Louisiana Catch

by Sweta Srivastava Vikram

  Naina was shoulder-height to me, and we often joked that half her body was brains, and the other half was belly. Forever dressed in denim jeans, tank top, and a light shirt or jacket, she loved food, and food loved her back. Every time I asked her to exercise, she would say, “I’m an all-American girl, Ahana. I love my food, and I love me some beer.”

  I took the week off to spend time with Naina. We went all over the city—from kebabs in Old Delhi to ice cream in Connaught Place to papri chaat in Khan Market. Naina would first eat a bowl of the plain, crisp fried dough wafers, papri, even before the chef had blended it with boiled potatoes, tamarind and cilantro chutney, chick peas, and yoghurt. While I ate only three meals a day, Naina was a compulsive snacker. It was fun driving her to authentic foodie joints in India’s capital. She rolled down her windows at one point, “Holy fuck! Cars, buses, trucks, three-wheelers, two-wheelers, animal-driven carts and pedestrians on Delhi roads all merge into the traffic.”

  “Yup, New Delhi changes its character through the day and night. By the way, the pollution will kill you if you don’t stop inhaling fumes coming from the automobiles.”

  “Fine, Ms. Audrey Hepburn of New Delhi.” Naina rolled up the windows. But when she saw the truck drivers sipping tea and eating fried Indian flatbread and eggs at roadside restaurants, she started to crave typical Delhi food: homemade butter chicken and pudina paratha.

  Lakshmi looked at Naina as she prepared the mildly spiced chicken curry with a tomato and cream sauce and crispy flatbread with mint. “I like to cook when Naina didi visits. Ahana didi no eat. She only exercises.”

  Naina sat on the kitchen counter and spoke in broken Hindi. “You don’t know any handsome men for your Ahana didi?”

  “Sheeeh.” Lakshmi hid her face with her sari and turned red. “Naina didi, anything you say!”

  Naina smiled at me. Lakshmi was quiet, or perhaps tongue-tied. She was fascinated by Naina’s accent and free-spirited behavior. Naina said to her, “Put a proper bandage on that cut in your finger. OK? Good night.”

  Naina filled our home with happiness.

  * * *

  Naina and I were out for a long drive one evening when we got caught in traffic—three tractors were hauling fodder for mules and a bullock cart blocked their path. People were honking mercilessly. There was never a calm moment in New Delhi.

  I honked. “I am worried Rohan’s boss Michael Hedick is trying to take over the conference.” The traffic policeman blew his whistle, and suddenly we were moving. “Rohan is helping me navigate the political waters.” I pressed the brake as we reached India Gate.

  With a twinkle in her eye, Naina unbuckled her seat belt and lifted her left eyebrow. “Have you told your guy that you’re going to be visiting the States soon?”

  “Eew! Rohan is just a friend.” I took my hands off the steering wheel.

  “If you’re so mad, why does your voice sound all sparkly when you talk about him?”

  “But…” I couldn’t find any words.

  “Also, I didn’t mention his name.” Naina winked. “So, what did your friend Rohan Brady say?”

  “He is really excited to show me around.” Dogs were foraging in the rubbish at the roadside. “Still don’t know the exact dates of my US travel since I’m trying to negotiate working from the NYC office.”

  “Me likey this man.”

  “Calm down, Naina. He is a playboy.” I turned up the air conditioner.

  “Sure.” Naina elbowed me. “What about fuck face Dubois? What did he say? I can’t afford it. I am too broke. The airline can’t manage my sorrows. My truck might break down. My garden might perish. My pets won’t do well without me. Blah blah blah.” Naina made a face that she normally would when her mom asked her to eat bitter gourd when we were kids.

  I looked at her. When Naina’s nose frowned at me, I didn’t know how to respond. “Actually, he said nothing much aside from wonderful.”

  “Fucker! Calls himself your best friend.” Bringing her shoulders to her ears, Naina sighed. “You are traveling all the way from India and he couldn’t be any less excited about making plans. Rohan tells you where he lives, what he does, where he works, where he hangs out and so forth. Jay is so secretive—like he doesn’t want anything traced back to him—I don’t like that.”

  “You are being unnecessarily paranoid.” I tried to maneuver the car so I could park. I glared at the auto-rickshaw driver puttering straight down the no entry zone. No one follows rules here!

  Naina pressed her palms together and brought them to her third eye. “Has Jay ever told you anything about his personal life aside from his mom’s death?”

  “Arrey, what sort of question is that?” I hit the horn hard.

  “Do we know what’s tying him down?”

  I thought hard as I turned to look at Naina. “Don’t know.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Aside from the basic information of him moving in with his father in Brooklyn and his mom dying, he never talks about much.”

  “What does he post then?”

  I tapped the steering wheel with my index finger. “I don’t know.” I swallowed unease as I actually didn’t know. “I have cut down on my communication with him.”

  We entered Naina’s favorite coffee shop and ordered two cold coffees. Naina asked me to log into my social media accounts so she could see what Jay had posted recently. She browsed through his various profiles. “For someone who is so smart, sometimes you surprise me, Ahana.” Her pupils dilated. “You don’t think it’s odd that this guy doesn’t post a profile picture or anything about a partner or friends or family or his home or office or surroundings? For a man who is always happy to share bizarre captions like ‘When life gives you lemons, make margarita,’ or, ‘It was a $2 castaway on a discount shelf at a nursery but thanks to my green thumb, this girl is blooming,’ you honestly don’t find it strange that he is so guarded about his life?”

  “I think he’s gay. He probably just wants to be careful.” I slurped through the straw the way Naina and I would drink when we were kids.

  “People aren’t that careful anymore in the US.”

  “Stop being so suspicious.”

  “I will if you stop being over-accommodating.” Naina took a sip of her cold coffee. “From everything you have told me, Jay sounds forever irritable and aggressive, so no man or woman would want a jackass like him. But you never know.”

  “What does that have to do with Jay dating anyone?”

  She squeezed her eyes. “It matters because something is amiss.” She poked my forehead. I wiped my face. “I have no proof, but I have a feeling he is not who he makes himself out to be.”

  “C’mon.”

  “I’ve been a psychiatrist for a long time now, Ahana. We better find out what’s going on before you travel to the United States.”

  “Jay says—”

  Naina put her hand in front of my face. “What he says and what his real situation is, don’t confuse the two until you know for sure.” She took a deep breath. “You are not his mother, therapist, or girlfriend. Stop being a martyr.” She hit me gently at the back of my head as if to shake me out of my hypnotized state.

  * * *

  As soon as we entered the house, Naina shouted, “Ahana, I have a massage appointment and will drop off the cloth piece for my sexy, backless blouse at the tailor’s first thing tomorrow morning. I am hoping you would have spoken...sorry, he doesn’t come to the phone because he is in a bad place in life.” Naina paused for a few seconds. “Yeah, so chat with him and figure out what’s going on before I return home.”

  I asked Naina to be kinder.

  “I’ve seen what kindness got you. I will not allow another man to fuck around with my sister.” She started to investigate the bar.

  “But….” I tried to explain and pulled out a bottle of tequila.

  “Ya, I know.” She put her arm around my shoulder. “Jay is probably gay, and even if he isn’t, you have no desire to date him. I don’t give a shit about a
ny of that! All I care about is you and your safety.”

  “I know.” I didn’t make eye contact.

  Naina pulled away. “I am going to say something, and you won’t like it, but it’s time.”

  “What is it?” I started to fix drinks for us.

  “For some fucking reason, you carry shame about your marriage turning out the way it did.”

  I was cutting a lime, and as soon as those words left Naina’s mouth, my hands stopped above the cutting board. The knife. Dev. The past clawed its way out. I froze.

  “Dev was manipulative, and it took you a while to understand his motives. Don’t let Jay play you. Unless you deal with Jay and put an end to this stagnant chapter, I feel nothing good can happen in your life.”

  I stayed quiet.

  “Talk to me, Ahana.”

  I sat on the barstool. “How did Dev turn into someone I didn’t recognize? How did I allow myself to become so powerless in my own marriage?”

  Naina cupped my face in her palms. “You and Dev didn’t work out because he didn’t understand the meaning of love or relationships or respect. Dev didn’t respect himself or you, and he wanted you to become someone you couldn’t relate to, much like Jay. In your heart, you know what’s wrong, but you are so deeply trained, even if subconsciously, to ‘please’ these fuckers.”

  I sighed. “I have no confidence, Naina. I am terrified. I have to give a speech at the conference and must show up as myself. I need practice being honest to let go of my shame.”

  “What shame? You are a divorced woman? I don’t see the big deal.”

  I looked away. I wasn’t ready yet to share the sordidness of my dark past with Dev.

  In the morning, after Naina left, I went for a run and played with Athena on the patio. A part of me was nervous, asking Jay about his personal life. Jay had a curt, hurtful tone when he felt cornered. I kept tiring myself out physically to stay distracted. I felt wiped out from thinking about Jay, so I took a nap. When I woke up in the evening, I figured I’d check what was happening in the online world. By now it was Saturday morning in the States.

  I washed my face and came down to the family room. “Lakshmi, can I get a cup of green tea, please?”

  “I am making fresh pakodas for Naina, didi. You also eating, please?” She pleaded with me.

  “Too hot for vegetable fritters, Lakshmi. But thank you.”

  She wiped her forehead with the corner of her sari. “No point. Never eating.”

  * * *

  There was a message from Rohan.

  “Yo, Matron. I sent you a document with the list of vendors for the tea sponsorship at the conference. Can you check your LinkedIn account and see if you have any contacts in these organizations?”

  “Sure. I feel we need more women of color and immigrant speakers for a diverse range of sponsors to take interest,” I wrote to him.

  “That’s a good point. I can also look up the lists I have of women speakers from the domestic violence event we sponsored last year, and maybe we can find someone soon?”

  “Good plan, Brady.”

  There was a follow-up message.

  “Oh, how is your cousin’s stay been? Hope you have been showing her fun sights around Delhi. And not being a temple-going Matron.” He ended the note with a smiley emoticon.

  “Nah, we are going to party tonight,” I wrote back without putting much thought into my response.

  “Lock up the boys,” Rohan typed back immediately.

  “Whhaaaat?”

  “I wish I was with you guys in Delhi.”

  “Is the New Orleans club scene so bad that you want to party in Delhi?”

  “Nah, but I want to connect with my roots.”

  “Oh, so sleeping around with Indian women is how you connect with your roots?” I inserted an emoji of someone rolling their eyes in disgust.

  “Jesus!!! Why would you say that?”

  I stayed quiet.

  Rohan sounded serious, “I reached out to make sure that you are OK. It’s the week of your mother’s first death anniversary. You somehow turn most of our chats into offhanded comments about my prurient lifestyle, which is something that doesn’t exist but you have created in your head.”

  Maybe I was perpetuating the stereotype of Rohan as a jerk?

  I sent Rohan a message, “I am sorry for what I said earlier. In your words, ‘It was my bad.’”

  “It’s OK. Americanisms suit you.” Rohan forgave so easily.

  I felt guilty and called him. “I am sorry, Brady. That really was unfair of me.”

  Rohan and I talked about Naina’s visit. I told him Naina had insisted on going boating in the Yamuna River, which was massively polluted.

  “I get it. I am a Louisiana boy—still remember going fishing in one of the few protected/unpolluted bayous left in the state with my dad, when I was young. Every Sunday, Dad and I would pack sandwiches, chips, and soda and throw them in our boat and explore Louisiana’s roots. From dark swamps thick with cypress trees to sun-kissed marshes playing host to herons and egrets, it is a watery but photogenic wonderland.”

  Rohan didn’t mention his mother.

  * * *

  I tied my hair into a ponytail and focused on what I was going to say to Jay. I sat in the patio and took a deep breath.

  “Hi!”

  “Hello, my best buddy,” Jay replied right away. “I have missed you.”

  “Are you seeing someone?” I couldn’t mince my words.

  Jay didn’t write back.

  I waited for five minutes. “Did I lose you?”

  “Don’t be so insecure. You will never lose me.” He ended his reply with a wink. He didn’t ask about my reduced communications. He didn’t ask how I was coping with Mumma’s death anniversary. He had nothing to say about Naina’s visit.

  “Eew!”

  “What’s so disgusting about me?”

  “I didn’t say you were disgusting, but the idea of you flirting with a friend helping you through a bad patch is repulsive.”

  There was an awkward silence in our communication. Out of nowhere, Jay gave me unsolicited advice about giving out friendship bands knitted by him to all attendees at the conference. This man just changed the topic. It made me wonder whether Jay had ever had a serious job outside of high school. Leaders of the world, women in powerful positions, survivors of violence, this was our audience. And he thought gifts that teenagers exchanged with each other would work for adults?

  I rolled me eyes but didn’t respond.

  After about ten minutes, Jay wrote again. “OK. Fine. Yes, I am seeing someone.”

  “Are you guys serious?”

  “It’s on and off.”

  “Aaah.”

  I closed my laptop and put my phone aside. Naina was right. There was more to Jay than he let on. Why had he never brought up his relationship status? Was Jay worried that I would judge him for being gay? Because I was an Indian woman from a different culture and a Third World country? Did he think I would not understand or have an opinion one way or another?

  I walked to the patio and turned on the desert cooler with the blast hitting my face. Right then, Chutney walked in with some salted chickpeas in a bowl.

  “Want some, beta?”

  I waved my hands. “No, thank you.”

  “You are missing out.” She sat in the chair.

  “Haha, I’ll live.”

  I picked up my phone. There was a message from both Rohan and Jay. I figured I’d see and answer them in the order I had received the messages.

  “Paagal.” I smiled and rolled my eyes.

  “You look happy. Some boy?” The one thing that excited Chutney the most, especially after Dev and my marriage collapsed, was the prospect of me dating.

  “Haha, not a boy; a mad man.”

  I showed her Rohan’s picture. He was grinning in the photograph. His face was beaming and covered with dry colors. The caption read, “5K Color Run, or as I like to call it, penalty for traveling to N
ew Jersey.”

  “Such a handsome boy!” Chutney winked at me.

  “Ah, he’s OK.”

  “What OK? Blue eyes. Indian name. Head full of hair. And the dimple on his chin. What is not good-looking about him?”

  “Want to go out with him, Chutney?” I put my hands on my hips.

  I looked at Rohan’s pictures, again—the ones he had emailed me from his run. Chutney was right; he was good-looking. In that photo, he was surrounded by a group of men and women. I saw a few of the T-shirts read, “Play with colors. Fight cancer.”

  “Scroll down. There is another picture.” Chutney excitedly pointed at my phone.

  “All right. All right. Why are you so eager?” I sat on the swing.

  “Because this friend of yours looks happy and brings a smile to your face.” She walked toward the kitchen.

  I smiled.

  There was a long email from Jay. I was at first shocked and then teary-eyed as I scrolled through the dense, insipid note he had written.

  What stood out to me was, “Because I don’t share my relationship status with you, you walk out on our conversation. Despicable. FINE. I am in a strange space in my relationship with her. And why do you care? It’s not like you and I are dating, Ahana. We are barely friends. I don’t need to inform you or seek your permission about whom I can date. You need to understand that friends need boundaries and you don’t have any. I am not interested in any romantic entanglements. You have upset me so much. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! Why do you test my patience? We have a good, unique friendship. I am your support. Why did you have to make it personal? WHY?? I won’t be by my phone so don’t bother messaging me.”

  I was so overcome by shock that I typed up, without thinking, a response to Jay’s accusatory email.

  Lakshmi walked into the patio with my green tea. She shouted upon seeing me, “Chutney madam, Ahana didi crying. Coming quickly.”

  Chutney ran back to the patio. “Lakshmi, get a glass of water for Ahana.”

  “What’s wrong?” She hugged me.

  I didn’t say a word. I had never felt so insulted. Chutney gave me a tissue. I wasn’t sure whether it was pain, hurt, embarrassment, or anger I blew into the tissue.