Serving Crazy With Curry (17 page)

“And he ignored me all the time. When we finally realized that something was wrong, nothing was left in our marriage,” Amrita Saxena said angrily. “So I left him because after four years, there was no love, no need, no nothing. Not even sex. And then years later, I met Johar. He's a good man and he waited for me. I didn't want to marry him, I didn't want to marry again, but he wore me down. We were together for almost six years before I agreed to marry him.”

Saroj sighed. “Look, I am really sorry that I gave you the impression I didn't like you. I liked your movies a lot when I was in India. I think you are a fabulous actress and a wonderful dancer.”

Amrita Saxena laughed shortly. “I'm just too defensive, right?”

Saroj smiled and felt some reluctant sympathy for Amrita Saxena. “I think I would be the same. My mother divorced my father when I was five years old. I never forgave her for that.” She hadn't
meant to tell this stranger something so personal but Amrita Saxena had gone out of her way to explain why she divorced two men and Saroj felt compelled to tell her about her prejudices.

“Why did your parents get divorced?” she asked.

Saroj shrugged and then shook her head. She didn't want to delve into that subject. Vasu said it was because they never could get along, that he was abusive, but Saroj couldn't remember anything anymore. She did remember the fights, the yelling and screaming, but didn't all couples fight? And did all couples who fought get divorced? And did all divorced women take up with married men?

“Sometimes there is just no other option,” Amrita Saxena said and squeezed Saroj's shoulder in sympathy. “Divorcing Rakesh was easy, he was abusive, but Pradeep, that was hard. I just had to realize that I couldn't continue to be in a loveless marriage anymore. We stopped communicating and I just want to be happy. You know?”

Driving home from the failed rummy game, Saroj brooded over what Amrita Saxena told her. Amrita Saxena said she just wanted to be happy and she had had to divorce twice to find that happiness. Saroj wanted to ignore the similarities between Amrita Saxena's marriage to Pradeep Shankar and her own marriage, but they were too obvious, almost like a make-believe story written for her benefit.

Was that the only way for her to be happy? Saroj wondered. Would she have to let go of Avi and her marriage to find happiness?

If Devi hadn't attempted suicide, Shobha would have bitched and moaned to her parents instead of Girish about going to their house for dinner
every
night. But it was a tacit understanding among the members of the Veturi household that everyone was going to be present for every dinner.

Even Girish managed to switch his classes around and show up. He also made it a point to come on Saturdays and Sundays in the afternoon for lunch as well, and then stayed until dinner.

“How long do you think we have to do this?” Shobha asked as Girish drove down 280, cursing the Sunday drivers.

“Go to your parents’ place?”

“Hmm.”

“We go until we have to go.”

Shobha sighed elaborately. “I can't stand going there anymore. I mean, yesterday Mama went on and on about that movie actress she met. Jesus, how long do we have to do this? I don't mind going once in a while but going this often …”

“I don't know.” Girish honked as a Mazda Miata recklessly changed lanes and caused him to brake. “You son of a bitch, who gave you a driver's license?”

“Why is it that you don't get mad, ever, but if you're driving, you can hardly keep calm?” Shobha asked pointedly. This was not the first time Girish had sacrificed a conversation with her to yell at or honk at an errant driver.

“Hey, it isn't my fault they all drive like they had a lobotomy … you idiot…” Girish swerved the car to prevent from slamming into a blue Mustang that had come out of nowhere.

“This is the reason we can never have a conversation while you drive,” Shobha muttered.

“Conversation? I thought you were just bitching about going to your parents’ place,” Girish said.

“And you just love visiting your parents, don't you? That's why we see them, oh, once every two years, maybe,” Shobha yelled at him. “Forget it, I don't want to talk to you anymore.”

“I thought you wanted to have a conversation,” Girish said. He was obviously goading her, trying to piss her off, and Shobha didn't want him to succeed.

“Yes, I did, but since you're so busy talking to yourself and yelling at other drivers, who by the way can't hear you, I'm letting it go,” Shobha said. “Good God, Girish, you make me so angry.”

“Everything makes you angry,” Girish pointed out and then started to hum softly as he drove right in front of the blue Mustang that had cut him off a few minutes ago and stepped on the brake.

After the Devi incident, Shobha wanted more than anything else not to end up in her sister's situation. She didn't want to sit in her bathtub and slice her wrists off because there was nothing left to live for. She wanted to fix her marriage, but unlike the software programs
she dealt with at work, her marriage required a lot more than lines of code to fix.

In the past few days Girish had become even more distant, if that was possible. They spent no time together. They were always at her parents’ house or at work. The worst of it was that Shobha liked it and it looked like so did Girish. It was easy to deal with their marriage when they were never alone with each other. They usually drove separately from their respective jobs to her parents’ house on weekdays. On weekends they sometimes drove together; other times Girish got a ride back with Devi or Avi while Shobha left early in her own car.

“Girish,” Shobha said as he parked his car in her parents’ driveway. “Why don't we take a vacation?”

Girish looked at her as if she had asked him to go to Mars with her.

“Just you and me,” Shobha said. “Someplace nice, San Juan or Hawaii. I could use a break and so could you. Once the summer semester is over, you'll have a couple of weeks.”

Girish shook his head, disbelief and disgust creeping into his face. “Your sister just tried to kill herself. She's so bloody depressed that she won't even talk and you want to go to some island resort and drink colored drinks with little umbrellas in them?”

It wasn't like that, Shobha almost cried out. She just wanted them to get away so that they could be together and work on their marriage. Save it, somehow.

“God, Shobha, you can be so selfish,” Girish said as he got out of the car.

Shobha sat inside the car until her nerves calmed and the tears didn't threaten to fall.

She was always misunderstood.
He
always misunderstood her. Sometimes she wondered if it was deliberate. Did he know he hurt her? Or did he think he couldn't?

She couldn't decide whether it was Girish's words that stabbed through her, robbing her of breath, or if it was the fact that the man uttering those words was Girish, her husband.

When they got engaged, Devi had smirked and asked Shobha if
this was what she'd wanted from life:
an arranged marriage to a simple
buddhu
professor?
she had asked.

Simple? Shobha didn't subscribe to that analysis. Girish was hardly simple. She hadn't met anyone who could complicate situations for her the way he did. She couldn't get through to him because he was so fucking complicated. There wasn't a single simple bone in that man's body.

When she stepped into the living room, she saw Girish laugh at something Vasu was telling Avi. She could see Saroj and Devi in the kitchen puttering around.

They all fit so well together. They were polite to each other, friendly. They helped each other out, while she stood outside watching them.

Girish seemed happy, in his element, cracking jokes, politely making conversation, passing out compliments. There was no sarcasm tainting his tone. The Girish with the sarcastic voice and judgmental demeanor made his appearance exclusively for her.

Who was the real Girish? This man who was so lighthearted and happy, or the man who looked at her with disgust just a few moments ago as he called her selfish?

Who had she married?

And then it struck her, not like a thunderbolt from a wild crackling sky, but like the opening of a box to reveal its secret contents.

My marriage is over.

She blinked as she thought the words and repeated them again inside her mind to taste them, feel their texture, and try to accept them.

It wasn't easy. The at-the-top-of-her-game Shobha had failed at something. She failed miserably at being happily married. She'd finally come face to face with that stark truth, and its intensity was blinding.

What did one do with such information? Just carry on, or walk away?

She wanted to shake Girish from his laughter and inform him that their marriage was over. Or maybe he knew and was pretending he didn't, as she was tempted to do.

“Girish, Devi made your favorite
sooji ladoos,”
Saroj said, as she came into the living room with a silver platter on which a small mountain of
ladoos
stood majestically.

“How's her mood? If she's still angry about something, son, I recommend you stay away from these. They're probably full of chili powder,” Avi teased.

“Don't worry, only sugar in these, and hazelnuts,” Saroj said, holding the plate up. “You wouldn't think that those nuts would add so much taste. I don't know when she learned all this, but these
ladoos
are the best I have ever eaten.”

Girish filled his mouth with one and made a
hmm
sound in his throat.

Devi was standing by the kitchen door, looking eagerly at Girish, and when he smiled at her and said, “These are fabulous, Devi,” she all but blushed, averting her face from the scrutiny of her family.

Devi's eyes met Shobha's as she turned her head away from Girish, and Shobha felt something shift inside, an understanding blossom. As suddenly as she thought that strange thought, she discarded it. It was insane. No, it couldn't be. It was too fantastic to be true.

But as Shobha stepped into the living room and ate a rather delicious
ladoo,
she wondered if she'd seen fear in Devi's eyes as they clashed against hers, a fear that Devi had gotten caught with her hand in a jar full of
‘ladoos.

DEVI'S RECIPE
GIRISH'S FAVORITE WITH A TWIST
Two Weeks After

Mama said that it was very nice of Girish to come by every night for dinner. She said that I should make something for him and since he likes
sooji ladoos,
maybe I could find the time to make some. She bought the
khoya
from India Bazaar. I didn't because I didn't want to make
ladoos,
but ultimately, I thought the hazelnuts lying in Mama's pantry could be put to good use.

Mama did most of the real work, while I just rolled the
ladoos
with a ball of crushed hazelnut and raisins in the center. Mama fried the
sooji
in
ghee
and then added the grated
khoya.
Then went in some water and sugar, along with a spoonful of cardamom powder.

I just crushed the hazelnuts along with the raisins in the food processor and made small balls. Once the
sooji
mixture was cool, I made a big ball, stuck a hole in it with my finger, and stuffed the hazelnut-and-raisin ball inside. Then I closed the big ball. It was really simple to do, but I didn't want to make the
ladoos.
I made them only because Mama asked me to. In any case, everyone seemed to like the
ladoos.

Friends Come in All Colors

Devi always had more friends than Shobha. When they were teenagers, Devi always had something fun planned for the weekends, while Shobha huddled in her room with two of her friends. Saroj was never sure what they did in there, though they claimed they were studying.

She discreetly went through Shobha's and Devi's rooms when they were young (you had to be careful about drugs and that sort), but never found anything except a Harlequin romance in Devi's room and a translated edition of the Kamasutra in Shobha's.

Even now, Shobha had the same two friends she'd always had. Jaya, who was married to that ugly fellow and lived in New Jersey, and some Chinese girl who now lived in Austin with her husband and two kids. Shobha and Girish as a couple had few friends, though mostly Saroj noticed that Girish had his own circle of cigar-smoking, Oxford-type friends. Shobha seemed to only have colleagues. Always working, that girl. In one way, Saroj admired that about Shobha but in another, she didn't think it was healthy to be such a workaholic.

Devi on the other hand seemed to have too much fun. But she was also diligent, just always working in the wrong direction.

Devi was a lot like Vasu when it came to friends. She always had
too many friends who needed her help. And she gave help endlessly. Where were all her friends now? Saroj thought angrily as she peeled a ripe and sweet pomegranate for Devi.

Avi told Saroj that a few had called to check up on her, and he'd told them that Devi wasn't ready to talk to people, which was true. The girl was not speaking. But still, where were these friends when Devi was so depressed that she tried to kill herself?

“I don't think
anar
goes well with lamb, Devi.” Saroj tried once again to dissuade her daughter from cooking the lamb with pomegranate seeds. Who had ever heard of such a concoction? It simply wouldn't work.

Devi firmly put a piece of unpeeled pomegranate in Saroj's hand.

“You know, I can cook,” Saroj said. “You don't have to cook tonight. You have to go see that doctor in a while.”

Devi put some flour along with salt, black pepper, and cayenne in a freezer bag and threw the pieces of cut lamb in it. She shook the bag until all the pieces were coated with the flour mixture.

“How do you want to serve this?” Saroj asked. “Should I make rice?”

Devi shook her head and pointed to the bag of pita bread she'd bought earlier that day from the bakery.

“Should I make
rotis}”
Saroj asked.

Devi shook her head furiously and pointed to the pita bread again.

“What?” Saroj muttered and then sighed. “Why can't you just talk like all normal people and we won't have to go through this.”

Devi threw the bag with the lamb on the counter in frustration and cut a pita open with a knife and pointed to the lamb, the fresh lettuce on the counter, and the pomegranate seeds Saroj was working on.

“Oh, you'll put them all inside the pita,” Saroj said as understanding dawned, and then she wrinkled her nose. “Why can't we just make simple lamb
sabzi
and have it with rice? I will make some
masala dal
…”

Devi blew out her breath loudly and pointed jerkily at the pomegranate.

“You know, this would be easier if you would talk,” Saroj repeated and nodded to Vasu, who'd just come into the kitchen. “She is going to put the lamb and the lettuce and the pomegranates in the pita bread.”

“That sounds nice,” Vasu said noncommittally. She wasn't looking too good to Saroj. Her face was drawn, and she looked older than she had when they'd picked her up at the airport just a few weeks ago.

“Mummy, you need to see a doctor,” Saroj announced.

“I am a doctor,” Vasu reminded her as she sat down on a dining chair across the kitchen. “How are you doing, Devi?”

Devi waved to Vasu and Saroj made an irritated sound. “You look … not well. You should see a doctor. Your travel insurance covers it, Mummy.”

“I am on that side of seventy where people don't look that well,” Vasu said and leaned back in the chair. “Devi, do you want me to come with you for your appointment this evening?”

Devi nodded.

“How long does she need to see this mental doctor?” Saroj asked.

“As long as it takes to get her better,” Vasu said.

“But she is already better,” Saroj countered and leaned over to kiss Devi on her forehead. She was just fine, Saroj thought happily. She just needed to open her mouth and start talking, that's all.

Avi picked up the phone when it rang. The caller said he was a friend of Devi's and wanted to speak to her. When Avi explained that Devi wasn't speaking at all, her friend wanted to know if he could then speak with Avi and Devi's mother. Since Devi's friend seemed reluctant to say much on the phone, Avi suggested he come to their home that evening while Devi was meeting with her psychiatrist. Avi didn't know what Devi's friend wanted to tell him and he didn't want to put any unnecessary pressure on Devi.

“Why did you ask him to come when Devi isn't home?” Shobha asked.

“I don't know what he has to tell us, and… I just don't want Devi to get upset,” Avi explained.

“And you are sure he is a friend of Devi's?” Saroj asked, immediately suspicious. “Is he Indian?”

“I don't know,” Avi said. “I spoke to him on the phone.”

“What's his name?”

“Jay.”

Saroj sighed. “That doesn't tell me if he is Indian or not.”

“No,” Avi agreed patiently.

“Did he sound Indian?”

“No, but neither does Shobha,” Avi pointed out. “Look, he'll be here soon and you can see for yourself.”

“What if he just wants to make trouble?” Saroj demanded.

“What trouble could he make?” Avi retorted. “And even if he does, Devi isn't at home.”

“Girish? What do you think?” Saroj turned to her son-in-law.

Girish was reading the newspaper but he looked up and nodded. “Sounds fine.”

“Now ask him what sounds fine,” Shobha quipped as her husband went back to the paper. “Trust me, he won't know. He simply doesn't listen to anything anyone says.”

“Did you say something, darling?” Girish asked lightly.

“Very funny,” Shobha said and sat down beside her father.

“Contrary to what your mother thinks, I can't imagine this fellow being some crook who wants to take advantage of us,” Avi said as he put his arm around Shobha. “I have a little more faith in people than your mama does.”

“You trust everyone too easily,” Saroj complained.

Avi was saved from answering by the doorbell. Saroj went to the door unhappily, not looking pleased at what she believed to be an intrusion into her family.

She opened the door and Shobha leaned over the arm of the sofa to see Devi's friend.

“Uh-oh,” she said with a broad grin. “Mama is going to lose it.”

“Who are you?” Saroj questioned the visitor rudely.

Jay looked very confused at the hostility but to his credit didn't run as any lesser man, Shobha believed, would.

“I'm a friend of Devi's,” Jay said politely. “I spoke with Mister Veturi…”

“Avi,” Saroj turned and yelled. “Is this the person you spoke to on the phone?”

Avi went to the door and nodded at Jay. “I couldn't see him through the phone line but I'm pretty sure he's the one,” he said, amusement in his eyes. “I'm sorry, my wife is—”

“That's okay,” Jay said responding to the humor in Avi's eyes. Devi had probably warned him about Saroj's opinion of the world's black population, Shobha thought.

The introductions were made, and even though Saroj couldn't stand the idea of a black man sitting on her sofa, she went to make tea. After all, a guest was a guest and in her house, no one treated a guest badly. She kept an ear to the living room, though, just in case someone said something important and she missed it.

“Like I said, Devi's meeting with her psychiatrist,” Avi said. “Anything you can tell us to help her will be appreciated.”

“I found out just yesterday. I went to her condo when I couldn't reach her by phone and her neighbor told me what happened,” Jay said. He was obviously uncomfortable talking about Devi behind her back.

“She's better now,” Shobha said. “Just doesn't talk, but cooks really awesome food.”

“Devi? Cooking?” Jay smiled.

“We think she hit her head on the bathtub,” Shobha joked.

Jay laughed as he was meant to, then as if coming to a decision, sat upright. “We dated, a long time ago.”

Saroj came into the living room, running, with four cups of tea sitting precariously on a tray because of her speed.

“You dated Devi?” she demanded, accusingly.

“Yes, ma'am,” Jay said. “For a few months, three, four years ago. We became friends and I don't know if she told you, but she was in the hospital six months ago.”

“What was wrong?” Girish asked before anyone else could.

Jay's Adam's apple bobbed in and out. To Shobha it was a scene out of an Agatha Christie novel,
And the murderer is …

“She was pregnant. She had a miscarriage.”

The tray slipped out of Saroj's hand and the cups on it smashed onto the floor. Tea spilled onto the expensive Bokhara rug, on which Saroj didn't even let her children walk with shoes.

“What? When? What?” she asked, stumbling over her words.

Shobha could feel a burning sensation rise through her. From the frozen look her father was wearing it was evident that he was having trouble digesting this piece of information as well.

“You're sure? There's no mistake?” Girish asked. The news jolted him into standing, and the newspaper that was lying on his lap scattered onto the floor.

“No,” Jay said and walked up to Saroj. He took her hand in his. “I'm so sorry.”

“Was it your baby?” Saroj asked as she pulled away from him.

“No,” Jay said immediately. “I was out of town in New York for a few months and she was dating someone else. I don't know who. But she didn't want him to know.”

“How do you know about the miscarriage?” Girish asked.

“She called me in the middle of the night. She'd started bleeding and wanted me to take her to the ER,” Jay explained. “She miscarried. There was nothing they could do. She was in a lot of pain and there was all that blood. I asked her if we should call her boyfriend but she wouldn't even tell me who it was. I thought we should call you all but she didn't let me do that, either. I had to go back to New York and—”

“How pregnant was she?” Saroj asked, speaking over Jay's words. She was standing very still, unmoving. In any other situation Saroj would've started cleaning up by now, would've rallied the family to make sure that the rug didn't stain.

“Eleven weeks,” Jay said. “The doctor said it happens and she seemed okay about it. She kept saying that it was meant to be. I thought she was fine. I know I should've done something. If I'd done something, she wouldn't have—”

“It's okay,” Avi said, speaking for the first time. “You came here, talked to us. You were there to hold her hand. We're very grateful.”

“I'm so sorry,” Jay said, looking and feeling guilty. “I didn't think she'd have told you and I thought that maybe this is why she doesn't want to talk, because she doesn't want to tell you about the baby.”

“Good Lord.” Shobha stood up shakily, her voice trembling. “Of all the stupid things she could do. Damn it, she could've told us. What the hell was all the secrecy for?”

And for the first time in a long time, Girish put his arm around his wife while she leaned into him.

As soon as she saw his car by the curb, Devi knew. She had felt elated after her session with Dr. Berkley. Vasu and she even stopped to pick up a Hindi movie DVD on their way home, but it looked as if a Hindi movie scene was already playing out inside the house.

Jay had wanted to call Avi the night of the miscarriage. He was very upset that Devi wouldn't call anyone, not even the father of the baby. He held her hand through the worst but he wanted someone to be with her, for her, when he was in New York. He called regularly for a while and Devi knew he was convinced she was doing all right. But she'd deceived him, just as she'd deceived everyone else.