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“I’m sorry I raised my voice, but I’m not sorry about the male heir remark,” I said in compromise. If the old man was going to meet me halfway, I could manage the other half.
“I need a male heir and I thought this discussion was over,” he said.
“You brought it up again,” I sighed, and decided to make some amends for my bad behavior. “Thatha, sometimes I don’t like the way you think and sometimes I don’t like the way my entire family thinks. You know what, it doesn’t make a difference. I still love you all very much and I’ll always love you. But that doesn’t mean I have to nod my head when you say something wrong.”
That seemed to get to him. I think the “I love you” part did it. He patted my hand and rose from his chair. “It is okay. Come inside and have coffee.”
Just like that, Thatha forgave me.
Forgave me? What had I done that needed forgiving?
The sun started to set, sliding slowly and lazily into the horizon as we put away the pickle jars in the storeroom next to the kitchen.
“Priya, I have to buy some coriander and some kadipatha for di
“Ashwin-garu, we don’t really need the curry leaves and I can manage without the coriander,” Sowmya said, worried that she was inconveniencing my father.
Ma looked at me sternly and then looked at Sowmya. “Let them go. You go with your father, Priya.”
I raised my eyebrow and then looked at my father curiously. “What’s going on?”
“We need kadipatha. Rasam without kadipatha… is like… the States without the Statue of Liberty,” Na
Before anyone could mount any more protest, Na
“Is it me or is that house very stuffy?” Na
“It’s probably you,” I said, and slipped my hand in his. “You think we can get ga
“You will fall sick,” Na
“I won’t fall sick and I had goli soda today afternoon. Today morning I couldn’t eat the mangoes Ma wanted me to taste but I’ve gotten over that now… hygiene is not an issue anymore,” I said.
“Let us hope that you don’t fall sick,” Na
“Why did Ma want us to go out?” I asked.
“I have no idea why your mother wants us to do what she wants us to do. Has been a mystery for twenty-nine years,” Na
One of the less illicit things that I used to love doing and Ma warned me against was eating chaat, spicy food, from roadside vendors and drinking sugarcane juice. Sugarcane juice stands were scattered throughout the city of Hyderabad and came to life during the summer. Long stalks of sugarcane lay on a wooden stand on wheels next to a metal juicer. The juicer was two large wheels with spikes rolling against each other. The stalk of sugarcane along with a small piece of lemon and ginger would be squeezed through the twin wheels. The sugarcane vendor would run one stalk through and then roll the squished stalk and run it through the wheels again.
The juice would be poured into glasses that were probably not washed in clean water, ever, along with a lot of ice. It was my favorite thing to drink after a long day at college. Usually the sugarcane stands and chaat stands were lined up next to bus stops. So while I waited for my bus, I would shell out the two rupees it used to take to get ga
“Okay, no ice,” I conceded. “Any news from Nate?”
“No, Nate never has any news,” Na
I shrugged.
“I think Nate has a girlfriend,” Na
I sighed.
“So you think Nate has a girlfriend,” I said, playing along with him.
“Has he said anything about her to you?” Na
I looked at the various vegetables sagging in their small straw baskets at the end of the day and got a bunch of kadipatha. A few people milled around the baskets, picking up vegetables for the last meal of the day.
“They look half dead,” I said about the coriander my father had in his hand.
“They will do,” Na
“You still have that purse?” I asked. “You’re not using the one I sent for your birthday last year?”
“Nate took that,” Na
“No,” I lied smoothly. “Why?”
“Well, we would like Nate and… you… all our children, to understand that we are open to hearing the truth,” Na
“Really?” I said, as we walked toward a sugarcane juice stand close to the vegetable store.
“So… do you have a boyfriend?” Na
I ignored his question.
The light from the setting sun was still illuminating the skies; it wouldn’t get dark for a while and in the summers it never really got pitch dark. The sky always looked a little blue, even in the dead of the night.
“Amma, want one?” the sugarcane juice vendor asked, holding a glass filled with frothy greenish brown juice.
“No, no,” Na
As if washing the glasses would make any difference whatsoever to whatever germs and bacteria we would ingest with the juice. I knew I shouldn’t, but it was too tempting, just like the goli soda had been. I could taste the sweetness of the juice; the long-forgotten memories came rushing back to my taste buds and the desire to take just one sip became irresistible.
“More ginger,” I told the vendor, as he went about his business.
“So, do you?” Na
“Do I what?” I evaded on purpose.
Na
“Is that why Ma asked me to go with you?” I questioned bluntly.
“Don’t change the subject,” Na
“And what if he is, say… a sardar?”
“A sardar?” Na
I sighed. A Sikh would at least be Indian.
“So you wouldn’t accept any boyfriend.”
“We would, we would,” Na
Na
He had also purchased a beautiful wooden rocking chair. “Babies cry and if you rock them they stop crying and go to sleep,” he would say.
He had been waiting for grandchildren for as long as I could remember and I felt sorry for him and guilty because children had not figured in my plans yet. I knew I would have children someday and I wanted to have children someday, but it was one of those “yeah, I also want to go to space” kind of thing you reserved for the indeterminate future.