The Sari Shop Widow

by Shobhan Bantwal

  She pinched his face and grinned when he grimaced predictably. “You look handsome enough to attract a truckload of chicks, baby. Just remember to keep those scuffed shoes out of sight and they’ll find you irresistible.”

  “So stop calling me baby already!” He stomped out of her room.

  “Then start dressing like a man,” she yelled after him and grinned again. Her brother was taking an interest in girls? It wasn’t all that long ago that he’d spit up all over her graduation gown and then some years later screamed till he was hoarse when she’d dropped him off on his first day at kindergarten.

  He was growing up too fast, the little stinker.

  It took Rishi a few seconds to realize he’d been dreaming. He sat up in his bed and glanced around in the darkness. The nightmare was back! And it was so damn real. He could have sworn the smoke was right there, inside the hotel room, mixed in with the stench of charred hair and skin. The hot, explosive feeling in his lungs felt like he’d swallowed the flames.

  He’d clearly been thrashing around. The sheets were badly rumpled. He was perspiring.

  The nightmare hadn’t troubled him in months. Now it was back—in all its grimness. It would never really go away. He was sure of that. It was too deeply entrenched in his subconscious to vanish. For the rest of his life he’d probably continue to wake up yelling at his father to get out of the inferno and save himself.

  Looking at the bedside clock, Rishi realized it was only a few minutes before the alarm would go off, so he shut it off and headed for the bathroom. A hot shower was generally a good way of washing away the lingering bleakness of a nightmare. A hearty English breakfast would be even better. So the minute he got out of the shower he picked up the phone and called for room service: eggs, sausage, bacon, toast with marmalade, and a pot of strong tea.

  Half an hour later, he thrust his feet into the black loafers the valet delivered to his door. They were polished to a brilliant shine. Allowing himself a final glimpse in the mirror, Rishi headed out. The cobwebs from the nightmare were almost gone. For the moment.

  Despite having done this a dozen times in the past, the nervous tremor in his stomach was still very much there. Every time a new store was about to open, the doubts set in. Just because his businesses in other countries had done well it didn’t guarantee success in the American venture. And he had a lot more vested in Silk & Sapphires. It was personal.

  He’d promised Anju he wouldn’t let her down. He couldn’t let her down.

  On his way to the store he made a brief stop at a florist shop. For Usha he picked a dozen yellow roses and for Anjali he decided to go with an exotic bouquet of mixed orchids.

  Pulling into the store’s parking lot, he decided to stop in the front for a minute. He wanted to get a good look at the building, try to see it from a customer’s point of view. Keeping the engine running, he studied the storefront. Everything looked fresh and sparkling. A bandarwal, the traditional Indian doorway decoration and welcome symbol made of colorful fabric, gold braid and tiny bells, hung above the door. Nice touch.

  Despite two straight days of wet weather, this day had fortunately dawned clear and cloudless. It was late October, but the temperature was still remarkably warm.

  His gaze moved to the display windows. The mannequins dressed by Anjali looked uncannily real. Both Anjali and he had agreed that the models, while attractive in face and figure, had to look realistic in terms of skin tones, facial expressions, and hair. The other stores had dummies with pale alabaster skin, some with glassy eyes and unnatural-looking hair that practically screamed nylon wigs. They looked like dummies. In comparison, Silk & Sapphires’ mannequins looked lifelike.

  Anjali even had models of an older couple in one of the windows, an authentic Indian grandmother and grandfather with graying hair, dressed in traditional apparel and posing with their grandchildren, a boy and a girl. Anjali wanted both genders and all age groups represented, thereby welcoming everybody to spend time and money in the store.

  Nodding in approval, he drove toward the rear parking and shut off the ignition. He noticed the Kapadias’ van was already there, and so was Anwar Ali’s.

  Mohan and Jeevan-kaka were standing by the door, chatting. Both men wore formal suits—an unusual but cheerful sight.

  Jeevan-kaka noticed him first and waved him over. “Looking good, beta.” He cast a pleased eye over the flowers. “You bought flowers for Anju?”

  “For Auntie and Anju.” He held the door open for the two men. “Shall we go in?”

  As soon as they entered the building and stepped into the café, Rishi caught a whiff of something delicious cooking. Anwar was probably making his famous shrimp and paneer samosas. The café looked inviting. Nilesh sat at one of the tables, a plate heaped with a variety of finger foods in front of him. He was happily stuffing himself. He grinned at the three men.

  Anwar was in the kitchen, working with a tray of something that looked and smelled appetizing. “Good morning, Rishi-saheb,” he called and gave a mock salute.

  Rishi returned the salute. “Everything in order here, Anwar?”

  “Yes, sir. You want to taste some chicken-asparagus spring rolls?”

  So that’s what smelled so good. “A little later, thank you. Let me go inside and see what’s happening there first.”

  “All right, sir.”

  “Nilesh, you can eat later,” Mohan said to his son. “We have to pray now. I think your mom is ready for the pooja.”

  Reluctantly Nilesh wiped his mouth with a napkin and followed them out of Neela Chai.

  The men went directly to the office, where they found the women lighting the lamps. Rishi stood on the threshold for a minute. His gaze immediately went to Anjali. She had her back to him, so she wasn’t aware of his presence until Mohan spoke. “Are we ready to say our prayers?”

  Anjali turned around and saw the four of them standing at the door. Her smile was luminous. She looked lovely in the silky outfit. The unusual color suited her honey-tinted complexion.

  “You guys look fabulous!” she said. “I can’t resist men in formal wear.”

  “Thank you, kind lady,” said Rishi. Stepping into the room, he handed her the bouquet of orchids. “To wish you luck.”

  She took them with a puzzled smile. “For me?” When he nodded, she buried her face in the blooms for an instant. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” Her eyes were misty when she lifted them to him. He wondered if he’d brought back certain memories. Had Vikram given her flowers?

  He offered the roses to her mother. “For you, Auntie.”

  Usha looked equally taken aback. “Me, too? Why, thanks so much, beta. You shouldn’t have. You’ve already done so much.”

  Rishi gave her a brief hug. “It’s a minor token of my appreciation for your hospitality. You’ve been a most gracious hostess.”

  Usha blushed very becomingly. “Don’t be silly, dear. Cooking is something we women do. Besides, we should be the ones grateful to you and Jeevan-bhai for all this.” She made a sweeping gesture with her free hand.

  He shrugged. Despite their initial misgivings about him, they’d slowly embraced him as one of their own, and for a man without much family other than his mother, stepfather, and Jeevan-kaka, it was a splendid feeling. He looked at Usha clutching the flowers. “Would you like me to find a vase for those?”

  “We have some vases near the cash register,” offered Anjali. “I’ll get them.”

  “I’ll help you,” he said and plucked the roses from Usha’s hand. This was an ideal opportunity to get Anjali alone for a minute before the day started in earnest. He followed her. “Anju.”

  She turned around for a moment. “Yeah?”

  “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he whispered. He noticed the color rising in her face.

  “Thanks.” She touched the sleeve of his Nehru jacket. His suit, too, was an East-West blend of conventional black trousers paired with a close-neck jacket that had just a bit of embellishment in gray and
silver threads around the collar. “Nice.”

  He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Your hand feels cold.”

  “Last-minute nerves,” she replied, reclaiming her hand. “But I’m grateful for your support.” She resumed walking toward the register and slipped behind it. Bending down, she retrieved two tall, clear glass vases from the cabinet below.

  He took one of them and she picked up the other. “Let’s go to the kitchen and fill them with water. Gives us a chance to sample some of Anwar’s delicacies, too. They smell scrumptious.”

  “And fattening,” Anjali chimed in.

  “I know that. I’ve been doing nothing but eat since I arrived in the U.S.”

  She gave him an appraising look. “Looks like you tucked it away in the right places.”

  “Glad you approve, ma’am.” It was funny how her compliments both pleased and touched him, especially when such remarks from other women had never had the same effect. He winked at her. “You think you could show your approval tonight?”

  A sly smile was all he got. “We’ll see about that, Shah. It all depends.”

  “On what?”

  “I prefer to keep you guessing.”

  With an exaggerated sigh he used his elbow to push open the café’s door and let her glide through. “Women!”

  He watched her chuckle all the way to the kitchen, her arms full of orchids and her hips swinging just that tiny bit to make it a subtle come-on.

  The rear door burst open and the other Kapadias walked in: Naren, Varsha, and Sejal. Every one of them was dressed to the nines. And they looked handsome. He rewarded them with a cheerful greeting.

  Nilima Sethi followed them in, also dressed in a salwar-kameez made of burgundy silk, with a tense look on her face. Anjali introduced her to everyone around.

  A few minutes later, the family lined up in front of the makeshift altar to pray. Usha invited Nilima to join them. The elders knew their Sanskrit shlokas by heart but Anjali, Nilesh, Sejal, Nilima, and Rishi stood with their eyes shut and their palms joined in silent prayer.

  This was something Rishi hadn’t done in years. The last time was some eight years ago at Jeevan-kaka’s house in India, when he and his family had a Diwali party and Rishi had spent the weekend with them. It was heartwarming to pray with family.

  When they finished the pooja, the clock read 9:46 A.M. It was almost time to open the doors. Rishi stepped onto the floor to turn on the lights while Usha went to check on the two women who were setting up the beauty salon.

  He noticed Anjali walking over to the Zanana, which was her area of expertise, and request Nilima to handle the sari department. Usha would take care of the jewelry counter and Rishi put himself in charge of the men’s section. As expected, Mohan and Jeevan took their places by the cash register and Sejal went toward the children’s area. Nilesh looked a little uncomfortable. This wasn’t his environment of choice. But he’d promised to help out, so Rishi placed him near the front door, where he could direct traffic and answer simple questions.

  Anwar and his young helper were already setting out complimentary trays of food at Neela Chai and pitchers filled with exotic fruit drinks. Anwar had even come up with the idea of making a blueberry-flavored iced tea with a hint of blue food color in keeping with the whimsical blue tea theme, much to Anjali’s delight. The rich aroma of masala chai was rising from the silver urn sitting on a small table in the café’s corner.

  Rishi took one last look around and threw open the main door.

  The new Silk & Sapphires was officially open for business.

  Chapter 25

  By late evening Anjali knew their opening day was a success. At least a dozen customers had remarked on how unique and beautiful the store was, so different from anything they’d seen in the neighborhood or elsewhere. Gratified, she’d held on to that praise and passed it along to the others in the family, and of course to Rishi, knowing they’d all worked equally hard in making this whole thing come to life. Nearly all day she’d floated on a cloud of excitement.

  No doubt they’d have their share of bounced checks, returned merchandise, and complaints about the quality of the goods or any number of things. She’d been in business long enough to learn there was no such thing as pleasing everyone.

  Nevertheless she thought of the opening as a success.

  Now that she had a chance to slow down and think about it, her feet ached from all the walking and standing she’d done in her new super-high-heeled sandals. Being a career saleswoman, she should have known better than to use footwear that hadn’t been broken in yet. But she could hardly pass up the opportunity to wear something so pretty, especially when it was a perfect match for her outfit.

  Between sales, fittings, minor alterations, and catering to window-shoppers and curiosity seekers, she hadn’t had a chance to grab a bite to eat. That, too, was something that hadn’t hit her until just now. Somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, her mother had insisted that she drink one of Anwar’s rich papaya juice concoctions, which had tasted delicious. She’d hidden the cup under the counter and sneaked an occasional sip between customers.

  She had watched Rishi working just as hard as she, maybe more. Out of the corner of her eye she’d noticed him talking to people, shaking hands, offering advice, and laughing with them. He had also sold a whole lot of merchandise.

  Rishi seemed to get along famously with customers. It probably came naturally to him, just like his other business skills. Many of the folks he’d been talking to had walked out with multiple bags filled with purchases.

  It gave her immense satisfaction to see people carrying those familiar blue and white bags displaying the store’s logo throughout the day. The sound of the cash register ringing up all those sales was even more satisfying. Her father and Jeevan-kaka had been busy at the counter.

  Even Nilesh appeared to be doing a fine job greeting people at the front door and directing them to the right place despite his earlier grousing. His youthful looks helped to complete the poster-boy image. She had smiled and waved at him once or twice when she’d caught his eye. He’d rolled his eyes at her good-naturedly. She’d also noticed he’d been eyeing every young and personable female entering the store. And there had been a steady trickle of those.

  Anjali’s guess about the Zanana concept had been right on target. The psychology of forbidden fruit never failed: make the entryway attractive and hint at some deep, dark secret behind it, and they were sure to come. Once they found out how lovely it was on the inside, with its willowy mannequins dressed in the most interesting fashions, the men were likely to buy something for the women in their lives. Sure enough, lots of men had visited the Zanana, and she had helped many of them with their purchases.

  Almost every customer had stopped for several minutes to watch the informational video she had made with interesting facts about the origin of certain types of ethnic Indian clothing, how silk was produced, and a collage of clips of the fashion shows she had put together in recent years with appropriate background music. She’d even included demonstrations on how to wear a sari the right way, the multiple ways to wear a chunni, and the various means to enhance a plain outfit with the right accessories. She’d tried to make it a mini documentary combined with entertainment.

  Customers seemed to love watching the fifteen-minute video that was set to play over and over all day. Although Anjali had had some doubts about it at first, she was glad she had introduced it after Rishi had assured her it was a refreshing and bright innovation. To her delight, it appeared to be the star attraction in the store. Many had stood to watch it more than once, then proceeded to order something they’d seen on the screen and liked.

  Sejal seemed to be the belle of the ball. Anjali had noted with satisfaction that her cousin seemed to enjoy the day’s hectic pace. Anjali had even caught her flirting with some young man with long hair and enormous brown eyes. The good thing about Sejal’s interest in the young man was that she hadn’t been gawking as much at
Rishi.

  Anjali didn’t want to feel that stab of jealousy every time she saw Sejal drooling over Rishi. It was childish to feel that way, especially when she knew Rishi thought of Sejal as just a kid with a crush on an older man. But Sejal’s fresh youthfulness often reminded Anjali of her own age—and the painful fact that she herself was used goods at best.

  Her mother was everywhere, a nervous hen tending to her chicks. But she was in her element. Playing boss was her favorite role in any case. She had plenty to keep her running. In spite of all the policing, an elderly woman had managed to smuggle in a glass of juice into the clothing area and spill it on the carpet. Between Nilesh and her mother they’d mopped it up, and Varsha-kaki had been permanently posted by the Neela Chai door as a security guard.

  Later, a child was caught hanging on the Zanana arch, tilting it dangerously, and Rishi had to bring a step stool and perform some quick repairs. “All in a day’s work, Anju. Nothing that can’t be fixed,” he’d whispered to Anjali when she’d lamented over the damage to her precious Zanana.

  Every time she’d panicked about something, it had been Rishi who’d calmed her down. A couple of times he’d stopped by just to check on her. His baritone voice had whispered to her, “Why don’t you take a break and get something to eat?” Although she didn’t need that kind of attention and didn’t expect it, it was nice to know he cared enough to do it.

  “Maybe later,” she’d replied. “At the moment, food’s the last thing on my mind.”

  He’d secretly squeezed her hand. “Promise?”

  “Promise,” she’d said. She hadn’t realized she’d missed that kind of thoughtfulness until she’d seen the look of concern on his face. “What about your leg? You’ve been on your feet for hours.”

  He’d given her a veiled smile. “Maybe you can do something about it later?”