Vijay’s deejaying was actually pretty amazing. He slid so easily from the hora to a bhangra/hip-hop mix that even Aunt Charlotte had no choice but to join in. Which was pretty hilarious. And he only played “Billie Jean” once, because my great-aunt Tilly asked him to and he couldn’t say no. When I caught his eye, he shrugged so helplessly that I just laughed and kept dancing. Ryan Berger and Adam Greenspan had liberated a bottle of kosher wine from the kiddush and spent the afternoon puking in the boys’ bathroom. When it came time to light candles, I saw Mum slide an arm under Gran’s elbow to steady her. Gran patted her on the cheek and smiled. The hall was festooned with long garlands of marigolds, which Mum had arranged as a special surprise for me. Aunt Charlotte and Jonathan couldn’t stop sneezing the whole time.
Aravind Uncle stood outside most of the afternoon, ruminating on a wad of paan. He looked small inside an enormous muffler wound six times around his head, his breath forming puffs of steam in the frigid December air. I saw Meena Auntie go outside and scold him for standing in the cold, her hands gesturing wildly. A branch gave way overhead, showering them with fresh snow. They both laughed. Meena Auntie reached down with her bare hands and scooped up a pile of snow, which she smooshed in Uncle’s face. He sputtered and looked shocked, but then he reached down for a fistful of his own and poured it down Auntie’s back. I saw her gasp from the cold, but then she started to laugh—and laugh and laugh. She turned and kissed him on the cheek, and he smiled and took her hand, and they came back inside and danced awkwardly together.
Sheila wore a short, floaty, red—as in, not purple—dress that Mum said looked “stunning” with her hair and eyes. I had to admit she looked great. I noticed she wasn’t wearing the crystal bracelet.
Across the room, Ben-o was telling something to Jenna Alberts and Aisha Khan. Jenna gave him a pat on the back and he blushed. We locked eyes and he smiled.
Daddy gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “See—what did I tell you? It’s a great day, isn’t it?”
It was a great day.
Afterward, Rebecca and Sheila came over and we ate leftover bat mitzvah cake while I opened some of my presents. Sheila’s was a beautiful gold necklace with my name and a Star of David: Tara . I’m not even sure if she knew how exactly appropriate that was. Tara does mean “star” in Hindi, after all. I lifted my hair and she helped me put it on.
There was a handmade card from Rebecca. The Goldsteins had already given me my gift the day before, a pair of dangly gold earrings with my birthstone—blue topaz. I’d been wearing them all day, enjoying the soft jingly sound whenever I moved my head. I shook the envelope, not expecting anything else to be inside, but I could hear something rattling.
“Uh-oh,” I said. “Is it broken?” Rebecca shook her head, smiling. When I opened the envelope to pull out the card, grains of colored rice sprayed everywhere. On the front of the card, she had drawn a picture of Ganesha wearing a tallit—prayer shawl—and holding a Jewish prayer book.
“Have a very …” it said below that, in perfect calligraphy.
And inside:
… Basmati Bat Mitzvah!!!
Best friends forever,
Rebecca
She bit her lip nervously. “Do you like it?”
“I love it!” I said, throwing the rice at her.
I glanced over at the remaining pile of gifts—mostly envelopes, but a few boxes as well. Ben-o’s gift was in there somewhere.
“Hey,” I told Sheila and Rebecca, “I’m kind of beat …”
“Okay,” Rebecca said. “Want us to come over tomorrow and open the rest?”
“That’s okay,” I said. “They’re probably all savings bonds from Gran’s relatives.”
“Yeah.” Sheila laughed. “I got a lot of those, too.”
After they left, I found Ben-o’s gift. He had obviously wrapped it himself, in layers of brown paper, aluminum foil, and comics, held together with duct tape. There was a smaller box taped to the top, like a robot’s head.
I put the Frankenstein-ish thing on my bed and studied it. It was definitely supposed to be a robot. I worked at the layers of duct tape with a pair of scissors. I smiled, imagining the evil grin on his face as he had wrapped it. The smaller box was marked Open Me First. So I opened the bigger one instead.
Inside was a pile of parts that I recognized as his mom’s old Roomba, plus a brand-new set of triangle-head screwdrivers. I laughed and reached for the smaller box.
It turned out to be the best present of all—a Bluetooth robot interface module. Which was extra nice of him, since I was still his main competition for the finals. And he had probably saved up for it on his own.
I had to laugh. Somehow he had nailed it, knowing I would be more psyched by this present than something silly and romantic, like flowers or jewelry. He knew me that well. Like a best friend should. A best friend who might also be my boyfriend soon. It didn’t have to be weird or different; it would just be us.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed out the curling-iron curls, so I just looked like me again, which was reassuring. I had promised Ben-o we’d talk after my bat mitzvah. So what if it had only been a few hours? I was ready now. And what I’d decided was … yes. If he still wanted to, yes. I was willing to try.
“Let’s do this,” I told my reflection.
I changed into sweats and went downstairs to Ben-o’s, bringing a plate of leftover cake and a DVD. I knocked on the door with my bare foot. Mrs. O opened the door, with baby Nina on her hip.
“Tara! Big day for you,” said Mrs. O.
“Tata!” Nina echoed.
“Yeah,” I said. “I brought some cake.”
“What’s that thing you say? Matzoh top?”
“It’s mazel tov,” I said. “And thanks.”
Mrs. O laughed. “Benjy, Tara’s here,” she called.
“Hey,” Ben-o said.
“Hey,” I said.
We went into the kitchen and made two bags of microwave popcorn, while Ben-o ate the leftover cake.
“Behind the graham crackers,” he said, between mouthfuls, as I rummaged through the cabinet over the sink. There it was—my emergency jar of chaat masala. I sprinkled some over my bag of popcorn, and then we went to the living room.
“What are we watching?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” I said, popping in the DVD.
“Oh, no.” He groaned as the Indian music started up. “Not this again.”
“What? You haven’t seen this one.”
“But they’re all the same,” he said.
“Don’t be racist.”
I flopped down on the couch. Ben-o sat on the floor, with his head resting next to me. His hair was starting to grow back, but more outward than downward. It made his head look enormous, but at least it put the sippy-cup ears in proportion.
I reached over and ran my hands through his hair, smoothing it down.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Just reminding myself what your head looks like without that poufy hair.”
“I have a surprise for you,” he said, moving to sit next to me on the couch. “I’ve been waiting all day to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“Adam’s and Ryan’s probation is up. Know what that means?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “They’re dropping out of Robotics!”
“They are? Ryan didn’t tell me that.”
Ben-o tactfully ignored that comment. “Anyway, that leaves both of us without partners, and Mr. H said—I mean, if you still want to …”
Of course I wanted to. But there was something more important on my mind. And it was now or never. So I did the one thing I could think of to make him stop talking about Robotics. I leaned in and gave him a kiss. Not a long, drawn-out, mouth-to-mouth kind of kiss, but a kiss just the same. On the cheek. I smiled at my own chutzpah.
Ben-o put his thumb under my chin and moved my head so we were eye to eye. I had nowhere to look but right back at him. At first I was terrif
ied I was going to start babbling again, like I did at Ryan Berger’s bar mitzvah, so instead I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. Change was good, right? Ben-o leaned in and kissed me. Right on the lips. This time I didn’t pull away, or freak out. I just let my lips linger next to his. All the awkwardness melted away. The urge to babble passed, and I just stayed there, breathing in his sweet, minty, salty, cake-filled breath.
I opened my eyes.
HINDI (ah-CHAH, like “ah-CHOO!”) All-purpose exclamation meaning “Okay,” “All right,” “Oh,” “Ah,” “Aha!” “Is that so?” “Really?” “I see.” See, what did I tell you? All-purpose.
HEBREW (ah-LEE-ya) Being called to read from the Torah. Also means the immigration of Jews to Israel.
HINDI (“Ah, Lou.”) Potato
YIDDISH (OLL-ter kocker) “Old fart” is close enough.
HINDI (Sounds like array.) Hey or “My goodness!” Equivalent to Yiddish “Oy!” or English “Seriously?”
YIDDISH (ahsh-kuh-NAH-zee/ahsh-kuh-NAH-zim) Jewish person/people from parts of central and eastern Europe. Yiddish is the language they developed. See also Sephardic.
HEBREW (bar MITS-vuh) Jewish coming-of-age ceremony for boys, usually held at age thirteen, after which they’re supposed to be treated as adults. As if.
HEBREW/YIDDISH (baht MITS-vuh/bahs MITS-vuh) Jewish coming-of-age ceremony for girls, usually held at age twelve or thirteen. Because girls are much more mature than boys, obvs.
HINDI (BAHS-mah-tee) The most delicious and best-smelling rice. It has a long grain and is never sticky or lumpy. It would be almost impossible to eat it with chopsticks.
HEBREW “In the Beginning.” The first chapter of the Torah, about the creation of the universe. For the record, it’s pronounced “buh-RAY-sheet.”
HINDI (BAY-tah) Literally means “son,” but it’s an extra-cute thing to call a girl. See bubeleh.
PUNJABI (BHAHN-gruh. There’s no English equivalent of the Hindi bh- sound. You can get away with saying something halfway between a b and a p.) High-energy folk music and dance often blended with Western pop.
HINDI (That b/p sound again: BHAYL POOR-ee.) An addictive little snack made from puffed rice, little fried noodles, and lentils, usually mixed with vegetables, onions, and tamarind chutney. It’s a lot better than it sounds.
A vintage pop song by Michael Jackson that Indians love for some reason. It’s been played at every Indian celebration I’ve ever been to, including weddings, sweet sixteens, and cultural events.
HEBREW (BEE-muh) In a synagogue, the podium or platform where the Torah is read.
HINDI (BIN-dee) A decorative mark on the forehead, usually shaped like a dot. Traditionally drawn with vermillion powder or paste, but now there are stick-on ones made from velvet and crystal and stuff.
HINGLISH The biggest film industry in the world is in Bombay (Mumbai), not Hollywood. Seriously.
YIDDISH (BUHB-el-uh) “Little grandma” (which in Gran’s case is redundant), but it’s just a sweet thing to call someone, even if the person’s a boy. See beta.
HINDI (CHAH-t) Munchies or snack food. Chaat masala is the mix of spices typically used on them.
HINDI (ch- like in cheese. CHY-wah-luh) Someone who sells tea (chai). See -wallah.
HINDI (CHUH-lo) “Let’s go.” “Vamanos.” “Skiddoo.”
HINDI (CHUHN-uh) Chickpea.
YIDDISH (The ch- here sounds more like a very hard h or kh. My best advice is to clear your throat while saying it: HUT-spuh, or KHUT-spuh.) Nerve, hubris, spirit, arrogance, guts. As the great Leo Rosten puts it in The Joys of Yiddish, chutzpah is “that quality enshrined in a man who, having killed his mother and father, throws himself on the mercy of the court because he is an orphan.”
HINDI (DAH-dee/DAH-dee-jee) Grandmother (specifically, your father’s mother). See -ji.
HINDI/HINGLISH (DAY-see) How Indians outside of India refer to each other. Pronounced “DAY-see,” not “Dezzy” like Desi Arnaz. Literally means “of a country”—native, countryman, compadre, brother, amigo. Like that.
HINDI + YIDDISH (DAY-see mish-PA-kuh) Made-up term meaning a family that’s a little bit Indian and a little bit Jewish. Nicer than “Hin-Jew,” I think.
HINDI (Sounds like dole but with a softer d, like in duh.) Type of drum typically used in bhangra music.
HINDI (DOOD-wah-luh, with that soft d again.) Milkman. See -wallah.
HINDI (dee-WAH-lee or dee-VAH-lee) Festival of Lights. See Hanukkah.
HINDI + HEBREW (dee-WAH-lee-kuh) A made-up word for when Diwali and Hanukkah happen close together.
HINDI (doo-PUH-tuh) Scarf.
HINGLISH (FROOT-wah-luh) Someone who sells fruit. See -wallah.
(ga-NAY-shuh or ga-NAYSH) One of the major Hindu gods. Ganesha is the son of Shiva and Parvati, recognizable because he has the head of an elephant. In one explanation, Parvati created a boy to stand guard outside while she took a bath. When Shiva returned home, the strange child refused to let him in. In a rage, Shiva beheaded him, which made Parvati sad and angry. So Shiva promised to bring the boy back to life by giving him the head of the first creature he could find, which happened to be an elephant.
HINDI (gol-GUH-puh) A crispy little round pastry shell filled with water, tamarind, onions, chickpeas, and spices. Also called panipuri—pani (water) + puri (deep-fried bread).
YIDDISH (SINGULAR/PLURAL) (GOY/GOY-im) Anyone who is not Jewish. Which, of course, is almost everyone. Warning: relatively rude. A sentence or phrase starting with “The goyim …” usually leads into a prejudicial statement or ridiculous generalization.
HINDI (HAHN) Yes.
HEBREW (haf-TAH-ruh, sometimes haf-TOH-ruh) A chapter from the Prophets, read after the weekly Torah portion. One of the most important duties of a bar mitzvah or bat mitzvah. Haftorah in Yiddish.
HEBREW (HAH-nuh-kuh or KHA-nuh-kuh) Festival of Lights. See Diwali.
A word or phrase that’s part Hindi, part English. “Hinglish” itself is a Hinglish word.
HINGLISH Someone who is Indian and Jewish or who grew up among both communities. Depending on who says it and how they say it, can be either endearing or rude. Ryan Berger thinks he invented it, but he’s not that smart.
HEBREW (HOH-ruh or HOOR-uh) A festive circle dance. If you’ve ever been to a bar mitzvah, you know.
HINDI (“Gee!”) Respectful suffix. See nanaji, naniji, mataji. Can be attached to a person’s name, like when Meena Auntie calls Gran “Ruthie-jee.”
HEBREW (KID-ish or ki-DOOSH) Ritual following Shabbat morning services, in which a blessing is said over wine or bread.
YIDDISH (KRAWT-sin) To scratch.
HINDI (kul- rhymes with bull: KUL-fee.) Like ice cream, but better. Because it’s made with condensed milk.
YIDDISH (LAHT-kuh) Means just “pancake,” but when people talk about latkes, they almost always mean potato latkes. See tikki.
HINDI (mah-SAH-lah) Spice or mix of spices.
HINDI (MAH-tah/MAH-tah-jee) Mother. Mataji (respectful form) is what Vijay calls Meena Auntie when he’s being disrespectful. See -ji.
HEBREW/YINGLISH (MAHT-suh; rhymes with lotsa.) Matzoh is a cracker-ish flat bread eaten on Passover. It doesn’t taste like anything, except maybe cardboard (I’ve never eaten cardboard, so this is a guess). Matzoh balls are dumplings made from ground matzoh meal and usually served in chicken soup. Light, fluffy, and delicious, they taste nothing at all like boring old flat matzoh. Everyone thinks their grandmother’s matzoh ball soup is the best, but that’s only because they’ve never tasted Gran’s. The trick is to get them to be light and fluffy while maintaining structural integrity—not so hard that you can play golf with them, not so soft that they fall apart in the soup. It’s a delicate balance that takes about fifty years of experience to get right.
HEBREW AND YIDDISH (MAH-zul tohv) Congratulations.
HINDI (MEN-dee) Henna, a plant used to make hair dye and temporary tattoos—which are traditional for special occasions, especia
lly weddings, or just for fun.
HEBREW (muh-NOOR-uh) Candleholder used in Jewish worship.
YIDDISH (-shugge sounds a lot like sugar without the r: muh-SHOOG-uh.) Crazy. Nuts. Full of mishegoss.
YIDDISH (MASCULINE/FEMININE) (muh-SHOOG-uh-ner/muh-SHOOG-uh-nuh) Person who is meshugge.
HEBREW (me-ZOO-zuh) Tiny scroll containing a handwritten verse from the Torah, enclosed in a little case and attached to the doorpost of your house or apartment.
YIDDISH (MISH-uh-gahs) Craziness, mayhem.
My Basmati Bat Mitzvah Page 17
