The Mango Season

Growing up, the West and Westerners were almost surreal beings. It was a given that “they” had different morals and values than “we” did and “we” were morally superior. Most first-generation Indians in the United States only had friends who were Indian. I had never thought I would be any different. I had started out with only Indian friends but my circle grew as I grew. Now I was in a place where I didn’t think in terms of Indian friends and American friends, just friends. I had somewhere down the line stopped looking at skin color.

“He is a very, very nice person,” I said. “He… makes me happy.”

“I can’t accept it, Priya,” Na

“And that’s enough for now,” I said. “I want more, but I understand, perfectly. In trying to protect you from Nick and Nick from you, I think I’ve ruined this big time.”

We were quiet for a while and then Na

“It’s hard,” I said softly. “I wanted to be the perfect daughter, but I realized that in trying to be the perfect daughter, I wasn’t trying to be happy.”

“I never asked for perfection, Priya Ma,” Na

I nodded. “Yes, you never did but I wanted to give it to you anyway. I wanted to have your love and have Nick’s love and Thatha’s love. I’m selfish, maybe a little greedy; I didn’t want to lose anything or anybody. But I find that it’s not as easy as I thought it would be and maybe not as difficult as I told Nick it would be either.

“You are my favorite man, Na

“He is?” Na

“It’s a gut feeling, not anything he said, but I know him and I know that this is not what he wants for me. That’s a battle I have lost. I’m worried that Ma will turn her back on me as well,” I confessed. “And even though she and I have never been best of friends, I came here to tell you all. I wanted so much for you to accept Nick, to accept Nick and me as a couple.”

“Don’t worry about Ma. She’s going to do what I’m going to do,” Na

We looked at each other for a while, accepting each other, flaws and all, yet again. Some relationships you can’t sever.

“I am glad though that you didn’t marry him in the dark, like Anand married Neelima,” Na

“I thought I broke yours.”

Na

“I thought you were angry, felt that I stabbed you in the back, cheated you,” I told him.

“Well, last night I felt that way,” Na

“The clarity of the drunk?” I joked, and he laughed again. Yesterday night I had thought that he would never laugh again, at least never with me.

“We’re thinking of getting married this fall. Will you come?” I asked impulsively.

“Are you inviting me to your wedding?” Na

“Times have changed,” I said, realizing how ridiculous the situation was. My father had forever pla

“We will see,” he said, and I understood that he couldn’t commit himself.

“I should go to Thatha’s and tell them that I’m not going to be the next Mrs. Sarma,” I said, standing up.

“I’ll drive you,” Na

“What about him?” I asked, pointing to the sleeping Nate whose mouth was just a little open and drool was pooling, slowly trickling down his chin.

“He’ll be fine,” Na

I hugged Na

Sowmya was making buttermilk instead of coffee for the early-evening tiffin along with some almond biscuits. “Too hot for coffee,” she told me, as she poured water into the earthen pot in which she made yogurt every day.

“Where did Thatha go?” I asked, a

“Something happened at the house construction… Some wall was put up that shouldn’t have been put up or something like that,” Sowmya said as she added powdered cumin and coriander along with a teaspoon of chili powder and salt to the earthen pot.

She churned the yogurt with a wooden mixer, tasting as she churned. “Will you drink this,” she asked, “or should I make some separate with sugar?”

“This is fine,” I said, smiling at the fact that she remembered I always drank buttermilk with sugar in it.

Lata strolled into the kitchen then, a slight waddle creeping into her walk as she massaged her back. “None of my previous pregnancies gave me this much trouble,” she muttered and then sighed when she saw me. “Why did you have to tell Adarsh everything? Your mother is waiting to kill you.”

It a

“Well, he told me that he had a Chinese girlfriend,” I countered, deliberately keeping the ex-girlfriend part out.

“Chinese?” Lata’s eyes widened, and she came and leaned against the wall beside me. “What, are there no Indians in the States for you all to meet?”

Neelima came into the kitchen right then, her eyes slightly puffed up and lethargy swirling around her like an irritating mosquito. “Can you make me some coffee, Sowmya?” she asked as soon as she was in. She sat down on the floor next to the large stone grinder. “I am so sleepy,” she complained.

“Happens in the first trimester,” Lata told her caustically. “And why are you and Anand so late? I thought you would be here in the morning. Sowmya and I had to mix the dried mango for the maggai all by ourselves.”

The scolding didn’t faze Neelima who wanted nothing more out of life at that instant than coffee. “My parents wanted us to have lunch with them,” she said.

“Here no one has eaten lunch,” Sowmya muttered. “ Na

“We’ll have it tonight,” Lata said, and then focused on me. “How is your father doing?”

I smiled. “He’s going to be just fine.”

Lata put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I think you are very brave,” she said. “It would have been easy for you to not have said anything… like Anand. But you did and that was very brave.”

I was surprised by her assessment. I didn’t feel very brave, just helpless in a situation that I couldn’t alter.

“I wish more women would stand up for what they want,” Lata finished with a smile.