Secret Daughter (22 page)
Authors: Shilpi Somaya Gowda
Asha laughs at this. “Really? In America, it means you’re destined for concealer cream.”
“And you loved to eat rice pudding with saffron. We had some
the first day you arrived here, and we had to make a new batch every two days after that, just for you!” she says. “Your father had to adjust. He was used to all that food being prepared especially for him, but once you arrived, you became the focus.” Dadima smiles. “Oh yes, and you would flip onto your tummy the moment we put you to sleep, curl up into a little ball, and stay there until morning.”
“Dadima?” Asha says softly, feeling her heart beat faster.
“
Hahn, beti?
”
“I…I’ve been thinking about trying to find my birth parents.” Asha sees the old woman stiffen almost imperceptibly and a flicker of something cross her face. “I love Mom and Dad more than anything, and I don’t want to hurt them, but…I’ve felt this way for a long time, as long as I can remember. I just want to know who they are. I want to know more about myself. I feel like there’s a little box of secrets about my life, and nobody else can open it for me.” Asha exhales and looks out at the sea.
After another one of her long silences, Dadima says, “I understand,
beti
.” An ocean wave crashes against the seawall as she speaks. “Have you spoken to your parents about this?”
Asha shakes her head. “It’s a touchy subject with my mom. She doesn’t really understand, and…I wanted to see if it was even possible first. There are a billion people in India—what if they don’t want me to find them? They gave me away. They didn’t want children then, so why would they want to meet me now? Maybe it’s better if I don’t look.”
Dadima stops, turns to her, and places her wrinkled hands on either side of Asha’s face. “If you feel it is important, you should do it. Those eyes you have are special, just as you are. You are meant to see things others cannot. That is your gift. That,
beti,
is your
karma
.”
“W
HERE ARE WE GOING
?” A
SHA TRIES TO SOUND NONCHALANT
as she asks the question that has been burning in her mind since Sanjay called three days ago. Looking at him now in the backseat of the taxi, she decides she did not overestimate his attractiveness the night of the wedding. His hair is still damp, and she can detect the faint scent of soap on him.
“Surprise,” he says with a smile, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. After a few minutes, he says something to the taxi driver and they pull over.
“Okay,” she says, after he helps her out of the cab. “I’m surprised, where are we?”
“Chowpatty Beach. This is my favorite time to come here, just as the sun is setting. Right now, you see beaches and playground, but in a half hour, it will be lights and carnival games. I know it’s a little cheesy, but I consider it one of the highlights of Mumbai. You can’t leave the city without seeing Chowpatty.” They walk together toward the water’s edge, their sandals sinking into the sand as they go.
“So, how is your project coming?” Sanjay says.
“Okay, I guess. I did my first interviews last week.”
“And?” He sits down on a bench and slides to one side.
Asha sits down next to him and looks toward the water. “It was kind of hard.”
“Why?”
The wind whips her hair around and she pulls it to one side. “I don’t know, I just found it so…depressing.” She hasn’t spoken to anyone about this, not even Meena. “Seeing those people, the conditions they live in, hearing their stories…it made me feel horrible. Guilty.”
“For what?”
“For having a different kind of life. A better life. Those kids are just born into that, you know? They didn’t ask for that. It’s hard to find the hope.”
Sanjay nods. “Yes. But there’s still a story for you to tell, isn’t there?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think my questions were very good. I lost my composure after the first couple of interviews. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was tragedy. The people at the
Times
must think I’m an amateur. Journalists are supposed to hold it together. And I didn’t.”
“Maybe. But that’s not all you are, is it? A journalist?”
“No, but—”
“So,” he interrupts, “maybe you need to look at it differently.” He takes off his sunglasses and looks into her eyes. She feels a flutter in her stomach as he touches her cheek. He leans in toward her and she closes her eyes before she feels his lips brush lightly against her ear. “Beautiful,” he whispers. When she opens her eyes, Sanjay is gazing out over the water and the orange-red glow of the sun is dipping below the horizon.
Beautiful?
The sunset? Her eyes? Her? The way he said it makes
her believe it might be true. Her mind is filled with a million questions, but his comes out first.
“Hungry?”
She nods, unable to speak.
They walk to one of the snack food stalls on the beachfront that have come to life with the darkening sky, and Sanjay gets them two dishes of
bhel-puri
. As they eat, standing, they watch the transformation of Chowpatty. The Ferris wheel is lit and begins to turn. A snake charmer attracts a crowd with his flute music, and another man beckons a costumed monkey to dance. Sanjay holds his arm around her back as they walk through the various attractions. When they reach the Ferris wheel, he looks at her and says, “Well?”
“Sure, why not?” They climb into the rickety bucket seat. The wheel begins to move, and she sees the scattered lights and sights of Mumbai spread out below her.
When they reach the top, Sanjay says, “So, how do you like Mumbai? What do you think of your first visit here? You must find it very different, being born and raised in the United States.”
“Actually, I was born here,” Asha says. She knows this information is unnecessary to their conversation, and yet she wants to share it.
“Really?” he says. “Mumbai?”
“Well, I don’t really know. My parents adopted me from an orphanage here in Mumbai. I don’t know where I was born. I don’t know who my…birth parents are.” She waits for his reaction.
“Are you curious?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She turns away from his penetrating eyes and watches the children riding decorated ponies on the ground below. “I was curious when I was younger, and then I tried to put it out of my mind. I thought it was a childish dream I would grow out of. But being here in India has brought it all back up again. I have so many questions. What does my mother look like? Who is my father? Why did they give me up? Do they think about me?” Asha stops,
realizing she probably sounds a little crazed. “Anyway…” She shakes her head and focuses on a white pony decorated with bright pink floral garlands.
Sanjay puts his hand on top of hers. “I don’t think it’s childish. I think it’s a very natural instinct, to want to know where we come from.”
She stays silent, feeling like she’s already said too much. When the wheel stops moving, she feels at once disappointed and relieved their discussion has come to a natural conclusion.
“Do you want to get some dinner?” Sanjay says. “There’s a great pizza place nearby.”
“Pizza?” Asha laughs. “What, you think the American girl only eats pizza?”
“Well, no, I just…” Sanjay appears flustered for the first time.
“Where would you go to eat, with your friends?” she says. “Take me there.”
“Okay, then.” He flags down a taxi on Marine Drive. “Somewhere authentic.”
K
RISHNAN REPOSITIONS HIS BAG ON HIS SHOULDER AND TURNS
sideways to squeeze through the sliding glass doors that serve as the last barrier between him and his city of birth. After stepping outside, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of the Mumbai air. Just as he remembers. Behind the metal barricades, he sees Asha, the only young woman in Western attire, surrounded by men.
“Dad!” Asha waves at him with all the enthusiasm she used to show as a little girl waiting for him at the front door.
“Hi, sweetheart!” He drops his bag to hug her.
“Hello, Uncle,” the young man standing next to her says.
“Dad, you remember Nimish? Pankaj Uncle’s son.”
“
Hahn,
yes, of course. Good to see you again,” Krishnan says, though his nephew looks only vaguely familiar to him, in the way that almost anybody in this crowd could. He’s thankful Asha is here to introduce him.
“How was your flight?” She links her arm through his as they walk to the car.
“Fine. Long,” Krishnan replies. In the eight years since his last trip to India, the seats have gotten smaller and the airplanes fuller, but the anticipation of seeing Asha buoyed him through the long flight.
T
HE NEXT MORNING OVER BREAKFAST
, A
SHA SAYS
, “L
ET’S GO
out for lunch today, Dad. I want to take you to this place I really like.”
Krishnan smiles at her over his steaming cup of
chai,
which never tastes as good as it does at his mother’s home. “What’s this? You’ve been here a few months and already you’re an expert on my hometown?”
“Well, maybe not an expert, but it’s changed a lot since you’ve been here. I can show you a thing or two.” She smiles back.
She’s right about the changes. On the ride from the airport, he was overwhelmed with the development that has taken place all over the city. Entire blocks of buildings have appeared where there used to be nothing, and American brands are everywhere: Coca-Cola bottles, McDonald’s restaurants, Merrill Lynch billboards. The positive signs of modernization are unmistakable, as are the negative effects. When he looked out from the balcony this morning, the familiar sight of the seashore he expected was all but obscured by the haze of pollution.
“Okay, I’m in your hands.” Krishnan chuckles.
“Wise man,” his mother says, entering the room. “Your daughter is as strong-minded as you are, perhaps even more so.” She stands behind Asha with her hands on the girl’s shoulders.
The sight of this, his mother together with his daughter, makes Krishnan’s voice catch in his throat. “Yes, trust me, I know. Why do you think she hasn’t applied to medical school yet?”
“Oh,
beta,
you must give up that notion. She has a career already.
You should see the wonderful work she’s doing at the newspaper,” his mother says.
“I’ll take you there after lunch, Dad.”
T
HE RESTAURANT
A
SHA HAS CHOSEN SERVES CLASSIC
S
OUTH
Indian street food: gigantic paper-thin
masala dosas
that arrive at the table crispy and hot, moist
idlis
served with spicy
sambar
for dipping. This place is the equivalent of a neighborhood greasy diner. As they sit in the vinyl-covered booth, Krishnan notices they are the only nonlocals in the place. He is surprised and pleased his daughter feels comfortable here.
“This stuff is good, but it’s so hot,” says Asha, pointing to the dish of
sambar
. “You need yogurt for it.” She requests some in broken Hindi from the waiter rushing by.
“So, have you had a chance to go to the hospital with your grandfather?” He notices himself slipping into the familiar language rhythms of Mumbai, a fusion of Hindi, Gujarati, and English.
“Not yet. He’s usually gone by the time I get back with Dadima. Did I tell you we’ve been taking these morning walks together? It’s been great. She’s an amazing woman, Dad. It’s too bad I didn’t get to know her until now.”
Krishnan feels the accusation in her last statement, though he doubts she meant it this way. “Yes, she is a remarkable woman, isn’t she? She hasn’t mellowed too much with age.” Over lunch, they talk about the family members Asha’s met, the grandiose wedding she attended, the people she works with at the
Times of India,
the places she’s visited in Mumbai.
“Mmm. This
sambar
is good. How did you find this place, Asha?”
“This guy…a friend, Sanjay, brought me here. He dared me to eat someplace that doesn’t cater to foreigners. He thought I wouldn’t
be able to keep up, but I did, with my secret weapon.” She smiles, pointing to her dish of yogurt.
He raises an eyebrow. “Sanjay, huh? And how did you meet him?”
Asha finishes. “At that wedding I told you about. Someone in his family is friends with someone in ours, I don’t know exactly.”
“What does Sanjay do?”
“He’s getting his master’s at the London School of Economics.” She smiles and makes a face at him. “Sorry, Dad, I didn’t manage to find an eligible Indian doctor.”
“Hey, two out of three is not bad.” Krishnan smiles, despite himself. “So, how’s Mom?” Asha says. “She went to San Diego for the holidays?”
“Yes, she really needed to. She was worried about Grandma’s last mammogram and she wanted to talk to her doctors. She hasn’t been able to get down there during the week because the clinic’s been busy…” Krishnan worries he’s doing too much explaining. He and Somer agreed not to tell Asha about their separation yet, not until it’s time for her to come home. In his heart, Krishnan hopes they will be reconciled by then. Being apart from Somer has been harder than he expected. The past couple of months, he has spent most of his time working, volunteering to cover his partners’ call schedules and staying late at the office to finish paperwork. Home feels unbearably lonely without Somer.
Now, out of some deep-seated sense of loyalty to both of them, Krishnan presses out one more lie. “She really wanted to come, Asha.”
“Actually, I’m kind of glad it’s just you, Dad. I wanted to talk to you about something.” Asha sounds tentative for the first time since he arrived. She wipes her hands and mouth with a small paper napkin and takes a deep breath. Krishnan puts down his food, sensing some
thing important is about to happen. “Here’s the thing, Dad. You know I love you and Mom so much. You’ve been great parents. I know how much you’ve done for me…” She trails off, now visibly nervous, twisting the paper napkin in her hands.
“Asha, honey, what is it?” Krishnan says.
She looks up at him and blurts it out. “I want to find my birth parents.” After a moment, she continues, seeming desperate now to get the rest of the words out. “I want to know who they are, and see if I can meet them. I know it’s a long shot, Dad. I have no idea where to start or how to look for them, so I really need your help.”
He looks at his daughter, her beautiful eyes wide and searching. “Okay,” he says.
“Okay…what?” Asha says.
“Okay, I understand…how you feel. I’ll help you however I can.” He has anticipated this discussion a number of times. He too is thankful Somer’s not here right now.
“Do you think Mom will understand?” Asha says.
“It may be hard for her, honey,” Krishnan says. “But she loves you. We both do, and that will never change.” He reaches across the Formica table and puts his hand on his daughter’s. “You can’t forsake your past, Asha. It’s a part of you. Trust me.” She nods, and he squeezes her hand as they both acknowledge the implications of this decision.
Krishnan came to India knowing he would have to protect Asha from her mother’s choices. Now he will return knowing he has to protect Somer from her daughter’s as well.