Well-Behaved Indian Women

by Saumya Dave

  The waiter takes their drinks order: a Blue Moon for Sheila, a glass of champagne for Simran. Once they have their drinks, Sheila takes a large gulp and faces Simran. “I’m sorry I was such a judgmental bitch to you this past year.”

  “It’s only part of your charm,” Simran says, and they both laugh. “And I’m sorry, too.”

  “I think I was mad at you. Really mad,” Sheila says. “I felt like I didn’t even know you.”

  “I didn’t even feel like I knew me, Sheila.”

  Everyone in Simran’s life had a cemented image of her and couldn’t handle that changing. The people who love us can hinder our growth more than anyone.

  “I get that now,” Sheila says. “At the time, it was as though all of this shit kept coming out. It all made me look at you in a different way.”

  Simran dips a piece of bread in olive oil. “Don’t you think I looked at myself in a different way? You have no idea how lonely this past year has been. God, I cried myself to sleep so many times, and the entire situation was hard enough without you freaking out about it every ten minutes. I’ve been mad at you, too, you know.”

  Sheila nods. “You should have been. I know that if I was going through anything like this, you would have been at my place every day, with wine, and listened to me blab for hours. I didn’t do that for you.”

  Sheila touches Simran’s arm. “I really am sorry. And I’m proud of you.”

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. Really.” As the words leave Simran’s mouth, she feels their truth. She is fine.

  Sheila and Simran keep a hushed eye contact. Their words need room to simmer.

  “So . . . your e-mail was good. To the point,” Sheila says, referring to the e-mail Simran sent to everyone who was invited to the wedding.

  Dear Friends and Family,

  Due to some unforeseen circumstances, Kunal and I have decided to end our engagement. We appreciate all the love and support you’ve provided for us throughout the years. Please give us some time and space during this period. Thank you for being there for us.

  Best,

  Simran and Kunal

  “Thanks,” Simran says. “I’ve gotten so many replies asking what happened. I don’t think some people understood what I meant by the ‘please give us some time and space’ part. And whatever, I know that everyone’s talking about it, picking it apart, but it’s just awkward, having to go through what happened over and over again.”

  “I bet. But if it’s any consolation, you’re handling it quite well.”

  Simran takes a sip of her champagne. “Thanks. I’m just not sure when things completely get better. When do things feel normal again?”

  “It depends,” Sheila says. “But the shitty, weird feeling does go away. Eventually. It really does. Think back from freaking, I don’t know, kindergarten to now. It’s all passed in a blink, right? So will this. Are you, uh, going to try to be friends?”

  Simran stares into the distance. “No. He left a message last week . . . the same things as before. Wanting to change. Wanting to work it out.”

  “And? What do you say to that?” Sheila asks.

  “Nothing.” Simran hesitates for a few seconds and adds, “It’s a little too late. But then, I don’t know if it would have made a difference if he said it before. People are who they are. It’s just that it—we—weren’t all bad, you know? I just regret the way I went about so many things. Like, should I have done this earlier? And no matter how much I know it was the right thing to do, plenty of people are reminding me that I shouldn’t have gone through with it. Apparently, I’m now at risk of being alone forever.”

  Sheila squeezes Simran’s arm. “Sometimes people need wake-up calls.”

  Simran shakes her head. “What? You think that’s what this is for him?”

  “No, I mean you.”

  “Me?”

  Sheila sighs and folds her hands together. Her nails are bitten. “This weekend I realized that you’re obsessed with these books about free-spirited women who do whatever the hell they want. It’s this dichotomy in you. Most of you is doing what you think you should be doing and is fine with that, while this other part of you admires, and maybe even craves, the idea of being a woman who says ‘screw it’ to all of that. I don’t think Kunal would have let you be that other woman.”

  “He wouldn’t have. I know that,” Simran says. “And when I take a step back and look at it all rationally, I’m ready to leave and have a fresh start, my own start. And I really am happy for you. And proud, for sticking with what you wanted even though it wasn’t easy.”

  Maybe friendships aren’t that different from other relationships. They’re easy to take for granted because they tend to be effortless. But in the end, they require work and forgiveness, a place to move forward from. Sheila has seen Simran through more than any man ever will. They both owed each other more freedom: the freedom to differ in their opinions, the freedom to carry out their own decisions and accept each other’s.

  “Hey, hey,” Vishal says, interrupting them.

  He’s holding a bouquet of pink tulips wrapped in brown paper. Simran takes the flowers and hugs him before he sits across from her and Sheila.

  Simran hands the flowers to Sheila. “These are gorgeous, but you should keep them. I’m about to leave the country, and I’d hate for them to die.”

  Vishal laughs. “Ah, I should have thought of that.”

  “Don’t worry,” Simran says. “It was a really sweet thought.”

  “So, you’re doing much better than I expected,” he says.

  “Why thank you. I’ve been hearing that a lot,” Simran says, wondering if that itself indicates something about her (ex) engagement. She’ll always love Kunal, but that’s not enough. It never was.

  After Vishal orders a Jack and Coke, he pushes his chair in closer. “I know everything that went down wasn’t just because of Neil.”

  “No, it wasn’t, but that doesn’t make any part of the Neil situation acceptable.”

  “Sometimes people get into situations they can’t help,” he says. “It’s okay. You’ve always spent too much time in that little, inner world of yours. And we’ve all known that you worry too much about everyone else. It just caught up to you.”

  He shoots Simran a quick smile, and she knows that’s something they have in common. They define themselves by their relationships, by the ones they love.

  “I just don’t want you to worry anymore, okay? You always get to where you need to be, and there are some things you just can’t control. I used to think I should change my personality for someone else, not be such a pushover because it would always screw me over. But now with Ami, I know it’s worked out. She needs a guy like me, and I need someone like her who appreciates me.”

  “So, you think this is it? With her?”

  He hesitates at first and then nods. “I do. If it keeps going in this direction, you might be attending two weddings next year.”

  “Oh, Vishal!” Simran says. “That’s amazing.”

  “Will you think that even if I make you an honorary groomsman?” He clinks his glass against hers. “You’ll have to wear a kurta and all.”

  “Of course,” Simran says.

  Simran always thought that the men who would mean the most to her would be the ones she fell for romantically, but maybe in her story, it’s Vishal who has the true staying power.

  “How much shit have people been talking about me?” Simran asks, finishing off her champagne. One year ago, she never would have been able to ask the question so nonchalantly.

  “Nobody’s talking shit,” Vishal says at the same time Sheila blurts, “Well, I guess some people think you’re a callous bitch for breaking up with your fiancé.”

  “Ah. How lovely,” Simran says.

  “Yeah, I uh, ran into Priya from your intro psych class the other day,
and she was like, ‘Why did Simran leave Kunal when he was so in love with her?’ and ‘I can’t believe she got involved with that Neil Desai guy.’ You know, just a bunch of bullshit. I told her she had no idea what she was talking about,” Sheila says, and they both smile, knowing Sheila phrased it much more harshly.

  “Don’t bother. My own extended family members think I’m some walking scandal. And you know what? They can knock themselves out!”

  “Damn, well, listen to you,” Vishal says, raising his glass.

  They finish off the bread and request another basket. More people saunter into the restaurant. Waiters pass out black leather menus and laminated wine lists. A busboy lights candles in the center of each table.

  Simran’s parents walk in. They settle at the end of the table, and Simran motions to the waiter to tell him their entire party is here. They order dinner quickly, and for the next hour, they discuss Simran’s plans and then her friends’ upcoming weddings.

  “We’re going to take a trip to the beach this weekend,” Dad says.

  “Oh? Why?”

  He wraps his arms around Mom’s shoulders. “The kids are gone! Away! It’s time for us to enjoy. Of course, your mother is working even harder than ever, and whenever I visit her, it’s been so rushed. She’s going to take some time off so we can have a little road trip. And, fine, so she can also prepare for the AMA conference.”

  “I know! I can’t believe I’m missing your speech,” Simran says.

  Mom laughs. “I doubt anyone will find it interesting.”

  “Of course they will,” Dad says.

  “They will,” Simran says, not knowing how to process that her parents seem to be dating.

  Mom raises her glass after their tiramisu arrives. “I’d like to propose a toast: to Simran, who goes after what she wants, even when it gives her parents gray hairs.”

  Mom smiles in that way anyone does when they’re making a joke based on the truth. Simran’s parents might never respect her choices from this year. But she can handle that now. They’ll all get over it.

  “To Simran,” Ranjit, Vishal, and Sheila echo.

  Simran thanks everyone and gives Vishal, Sheila, and Dad a hug. They all walk toward the front of the restaurant, leaving Mom and Simran alone.

  “Mom,” Simran says.

  Her mother is more independent than she ever realized. It’s as though over the past year, she’s gotten to know another person, a split woman, who is one part her mother and one part someone else altogether.

  She wants to grab her mother’s hands. She wants her to know she’s strong. She wants to tell her she’s proud of her and that she’s only starting to realize how much she never understood about her.

  But before Simran speaks, Mom wraps her arms around her.

  Mom’s eyes are wet when she pulls away. “Have fun in India, beta.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Simran takes a walk around the city. One street blends into the next until New York trickles down her stomach, making her dress stick to her.

  After she’s back in her apartment, it takes her only thirty minutes to finish packing for India. Everything is in its place. All of her shoes are lined at the door, and any pictures of Kunal are facedown.

  She plucks The Awakening and tosses it onto the bed and thinks of her mother, who has never been able to truly just be with herself until now. Simran’s parents always said they came to America to give her and Ronak the opportunities they never had, but she never thought that those opportunities could manifest in so many ways. She’s loved and learned in ways they never could.

  Outside her window, she sees it: her former self, rustling through the branches, becoming as vertical as the concrete around it. In front of her building, a woman in a red coat raises one hand into the air and uses the other to clutch her boyfriend’s arm. A cab pulls up and whisks both of them away, bleeding into Manhattan.

  Simran walks toward the table at her entrance and places her right hand on Ganesha’s feet. The brown envelope resting against the statue appears smooth despite how many times she’s touched it. She opens it again.

  Dear Simran,

  Congratulations on your acceptance into Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism.

  She scans the letter to make sure, once more, it’s real. Her dream, confined to an eight-and-a-half-by-eleven space.

  Some things could only come to her after she let go of her old life and embraced uncertainty, who is more like a handsome stranger she’d like to know better.

  Slowly, she becomes herself.

  Acknowledgments

  There are so many people who have worked to bring this book into existence.

  Jessica Watterson, you are truly a dream agent. From our first phone call, your enthusiasm drew me in and I knew I had found the best person to work with. Your editorial guidance, support, and encouragement kept me going during moments of intense self-doubt. I’m so proud to be a part of your list. You are a rock star and I’m beyond lucky to be able to work with you.

  To Kristine Swartz, you brought this book to life and I am so grateful that you took a chance on this story. Thank you for everything from your top-notch editing skills to perfect Maison Kayser recommendations to your compassion and empathy. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you work to bring diverse stories into the world. You are truly a gem and it’s been so fulfilling to explore Nani, Nandini, and Simran under your guidance.

  Fareeda Bullert, you made me feel so at home from the first time we met. Thank you for being an amazing marketing director and supporting my love of chocolate chip cookies. Danielle Keir, thank you for being so wonderful to work with and also being a source of comfort at the end of my pregnancy. Rita Frangie and Farjana Yasmin, thank you for giving this novel a breathtaking, vibrant cover that I’m constantly getting messages about. Andrea Monagle, thank you for your incredible attention to detail. Megha Jain, thank you for making WBIW look so elegant and put together.

  To the rest of the team at Berkley, you all know how to make an author feel valued and excited. I am so proud and grateful to be a Berkley author.

  Thank you to Susan Dalsimer, Emily Murdock Baker, and Laura Stine for your help during my first attempts at writing. To Mr. Greg Fleenor, I thank you for all the wisdom you imparted throughout high school English class. Roshani Chokshi and Lydia Kang, I can’t tell you how much your words meant to me when I was so close to giving up. Emily Giffin, thank you for your warmth and encouragement from the very first time Samir and I met you.

  Jaimini Dave Maniar, thank you for indulging my love for The Baby-sitters Club and Sweet Valley High. Bansari Modi Shah and Morgan Radford, you read drafts of this book well before I knew what I was doing and encouraged me nonetheless. I am lucky to have you as my sisters.

  Mom, your love of books coupled with your genuine curiosity about people led me to become a writer. Every year, I become more aware that you’ve been through more than I’ll ever know.

  Thank you for finding a way to make every situation fun and teaching me something new every day. Dad, you have always encouraged me to speak up. Your work ethic has inspired me since I was a baby. Your sensitivity, patience, and love have given me the confidence to be myself. I will never fully grasp the full extent of the sacrifices you’ve made. Thank you for being the best father anyone could have. Maansi, you are the bright light of our family. Thank you for pushing all of us out of our comfort zone and making sure things are never boring. Akshay, you may be the youngest in our family but we all continue to learn from you. Thank you for being the most caring brother. You deserve all of the Jeni’s ice cream you want.

  Samir, when I first saw you on stage, I knew I had to introduce myself. That mixture of awe and excitement led to the creation of Neil Desai. Thank you for getting to know these characters as your own, reading every draft of the manuscript, and being
the best dad-ager anyone could hope for. You’re the only person who has been there for every step of this journey and you will always be my inspiration. Somehow, life with you keeps getting better and better.

  Baby Sahil, thank you for the gifts of joy, uncertainty, and growth. You’ve already shown us your stubborn streak and love for Bollywood music. We can’t wait to fill your world with more stories.

  Lastly, thank you to every person who took the time to read this story.

  To anyone who has ever felt different, struggled to find a story that represents them, or been told to put their book down already, I hope this book can provide some solace.

  Discussion Questions

  1.This book examines the bonds mothers and daughters share. Were there any parts of Mimi and Nandini’s or Nandini and Simran’s relationships that you identified with?

  2.Nandini faces racism and misogyny at work. Discuss the occurrences and how she handles the situations. Would you have reacted the same? Have you ever experienced something similar?

  3.Simran and Kunal have many years of history together. Do you think Simran made the right choice in the end? Why or why not? Have you ever been in a situation where you struggled with whether to keep working through it, or to let go?

  4.All three women are figuring out how to hold on to their identities while feeling the pressure to be the “Perfect Indian Woman.” How does this struggle ultimately impact their decisions?

  5.Mimi has a secret that she does not share with her daughter or granddaughter. Do you think she was right to keep it to herself or did she owe her family the truth?

  6.Planning a wedding can either bring family together or push them apart. How did planning Simran and Kunal’s wedding affect the characters in this story?

  7.Communication ends up being the key to fixing the relationships in this story. What secrets do the characters keep from the important people in their lives, and why? How do these secrets ultimately impact their relationships with one another and themselves?