Imaginary Men

by Anjali Banerjee

  My mouth moves, but words won’t come out.

  “I thought I’d surprise you,” Raja says smoothly. “Thought I wasn’t coming home until next week, did you?”

  Kali claps. “He caught an early flight. He asked us to keep it a secret. Aren’t you pleased, Lina?”

  “Of course I’m pleased, but Auntie—”

  “She’s pleased.” Raja winks at Auntie, as if they’re the closest of friends. “She’s most delightful. As are your parents.”

  Auntie pats my arm. “Why you would keep such a handsome prince a secret, we all don’t know. You’ve done so well, my child. I can’t wait to tell Pandit Parsai. How did you manage to steal Raja from the fiancée that all of India thought he had?”

  “That I thought he had,” I say, glancing up at him. Did he break up with the princess?

  Auntie laughs. “You see!” She turns to the crowd. “My niece was waiting for her perfect prince, and she has found him!”

  Everyone claps. Roars.

  “No, you don’t understand—” I begin, but Raja interrupts.

  “It is I who have done well.” He spins me around. The crowd pulses with energy. In the doorway, Ma wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. How can I contaminate this joy?

  “Do tell us more about your travels, Raja,” Kali says. “Do you know, Lina, he told us the story of the biggest tiger in Bengal? He took pictures. You should see them. He went into the jungle on elephant back. He’s so brave!”

  “Indeed he is,” Auntie says. “He’s been entertaining us from the moment he arrived. Quite a man.”

  “Quite,” I say with gratitude. Raja Prasad came to my rescue. He’s my knight in shining armor, but his eyes glint like metal and he holds me in an iron grip.

  “More Scotch?” Dad materializes with a glass in hand. “Raja has brought from duty-free. Thoughtful, nah?”

  “Yes, how thoughtful,” I say. The colors and shapes in the room waver and shimmer. I might faint.

  Raja waves an arm. “Ah, Dr. Ray. I won’t drink all your Glenlivet.”

  “We shall save some for next time!” Dad raises the glass.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper to Raja.

  He whispers back between his teeth. “Not now, my love, while we’re having so much fun.”

  “Your love?”

  “You are as long as I say you are. Don’t you remember our engagement?”

  I yank my elbow away and smile at everyone while my chest implodes. Raja has knocked the breath out of me. How I wish it could be true. I want to be his love. I wish he didn’t have a princess fiancée. I wish—

  “There is much planning to be done!” Auntie shouts. “The gods are smiling upon us!”

  “I know you want a big family wedding.” Raja puts his arm around my shoulders. The repetitive drumbeat pounds up through my legs.

  “We need to talk in private!” I turn to Raja. He grins. He’s enjoying this!

  “Here’s to the happy couple!” Kali’s cheeks flush, and her eyes shine. Her wine sloshes from the glass as she walks off-balance.

  Raja kisses my hair. I can’t wait to get him alone. If I make a scene here, my family will collapse like paper cutout dolls.

  Auntie Kiki keeps nodding with approval, her toothy smile showing lipstick on her teeth.

  Ma and Baba stand in the doorway, both smiling. Then someone turns up the music, and Raja spins me around, my mind turning and turning. “Let’s dance, shall we? Everyone dance!”

  We dance, and then a slow song comes on. Kali and Dev dance cheek to cheek, and Raja pulls me close.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  “You wanted a fiancé named Raja, you got one.”

  “How long will you keep this up?”

  “As long as I wish.”

  I press my hand to his muscular chest. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. I’m grateful, truly I am, but what will you say to your family? To the princess? Are you still engaged to her?”

  “I have not yet made up my mind.” He gazes down at me with a hungry look in his eyes.

  I’m blushing again. “How did you know about Baba’s birthday? How did you know to come here?”

  “I spoke to Harry. He told me everything. I envy you for having such good friends, Lina. He believes in you.”

  My mouth goes dry. How I wish I could rewind time, meet Raja again and not lie, not say the things I said. “I was going to tell everyone the truth, but the more I tried, the deeper I fell into my own fibs.”

  “What the hell did you think you were doing, creating an imaginary fiancé with my name? Whom did you expect to marry?”

  “I was dating men, trying to find one to fit the bill—”

  “Nobody fit. I didn’t fit. But you pretended I did.”

  “I had to think of a name fast—yours came up. Auntie wanted to set me up with Pee-wee. He’s far from a suitable—”

  “What’s your suitable man? A fantasy?”

  “Not anymore,” I say. “What happens now?”

  He narrows his gaze. “What do you want to have happen?”

  For a crazy moment, I long to be alone in the world with Raja. Seeing him again is a ray of sunlight shining down through a long, black night. I want to strip away family, culture, the past. We stare at each other, the gulf closing between us, and then the distance unfolds again.

  I take a deep breath. “I have to set the record straight. I have to undo my lies.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks, and his eyebrow rises.

  “I have to.” The song ends. I pull away from Raja and tug Ma’s sleeve. “I need to talk to you and Baba in private. Now.” My heart pounds, and my legs turn to rubber. Her face pales, but she nods, and we grab Baba, slip into the kitchen, and shut the door. Muffled music seeps in through the walls. The bright overhead light makes me squint.

  “Ma, Baba, hear me out,” I begin. “I have to tell you—”

  “What is it? You’re pregnant?” Ma asks, clasping her hands in front of her.

  “No, nothing like that—”

  “Is it Raja?” Baba asks. “Is he actually broke? Is he a gambler or—”

  “No, Baba! Just listen.”

  Auntie bursts in, wineglass in hand. “What is this gathering? What secrets are being told?”

  Kali rushes in after her. “I saw you all trying to sneak in here without me. What’s going on?”

  Durga follows, and my parents, two sisters, and auntie stand staring at me, their eyes wide with expectation.

  No turning back now.

  “Back in India, at Durga’s wedding, I told a lie,” I say. “I made up a fake fiancé. He wasn’t real.”

  “Oh, Vishnu,” Auntie whispers.

  “Raja and I met at Durga’s wedding, but we weren’t dating.” Auntie stands with the palm of her hand over her chest, as if to keep her heart from spilling out.

  “I came home without a fiancé, but I realized then, after seeing Durga so happy, after returning to an empty apartment, that I really did want a partner in life. And I love you all so much—” I glance at Ma, Durga, Kali. “I couldn’t let you down. But how would I find a suitable man? Who would he be? After Nathu, nobody lived up to my ideal. I tried dating. No luck.”

  Auntie screams. “Oh, Vishnu, what has happened?”

  “Auntie, hush!” Kali puts an arm around her shoulders, and Durga pats Auntie’s back. Ma’s face is ashen. Baba keeps blinking.

  I forge on, relate my attempts to maintain the charade, my meetings with Raja. I spill every fear, every truth I never told, from my attempts to come clean, to my dates with Pramit, Dr. Dutta, and Patrick. My eyes brim with tears, and I try to ignore the expressions of horror crossing the faces of my family members. Baba looks crumpled, as if he’s just unpacked himself from a suitcase. Ma leans against the countertop. She plays with her hair, kneading it like dough. Auntie goes stiff, lips pressed together in a white line.

  I keep on talking, professing my love for my family, the joy I saw in their faces
when they thought I was engaged.

  Baba removes his glasses and rubs his forehead. Two red indentations are left on either side of his nose, where the glasses pressed into the skin. “Such an elaborate deception. How can this be? What have you done?”

  “I didn’t want to get married, and I felt pressure,” I say. “But that’s no excuse. The whole thing snowballed out of control.”

  “Nobody has ever pressured you!” Ma bursts out.

  “What do you mean, nobody has ever pressured me? Weddings are a huge event in India. Every woman aspires to nothing more than the perfect marriage to the perfect man. Even Kali! All starry-eyed. And Auntie Kiki too.”

  “Lina, what on earth!” Auntie’s cheeks puff outward. “What nonsense are you saying?”

  “What about me?” Durga said. “Do you think I was only responding to pressure?”

  “Of course not.” I touch her cheek. “You’re so lucky to have found true love.”

  Kali glowers at me. “I’ll find love too. There’s nothing wrong with being starry-eyed.”

  A guest wanders in with a beer bottle in his hand. We all glare at him, and he turns around and scampers out again.

  “If you don’t want marriage, Lina, you needn’t marry!” Ma says, but her trembling lips say otherwise.

  “So little has changed in India,” I say. “Cell phones, the Internet, Coca-Cola, none of that means anything. The social structure of India hasn’t changed much, Ma. And you and Baba glowed with pride when Durga was hitched. Don’t tell me you don’t care if I don’t marry!”

  “Lina, enough,” Baba says. “Why you’ve deceived us, I don’t know. Our family reputation has been tarnished.”

  “I was looking at saris,” Ma says in a plaintive voice. “Kiki was consulting the astrologer. We were looking for a good place for the marriage. I was thinking of grandchildren.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ma,” I say.

  “What everyone must think of us,” she whispers.

  Raja strides in, and a sharp longing scrapes across my chest. He’s familiar to me now. The way he stands with his broad shoulders squared, the scent of his cologne, his long legs, his black eyes urging me on. “Am I interrupting?” he asks, taking in our tense faces.

  Baba rubs the indentations on his nose. “What Lina’s saying makes no sense. She dates you, she pretends to be engaged, and now she’s saying none of this was real.”

  “I screwed up, and I’m sorry,” I say. “You all deserve better. Raja deserves better.” I give him a wan smile. “He came here tonight to help me save face, and for that, I’m grateful. I truly care for him. I’ve learned he’s a good man. It’s crazy and stupid, and things can never work out between us, but—”

  “You see,” Raja says. “I’m betrothed to another, although I’ve not made my final decision. I care very much for Lina—”

  “But Raja and I come from different worlds. I can’t imagine living in India. I have a job here, my friends, my life—”

  “—and I have my life in India. I can’t abandon my family,” Raja says, “or my work.”

  Nobody speaks, and then Uncle Gula wanders in, an unlit cigar dangling from his lips. “I wondered where you’d all gone off to.”

  The kitchen is crowded now. So much for a private talk with Ma and Baba. Music and laughter tumble in from the living room, and then Auntie throws up her hands. “Oh, Vishnu! Lina lives in America, Raja lives in India. So what? You’re in love! Any fool can see. Young people in the modern world, they want to have it all. This problem, that problem. Always complaining. In our day, we crossed galaxies to be together. You must not give up so easily.”

  I stare at her, all the protests stuck in my throat.

  “Did you know your uncle and me, we came from different states, and we are six years apart in age? His parents disapproved of the match.” Auntie hooks her arm through Uncle’s elbow. He pats his balding head.

  “We escaped to see each other without telling our parents,” Auntie goes on. “And then we traveled together to Delhi—”

  “It was fun, nah?” Uncle smiles at Auntie, plants a kiss on her forehead. “Such a time on the train.” Their gazes tangle in a loving embrace.

  “Auntie’s right,” Ma says. “Why all this nonsense? Your Baba and I have been married thirty-five years, and at times we want to kill each other.”

  “Most of the time we want to kill each other,” Baba says, wrapping his arms around Ma.

  “And yet we stay together, and our love grows deeper,” she says.

  “Why must the world be in black and white?” Auntie shouts. “Young people, all the time wanting perfection. You want always new clothes, new cars, the perfect arrangements.”

  “Life is messy,” Ma says. “What stories I could tell. Before I met your Baba, I was engaged to the maharajah of—”

  “O-ho, enough!” Baba cuts in. “They don’t want to know of your prior romantic escapades.”

  Auntie waggles a finger at Raja and me. “You find a way to work things out. At least you must try.”

  “You’re always saying long-distance relationships don’t work,” Kali says. “They can, if you want them to. You have to try.”

  “Have you met his family?” Auntie asks.

  Raja and I shake our heads at the same time.

  “Oh, Vishnu! Then we’ll revise your plans. Go to India—”

  “I can’t go again, Auntie. I’ve just been—”

  “You must go,” Durga says.

  “Yes, you must come.” Raja takes my hand. His fingers are warm and firm, sending a pulse of electricity through me. He turns to my family. “I’ve already invited Lina to visit my mother and me in our house in Puri. I’ll pay for the journey.”

  Auntie Kiki nods, her toothy smile confirming her approval.

  “What do you say, Lina?” Raja takes my other hand and gazes into my eyes. My insides go watery again. Meet his mother? Visit his home in Puri?

  “Another wild family adventure,” I say, glancing around at the cluster of relatives. “How can I refuse?”

  Thirty-four

  Auntie Kiki and I are shopping on Kolkata’s Jawaharlal Nehru Road, still known by its older name, Chowringhee Road. The sky must have grown tired of oppressing the city, for now it opens to welcome a cool autumn breeze. Clouds tumble overhead, and a slight drizzle dampens my skin.

  We thread our way through a seething crowd of shoppers, past pavement vendors selling everything from water pistols to underwear, carpets to handicrafts. We finally reach New Market, a bustling commercial hub. Merchants sell caneware, silk saris, silver jewelry, incense, sculptures, and souvenirs. Auntie chooses several saris and haggles with a vendor. “Lina, see? This red one will be perfect for your visit with Raja’s ma,” she says.

  “Red is a wedding color, Auntie. I’m not ready for that. I’m just meeting her, not—”

  “I know how difficult it is for you to come to India.” She puts down the saris and moves on to the next booth. “The crowds bother you, the noise. You have few memories here. And you don’t know how to bargain, nah? You buy everything at face value—”

  “You’re very perceptive, Auntie, but I’m okay.”

  “You’re not okay. I know this. Your past is not here. Listen, now. Hush.”

  Across the road, a woman sings a sweet, lilting melody. “Mendichya panavar man ajoon jhulatai ga.”

  “What does it mean?” I ask, watching the woman unroll tapestries on the sidewalk.

  “My heart still meanders on the leaves of henna,” Auntie says.

  I’ll never know the ache of memory behind such words. And yet, I can’t help but hope that I’ll find some element of home in Puri.

  “Welcome to our home by the sea.” Raja takes my hand. His fingers are firm and warm, and a thrill rushes through me at his touch. My hair is a mess again, and I’m covered in dust and sweat and feeling slightly nauseated from the three-hour drive over winding, bumpy roads.

  “This place is lovely.” I look up the
marble steps toward a sprawling house with open archways and big windows, right at the edge of a white-sand beach on the Bay of Bengal. I smell the sea’s wild saltiness. Raja, dressed in jeans and a casual shirt, helps me up the steps. He’s the perfect gentleman.

  At the top stands a sparrowlike woman in jeans and a sweater. Her silken gray hair hangs loose, moving in the breeze. She’s beautiful, the weather of years settling comfortably into her features.

  “Lina, this is my mother, Neelu Prasad.”

  I’ll topple backward down the steps and faint in the sand. “Your mother?”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She speaks in a steady, cultured voice, unassuming and soft.

  She’s holding out her hand. I take it—her fingers feel bony as bird claws, and cool. Perhaps it’s age, or perhaps she has always been this delicate. Difficult to imagine that a man as big as Raja Prasad could be the son of such a small woman.

  I let go of her hand and smile.

  “Please, come in,” she says. “You must be hungry and thirsty after such a long journey.” She leads me into an open-air living room, sparsely furnished with modest couches and tables. Books line the massive shelves, and I have the urge to search the volumes, some of which look older than this house. The faint smell of sandalwood incense comes from another room, and wind chimes play a soft melody in the distance.

  We sit on the couches, and a silent servant breezes in, dressed in white. Mrs. Prasad expresses her wishes with a nod, and the servant disappears. A silent language has passed between them.

  “Your house is lovely,” I say. “Thanks for having me.”

  “We’re delighted,” Neelu Prasad says as the servant brings tea. The China teapot and cups are wafer-thin, probably rare, the tray beneath made of intricately carved brass.

  “Lina, please understand,” Neelu goes on. “Our home is your home. You’re welcome to stay. You’ll let us know if you need anything, won’t you?”

  “You’re very kind.” I try to imagine what life would be like here in Puri, or in the Kolkata house or the cottage in Santiniketan. “How often do you come to Puri?”

  “When Raja has time to bring me,” Neelu says. “His business is mainly in Kolkata.”

  “Stone exporting, I know. But I don’t know much else.” I glance at Raja, who leans back on the couch, his feet on the table. He’s wearing chappals, Indian sandals. He’s entirely at ease. An ache squeezes my heart. How I long to feel at home here, and yet the ocean breeze, the shouts of fishermen or vendors in the distance, the sunlight diffused by ocean spray, still feel foreign.