by Anne Cherian
She was not afraid to travel by herself to the United States, and he had been relieved to save the money, as well as the time, it would take to go fetch her. She had not said much when she joined him, and he knew she was adjusting to being far from her parents, to living in a land she had only seen in Hindi films that had been shot abroad. She enjoyed the TV and spent a great deal of time looking through the supermarket produce aisle for vegetables. Then she got pregnant, and it seemed to Vic that as soon as she became a mother, she had plenty to say. In English. She also learned to drive, and she asked other mothers all sorts of questions. She learned about preschools, something he didn’t even know existed, and by the time Nikhil had his third birthday, she was able to organize a birthday party complete with goody bags. She also started shopping at the farmers’ market. Once she knew that she could get fresh vegetables, she produced the most wonderful meals.
Her ability to settle so well into life in America had helped him, because he did not need to keep a constant eye on her. He had met many Indian men who grumbled that their wives simply could not get used to California’s freeways, which meant they had to be both provider and driver.
Now, however, Priya was annoying him. She had grudgingly gone along with the party, but he expected and demanded that she smile and support him this evening.
“Yes, I am the one who invited all our friends. So get ready before they come.”
“I told Nikhil about your plan for him. He does not want to work in your company.”
He wished he could hit her, the way Pitaji would slap Mataji when she did something he disliked. But he had never liked it when his father did it, and had promised himself that his sons would never hear, or witness, such an action. Besides, in America, domestic abuse could land you in jail.
“How dare you spoil my surprise?” He was so angry his voice was shaking.
“Didn’t you hear me? Nikhil does not want to work in computers.”
“He is going to join VikRAM Computers, and that’s final.”
“No, Nikhil says that he wants to take cooking classes. If you don’t let him do that, then he and I, both of us, won’t come to the party.”
“Nikhil!” Vic shouted.
“Aree, why are you shouting on the day of the party?” Rajesh appeared in the doorway, holding a big present. “Where is the happy graduate? I am also looking for him.”
“Go wait downstairs,” Vic ordered Rajesh, then shouted again for his son.
Nikhil poked his head out of his room.
“Aha, there you are,” Rajesh said. “See what I have got for you.”
“Uncle Rajesh, you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“That I already know, but I was wanting you to have some small-big present from me. You want to open it?”
“Open it later,” Vic ordered his son. “Rajesh, we are busy now.”
“But it is only five thirty, and our Indians are never punctual. I did not give it to him earlier because we were so busy. Surely there is enough of time for Nikhil to open the present his uncle has brought for him.”
Nikhil tore open the wrapping and then exclaimed, “A wok! Thank you, Uncle.”
“So it is to your liking? I went all the way to Chinatown to buy it. I told the man that my nephew is a very fine cook. . . .”
Vic could not hear another word. “Rajesh, outside, now. And Nikhil, come inside the room. Your mother and I want to talk to you.”
“Go, go, beta,” Rajesh told Nikhil. “I am sure your father has a lovely nice surprise for you. It will be much better than my small wok. . . .”
Vic shut the door and turned to face his wife and son. “Your mother says she has told you why I wanted this party.”
“Dad, I guessed as much but wasn’t sure till Mom confirmed it today. Like I’ve always told you, I don’t want to work in computers.”
“You want to be a servant and cook for others?”
“I want to be a chef. I’ll be creating dishes, not just cooking.”
“Creating, cooking,” Vic spat out the words as if they were poison. “You will be in a kitchen, just like a woman.”
“And what is wrong with being a woman?” Priya demanded. “Don’t forget that you married one, that you are here because a woman gave birth to you.”
Priya was talking like an idiot. Vic didn’t bother responding to her. He turned to Nikhil: “If you do not join the company, then what was the use of your degree?”
“I did it to make you happy. But I always told you that I want to live my life, not the one you want for me.”
The choice of words made Vic suspicious. “Are you going to India?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. First I want to take some cooking classes in France and Italy.”
“You have already decided all this without consulting me?”
“Dad, I always told you what I wanted to do. It’s what I’ve wanted since I was in middle school.”
“If you do this, if you go and take stupid cooking classes, I won’t give you a single paisa. You will be on your own.”
“I’m not worried about money,” Nikhil said. “I was just hoping you would understand.”
“Understand? What is there to understand? My son gets a degree from MIT and starts to cut vegetables.”
“Vic, you did what you wanted,” Priya said. “We must give our son the same opportunity.”
“What I wanted made sense!” Vic screamed. “You are watching too many of those talk shows, talking to too many of your American friends. This is an Indian house. This is not a stupid American house where parents are shut away and the children do what they want.”
“Nikhil did what you wanted,” Priya reminded him, her voice steady. “He studied computers for four years and did very well, even though he did not like them. Are you going to let him do what he has wanted for so long or will you be greeting our guests alone?”
“So now Nandan, too, has joined you?”
“No one has joined anyone,” Priya maintained, “and you must calm down before you have a heart attack.”
“Oh, if I die, then everyone will be happy because you will get what you want.”
“Vic, I am going to start getting ready,” Priya said, “but I need your answer before I go downstairs.”
“Same here, Dad,” Nikhil said, and ducked out of the room.
Vic sat down on the edge of the bed. He stared at the slippers he had purchased with such anticipation. They were tight and hurt his big toe. All his carefully thought-out preparations were not working out.
He was furious that Priya had ganged up with Nikhil, that they had cornered him into this “yes” position.
“Everything is okay now?” Rajesh appeared at the door.
Did Rajesh know what was going on? Was that why he had given Nikhil that ridiculous present? He thought of the office key he had put into a small jewelry box for Nikhil. Indians usually gave gold at celebrations. He had given a gold necklace to his brother’s wife when he got married, and just last year he had done the same for his two nieces, though he could not attend their weddings.
Nikhil would assume the box contained a thin gold chain or a ring.
The small box was in the side pocket of the sherwani. He had dreamed of the moment when he would ask everyone to be silent. Then, instead of a long, boring speech, like the ones his Indian friends gave at their children’s graduations, talking about everything from diaper days to college courses, he would simply open the box and show Nikhil the key. It was for the office next door to his. He had installed a statue of the god Ganesh on the side table, had already printed business cards for his son. The key was lying on one of those cards.
The bikers had asked him if he was going to give his son a gift. “I already did,” he said, because he did not want them to know anything in case they blurted out something after having too much to drink. “I educated him. He is one of very few people who does not have any loans.” In that sense, Nikhil was like him. He, too, had come out of UCLA without ne
eding to pay back anything.
Now he had nothing to give his son.
Vic could feel the box. He was just about to take it out of his pocket when he thought of the perfect solution. He would let Priya believe that he was going along with her wishes. Except that he would take out the box and give it to Nikhil during the party as he had long planned to do. Neither of them would ever stand up to him in front of their guests. It would be too shameful, too disrespectful.
But he didn’t want to lie outright to her. His mother had always told him that lies had a way of coming back and biting the person. This was not a good day for that to happen.
He chose his words very carefully. “I’ll wait downstairs for you,” he told her.
“Vic, does that mean you won’t force Nikhil to join VikRAM Computers?”
She knew him too well. “I told you,” he started, when he heard the revving of motorbikes.
“The bikers are here,” he said.
“You invited them?” Priya asked. “Why?”
“Why not?” he responded. He had regretted the invitation but now didn’t care if they teased him about his family for a while. They had already done him a service.
“I’d better go before Rajesh does something stupid. Come down soon,” he said, then added, because he was suddenly happy, “They have been wanting to meet you for a long time. That is why I invited them. I told them you are the best wife.”
“Nikhil,” he called his son. “The guests have started coming.”
“IT IS NOT your biker friends.” Priya, who was standing near the window, looked outside. “It is one of Kumar’s men. They forgot to bring the mint chutney, and I told them you would not pay them one cent unless it was on the table before the party started.”
“I thought it sounded like many motorbikes,” Vic said, rushing to the window to check for himself. “You were right.”
“When will you learn that I am always right?” Priya asked.
“When you get ready on time,” Vic grumbled. “Which means I will never think you are right.”
“Oh ho, you and your stubbornness. But now that you don’t have to rush downstairs to greet your beloved biker friends, can you help me with this necklace?” Priya held out the thick gold necklace she had bought for herself the last time they went to India. She liked to mark every trip home with another piece of jewelry, and when Vic complained, she reminded him that in India, the more she sparkled, the more it showed that he was a success. “And that means that I have brought you luck,” she added. Vic vaguely remembered his father blaming his mother for their poverty because while he worked hard in the fields, she hadn’t pulled her end by providing him with good luck.
He had never liked fiddling with her jewelry because, as he once told her in exasperation, he didn’t require any help to get ready. This evening his irritation at her casual, habitual request was exacerbated by her decree that he not give Nikhil a position in VikRAM Computers.
He heard the big grandfather clock in the entranceway downstairs toll six times. “Hurry up, hurry up.” Vic didn’t hide his frustration.
“Why are you telling me to hurry up?” Priya asked. “You are the one who is putting on my necklace. You hurry up and do it.”
“These Indian clasps are very badly designed,” Vic said, peering at the S-shaped hook. He had to insert one end of the S into the tiny hole of the necklace, then clamp it together tightly, so that it would not open. She had already lost one necklace because it hadn’t been closed properly. “How many times have I told you to take all your necklaces to an American jeweler?”
“I went to two jewelry shops,” Priya said, “but they were going to change the clasp to 18-carat gold.”
“So what if it’s not 22 carat? Nobody sees the back of the necklace. There, I did it.”
“Finally,” Priya said, just as the doorbell rang. “That must be your biker friends, or maybe your American workers.”
“How do you know that?” Vic asked, as he searched for his watch. He had taken it off because strands of her hair had gotten caught in the dial while he was struggling with the necklace. Vic was anxious because he wanted to be waiting downstairs when the first guests arrived. He didn’t trust that Rajesh would greet people properly.
“Because Indians have a very flexible concept of time,” Nikhil took up for his mother from the doorway. “They arrive an hour late and still think they are on time.”
“Why are you not wearing your new suit?” Vic was immediately sidetracked by the sight of his son.
“I am,” Nikhil pointed to his trousers, brazenly overlooking the white kurta Vic was referring to.
“You knew about this?” Vic accused Priya.
“He can wear what he wants,” she said. “I think he looks very nice.”
“Go and get the door,” Vic told his son, angry because he knew he could not order him to change his clothes. He had suggested that Nikhil wear the expensive suit and tie he had bought for his graduation. But instead of looking sleek and well tailored, Nikhil was wearing an off-the-rack kurta, with sleeves so long they had to be folded back. He had wanted his son to look like an executive, not a patriotic Indian.
“I still have to comb my hair and stuff,” Nikhil said as the bell rang again. “Ask Nandan. He’s watching TV in his room.”
“Nandan,” Vic shouted, “go greet our guests.”
“Why me?” Nandan answered from his room. “This isn’t my party. Tell Nikhil.”
“People are going to think we are the worst of hosts,” Vic worried as he peered out the window. “Oh, it is only the bartender. Hey,” he yelled, “why are you ringing the bell? Just open the door and go inside.”
“It’s locked.”
“That bloody Rajesh must have done that. He is always thinking that people are going to come in and rob us. Idiot! Rajesh! Open the door. Where is my watch?”
“Here’s your watch,” Priya said, handing him the Rolex he had worn ever since they were married. She still wore her matching watch, though it was platinum, and all her jewelry was gold. She had once suggested that he buy her a gold watch, but Vic told her the old one still worked, and he wasn’t going to waste his hard-earned money just so she could look coordinated.
“I’d better go down before that fool of a cousin creates more problems.” Vic strapped on his watch.
“Don’t say such mean things about my cousin,” Priya admonished. “He has never done anything bad or wrong to you.”
“Except ask for a job he wasn’t qualified for.”
Priya sighed. “Still saying that even though he left VikRAM Computers more than a year ago and is working for an insurance company?”
“Rajesh! Did you unlock the door?” Vic shouted again.
“I already did,” Rajesh said, appearing at their bedroom door. “What else do you want for me to do?”
“Greet the guests and make them comfortable if we are not there,” Priya said, and Rajesh answered, “Of course, of course,” before disappearing.
“Why did you ask that ullu ke pathay to do that?” Vic shook his head.
“You may call him a son of an owl and think it’s a big insult,” Priya said calmly, “but in America, an owl is a symbol of wisdom, so only you will look like an idiot.”
“You’re talking rubbish,” Vic said dismissively.
“Ask your children. Even they know. They learned it in elementary school. You were too busy working at your company to know what they were studying.”
Vic did not like being reminded of those days when he had been obsessed with growing his company. He had spent all his time strategizing, worrying, thinking of new ways to make VikRAM Computers bigger, better than the other companies that seemed to start up on a daily basis. He used to get angry with Priya when she insisted he cancel a meeting in order to attend Nandan’s winter program, or a swim meet for Nikhil. It was only recently that he realized what, and how much, he had missed.
His school in India had offered nothing except beatings and o
ld books. He had always thought he had done a great job just by giving his children such amazing opportunities. Nandan had attended a robotics camp two summers ago because he was interested in robots—and because Vic could pay for it. Vic didn’t think he needed to see the robot his son had made.
The one exception Vic had made to his busy schedule was Nikhil’s graduation from MIT. He had missed the high school one because he had had to travel at the last minute. It was while Vic was at the MIT graduation, hearing other parents reminisce about the various stages of their children’s lives, that he realized he couldn’t add to the conversation—not because he preferred being the silent one but because he had very few memories of Nikhil as a schoolboy. He had heard about them from Priya, nodded sleepily over the perfect report cards, said “Yes” to camps and evening classes, without really listening.
Vic had returned from Boston determined to correct the gap that had been growing ever since Nikhil had been born. It was one of the reasons he wanted Nikhil to join VikRAM Computers. He had watched the ease with which fathers had talked to their sons, treating them like valued friends. He wanted to be like those fathers. He didn’t want to turn into his own father. When he returned home, conversation stopped after Vic asked Pitaji about his health, and about whether the fields had given good crops.
He didn’t need Priya reminding him of how much he had lost by working so hard for this family. She had been the lucky one. She had stayed home and enjoyed the excesses of his success. Once Nikhil was settled into the office next door, Vic planned to suggest they have a weekly lunch date. They could even start each day by going to the office together. It would be one of the many benefits of having Nikhil aboard.
