Secret Daughter (30 page)

Mumbai, India—2009

H
E CLUTCHES THE WORN SLIP OF PAPER IN HIS HAND, TRYING TO
compare the letters written there to the red sign hanging on the door in front of him. Looking back and forth from the paper to the door several times, he is careful not to make a mistake. Once he feels certain, he presses the bell, and a shrill ring echoes inside. While he waits, he runs his palm over the brass plaque next to the door, feeling the ridges of the raised letters with his fingers. When the door opens suddenly, he pulls back his hand and gives another slip of paper to the young woman in the doorway. She reads the note, looks up at him, and steps back to let him enter.

With a slight tilt of her head, she indicates he should follow her down the hallway. He makes sure his shirt is tucked in underneath his slight paunch of a belly, and runs his fingers through his graying hair. The young woman walks into an office, hands the slip of paper to someone inside, and then points him to a chair. He enters, sits down, and clasps his fingers.

“I’m Arun Deshpande.” The man behind the desk wears thin spectacles. “Mr. Merchant, is it?”

“Yes,” Jasu says, clearing his throat. “Jasu Merchant.”

“I understand you’re looking for someone.”

“Yes, we—my wife and I—we don’t want to cause any trouble. We just want to know what happened to a little girl who came here twenty-five years ago. Her name was Usha. Merchant. We just want to know if she is…well, we want to know what happened to her.”

“Why now, Mr. Merchant? After twenty-five years, why now?” Arun says.

Jasu feels his face flush. He looks down at his hands. “My wife,” he says softly, “she is not well…” He thinks of Kavita lying in bed, hot with fever, whispering the same words over and over in her delirium, “
Usha…Shanti…Usha
.” At first, he thought she was praying to herself, until the night she clasped his hand and said, “Go find her.” After a phone call to Rupa, he learned the truth of what happened twenty-five years ago and understood what she was asking of him. Now, he finds the right words to explain. “I want to bring her some peace, before it’s too late.”

“Of course. You must understand, our first priority is to protect the children, even when they’re adults. But I will tell you what I can.” He pulls a file folder out of his desk drawer. “I met this girl a few years ago. She goes by the name Asha now.”

“Asha,” Jasu says, nodding his head slowly. “So, she still lives nearby then?”

The man shakes his head. “No, she lives in America now. She was adopted by a family there, two doctors.”

“America?” Jasu says it the first time loudly, in disbelief, and then again quietly, as he takes it in. “America.” A smile spreads slowly across his face. “
Achha.
You said doctor?”

“Her parents are doctors. She is a journalist, at least she was when she came here.”

“Journalist?”

“Yes, she writes stories for newspapers,” Arun says, holding up yesterday’s
Times
from his desk. “In fact, I have one of her stories here in her file. She sent it to me after she went back.”

“
Achha,
very good.” Jasu nods his head slowly from side to side and reaches for the page of newsprint Arun holds out. Now, more than at any other moment in his life, Jasu wishes he knew how to read.

“You know, she came here a few years ago looking for you,” Arun says, removing his glasses to wipe them.

“To look for…me?”

“Yes, both of you. She was curious about her biological parents. Very curious. And very persistent.” Arun replaces his glasses and squints into them. “Was there something specific you were looking for, Mr. Merchant? Something you wanted?”

Jasu wears a small, sad smile. Something he wanted? He came here for Kavita, of course, but that’s not all. Last year, when the police called him to get Vijay out of jail, he yelled at his son, slapped him across the face, threw him against the wall. Vijay smirked and told his father not to worry about him anymore, that next time one of his friends would bail him out. The boy has come to see Kavita only once during the past month when she’s been bedridden. Jasu shakes his head a little, looking down at the newspaper article. “No, I want nothing. I just wanted to see how she has fared. There are things in my life I’m not proud of, but…” The tears well in his eyes and he clears his throat. “But this girl has done good, no?”

“Mr. Merchant,” Arun says, “there’s one more thing.” He removes an envelope from the file and holds it out to him. “Would you like me to read it for you?”

K
AVITA LOOKS PEACEFUL WHEN SHE’S SLEEPING, WHEN THE
morphine finally brings her some comfort. Jasu sits in a chair next to the bed and reaches for her frail hand.

With his touch, her eyes flutter open and she licks her dried lips. She sees him and smiles. “
Jani,
you’re back,” she says softly.

“I went there,
chakli
.” He tries to begin slowly, but the words come tumbling out. “I went to Shanti, the orphanage. The man there knows her, he’s
met
her, Kavi. Her name is Asha now. She grew up in America, her parents are doctors, and she writes stories for newspapers—look, this is hers, she wrote
this
.” He waves the article in front of her.

“America.” Kavita’s voice is barely a whisper. She closes her eyes and a tear drips down the side of her face and into her ear. “So far from home. All this time, she’s been so far from us.”

“Such a good thing you did,
chakli
.” He strokes her hair, pulled back into a loose bun, and wipes her tears away with his rough fingers. “Just imagine if…” He looks down, shakes his head, and clasps her hand between his. He rests his head against their hands and begins to cry. “Such a good thing.”

He looks up at her again. “She came looking for us, Kavi. She left this.” Jasu hands her the letter. A small smile breaks through on Kavita’s face. She peers at the page while he recites from memory.

“
My name is Asha…
”

T
HE SEED OF THIS STORY WAS PLANTED DURING A SUMMER IN
college I spent as a volunteer at an orphanage in Hyderabad, India. For that experience and so many others, I thank the Morehead-Cain Foundation of Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and also Child Haven International.

My instructors and fellow students in the SMU Creative Writing Program provided me with the opportunity, the inspiration, and the tools to write.

Fellow writers Cindy Corpier, Lori Reisenbichler, Sarah Wright, and Erin Burdette read the earliest drafts of the manuscript and helped me craft the story I intended to tell, offering both criticism and encouragement when necessary. Every writer should be fortunate to have such a group.

I am grateful to my dear friends Dr. Katherine Kirby Dunleavy, Celia Savitz Strauss, Saswati Paul, and Dr. Sheila Mehta Au, each of whom read key sections and provided critical insights along the way.

Many people contributed invaluably to my research on various places, professions, and experiences: Reena Kapoor, Michele Katyal Limaye, Faith Morningstar, Alice De Normandie, Susan Ataman,
Anjali Shah Desai, Dr. Michael Desaloms, Dr. Irène Cannon, James Slavet, Stephanie Johnes, Jennifer Marsh, Sangeeta and Sandeep Sadhwani, Christine Nathan, Leela de Souza Bransten, Geetanjali Dhillon, and Tushar Lakhani.

During this process, I was fortunate to have my own personal Texas cheerleading squad on the Stanford block, and even from a distance, the Stanford book club was a formidable presence. Many other friends, too numerous to name, were generous with their introductions and unwavering in their support.

My agent, Ayesha Pande of Collins Literary, believed in this project long before there was any good reason to, and generously invested her time, insight, advice, and support. She is a writer’s true gift, and I thank Rachel Kahan and Carrie Thornton for leading me to her.

Carrie Feron took on this project with enthusiasm, and I am grateful for her keen instinct and sensitive touch. She and her wonderful team at HarperCollins/William Morrow—Tessa Woodward, Esi Sogah, Tavia Kowalchuk, and Liate Stehlik—expertly shepherded it through to fruition.

The most essential ingredient to this project, as with everything in my life, has been the influence and support of my family across generations and continents, and in particular:

My father, who introduced me to the art of storytelling with his own imagination from the earliest age I can remember.

My mother, who cherished every piece of writing I have ever created in my life as if it were a priceless work of art.

My sister, Preety, who was the first nurturer of creativity and the artistic spirit in me.

Dr. Ram and Connie Gowda, my parents-in-law, who have supported me in countless ways.

My children, for bringing joy and perspective to every day.

And finally Anand, who always has bigger dreams for me than I can possibly have for myself.

Achha—OK, all right

Agni—god of fire

Aloo—potato

Arre—exclamation, roughly meaning “Oh my!”

Asha—female name meaning “hope”

Atman—soul

Ayah—nanny servant

Ba—mother

Bahot—very

Bapu—father

Basti—settlement, slum

Bathau—show me

Beechari—unfortunate woman, girl

Beedi—hand-rolled cigarettes

Ben, bena—term of respect meaning “sister”

Bengan bhartha—eggplant curry

Betelnut—hard nut chewed as a digestive

Beti, beta—term of endearment meaning “dear”

Bhagwan—god

Bhai, bhaiya—term of respect meaning “brother”

Bhangra—lively Indian dance

Bhath—rice

Bhel-puri—snack food, sold at street stalls

Bhinda—okra

Bindi—mark (makeup or sticker) on Indian woman’s forehead

Biryani—rice dish

Chaat—snack food

Chai—tea

Chakli—bird

Challo—let’s go

Chania-choli—two-piece Indian dress outfit, with a long skirt and short top

Chappals—sandals

Chawl—tenement building with units that consist of one room for living and sleeping, and a kitchen that also serves as a dining room. Latrines are shared with other units.

Chicken makhani—butter chicken

Crore—ten million (rupees)

Dada, Dadaji—paternal grandfather

Dadi, Dadima—paternal grandmother

Daiji—midwife

Dal—lentil soup, staple of Indian diet

Desi—colloquial term for Indian

Dhaba-wallah—tiffin carrier

Dhikri—daughter

Dhoti—traditional Indian men’s garment

Diwali—festival of lights

Diya—a flame/light made in a small earthen pot, with a wick made of cotton and dipped in
ghee

Doh—two

Ek—one

Futta-fut—quickly

Garam—hot

Garam masala—spice mixture

Gawar—insult meaning “village boy”

Ghee—clarified butter, used in Indian cooking

Gulab jamun—Indian sweet

Hahn, hahnji—yes

Hijra—transvestite

Idli—South Indian savory dumpling

Jaldi—quickly

Jalebi—Indian sweet

Jamai—groom’s wedding procession

Jani—term of endearment used between spouses

Jhanjhaar—silver anklet

-ji—as a name suffix, respectful term of address

Kabbadi—chasing game

Kachori—savory fried dumpling

Kajal—eyeliner

Kali—goddess of destruction

Kanjeevaram—type of silk

Khadi—buttermilk soup

Khichdi—simple porridge made of rice and lentils

Khobi-bhaji—cabbage dish

Khush—happy

Kulfi—frozen flavored milk dessert

Kurta-pajama—loose-fitting loungewear

Laddoo—Indian sweet

Lagaan—wedding

Lakh—ten thousand (rupees)

Lathi—bamboo stick used as a weapon by Indian police

Layavo—bring to me

Lengha—two-piece Indian dress outfit, with a skirt

Limbu pani—sweetened lime juice

Mandir—Hindu temple

Mantra—chant

Masala dosa—South Indian savory griddle cake

Masi—maternal aunt

Mehndi—henna

Nai—no

Namaste, Namaskar—common Indian gesture of greeting, thanks, prayer, or respect, in which the palms of the hands are placed together in front of the face

Namkaran—naming ceremony

Paan—leaf-wrapped postmeal digestive

Pakora—battered vegetable fritters

Pandit—Hindu priest

Paneer—pressed cheese

Pau-bhaji—mixed vegetable curry with bread, often sold by street vendors

Pista—pistachio

Puja—prayer ceremony

Pulao—basmati rice with peas and carrots

Puri—delicate deep-fried bread

Raas-Garba—Gujarati group dance

Ringna—eggplant

Rotli—flatbread

Saag paneer—spinach and cheese curry

Sabzi-wallah—vegetable vendor

Salwar khameez—two-piece Indian dress outfit, with pants

Sambar—spicy South Indian
dal,
or lentil soup

Samosa—deep-fried savory turnovers

Sari, saree—traditional garment worn by Indian women, a six-yard rectangle of fabric wrapped around the body over a full-length petticoat/skirt and short blouse.

Sassu—mother-in-law

Shaak—vegetable dish

Shakti—strength, the sacred feminine force

Shukriya—thank you

Singh-dhana—peanuts

Slokas—Sanskrit religious chants

Tabla—hand drum

Tandoori—made in a tandoor (open clay) oven

Thali—large dining platter made of stainless steel or silver

Tiffin—stainless steel pot carrying food, usually delivered for lunch

Tindora—variety of Indian vegetable

Usha—female name meaning “dawn”

Wallah—vendor

Yaar—slang term for friend

Zari—silver or gold embroidery