Mehendi Tides

by Siobhan Malany

  “Says I won a scholarship to make a photo documentary for the category entitled ‘Voices of Asian Immigrant Women.’ What is this?” Krishna looked up, confused.

  “Did you submit something?” Nasreen asked.

  “No.”

  Krishna scanned the next page of the letter and continued reading aloud.

  ‘“Student portfolios will undergo a panel review, and selected collections will debut at a gallery in the Chicago arts district in fall next year.’ This must be a mistake.”

  “How can it be a mistake?” Kate questioned.

  “I don’t know. Raji developed the black and white photos of India, and she reprinted the photos of my mother that I made into the booklets that I gave my relatives at Diwali. She kept pushing me to apply. I told her I wasn’t ready to exhibit. We had a fight about it, actually. Then, in her apartment, you two were there. She had the application. I said I would think about it.”

  Suddenly, Krishna dropped the papers at her side. Her mouth hung open in shock.

  “What?” Nasreen asked.

  “Raji had your photos,” Kate realized.

  “It doesn’t make sense. She couldn’t have just submitted on my behalf,” Krishna debated. “Raji would have needed my signature and information.”

  “Did she forge your signature?” Nasreen asked, intrigued.

  Krishna flipped to the last page of the letter and found the signature line. She looked at her father, astonished.

  “Yes, I signed it,” Suneel confessed.

  The young women turned their full attention to Suneel, awestruck.

  “Raji asked me to fill it out for you. I didn’t want to at first, but she kept coming to the house. She was very persistent.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she thought you had a good chance, I suppose.”

  “No. Why did you sign it, Dad? You didn’t want me to go into the arts!” Krishna snapped. “You and mom wanted me to get an MD and be a doctor and get married.”

  Krishna realized she was yelling. She paused and saw the pain in her father’s eyes.

  “I never said I didn’t want you to pursue a career in the arts,” Suneel said calmly.

  “I want you to be happy, beti. That is all I ever wanted, for you to pursue your dreams in this country,” he said with resolution. “I know she was hard on you. I know her expectations were different from yours but…”

  Large tears filled Krishna’s eyes.

  “I lost my wife, and I will not lose my daughter!”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Krishna said, crying.

  “What is there to say, beti?

  “Raji left you a gift, Krishna,” Kate said.

  Suneel reached up to grab his daughter’s shoulder. For more than a year, he had huddled in the shadows of being a widower. Now, in the dim light of a new moon, his expression was hardened, resolved.

  “Tell your story, beti.”

  Chapter 24

  Souls

  Chicago 1998

  Kate hurried out the double doors of the science building and braced against the north December wind that caught the door as she exited. She pulled her scarf up over her chin and jumped two steps at a time down the front steps and onto the footpath. The lawn was spotted with fresh snow and sparkled in the sunlight.

  She hurried along the path and glanced at her watch. It was a quarter to two on Saturday. If she missed the bus, she would have to wait an hour in the cold or go back to the lab.

  Nasreen had called and requested she meet her tomorrow in Pepperwood Grove but wouldn’t say anything else.

  “It’s a surprise,” she told Kate over the phone.

  She was curious to know what Nasreen was up to.

  Suddenly Kate noticed a man in a black double-breasted trench coat, gray hat and scarf, and nice shoes standing on the path in front of her. He was looking down at a piece of paper, turning it in various orientations.

  “Can I help you find something?” Kate asked.

  He turned around and looked up.

  “I think I found it,” the man said.

  “Tariq?”

  He smiled.

  “I went to your apartment and your roommate said I would find you in the Basic Science Building. It has taken me awhile to figure out what that building is, but I presume it’s this concrete block.” He motioned with his hand.

  Kate laughed, releasing her breath.

  “What are you doing here, Tariq?” she asked.

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said, bewildered by the fact he was standing before her.

  “You’re cold,” he replied. “Can we go somewhere for tea?”

  “Across the quad, there is a place,” she answered cautiously, adjusting her scarf.

  Kate glanced at him as they walked.

  “You flew here from New York?”

  “Yes.”

  “To see me?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed.

  She brushed her hair from her face with a mitten-clad hand and quickened her step. They crossed the street and walked toward the entrance to the Aero Club bar and grill.

  The Aero Club was sparsely occupied and smelled of fried food but was warm.

  “Do you often work on Saturday?” Tariq asked as he removed his thick coat and hung it on the hook at the side of the booth.

  Kate slid across the booth still wearing her ski jacket.

  “Yes. I am trying to finish my thesis. You flew here to see me?” she questioned again, trying to make sense of his sudden appearance.

  “Nasreen called me,” he sighed. “She told me everything. The letters. Not sending them.”

  “I got upset at her about that,” Kate said. “She felt guilty.”

  “I am not thinking about the letters, Kate. I never forgot about you. I always wondered about us.”

  “Really?” she asked, intrigued.

  “Yes.”

  “You wrote your number on the napkin, and I wanted to call,” she began.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because you’re engaged,” she accused.

  “No. I’m not.”

  “You talked about the woman you are arranged to marry,” she said, not letting her guard down. “You mentioned her when we met for breakfast last spring. You met her. She is nice and beautiful, you said.”

  “Indian mothers arrange their son’s marriage from the time they are eighteen. When have I listened to my mother?”

  She smirked. “I should have known.”

  He looked at her with a steady gaze.

  “Kate,” he said in a voice that made her heart pound. “I am here to see about us. If there is an ‘us’ after all. You are very determined and courageous. You go after what you want. I don’t want to hold you back.”

  “Hold me back?” she said, astonished. “You are the uninhibited one, free to roam the world.”

  “I always come home.”

  “You said that before,” Kate responded, remembering their time in the café.

  “It’s true.”

  “I don’t know what to say. It is amazing you are here sitting across from me. But how does this work? Aren’t you returning to India after New York? Your life is there or wherever you end up traveling. I live here,” she stated rationally.

  “I’m here. I don’t know where this is going. But I know I am happy here.”

  TARIQ DROPPED KATE off at her apartment.

  “I am staying at Sameer’s through tomorrow, then going back to New York,” he said as Kate opened the car door.

  She looked back at him.

  “I have been wanting to see inside the Bahá’í House,” he continued. “I will be there tomorrow morning…at ten. Will you meet me?”

  She lingered for a moment then gave him a half-smile and got out of the car. After looking back, she let herself into her apartment complex and went inside.

  That night, she listened to the subtle sound of new snow falling against the gutters. At
her bedside, she stared at the jewelry box with Tariq’s note to her inside.

  THE BAHÁ’Í HOUSE of Worship appeared as an ice crystal palace against the snowy landscape with its lace dome and intricate columns. In the summers, Kate biked past the white beauty situated peacefully on a hill located just north of campus but had never come inside.

  The building was inviting with its perfect symmetry of nine dome sections, nine fountains in the garden, and nine pillars, each harmoniously inscribed with symbols of each of nine religions.

  The inside was intimate and simple, a place for reflection. Kate walked under an alcove and studied the writings. She moved out of the path of a small girl of Chinese descent who ran ahead of her mother and into the auditorium.

  The auditorium hummed with low voices in prayer. A man she thought might have been Tariq but wasn’t looked up at the ceiling deep in thought. A Hispanic family huddled together, their heads bowed, and a group of co-ed friends whispered to each other enjoying the escape.

  Tariq wasn’t there.

  Kate took a seat near the back and listened to the whispers drift past her ears. Her eyes scanned the tall columns. Finally, she stood and walked out of the auditorium. She stopped. In the foyer, his back to her, stood Tariq. He was looking up. The morning light filtered through the dome and rained down on him. She followed his gaze. In the center of the ceiling, she could see the Arabic inscription.

  “What does it mean?” she asked.

  Tariq spun around. His blue-gray eyes danced as he realized she was there.

  “O Thou Glory of Glories,” he answered in a low voice.

  “Thanks for showing me this place,” she said, stepping toward him. “I’ve never been inside.”

  “There is lots to discover,” he said.

  “I’m not predictable.”

  “Thank Allah for that,” he said, laughing. “And you’re not mysterious either. You’re independent and beautiful.”

  She extended her arm and he pulled her toward him.

  Kate rested her head on his chest softly.

  A “FOR LEASE” sign hung in the dark window at 725 Lynn Street. The address Nasreen had given Kate appeared to be an empty office building in the business district in downtown Pepperwood Grove.

  The awning was faded and needed replacement. The door had wood splinters showing through the cracks in the chipped white paint, and the windows cried for a good washing. Had she remembered the number correctly?

  She placed her gloved hands against the window and peered inside, but a curtain was drawn across the window. Her breath vaporized against the cold exterior.

  “Kate!”

  Hearing her name, Kate looked down the block. She saw Nasreen pushing the twins, swaddled in the double stroller. She walked at a pace past the dry cleaners, ice cream shop, and deli to where Kate stood, fidgeting in the cold.

  “You look…happy,” Nasreen said, catching her breath in the frigid air.

  Kate looked down and waved at the twins in the stroller. Mani’s large brown eyes were the only visible part of him under his blue hat. His nose and chin were bundled with a matching scarf. Sabreena was stuffed in a fluffy yellow snowsuit. She squirmed in her seat and pulled at the tassel of her hood.

  “I saw Tariq,” she said.

  Nasreen’s face lit up with surprise. “He’s here?”

  “We have a date tonight.” Kate grinned.

  Nasreen gave her a look of relief and joy. There was nothing for her to say.

  “There’s Krishna.” Nasreen waved to Krishna as she approached from the other direction.

  “Hi,” Krishna greeted. “It’s always so cold in Chicago,” she complained. “Here, Nasreen, I found these when I went through Raji’s things in the box.” Krishna pulled out two hardback children’s books from her satchel. “Raji wrote Sabreena’s name in this one and Mani’s in this one along with a cute note. I’m sure she meant to wrap them.”

  The twins squealed as they reached for the colorful books.

  Nasreen laughed. “Raji left us each something. Do you realize that? Amazing.”

  “Speaking of which,” Kate added, “how is the documentary coming along?”

  Krishna was back in the photography program at Columbia College full time and had accepted the scholarship to produce her photo documentary.

  “It’s a little challenging, a good challenge,” she said. “I am meeting my deadlines. I will be doing some traveling around the US later this month to photograph and interview female immigrants from India.”

  “That’s awesome,” Kate said with enthusiasm.

  “Okay,” Krishna said shivering. “Nasreen, you brought us here. Now, what is this place?” She pointed to the “For Lease” sign.

  “This…” Nasreen presented, “is mine.”

  Krishna’s eyes grew wide.

  “Really? You bought this?”

  “Yes,” Nasreen confirmed. “I am officially a business owner of a yoga and Pilates studio.” She smiled proudly.

  “It’s got great potential,” Kate said.

  “Needs a little TLC,” Nasreen added, shrugging.

  “But it’s yours.”

  “That it is! Want to look inside?”

  “Definitely!” Krishna exclaimed, walking toward the door, eager to get out of the brutal Chicago wind.

  Nasreen turned the key in the rusty lock and wiggled it back and forth until it gave and the door swung open. She plopped the keys on the front desk.

  The space smelled like adhesive and fresh paint.

  “Over there is the group co-ed exercise room. And on this side is a smaller room for women’s-only yoga and Pilates.”

  Kate peered into the room.

  “A yoga and Pilates studio, huh?” Krishna pondered, looking around the room imagining the finished product. “You did it!”

  “I want to make it more than a studio—a place where women come to commensurate and be healthy,” Nasreen stated with resolution. “There will be a meditation room, and I am bringing in yoga and Pilates instructors and nutritionists,” she explained.

  Nasreen led the girls to a back room and switched on the light. The room was painted yellow, and in the middle was a circular rug with pictures of building blocks and a table and chair for crafts and coloring. A few toys were scattered around the edge of the rug.

  “This will be my childcare room,” she said proudly. “Moms won’t have an excuse not to get out for physical and mental therapy! I can also bring Mani and Sabreena to work with me.”

  Both Mani and Sabreena had enough of being confined in their winter attire and squirmed in the stroller and reached out for the bright-colored objects. Nasreen unstrapped both of them, stripped off the layers of clothing, and set them free to play. The twins tumbled toward the toys, squealing happily.

  Kate watched Mani run to the table and grab the crayons, and Sabreena picked up the blocks. Nasreen had found the solution to being a business owner and mother.

  “I’m proud of you,” Krishna said. “How did you pull it off?”

  “Mustafa and I sold some investments we made shortly after we got married,” she said. “My parents kicked in a loan as well.”

  Kate sat down on one of the green circular ottomans placed around the perimeter of the room. Krishna followed and sat on a red cushion, and Nasreen sighed before plunging down into a blue beanbag.

  “Mustafa is thinking of taking a position in California with the new firm,” Nasreen announced.

  “What?” Krishna and Kate said in shocked unison.

  “Did he ask you to go with him?” Kate asked.

  Nasreen shook her head.

  “I don’t understand,” Krishna said, visibly upset. “I thought you were in counseling and working through everything.”

  “We are. I have told him everything. I know I shut him out all these years. I buried my feelings about the rape. I was afraid. I married Mustafa in part to hide behind the marriage as if the traumatic event would dissolve away after we were married.
When I couldn’t get pregnant, the shame and anger turned into resentment toward Mustafa.”

  “Isn’t the counseling helping get that all out and talk through it?” Kate asked.

  “The question is, where do we go from here, and do we go together?”

  “How do you answer the question?” Krishna asked.

  “Mustafa has to decide what he wants to do, and I have to figure a few things out on my own too. I’m no longer interested in law school but I am thinking to get my MBA. Mustafa and I are not seeing or speaking to each other for three full weeks, and then we will meet in Grant Park at a certain time if we want to continue together.”

  “And if only one of you or neither of you shows up?” Krishna asked, knowing the answer.

  “Then it’s over.”

  Nasreen watched the twins playing.

  “I told my parents that Mustafa is thinking of going to California,” Nasreen continued. “My mom cried all week. She worries about me being alone. How can I be alone? I have twin toddlers! I am too exhausted to feel alone.” She laughed.

  Nasreen rose up from her beanbag seat. “There is still more to see,” she announced.

  They left Mani busy pushing a dump truck across the letters on the rug and Sabreena stacking blocks and walked into the adjoining room.

  “This is my favorite room over here,” Nasreen said.

  She flicked on a lamp with four colored lights that hung down in an umbrella arrangement. The centerpiece of the room was a beautiful medallion motif oriental rug. The lights from the umbrella lamp created a relaxed ambience.

  Nasreen removed her shoes, left them at the doorway, and walked to the middle of the rug. She dug her toes into the plushness and spread her arms in a yoga pose. Oversized orange and red cushions still in their wrappings were stacked in the corner.

  “This is the meditation-slash-stretching room,” Nasreen said, stretching her arms out even wider to showcase the space.

  Krishna joined Nasreen on the rug, linking her arm with Nasreen’s.

  “A meditation room is important for the soul,” Krishna said.

  Kate noticed the vase then, in the opposite corner from the wrapped cushions. It was Nanima’s vase with its fluted top and etched golden half-moon carvings.