially tired, the dark skin of her neck and jowls taking on the yellowish hue I sometimes saw on people here, jaundice from the water and food. I would have to force her to the doctor, much as she was trying to force me.
Sameer jumped up and peeled the wet jeans from around his weaker thigh, hiding its form behind the thick denim. If Naveed hadn’t been there, I would have gone to my husband and taken his hands in mine, stopping him from such embarrassment.
He excused Nafiza by saying, “Naveed has to get back to open his repair shop.” She limped out, and he turned to me. “I’ll just take him to an auto-rickshaw.”
Without meaning to, I stared at his wounded leg. “In this rain!” I cried. “No, no, no, I won’t let you go!” Limits to keep him safe, Zeba had said, even this, a broken-and-not-properly-healed right leg to keep her son from venturing too far. From mother to wife, duties to Sameer had been passed on, along with, it seemed, those same fears that he might not return home. “Your motorcycle was skidding, Sameer, please, don’t go.”
He grabbed ahold of the two arms of my chair and leaned into me, whispering into my ear, “I was losing control because of you, baby.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Naveed said. “The shop is closed. Let me take you two out somewhere, as a wedding gift. A Hindi film? You know,
Chandni
is currently the biggest hit.
Ah-ha
, Sri Devi, what a star !”
Chandni
is currently the biggest hit.
Ah-ha
, Sri Devi, what a star !”
Sameer was running his lips up and down my neck and didn’t answer. The front of his shirt ballooned down to expose his clean chest.
“
Ar’re
,
yaar,
stop this show. You tell me not to talk to your wife about such things and then you … Bhabhi, this is my closest friend, Bhabhi, you have no idea how much he means to me. I’m begging you, please do not take him so far away without letting him spend one last day with me. Please, I am asking you for just one day. You have him for the rest of your life.”
Ar’re
,
yaar,
stop this show. You tell me not to talk to your wife about such things and then you … Bhabhi, this is my closest friend, Bhabhi, you have no idea how much he means to me. I’m begging you, please do not take him so far away without letting him spend one last day with me. Please, I am asking you for just one day. You have him for the rest of your life.”
NAVEED CAME UP with the idea of going to Golconda Fort, a two-hour journey from here. Though I could sense my husband’s reluctance, I readily agreed: the excursion was a good way to see Henna, my closest friend, the one
I
wanted to spend a day with before my return to the U.S. The road to the fort was narrow, lorries overtaking lorries, overtaking smaller vehicles, the drivers reckless and drunk, and Sameer insisted he wouldn’t bring me by motorbike. We had no car at our disposal. For a moment, it seemed the whole thing would be called off. Then Naveed said he would rent a car, on whatever little money he must have earned at the TV repair shop, and Sameer didn’t offer to pitch in. Wedding gift.
I
wanted to spend a day with before my return to the U.S. The road to the fort was narrow, lorries overtaking lorries, overtaking smaller vehicles, the drivers reckless and drunk, and Sameer insisted he wouldn’t bring me by motorbike. We had no car at our disposal. For a moment, it seemed the whole thing would be called off. Then Naveed said he would rent a car, on whatever little money he must have earned at the TV repair shop, and Sameer didn’t offer to pitch in. Wedding gift.
Early Sunday morning, Naveed showed up in a flashy red Maruti that reminded me of a VW Golf, hip and urban, the newest arrival to India’s car market of lumbering Fiats and Ambassadors, and yet another of the country’s latest gestures toward the West. It had tinted windows and a tape recorder,
Chandni
playing so loudly I couldn’t hear what the two friends were talking about in front. I rolled down my window and got lost in the hum, my husband’s low voice and the auto-rickshaws puttering along, the woman on the cassette singing her regrets—no, she would not leave her parents’ home to go to her in-laws’. An outdated lament.
Chandni
playing so loudly I couldn’t hear what the two friends were talking about in front. I rolled down my window and got lost in the hum, my husband’s low voice and the auto-rickshaws puttering along, the woman on the cassette singing her regrets—no, she would not leave her parents’ home to go to her in-laws’. An outdated lament.
We picked up Henna, and I knew from the moment I saw her face that something was wrong. I hadn’t seen her since the wedding, and I quickly sidled up next to her and took her hand in mine. In just under a month, her belly had swelled so much that I could make out the shape of her belly button right through the kurta, which was stretched taut about her.
We took off again and, under the music, I asked Henna what was wrong. She shook her head while eyeing the two men, and I understood she wanted to wait until we were by ourselves. I flattened my palm against hers to let her know we were one.
We fell into silence, unable to banter as the two friends up front, and after about an hour, Sameer turned in his seat and took my other hand. He stared into my face in that way of his, trying to perceive what I was seeing. Though he did not say it, I could see the question in his eyes: Why are you so quiet, when you had been the one to insist on this adventure?
For a moment, gripping both his and Henna’s hands, I felt a surge of happiness I’d not known before, and I gave him a smile.
Henna cried, “Sameer Bhai, you’re wearing a toe ring! Why did you take off that gold band?” The one she had put on, representing me in marriage.
Sameer looked from her to me and his gaze fell down my body even as his tongue pushed through his front teeth, so unabashed in what he was revealing. No longer the man who did not want to confront my relatives, be confronted by them.
Henna released my hand and began fumbling with her kurta. I knew she felt as though she’d come between a husband and wife, and I laid my head against her soft shoulder, taking her hand again and not letting go of Sameer’s.
WE WERE INSIDE the great walls of Golconda Fort, standing on what seemed a stone verandah up at its highest point, overlooking the citadel. The fort had been built on a granite hill, and we had parked in a lot filled with tour buses and cars, the spot where the Mughal armies had camped for eight months, besieging the impregnable fort. The door that had at last been opened, allowing the enemy to slip inside, easily, finally, I could not find. But on the way up to the terrace, climbing hundreds of steep stone steps, we had passed an ancient well inside which, I overheard a guide saying, the women of the harem, the women of the Qutb Shahi family, had drowned themselves, unwilling to let their bodies also be invaded. This was the heritage I carried.
Off in the distance, beyond one of the twisting masonry walls, the rolling grasses and stone outcroppings led naturally to the Qutb Shahi tombs. Seven majestic domes were all I could make out from here, out of perhaps thirteen, a denseness of bushy green trees huddled about each, a lushness I did not find elsewhere on the high plateau. The wind was cool against my skin, clean of diesel fumes, offering respite from the city’s heat. The sun was fierce, the ground having greedily swallowed up yesterday’s storm.
Sameer asked me to go with him to the top of the Darbar. It was a two-story structure with tall arches, inside of which was the stone
takht.
The steps leading up to the throne were narrow and winding, pulsing with visitors. Henna had already been complaining about the climb, and seeing it as a chance to finally be alone with her, I stayed behind. Naveed and Sameer went together, lighting cigarettes the moment they stepped away. Naveed wore jeans that were baggy around the waist and thighs, as though cut for someone else. Behind the large lenses of his sunglasses, I couldn’t make out his eyes, those flecks of
gold that had caught my attention. Sameer, as always, was in the clothes Amme had brought back for him, his heavy boots clicking on the stone floor, and guides kept rushing up and touching his arm, speaking the few English words they knew. They thought he had dollars. Henna and I in our Indian dresses were left in peace.
takht.
The steps leading up to the throne were narrow and winding, pulsing with visitors. Henna had already been complaining about the climb, and seeing it as a chance to finally be alone with her, I stayed behind. Naveed and Sameer went together, lighting cigarettes the moment they stepped away. Naveed wore jeans that were baggy around the waist and thighs, as though cut for someone else. Behind the large lenses of his sunglasses, I couldn’t make out his eyes, those flecks of
gold that had caught my attention. Sameer, as always, was in the clothes Amme had brought back for him, his heavy boots clicking on the stone floor, and guides kept rushing up and touching his arm, speaking the few English words they knew. They thought he had dollars. Henna and I in our Indian dresses were left in peace.
As soon as the two had disappeared inside the building, Henna grabbed my hand and said, “Hanif is coming home. He’s coming back, Layla, to me.”
“What! Henna, why then do you look so sad?” I could not help but take her face in my hands, the flesh plump and full of water. I began laughing in relief, and her eyes filled with tears. “My God, Henna,” I said, “do you not want your husband anymore?”
She nodded, her tears warm on my skin. “It is all I have prayed for. He has arranged to come before the delivery Layla,” she whispered, gazing about. Who could be here to overhear this, save the wind and the ghosts still presiding over Golconda? “He hasn’t told his parents, no one from his family He’s quitting his job. They wouldn’t let him, you see. But we can’t be apart anymore. He’s going to live with me. My parents are readying my room. They’re so happy!”
“But why aren’t you?”
She tried to pull away but I kept ahold of her.
Kajal
was smudging black at the corner of an eye. The dark circles I’d first seen during the wedding days had deepened. She said, “I don’t understand it myself. All this time, it’s all I’ve wanted, for him to be here with me. I’m having his baby!” She held onto her belly with both arms, as though already clutching the child. “But now that he’s coming … I don’t like the way he’s coming. Slipping into this country, invisible. It makes me feel that something will go wrong, no, something
is
going to go wrong. I’m scared, Layla, I’m so scared something is going to happen, to him, to me, to the baby, I don’t know to whom, but I can’t sleep anymore. It’s all I think about.” She wiped her face with her
duppatta.
People walking by gazed at us, always moving so close that I could feel their fingers or clothes swipe at me. Too many people in India, too many differences in culture.
Kajal
was smudging black at the corner of an eye. The dark circles I’d first seen during the wedding days had deepened. She said, “I don’t understand it myself. All this time, it’s all I’ve wanted, for him to be here with me. I’m having his baby!” She held onto her belly with both arms, as though already clutching the child. “But now that he’s coming … I don’t like the way he’s coming. Slipping into this country, invisible. It makes me feel that something will go wrong, no, something
is
going to go wrong. I’m scared, Layla, I’m so scared something is going to happen, to him, to me, to the baby, I don’t know to whom, but I can’t sleep anymore. It’s all I think about.” She wiped her face with her
duppatta.
People walking by gazed at us, always moving so close that I could feel their fingers or clothes swipe at me. Too many people in India, too many differences in culture.
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