“I finally found a place for it,” Nasreen said, following Kate’s gaze. “I think it works here. Don’t you think?”
“Yes. It is the soul of your business.”
Chapter 25
Debut
One Year Later • Chicago 1999
There was a crowd of people outside the contemporary gallery named Roots located in the west loop on Washington and Logan. The gallery’s name in black bold letters was bordered by white Edison bulbs that illuminated the block from the art supply store to the Chinese restaurant that looked out of place despite having the best lo mein noodles this side of Chicago.
It was the night of the Asian-American photojournalism exhibit, and Krishna’s portfolio, “Women from the Spice Garden,” was debuting.
Through the spring and summer semesters, Krishna worked arduously on interviewing and photographing the lives of women from a similar region in southwest India as her mother. The region surrounding Kerala was known as the land of the spices. Krishna restored and reprinted old photographs of her mother and the other women and returned in July to India to interview and photograph the women’s family members. Nishi visited Krishna on her trip and helped set up photo shoots and interviews, happy to be working on a project that captured his sister Raji’s spirit.
Nishi had brought with him a box containing a portion of Raji’s ashes that he was able to harbor away unnoticed. When Krishna returned to Chicago, she, Nasreen, and Kate sprinkled Raji’s remaining ashes under a tree in a simple park with a bench and an old swing set not far from the photography store where Raji worked.
“Raji and I met here for lunch sometimes. I took the photos of her with my new camera that I had bought to take to India,” Krishna told Nasreen and Kate. “This is the place that reminds me of her.”
Krishna printed and framed twenty-seven photographs retelling and retracing the story of her mother and three women of the same generation, from their professional careers as a nurse, a musician, a business owner, and a history professor, back to their villages on the Indian spice route. Krishna finished just ahead of the August submission deadline to the gallery exhibition.
The gallery showcased three student portfolios. Krishna’s photos made the cut. Everyone intended to be here for her photojournalism debut; even Kate’s father was attending with the woman he’d started dating recently after so many years since Kate’s mother’s death.
Kate jaywalked across Washington Street toward the theater, her scarf wound snugly around her and tucked into her caramel-colored cashmere coat. Tariq had insisted that she buy the coat, and although it was more than she wanted to spend, she adored how sleek it made her feel. The plush collar and wool scarf offered a thick barrier from the December winds sweeping across Lake Michigan. For the first time since starting graduate school, winter in Chicago didn’t feel nearly as harsh and merciless.
She admired the marquee, feeling the incandescent warmth from so many bulbs radiating all the way to the middle of the street. Kate had not expected a crowd. She glanced at her watch. She was running slightly behind.
Then she saw him.
Tariq was standing at the entrance waiting for her. He was wearing a tuxedo with a thick wool scarf wrapped around his neck. He shuffled in the cold waiting for her. He looked dashing. For a moment she remembered him, an eighteen-year-old dressed in a white satin sherwani suit, waiting in the path for her outside the Sheraton Hotel in Karachi. The night he kissed her for the first time. She smiled and hurried across the street toward him.
For as many years as they had thought about each other worlds apart, they discovered each other anew, meeting every other month and meandering the streets of New York and Chicago. Over the summer, she stayed in New York in his tiny apartment and wrote her thesis. They explored the intriguing nooks of the city and explored each other at night as they lay in each other’s arms. Making love with Tariq awakened every dream she had of him over the years and flooded her with desire.
Tariq returned to Chicago last week for her graduation. He was in the audience along with her father, Nasreen, Krishna, and colleagues from the department. Dr. Crone stood behind her on stage and lowered the red and yellow scholarly hood over her head and placed it across her breastbone, letting the hood drape down her back. The weight of it and the years of perseverance it held in its threads made her stumble backward. She placed her hand on the satin hood, breathing deeply and bracing herself. She heard her father’s cheer loud and clear from the audience as she accepted her doctorate degree.
A taxi beeped at her as she stepped onto the curb and ran to Tariq. He caught her as she fell into him, her lips pressed with his. His scent flowed over her, and he embraced her tightly and responded hungrily until she released him.
“Did you hand in your thesis?” he asked.
“Final copy. I’m done!”
“Congratulations.” He smiled at her.
“I’ve got tickets to a gallery showing,” he said, holding up two stubs. “I hear it is all the Chicago rave.”
Kate laughed. “Anyone who is anyone is here!”
“They even have the red carpet laid out,” he said as he offered Kate his arm. “Ready?”
Kate linked her arm around his and they passed through the entrance into the warmth of the gallery.
Nishi stood inside the entrance and handed Kate a brochure with a wide smile. He looked handsome in a dark sherwani coat. Kate noticed a purple pendant pinned over his heart in memory of his sister.
The gallery was crowded. Men suited up and women dressed in classic attire mingled, nibbled on hors d’oeuvres, and admired the life-sized black and white photographs that lined the white linen-colored walls.
“Kate!”
Kate turned to find Krishna, dressed in a midnight-blue satin salwar kameez and black billowing chiffon scarf, rushing toward her.
“You made it!” Krishna exclaimed happily. “Come over here,” she said, grabbing Kate’s arm and leading her to the student exhibits. “Start here and walk this way. That is how I designed it,” she explained gleefully, leaving Kate and Tariq standing in front of the large photo of sari-clad women sitting in a circle on the earthen floor sharing a laugh.
“Krishna’s work is…good,” Tariq said in awe as he studied the women’s expressions.
“Look, there is Nasreen.” Kate pointed across the way.
Nasreen was chatting with Mona, Shabana, and Sara. Nasreen seemed content, Kate noticed. Her yoga and Pilates studio was steadily building its clientele, mainly women, some looking to get into shape, lose weight, meditate, or find strength in being with other women.
“You two made it,” Nasreen said enthusiastically. “Krishna is flitting around like a butterfly. Have you seen her?”
“Yes,” Kate answered. “She explained how to view the sequence of photographs. Everything is quite inspiring.”
Suddenly, Kate felt something around her leg and heard a squeal. She grabbed Tariq’s arm for stability. Mani was pressed against her coat, enjoying the plushness as if she were an oversized teddy bear.
“Hi, Mani,” Kate said, smiling.
Mani flashed a grin, showing his new tooth.
“As-salaam-alaikum,” she greeted Laila, who was holding Sabreena’s hand. “Nice to see you.”
“Wa-alaikum-salaam,” Nasreen’s mother responded.
“Kate, your father is here, over by the cocktail bar.” Nasreen nodded toward the back of the gallery. “I met your father’s girlfriend. She is very nice.”
Without letting go of Tariq’s arm, Kate quickly walked to where her father stood, enjoying a light beer.
“Dad!” Kate grinned widely.
She was engulfed in his embrace.
Kate greeted her father’s new girlfriend, who had auburn hair like her mother’s. She was softspoken and even-tempered like an evening breeze. Kate liked her unassuming nature and the fact that her father was completely enamored.
Kate’s dad shook Tariq’s hand and patted him on the back.<
br />
“My daughter, the PhD?” Ian said proudly.
“Dad.” Kate rolled her eyes.
“Hey. Get used to it. I deserve to be a proud dad after all.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Now she is off to France on a fellowship.”
“Dad, what do you think about Krishna’s photographs?”
“Very impressive,” he said. “I think I see a little of what attracted you to India.”
Kate slipped off her coat and handed it to Tariq. She was wearing a classic black dress with lace neckline and sleeves that showed off her shapely swimming arms.
“You look beautiful and happy,” her father whispered when Tariq was out of earshot walking toward the coat check.
“I am happy,” Kate confirmed confidently.
From the west wing of the gallery, instrumental music resonated through the gallery. A woodwind quartet had started playing, and Kate heard the softened strings of a cello, violin, and viola and the poetic tune of a flute wafting. Standing tall and waving his flute with passion as he blew into the windpipe was Krishna’s father. Kate watched the ensemble play in synchronicity until Tariq reappeared at her side.
“Look, Suneel is playing the flute!” Kate exclaimed. “Krishna said he always wanted to play a gig.”
Enjoying the melody diffusing through the picture gallery, Kate and Tariq followed Krishna’s photojournalistic story. Kate stopped in front of a photo of two women walking hand-in-hand beside a reflection pond, dotted like a painting with the colors and faces of the people strolling alongside. The Taj Mahal filled the sky behind her with its pure white radiance. The music from the quartet rose to an ethereal crescendo.
Krishna’s photos transported Kate into the pandemonium of Indian street life and into the intimate earthly homes of the women whose lives she traced. Kate could hear the sounds of revving engines, incessant honking, and foreign voices irradiating from the photos and mixing with the shrill of Suneel’s flute.
“I love this black and white photo,” Kate said to Tariq. “It could be taken during wartime or peace. The message is the same.”
She admired the scene showing a young woman on the train, her hand pressed against the window. Haze from the locomotive filled the corner of the photo giving it that timeless look. Three women huddled together on the platform and reached out over the tracks waving farewell in the moments before the train pulled away.
The last photo of Krishna’s series was the picture of Raji looking passionately at the camera. The photo was the one Krishna developed in the basement darkroom, the one that captured Raji’s essence. Above the portrait, in dark bold letters, were the words, “TO RAJI, IN LASTING MEMORY.”
Krishna strolled among the guests, who clapped softly as she walked past. She had a look of relief and humble gratitude. Nasreen was holding Sabreena in her arms. The child was clapping her hands together, enamored with her new talent. Suddenly she squirmed and Nasreen put the youngster down.
“Bapa!” Sabreena squealed.
Mustafa barely caught his daughter as she barreled into his legs. He swung her up into his arms. Mustafa grinned as he approached Nasreen and took her hand. Their silhouettes were illuminated by the black and white photograph of Krishna and her mother blowing dandelions in the lawn of their simple Midwestern home. Mustafa never accepted the position in California but instead showed up in Grant Park at the designated time after their three weeks of separation. Nasreen was there too, walking around Buckingham Fountain until they were standing face-to-face. “My life is with you and our twins,” he told Nasreen.
A cameraman hunched over and angled his camera at Krishna, who stood framed by her photos.
“Wait!” she exclaimed.
Krishna motioned to Nasreen and Kate.
“I could not have done it without you two,” she said. “Friends like you are a blessing.”
“Okay, I’m ready now,” Krishna said, and the cameraman took the photo of Kate and Nasreen standing on either side of Krishna.
“I was accepted as a transfer student to NYU,” Krishna whispered once the cameraman was finished taking photos. “I will enroll in spring semester.”
“I knew you would get in,” Nasreen said.
“Congratulations!” Kate exclaimed.
“It will be amazing to live in New York.”
“Amazing and expensive,” Kate interjected.
“In New York, I will continue to tell our stories of being Indian-American.”
“Just remember us little people,” Nasreen quipped.
“This may be it for a while,” Krishna said seriously. “Us, together.”
“When do you leave for France?” Nasreen asked Kate.
“In January. I have a month of language classes and then a year of research,” Kate added.
Kate had received a fellowship to study at the Institute Pasteur in Molecular Genetics. She was going to study the disease that killed her mother to someday help design the drugs that could save someone like her mother.
“And Tariq?”
“He is coming to Europe in spring. We are going to travel in France,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “I hope I can speak a little of the language by then. That is all we planned so far,” Kate said, telling herself that it was only for a year.
“If you can survive the year apart and still be strong, then it would be a relationship worth holding onto,” Nasreen said. “You’ll know.”
“Like the three of us,” Kate said. “We have survived a lot, and here we are embarking on the new millennium with great potential!”
“Remember when we sat on the black stone bench at Mecca Masjid?” Nasreen asked.
“Yes,” Kate said, and Krishna nodded.
“And how the legend says that whoever sits will return to sit there again?”
“Yes.”
“Wherever we go, we will come back to sit together.”
Glossary of Terms
Ammi: mother
Allah: God
As-salaam-alaikum: common Muslim greeting in Urdu
Bahu: daughter-in-law
Banarasi: fine silk from the city Varanasi
Banyan: fig; national tree of the Republic of India
Baraat: bridegroom’s wedding procession
Bas: enough
Betel: leaf of a vine; consumed in paan as a stimulant
Beti: daughter
Bhaanjii: niece
Biryani: mixed rice dish
Chaachaa: uncle in Hindi
Chaachii: aunt in Hindi
Chappals: Indian handcrafted leather slippers
Chintaak: choker with precious jewels
Choli: midriff-baring blouse worn with a sari
Churidar: tightly fitting trousers
Chelo: “Let’s go” in Urdu
Dahl: lentils
Diwali: Hindu festival of lights
Dholak: drum with a leather head
Dupatta: long, multi-purpose scarf and a symbol of modesty
Eid (Eid Mubarak): festival that marks the end of Ramadan (Blessed Eid)
Feringhee: foreigner, especially one with white skin
Ganesha: Hindu deity in a human form but with head of an elephant
Garam Masala blend of Indian spices
Ghee: clarified butter
Gulab jamun: milk-solids-based sweet soaked in sugar syrup
Gujia: sweet dumpling
Henna: dye from the henna tree used as temporary body art
Howdah: carriage on the back of a camel or elephant
Jhoomar: elaborate pendant; hairpiece
Japa mala: string of prayer beads
Jinn: demon
Jutti: traditional ethnic heavily embroidered footwear
Kanphool: ornate earrings that cover the outer ear and extend down
Kameeze: loose long-sleeved top worn over a salwar
Khalajan: respectful title for eldest maternal aunt
Khara: traditional wedding dress of Hyderabadi Muslim brides
Kohl: cosmetic applied to infa
nts to strengthen the eyes
Kurta: loose shirt falling just above or somewhere below the knees
Lute: plucked string instrument
Lehengas: long, embroidered and pleated skirt
Mamujan: respectful title for eldest maternal uncle
Masoor dal: dish containing split red lentils
Mayoon: Pakistani pre-wedding, during which the bride goes into seclusion before the wedding
Mehendi: pre-wedding ceremony; reddish-brown paste applied as skin decoration during weddings
Mecca: holiest city of Islam
Mumanijan: respectful title for eldest maternal uncle’s wife
Mubarak: congratulations
Turmeric ginger plant native to South India
Naan: oven baked flatbread
Neem: native tree to India; its seeds and fruits produce neem oil
Nikah: Marriage contract in Islam
Paan: preparation combining betel leaf with areca nut; chewed for its psychoactive effects
Roti: flatbread
Ramadan: month of fasting; ninth month in the Islamic calendar
Rukhsati: time when groom and family leave together with the bride
Salaam: gesture of respect
Salwar: loose trousers gathered at the ankles and worn with kameez
Sanskrit: sacred language of Hinduism
Sari: traditional drape worn in Asia that is 5-9 yards in length
Satladas: Seven-stringed pearl necklace
Sherwani: a long coat-like garment worn over a kurta
Supari: areca nuts chewed with betel leaves
Tamarind: tree cultivated in India and produces pod-like fruit
Thawb: ankle-length Arab garment
Tikka: traditional forehead jewelry that attaches in hair with pins
Urdu: national language of Pakistan
Vindaloo: Indian curry dish
Wa-alaikum-salaam: response greeting in Urdu
Wallah: person concerned with a business
Walima: marriage banquet in an Islamic wedding
zardozi: metal embroidery
Zari: thread traditionally made of fine gold or silver
About the Author
SIOBHAN MALANY holds a PhD in chemistry from the University of Iowa and was trained in pharmacology at the University of California, San Diego. She works in the biotechnology sector and pursues creative writing. She is an accomplished grant writer and has published over forty scientific articles and articles for The San Diego Woman magazine and for the Association for Women in Science. She is an avid cyclist and enjoys kayaking, hiking, and travel. She lives with her husband and two sons in Orlando, Florida. Mehendi Tides is her first novel.
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