He walked around the bar. “Sprite, Fanta, wine cooler?” He held up a bottle from the small fridge below the bar. “I stock these for American guests. Everything else is nonalcoholic, of course,” he said, grinning. “So, what will it be?”
“A wine cooler, please,” Kate answered.
He snapped off the top and placed it on a napkin in front of her. The cooler tasted like sweetened strawberry juice with fizz, but it washed down the gulab jamun that still felt stuck in her throat.
Suddenly the men roared as the batsman hit the ball and scored six runs. Mustafa joined his jubilant friends jumping up and down and celebrating with high fives all around.
Kate felt Tariq’s gaze. He remained standing in the same place and never turned his eyes away from her despite what was surely a monumental sporting event on TV.
“I will, uh, let you get back to the game.”
“We will catch up later,” Tariq said cautiously.
“Yeah. I would like to hear about Thailand and Malaysia,” she said, giving him a demure half-smile. Turning away, she walked out of the room shaking, feeling him watching her as she quickened her step across the pearl tile that extended from the husband hideout to the formal living room.
Kate squeezed her eyes shut, succumbing to the fact that she had barely survived the encounter with Tariq.
Suddenly, from above came a thunderous sound. Kate looked upward at the open staircase that spilled onto the tile like a Victorian wedding dress. Three children clambered down the stairs so fast their little feet missed the steps. The boy reached the bottom first, slipping on the tile. Two girls chased him, the first screaming as she leaped over him, and the second tumbling into him as he tried to stand, sending him sprawling again.
Kate skated out of their path as the boy, back on his feet, chased the girls squealing into the living room.
The children darted into the room, crashing into Sara’s sister, Shabana, sending her off balance as she held a baby. Sameer’s wife steadied Shabana and swiftly took the baby from her arms. Sara immediately grabbed her son sternly by the arm, and Shabana bent down to unwrap the two girls clutching her legs.
“Bas,” Shabana hissed, giving the youngsters an earful of scolding in Urdu.
“I was nearly in the path of destruction,” Kate announced as she stepped into the room.
Shabana’s face turned from stern to glowing as she glanced up recognizing Kate. She relinquished her hold on the girls, who lost no time in escaping into another room.
“Oh, Kate. Hello.” Shabana stood upright, repositioning her dupatta over her shoulder with a single bracelet-clinking swoop.
She gently tugged down on her salwar, smoothing the pleated material across her full bosom and extending an arm in a friendly embrace.
“Sorry, the children are a little wild. They didn’t run you down, did they?”
“No. I was just kidding,” Kate responded.
Sara kept one hand on her son’s shoulder. The boy pouted, not having escaped with the girls.
Kate noticed Mona, who had grown up three houses away from Nasreen, curled up on the chaise lounge.
“Hi, Mona. You look comfortable. May I sit?”
“Of course.” Mona shifted to make room for Kate.
Mona was single and lived in the same house in the old neighborhood. At the age of thirty-two, Mona was by most accounts too old for marriage and motherhood. As an unmarried woman, she still lived with her parents, helping them with life’s daily routine, waiting for her own to begin.
“It’s a really beautiful house,” Kate remarked. “I have not been here since Nasreen redecorated.”
“It’s lovely,” Mona responded and took a sip of water. The ice cubes clinked as she twirled the straw in the liquid.
It wasn’t that Mona never received proposals; she had had several inquiries from noteworthy men. She was naturally pretty with charming eyes and thick black lashes. One beau in particular stood out. She had discovered the man she thought embodied her future. He was an immigrant from Pakistan, a family friend of a family friend with business prospects in America. Mona was full of life. But like many other proposals, this one ended in rejection.
Mona went back to work as a bank teller. Nasreen said Mona’s parents continued to consider proposals, but there was always something unsuitable.
What was suitable in love? Kate thought. She noticed Mona had put on weight from idleness and a broken heart. Kate thought about her swim partner and ex-boyfriend, Neil, and how similar she and Neil were to each other. He was suitable but their relationship had been lackluster. She thought about Tariq in the next room and how, even now, he awakened every sense in her. But she and Tariq were from different cultures, different worlds.
“So what has kept you away?” Mona asked.
“I’ve just been busy,” Kate said with some guilt. “And my car is on its last leg.”
Mona finally smiled. “Mine too.”
Kate recognized a photo on the table and picked up the frame. It was a golden frame of interlaced half-moons inlaid with tiny red rhinestones.
“Wow, what a photo,” Kate admired. “Look at us!”
The half-moons framed Nasreen and Mustafa in full wedding garb. In the photo, younger versions of themselves, Kate, Shabana, and Krishna, stood to the right of Nasreen, and Sara and Mona stood to the left of Mustafa, who stood tall in pure white sherwani and pleated salwar pants. From his headdress across his forehead extended a golden fan that appeared so tall it touched the red, gold, and white streamers decorating the wedding stage. Nasreen, despite her height, was dwarfed by her husband’s tall stance. She was hunched over, countering the weight of her body-length diamante covering made entirely of ruby stones and a border of green sequins. Thick as a cobra, a garland made of strands of white and red carnations hung from her neck, reaching down to her red iridescent kurta. Nasreen was clenching the edges of the covering to keep it in place and glanced unsmiling nowhere in particular. Quarter-sized medallion clasps covered the backside of her fists, and gold chains looped around each finger like a jeweled glove.
Kate studied herself in the photo and thought she appeared confident, smiling straight at the camera. Her long red hair hung across the sash of her silk sari that she’d bought that day at the fancy cloth shop in Hyderabad.
“You look radiant in that picture,” Mona stated.
“We all look stunning, I think,” Kate remarked as she placed the photo in its original place.
“My niece is getting married in November,” Mona said softly. “Hard to imagine my brother’s oldest is already eighteen. Where did the time go?”
To Kate, time seemed to be suspended. She leaned her head back and scanned the room. On the wall behind the chaise hung a large copper-encased mirror bordered by candle sconces. In the mirror, Kate could see the bold flower arrangement that sat on the mahogany console on the back side of the yellow settee. The arrangement was a blooming protea with broad leaves and long twigs that extended and curved to mimic the wooden curvature of the settee and matching armchair. The furniture and style were both luxurious and exotic, capturing a sense of Colonial India.
Compared to this luxuriously decorated house, Kate’s living environment was flat and colorless. Having moved three times in college and twice while in graduate school, she filled each apartment with whatever she could afford or was left by others, simple and sparse. There was always the somber stacks of novels and science textbooks, a few framed pictures, a set of pillows with Indian embroidered pillowcases that Aunty Samina had given her, the brass cat from Sheela’s Brass Shop, and her road bike used for both commuting and escaping along the lakeside.
In India, Kate had purchased brass and silver vases, and gold plates with images of India. One plate had painted on it the majestic Taj Mahal on a turquoise background surrounded by a wreath of flowers, and the other piece displayed the Salar Jung Museum, gold embossed on wood. Kate had bought resplendent bowls and handloomed pieces of silk and shimmery textiles th
at she had tailored into pillowcases, table coverings, skirts, dresses, and scarves. All these items from her trip to Asia were packed in a closet in her dad’s house—no need for the frills of color and majesty in graduate school. No need for the magnificent colors of India and Pakistan in an apartment of gray.
“Food is served,” Nasreen announced as she made her gracious entrance into the sunken room.
Nasreen held her arms out to Shabana’s baby.
“Come here. Come to aunty,” she chimed.
The child smiled and fell forward into Nasreen’s open arms. She swayed and cooed as the small child kicked her feet with glee. Kate watched as Nasreen twirled the baby.
“I am so glad they are looking to adopt,” Mona said to Kate in a low voice.
“What?” Kate replied, completely shocked.
Mona drew her chin in, a perplexed look on her face.
“Nasreen and Mustafa are adopting. Didn’t you know?”
“I saw Nasreen six weeks ago. She mentioned she had endometriosis, and the chances of having a baby were slim to none, but she never mentioned adopting.”
Mona remained silent for a moment, then began tentatively, “She is hoping for a boy.”
Kate sat stunned, watching Nasreen coo at the baby.
“Her uncle has a lot of connections in the Pakistani government, and they are helping them through this process,” Mona explained. “I thought she would have told you.” A touch of pity seeped into her voice.
“Nasreen deserves to be a mother,” Kate stated matter-of-factly.
She sipped the peach strawberry wine cooler. The sweetness of the drink was beginning to make her head feel fuzzy. She left Mona and headed to the dining room.
Throughout the evening, Tariq made sure to check on Kate in a chivalrous, but salacious, way: a simple bow to let her pass, an offering of dessert with daring eyes. This evoked both annoyance and desire in her. He told her tidbits about his travels in Southeast Asia, and she remembered what she found so intriguing about him—his curiosity about the world, his desire to explore it, and his defiance of any restrictions.
When he tried to start a conversation with her, she felt awkward, especially in the presence of Sameer and his wife. The two seemed so much in love. Sameer looked at his wife as though she were the only one in the room. Despite having lived in the country for only five years, his wife moved with poise and confidence, knowing that she was her husband’s sole affection. Who knew Sameer would be so lucky in love, Kate thought.
“No kids for now. It’s just the two of us,” Sameer said as he looked intently at his wife and she looked back at him ravenously.
At some point in the evening as Kate and Tariq passed each other around the buffet table—he drizzled chutney on a fried potato and she took a piece of melon—Tariq asked for her number, mentioning that maybe they could meet for coffee in the morning before his flight back to New York. To talk.
Maybe.
Midnight passed, and the women appeared as fresh-faced as they had when they first arrived at the door, swaying in crisp chiffon salwars and striking jewelry. The men were just as exuberant, and the children were still wide-eyed and overly excited, their little bodies oblivious to bedtime come and gone.
Nasreen offered Kate the guest room, and she happily obliged. She was delirious with sleep by the time she was alone in the room after all the guests had left, sometime after two o’clock in the morning. She hadn’t yet found the right time to ask Nasreen, constantly surrounded by guests, about the adoption and vowed to ask her in the morning.
Kate lay across the still taut and tucked mint sheet she didn’t have the strength to untuck and crawl under when she finally dropped into bed. Surrounding her head were several pillows in mint and peach striped shams she had not bothered to move out of the way, still arranged three layers thick.
She stared at the ceiling wanting to think of nothing in particular, but her mind drifted to thoughts of Tariq. He had changed in many ways, but she was reminded of the eighteen-year-old young adult. He was refined and more serious, but also timorous at times around her. She liked how his brow creased when he looked at her, and he clenched his jaw when he spoke about his travels, and then the seriousness faded from his face and his mouth erupted in a full captivating smile.
Chapter 5
Sister Cities
Hyderabad-Secounderabad 1987
Kate was aroused from her jet lag stupor with thoughts of being kissed as she lay on the warm sand. Then she was dancing, her toes kicking the sand as she twirled, holding his hand, the boy in her dreams. Through her lashes, she glimpsed his silhouette and dark hair. She opened her eyes to the blue sea.
“She is alive,” the boy with sea-blue eyes called out.
Sana’s face appeared above hers, and then another little girl of the same age peeked at Kate. Her long, soft braids hung down and tickled Kate’s face.
“Oooh,” the little girl said, her wide eyes staring into Kate’s.
“Wake up,” Nasreen said brightly. “These are my cousins Azra, Yasmine, and Tariq! They have been waiting for you to wake up!”
“Give her space, Azra,” Yasmine said, nudging her little sister away.
Kate was staring again into Tariq’s piercing blue eyes. A fuzz of hair covered the tan skin above his wide lips. He helped her to her feet and steadied her before letting go of her hand.
“Thanks. Guess I am still getting used to the heat. It makes me tired,” she said demurely. “You must be Tariq, Rahim and Anees’s younger brother.”
“Yes. But don’t hold that against me. I am nothing like my brothers,” Tariq laughed.
“That’s a relief,” she remarked under her breath, reminded of her distaste for Anees. “You’re the one that went backpacking in Nepal,” she said quickly.
“Shhh.” Tariq held his finger over his lips. “You will get me in trouble for that one. I will tell you about it another time,” he whispered.
“Pleasure to finally meet you,” Yasmine interrupted, placing a hand on Kate’s left shoulder and kissing her softly on the cheek.
Warmness spread across Kate’s face.
“We have heard a lot about you.”
Yasmine had full lips that curved like a half-moon when she spoke with a wispy English accent. Her eyes were deep-set under high round cheeks.
“Yasmine,” Kate replied. “It is so great to meet you. Nasreen talks about you all the time. And you too, Azra.”
Azra wore a satin pink salwar kameez. Matching satin ribbons tied the ends of her braids together. She held onto Sana’s hand and smiled shyly at Kate.
“Is the girl awake?” boomed a voice.
“A-u-n-t-y Z-e-h-b-a,” Nasreen accentuated without sound to Kate, a warning that Aunty Zehba was approaching.
Suddenly, Aunty Zehba’s large frame filled the doorway. Her unkempt bun was the color of ash, and out sprung sprigs of hair going every which way. She waved her brawny arms and hurled through the room like a bad storm, wrapping her arms around Kate in a strong embrace.
“Welcome to India, child!” Aunty Zehba’s raucous voice jolted Kate from her lethargic state.
She let go of Kate but not without pinching the girl’s cheeks with firm manicured hands.
“You mustn’t sleep during the day. You must adjust to India time.”
“You have barely met her, Ammi, and already you are telling her what to do,” Tariq complained to his mother.
“Khalajan,” Nasreen said respectfully to her aunt. “This is my school friend, Kate.”
“Very pretty, child,” Aunty Zehba said. “I am so happy you have come for Rahim and Haseena’s wedding!” she exclaimed with an open smile that revealed a row of angled, paan-stained teeth.
Now that Kate could focus on Aunty Zehba standing in one place, she saw the resemblance between Laila and Aunty Zehba, particularly in their height. No wonder Nasreen was taller than most of the girls in their class.
“Now that you are awake, come meet my other cousins in t
he front room.” Nasreen tugged on Kate’s shirt and led her away from Aunty Zehba.
In the front room, Nanima sat dressed in a white sari in the corner of the patterned sofa next to Laila. When Kate arrived at the Banjara Hills house, Nanima had been waiting outside for her and Sameer to arrive. She was just as Kate had pictured her, a petite woman with a wise and weathered face.
Nanima reached up to touch Kate’s cheeks and pursed her lips together in a smile.
Yasmine’s brothers, Maqsood and Haroon, sat in the Victorian armchairs that matched the sofa print.
“Hi. Call me Max,” said the eldest, standing up to greet Kate.
“And me Hari,” said the other, jumping up from the chair.
To Kate, they resembled nothing of the early teenage boys in the family photos from Nasreen’s paisley-covered photo album. Max had a round face and full mustache that matched his thick brows and dark lashes. Hari was tall and lanky with large ears and a pleasant smile.
The front door swung open and a stout woman much shorter than Aunty Zehba and Laila, her jovial face flushed from heat, rushed into the room.
“You have come!” Aunty Samina shouted, flinging her gelatinous arms wide.
She embraced Laila, having to stand on her tippy toes, and the two sisters cried tears of reunion.
The only time Kate had seen Laila cry was when she cooked onion curry chicken.
“Oh, Nasreen!” Aunty Samina exclaimed as soon as she spied her niece. “You have become such a beautiful young woman! So tall and lovey as our Laila.”
“As salaam-alaikum, Aunty Samina,” Nasreen greeted warmly.
“Laila! Your daughter is absolutely stunning.”
Laila gave a modest nod confirming the beauty of her nubile daughter.
“You must be Kate,” Aunty Samina said, her eyes now on the new guest. “Oh, what lovely red hair. So wonderful that you have come to India.”
Kate smiled, liking Aunty Samina immediately.
Mehendi Tides Page 5
