Copyright © 2019 Mahtab Narsimhan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Narsimhan, Mahtab, author
Embrace the chicken / Mahtab Narsimhan.
(Orca currents)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4598-1973-3 (softcover).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1975-7 (pdf).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1974-0 (epub)
I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents
PS8627.A77E43 2019 jC813'.6 C2018-904706-2
C2018-904707-0
First published in the United States, 2019
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018954156
Summary: In this high-interest novel for middle readers, Shivani is horrified when her mother volunteers to cook traditional Indian food for her school’s annual fundraiser.
Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Edited by Tanya Trafford
Cover photography by Stocksy.com/Partha Pal
Author photo by Dean Macdonell of Macdonell Photography
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.
22 21 20 19 • 4 3 2 1
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For all my fellow immigrants
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Recipes
Butter Chicken
Chana Masala
Acknowledgments
An Excerpt from “Beyond Repair”
Chapter One
Chapter One
Shivani played with her curry and rice. Usually she couldn’t resist the chicken drumsticks melting off the bone into the thick gravy. Or the sweet-spicy smell of coconut milk and garam masala. But today she could barely eat a mouthful.
Why was life so complicated? It had been hard enough leaving Mumbai, her apartment and all her friends. It had taken months to find her way around here, to stop feeling like an outsider. She finally had a best friend. And now this.
She might as well get it over with. Even before she asked the question, she knew Papa’s answer. Let me be wrong this once, she prayed.
“Matter what, Shivani?” Ma asked, in her usual broken English.
Shivani took a deep breath and put down her fork. Her parents were both staring at her. Only Anita continued eating, without a care in the world. Moving to Canada, making new friends in a new town, getting used to a whole different lifestyle—nothing seemed to bother her younger sister.
Shivani avoided looking at Ma as she spoke. “We have a school meeting tomorrow night. At eight. It’s about a fundraiser. We’re supposed to bring a parent. You’ll come, won’t you, Papa?”
Papa scratched his nose and let out a big burp. “Rupal, my dear, your cooking is to die for.” He flashed a warm smile at Ma. She slapped his hand playfully.
“Papa, please!” said Shivani. “You’re not answering my question.”
“I am appreciating your mother’s cooking,” he said. “And you should too.”
“I do, Ma,” said Anita, taking a short break from shoveling food into her mouth. “I could kiss your hands every day.”
“Hello? Fundraiser meeting?” Shivani said, frowning at her sister. “Will you come, Papa?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t make it. I was happy that I could go to a few parent-teacher events this year. But I’m very busy at work these days. Your mother will have to go with you.”
“No!” said Shivani. The word burst out. She glanced at Ma. The look in her eyes made Shivani want to crawl under the table and stay there. “I’m sorry, Ma. I really am, but there will be a lot of talking and asking questions and you… your…” Her words trailed away. The curry and rice on her plate was now a cold puddle of brown, flecked with white.
“I talk,” Ma said softly. “No too good, but I am listening also.”
Shivani shot a pleading look at Papa. “Please, can’t you come just this once? I’ll massage your scalp with oil and pull out the hairs from your ears, without complaining.” Papa had a tough time getting Anita to do this, or Ma. This ought to sway him.
Papa shook his head. “It’s time Ma started getting more involved with your school matters. You will both need to help her. We all have to settle down in Canada, and that includes Ma. You girls are learning English very well because you are around it all day. Same with me. But your mother needs to get out and meet other people. And you must be patient. I will take you up on your kind offer of hair removal, if it still stands.”
Shivani sighed. Now she was stuck with a gross job, and she didn’t even get what she wanted. Why did they have to immigrate to this small town where they were the only Indians? Where there wasn’t even an Indian restaurant, let alone an Indian grocery shop? Papa had to drive Ma all the way to Toronto for her spices. They should have moved there.
“Can’t Ma do all that after the meeting?” said Shivani, breaking the silence that hung over the dining table like a monsoon cloud.
Shivani thought of the boys she liked in her class. Ryan was cute, but he still hadn’t noticed her. It was just a matter of time. If Ma came to the meeting and opened her mouth, he’d notice her, all right, and run in the other direction. No, Ma had to stay away until Shivani was sure she’d made it into the “cool” crowd.
“I come tomorrow,” said Ma. “Argument finish.”
“You’re both horrible!” yelled Shivani. She jumped to her feet, pushed the chair back and raced to her room.
If pleading didn’t work, maybe some drama would. It always did in the Bollywood movies!
Chapter Two
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, Shivani fumed. Why were parents always so clueless about their kids? Didn’t they know that your reputation at school was everything? Had they ever been her age? The way they were acting, it was pretty hard to imagine.
Anita sauntered into the room.
Shivani sat up, scowling. “What do you want?”
“For you to stop behaving like an actress in a B-grade movie, to start,” said Anita.
“Ha-ha. Go away and leave me alone,” said Shivani.
“Thi
s is my room too,” said Anita. She flicked up her glasses so hard that they bounced on her forehead and landed back on her nose, halfway down. “And why are you being so mean to Ma?”
“Mind your own beeswax,” said Shivani. She’d heard her best friend, Mel (short for Melanie), say that to Christine when she tried to butt in on their conversation. Shivani immediately added the phrase to her vocabulary. It sounded so cool, so Canadian.
“You’re behaving like a donkey,” said Anita, running her hands along her long braid, “and it is my duty, as your sister, to get you to stop.”
Shivani studied Anita. Her sister had decided to keep her hair long rather than getting it cut short like Shivani had done as soon as they’d arrived in Canada. Ma would often massage a thick green oil into Anita’s hair, which was supposed to nourish it. Shivani thought the oil smelled weird, but Anita loved it.
“I’ll pass, thanks,” said Shivani when Ma offered to do the same for her.
Though the winter cap Ma forced her to wear when it was cold outside totally messed up her hair, Shivani had learned a few tips from Mel on how to fluff it up so it looked good for the rest of the day. Now that school was almost done for the year, caps and heavy jackets were out, thank goodness.
“Please, Anita. I can’t deal with this now. It’s way harder making friends in eighth grade than it is in sixth. Everyone has their own groups—people they grew up with. They rarely let outsiders in. It’s lucky Mel took me under her wing that first week, or I’d still be a loner.”
Anita’s face softened. She reached out and squeezed Shivani’s shoulder. “It will be okay, Didi.” Anita was the only one who called Shivani “Didi.” She was the only one who could, really, since it was the Hindi word for “big sister.” Shivani didn’t really mind. “Next year we’ll both be in the same school. You won’t be lonely then.”
“Thanks, but that doesn’t do me any good now.” Shivani was almost envious of her younger sister. Anita never got embarrassed about wearing a traditional outfit to the mall or taking Indian food for her school lunch. And she’d had no trouble making friends. She had invited a couple of them over already.
Shivani was really worried her friends wouldn’t be as accepting as Anita’s. But the truth was, she was too afraid to find out.
What would Mel say if she saw Shivani in a shalwar kameez? Or Ryan, who always hung out with the cool, well-dressed crowd? She was sure they would laugh in her face.
Shivani’s cell phone pinged. She grabbed her bag and dug it out. A text from Mel.
Hey, Shivi-girl, how’s it going?
“You can go now,” Shivani said to Anita, dying to answer the text. Not that Anita could see the screen, but still.
Anita didn’t leave but instead plonked onto her bed, humming a Bollywood tune. Shivani groaned. Having a younger sister was a pain in the butt.
“Neets!” Ma called out. “Come help me with the dishes, please.”
“Ha! Saved by dirty dishes,” said Anita as she slipped off the bed. “I was about to start my homework. In our room.”
Shivani texted Mel back.
Just finished dinner. You?
Ditto. My bro’s being a pain. But finally went to his room. Don’t have to see his ugly mug until morning.
Sis andIshare a room. T-O-R-T-U-R-E
I hear ya. You coming to the meeting tomorrow?
Yes.
Who’s coming with you?
Not sure. Papa is busy at work.
Your mom back from India? Dying to meet her. Mom said she’s a sweet lady.
Mel’s mom was a real-estate agent and had shown them a few houses around town. Luckily, Papa had done most of the negotiations and talking. Ma had barely said a word.
Your mom is pretty cool too.
You didn’t answer me. Is your mom back or not?
Shivani’s face grew warm even though she was alone. It had been getting harder and harder to come up with reasons why Mel couldn’t meet her mother. So one day she had told Mel that her mom had gone back to India for a visit.
But if Ma turned up at the meeting the next night and they talked, Mel would know Shivani had been lying. She looked heavenward, hoping at least one of the Hindu gods would take pity on her and inspire a solution. Nothing. Were they sleeping, or on vacation? It was up to her.
Shivani could tell from the noises in the kitchen that Ma was almost finished cleaning up. Shivani couldn’t face another lecture tonight. And she had to think of some way to keep Ma away from the meeting tomorrow.
Ma’s back and calling me. Gotta run!
K. See ya tomorrow. Nite.
Shivani quickly changed into her pj’s, flicked off the lights and crawled into bed. When the door opened, Shivani forced herself to breathe evenly.
“Already asleep, Shivi?”
Shivani lay still, her heart hammering against her rib cage. What was wrong with wanting to fit in? Why couldn’t Ma, Papa and Anita understand how hard it was?
Through slitted eyes, Shivani watched her mom outlined in the doorway.
The gods must have heard her prayer this time. Ma sighed softly and stepped back. Just before she shut the door, though, she said, “I know you awake. But we talk tomorrow. Good night, Shivi.”
Shivani threw off the duvet as her body burned with shame.
Chapter Three
“You have to come for a sleepover someday,” said Mel.
“Cool!” said Shivani. “When?”
“I’ll check with Mom and let you know. She’s pretty busy with the fundraiser, but the two of us can take care of ourselves, right?”
“Right!” said Shivani, a warm glow in her chest. This. This is what she had to protect. If that meant little white lies now and then, so be it. She glanced over at Katya, a girl who usually sat by herself at the front of the class. Katya’s fashion sense was a bit weird, and her hair changed color every week. No one ever took the seat beside her. Even at the cafeteria she had a table all to herself. But Katya didn’t seem to care.
Shivani couldn’t bear it if she ended up like Katya. She was sure that if any of her new friends found out how different her family was, she’d be kicked out of the cool club. So for now, Ma and her desi—Indian—ways had to stay hidden.
“Good morning!” said the teacher, Mrs. Glass, as she strode into the classroom. “Settle down, everyone.”
The room was quiet almost immediately. You didn’t mess with Mrs. Glass. She took attendance and then, leaning against the front of the desk, spoke again.
“Before we get started with today’s lesson, I want to spend a few minutes talking about our upcoming fundraiser. As you know, it’s a big deal for the school. I would love to hear your ideas on how we can make it really fun for everyone.”
“Go-karting!” said Ryan.
Shivani pictured his lanky frame tucked into a small cart. He’d look adorable.
Mrs. Glass shook her head. “That is certainly a fun idea, Ryan, but I’m afraid it won’t work. The game stalls will be set up all over the field, and the food stalls in the gym.”
“How about a pie-throwing contest?” said Mel. Laughter rippled through the class. “At the teachers,” she added.
For Shivani, the idea of throwing a pie at a teacher was horrifying but thrilling. Back in India, no one would dare make such a suggestion. “I second that!” she called out.
Mel smiled at her.
Mrs. Glass laughed. “We have tried that in the past. It’s a great idea, but we must be mindful of food waste, even for a worthwhile cause. So many people around the world struggle to find enough to eat. Any other ideas?”
“Video-game challenge!” said Kylie. “I have four remote controllers and a large TV screen that my dad can set up. We can have solo games, or kids can play against one another.”
“Chicken chucking!” said Dean. “We get kids to throw rubber chickens into a basket a few feet away. If they get it into the basket, they win.”
“These are all good ideas,” said Mrs. Glass. “Wha
t else?”
“What about a Lost and Found Fashion Show?” said Shivani, her eyes on her desk. “The contestants have to dress up with items from the lost-and-found bin.”
“That’s a great idea!” said Mel.
“Yes, I like that, Shivani,” said Mrs. Glass, scribbling on a pad in front of her. “I’ll talk to the committee about it.”
Shivani smiled, her heart swelling at the compliment. By summer, she might have a few more friends. Maybe she’d even get invited to the pool parties Mel talked about. Ryan might be there too. They’d become best friends, maybe more. It was going to be a glorious summer.
Mel’s nudge made her daydream disappear. “Earth to Shivi-girl. What were you thinking about? Spill.”
“Later,” said Shivani.
Mrs. Glass spent a few more minutes taking down the names of everyone who wanted to participate. Even Katya put up her hand, although no one offered to partner up with her. She said she was fine with running a stall by herself. Shivani admired her guts and made a mental note to ask Katya if she wanted to help out at their stall. She was sure Mel wouldn’t mind.
“Also, a quick reminder about tonight’s meeting. We will need adult volunteers for the food stalls. I’d like everyone to bring at least one adult tonight who will be willing to help at the fundraiser. They will be manning the stall and preparing the food.”
“Can my friend volunteer?” asked Ryan. “Even if he doesn’t go to this school?”
Mrs. Glass smiled. “Absolutely. We need all the help we can get.”
“What kind of food can we bring?” asked Katya. “My mother makes great blinis. We could have savory and sweet toppings and let the customers choose.”
“Sounds delicious,” said Mrs. Glass. “Anything goes as long as it’s nut free and kid friendly. We’ll discuss all the details at the meeting tonight.”
The aloo paratha she had eaten for breakfast started to climb Shivani’s throat. If Ma offered to make Indian food, people’s mouths would be in flames. She tended to go a bit heavy on the spices. Shivani vowed to work extra hard before, during and after the fair. She had to make up for the fact that her parents would not be helping out this year.
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