Professor Chandra Follows His Bliss

by Rajeev Balasubramanyam

  “This really depends on your definition of cowardly, my friend.”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Steve.”

  Steve stopped the car. The Hindu ashram was on the other side of the road, a stone’s throw from the monastery.

  “You’re right, Chandrasekhar. We lied to you and it was wrong. And yes, I was angry that you hit me. It felt childish. Grown-ups don’t hit each other.”

  “I’m not saying you deserved it, Steve, all I am saying is that I had my reasons. In any case, as I told Radha, Jean is much happier with you. You look after her in ways I never could.”

  “I don’t think Jean needs looking after anymore,” said Steve. “She did, but then a time came when she didn’t, and maybe it was you who got her there.”

  “So I brought her to you,” said Chandra.

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  There was a snowman with a piece of tinsel around his neck in front of the ashram, except now Chandra realized it wasn’t a snowman at all but a statue of Ganesha, his trunk poking up through the snow like a periscope.

  “I just mean that maybe your marriage ran its course, Chandrasekhar. It happened to my first marriage too. My ex is with someone else now and she’s happy. I have no hard feelings. I’m happy for her. I’ve explained this to Jasmine—that divorce isn’t as abnormal as we make it out to be. That humans weren’t meant to be life partners. I’ve told Radha too.”

  “Have you spoken much with Radha, Steve?”

  “A little, yes. She’s come to the house.”

  Steve switched on the engine and began to drive once more.

  “Listen, Chandrasekhar, they’re not my children. I know that. But I love them. Not like you, perhaps, but in my own way, and I have a role in their lives. But I couldn’t replace you if I tried. I hope that’s enough for you.”

  Chandra nodded. “You will never know any of them the way I do, Steve.”

  “I know.”

  He thought of Steve coaching Jasmine to take drugs, of how terrified she’d been in court, of how he’d found her crouched by a dumpster, staring at the moon.

  “But you spoke to Radha about me?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Yes or no?”

  “I listened to her, Chandrasekhar. Perhaps that’s the difference.”

  “The difference between what?”

  “You seem angry, my friend. Ask yourself what need isn’t being met?”

  “My need for an answer, Steve.”

  “Then, yes,” said Steve, “I have spoken to Radha about you. I’ve spoken to all of them. They love you, of course, but they resented you, and I understand that. My children resented me for a time.”

  They were entering the parking lot now. Steve parked the car beneath the same fir tree as before.

  “But why do my children resent me?” asked Chandra.

  “I think you know why.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Like I said,” said Steve, “you’re a wonderful father; but you’ve got to stop trying to control them. I’m always telling Jean this. If you just give them a little space, they’ll come back to you. No one likes a judger. No one likes a tyrant.”

  “You think I’m a tyrant?”

  “It’s not a noun situation. This is adjectival.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” said Steve, “from all I’ve heard, that there were moments when you were tyrannical, and I think that probably pushed them away from you.”

  “Well, this shows how little you know my family, Steve.”

  “Chandrasekhar—”

  “Your pronunciation of my name is horrendous.” He opened the door. Snowflakes blitzed against his cheek. “And if you’re looking for your boots, they’re in the trees.”

  Chandra marched back to the main building where Dolores waved at him from the office window. He waved back, hoping she wouldn’t see what a rage he was in.

  When he reached his cabin Chandra took a shower before getting into bed and pulling the covers over his head. He fell asleep at once, exhausted after his hike up the hill.

  When he awoke, somebody was climbing down the stepladder.

  “Charles?”

  He did not move. If he did not move, she might go away.

  “Charles, I know you can hear me.”

  He hoped she wouldn’t pull the covers away, leaving him in his vest and shorts like a small boy after gym class. He focused on his breathing…one, two, three.

  “How could you throw Steve’s boots away? I know you resent him, but of all the petty, stupid things you could do…I mean, what are you, some kind of kid? He didn’t bring any other shoes. What if I took your shoes, Charles? Charles? I know you can hear me.”

  He counted twelve more breaths. She was still there, staring at his lumpen form beneath the duvet, those mounds and craters like the surface of the moon. But now he could hear her leather pumps on the steps, her footsteps on the floor above his head, the door opening and slamming, his whole hut shaking.

  He waited. Was she really gone? Or was it a trick?

  No. He was alone. Jean had left. Again.

  Chandra went back to sleep, sinking into the mattress, convinced he was at sea with choppy gray waves outside his porthole. Somebody knocked twice, a half-hour apart, waking him both times, but no one came in. He heard voices, someone speaking in German, or what he thought was German, someone else shouting about there not being enough vegetables. A car pulled up and a voice yelled, “Merry Christmas,” and laughed as if they had said something hilarious.

  When he got out of bed it was 1:37 P.M. on Christmas Day and he was late. The party at Saul and Dolores’s house had begun.

  Professor Chandra shaved and showered before putting on his blue blazer, gray slacks, and black knitted socks once more. He wore a tie too, the one the Master had presented him with at Cambridge. He would be the only person at the party wearing a tie, but it was Christmas, after all. Standards had to be maintained.

  Professor Chandra left his hut and saw Steve hunched over in the trees, poking at the snow with a stick.

  “Steve,” he said.

  Steve raised a hand in greeting. Chandra noticed he was wearing gumboots, presumably borrowed.

  “I think they’re over there, Steve,” he said, pointing right.

  Steve shuffled over and began stabbing once more. Chandra stomped through the snow and began to help, kicking at the earth before squatting and using his hands. It took five minutes before Steve found them; they looked waterproof, at least, and had been lying on their sides. Steve took them in his gloved hand and began to walk away.

  “Steve,” said Chandra, and shuffled over to him. “I didn’t realize the boots were yours. I’m sorry. Really. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

  Chandra was panting, his breath white like fine cigarette smoke.

  “There’s nothing to say,” said Steve. “It’s normal. All of this. Of course you don’t like me.”

  “That isn’t true,” said Chandra, but he knew it was a lie—of course he didn’t like Steve.

  “We just have to try to be grown-ups about it,” said Steve.

  “I suppose I haven’t done a good job of that so far.”

  “I’ll try to leave the five of you alone tonight. It’ll be weird for Jean if I don’t come at all, but I’ll give you a few hours.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I really have a lot of respect for you, Chandrasekhar. But I guess I don’t like you so much either. Not now.”

  “I understand that,” said Chandra.

  “I also have feelings. I know you’re the hurt one, but this hasn’t been easy for me either.”

  “Yes,” said Chandra, not caring at all.

  “I guess you’d happily punch my nose
again, wouldn’t you?”

  Chandra visualized knocking Steve onto his back, a trickle of blood running from his nose onto the snow.

  “We don’t have to be friends,” he said.

  “But we can be diplomats,” said Steve. “Politicians.”

  Steve put out his hand which Chandra grasped and shook, looking him in the eye.

  “Well,” said Steve. “I’m going to try and dry out my boots before the party.”

  “See you later, Steve,” said Chandra.

  He set off down the path, knowing Steve had to go that way too but not caring. It felt good not to have to apologize anymore. His shoes and socks were soaked, but it didn’t matter. Anger was circulating through his body and he liked it.

  It was even colder on the main road without the shelter from the buildings. The mountains were covered by a thick layer of charcoal cloud. Saul and Dolores’s house, a large bungalow made of black wood, was set partway down the slope that led to the valley. Chinese lanterns lined the driveway, burning through the grayness and drizzle. Chandra knocked. When the door opened he smelled sherry and cake.

  A big black smelly dog leaped out at him.

  “Lama!” said Saul, from the doorway. “Lama, stop that. Sorry, Chandra.”

  “No problem,” said Chandra, smiling at the beast and wishing he could call the pound.

  “Come in, come in!”

  “I forgot to bring the presents,” said Chandra, taking off his shoes and realizing he had left them all in the hut, including the two bottles of wine he’d bought in Napa.

  “Oh, no, you’re all we need. We keep it simple here. Come in, please. It’s dismal out there.”

  He stepped into the hallway and followed Saul, who was holding the beast by the collar, to the drawing room where there was a fake silver Christmas tree as high as the ceiling and three sofas in a semicircle on which several monks were gathered. Bing Crosby was playing, a huge log burning in the fireplace, and Dolores was walking toward him in a sleeveless silvery-green dress that made her look like a mermaid. She kissed his cheeks and led him by the hand into Saul’s study where she shut the door and looked him up and down.

  “Now, you’re not to take this too hard, but we’ve got a few problems.”

  “Radha.”

  “No, not Radha. Jasmine.”

  “Jasmine?”

  “It’s bad, but not that bad. It seems one of our people caught her smoking a joint this morning.”

  Chandra looked for somewhere to sit, but the desk and chair were too far away.

  “Oh, God,” he said, stepping backward into the bookcase and knocking two hardbacks onto the ground. “How could this happen?”

  “It’s only marijuana,” said Dolores. “Not meth. Marijuana’s legal in Colorado, in fact, but it does violate the terms of her being here, so we’ve got to take this seriously, for her sake and for ours. The upshot is that she’ll have to go home for a while, like a suspension. She can still come back to us, but she’s got to know it’s serious first.”

  “This is terrible,” he said, unable to look at Dolores. “Terrible.”

  “Oh, no. Sit here.” Dolores wheeled out the swivel chair from behind the desk. “And drink this.” She pushed a brandy into his hand. “It’ll be okay. It’s just a little glitch in the matrix, that’s all.”

  “And Radha?”

  “She’s consoling her sister back in the dorm. It’s all good. They’ll be here in a while, by which time our goose will be on its third life and my chances of being reborn in the human realm as good as gone. I mean, it’s one thing to kill a bird, but to torture the poor creature in its afterlife…”

  “So none of them are here?”

  “They’ll come.”

  “Why did she do this?”

  “It’s Christmas,” said Dolores. “This is what happens at Christmas.”

  Chandra watched as his glass fell from his hand, the golden liquid falling in a narrow column like a sword. He found himself following it, tumbling onto the floor, his hands first, and then his whole body.

  “Chandra!” said Dolores.

  He was on the carpet now, looking at the legs of the chair while Dolores slipped a cushion beneath his head. He wasn’t in any pain, he noted, with relief: this wasn’t a heart attack.

  “You just take it easy,” she said.

  Chandra closed his eyes. He could hear Dolores calling to her husband.

  He hadn’t felt this helpless since the bicycle incident in Cambridge a year ago, but he’d had a heart attack then, even if he hadn’t known it at the time. But now there was nothing wrong with his body. It was his family, and this was far, far worse.

  Saul was in the room now, the dog too, hovering over him, threatening to lick his face until Saul grabbed its collar and dragged it out of the door. “Here,” said Saul, returning and pushing another glass of brandy into Chandra’s hand.

  “Thanks,” said Chandra, and took a long, grateful swig.

  Closing his eyes, he felt almost peaceful, conscious only of the aftertaste of brandy in his mouth, the past seventy years like an unpleasant dream he could barely remember. This was what he’d longed to do at so many departmental dinners, so many tutorials and lectures. To lie on the floor and close his eyes. But now he could hear Jasmine’s voice in his head, picture her face, that tiny, delicate flower, and he had to get up. The show had to go on. Taking another swig of brandy, Chandra allowed Saul to help him to his feet.

  “How are you feeling now?” asked Saul, massaging his neck with one hand.

  “Good enough,” said Chandra.

  STEVE AND JEAN ARRIVED an hour later. Steve was wearing his boots. He’d taken a blow-dryer to them, in all probability. Jean refused to even look at Chandra and went straight for the dog who was lying on the rug by the fire. Jean loved dogs. It was on his list of reasons why she had left him.

  Jasmine and Radha arrived not long afterward and, for once, Jasmine did not go to the kitchen. She sat by herself looking at a photo album, her demeanor saying “stay away,” though not aggressively. Chandra wanted to go to her, but knew he should wait—she’d come when she was ready.

  Radha sat beside Saul who was sitting beside Chandra. She managed to maintain her part of the conversation while simultaneously saying nothing of any importance. Chandra felt proud of her. It was a trick it had taken him years to master. Saul was telling her about his time in the Marine Corps.

  “I just loved blowing things up. The truth is, I was desperate to go to Vietnam, so I was first in line, but they sent the first ten to Okinawa. And Okinawa just happened to be the home of karate. So there I was, not speaking a word of Japanese, learning karate from a teacher who didn’t speak a word of English. At the end of every class we’d sit facing a statue of the Buddha for anything up to an hour. It was only a decade later, when I was an antiwar activist, that I realized this was Zen.”

  Sunny wasn’t there. Chandra had been afraid of this.

  Dolores ushered them all into the conservatory. Her goose was cooked, she said, with a grin.

  Chandra joined the others, taking his seat at one end of a long mahogany table, with Saul at the other.

  It was a beautiful setting, the glass windows, the acres of snow outside, the bowls of flowers and incense. Saul was making a speech, but Chandra couldn’t listen, unable to think of anything save for Sunny’s absence, Jasmine’s predilection for narcotics, and Radha, who seemed to be meditating at the table. Professor Chandra considered meditation an excellent opportunity to compensate for his forty-year sleep deficit or to work on unfinished papers, but he couldn’t help believing meditation was best suited to those with less mind to be mindful of: sociologists, for example, or geographers. But now that two of his daughters were devotees, he would probably have to reconsider.

  “And so,” Saul was saying, “I wish you all a bo
n appetit, and a peaceful and happy holiday.”

  Saul looked at Chandra as if inviting him to add something, but Chandra turned to Jasmine, sitting to his left, and said, “Are you all right, Jaz?”

  “I’m fine,” said Jasmine. “I mean, I’m in trouble again.” She leaned backward, her profile a line drawing against the Colorado winter behind her. “But that’s what life is, isn’t it, Dad? Just one stupid mess after another. Maybe a few breaks in between, but they’re really just more storms gathering.”

  Chandra sighed. It was so dark outside now, and his daughter was so bright. He hated to hear these words from her lips, but he knew she was right, quite right.

  “I’m proud of you,” he said, taking hold of her hand. “I’m so proud of you, Jasmine.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “I mean it,” he said. “I am sorry, Jasmine. I haven’t given you enough attention. My marriage. Radha. It all got in the way.” He looked at Radha who was talking to Dolores with animation.

  “But you’re making it up with her, Dad. She told me you had a good talk this morning.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, we did.”

  “That’s great, Dad.”

  “No,” he said, tightening his grip on her hand. “No, that isn’t what I want to say. Forget about that. What I mean is, things got in the way and I wasn’t a good enough parent. I was a better father to them than I was to you, but look how you turned out. You’re wonderful.”

  “But I haven’t done anything, Dad,” said Jasmine. “I’m the only one. The rest of you, you all stand for something. You all do things in the world. Me, I’m just…whatever.”

  “What are you talking about?” he said. “You believe in this place. You’re in your home now.”

  “They’re kicking me out.”

  “No, they’re not,” said Chandra. “You’ll be back by January. We’d do the same if we caught you taking drugs in our university.”

  “Drugs is why I’m in here.”

  “It was only marijuana,” said Chandra. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

  “Dad, last night Sunny asked me where I saw myself in five years’ time.”

  “He asks everyone that.”