Naina walked in right at that moment with her wedding shopping bags in her hands. “Guess who is back?” She couldn’t see my face.
“Naina.” Chutney pointed at me.
“I am going to kill that son of a bitch.” Naina dumped all her shopping bags on the ground. “Ahana, give me your phone.” Naina widened her eyes. “Now.”
I didn’t move.
“Will someone tell me what’s happened?” Chutney persisted.
“I am about to find out.” Naina started to pace up and down as she read Jay’s messages.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” Chutney gave me a kiss on my forehead.
Naina wiped my tears as she ran her hands over mine. “Is he off his meds? Piece of shit! I hope you didn’t write back, Ahana.”
I couldn’t look Naina in the eye.
“What did you do, Ahana?”
I went to my sent folder and showed Naina what I had written, “I thought you were gay.”
Suddenly, Naina burst into laughter. “I am still fucking mad at him, but you are adorable. That was the best response, ever!”
Naina kneeled so that her arms were on my legs. “Ahana, I love you. But you have got to start valuing yourself. Jay is micromanaging your emotions. He criticizes your beliefs and opinions. He knows the quick and easy way to put you down, hurt you, and insult your intelligence.”
I looked at Naina with pleading eyes. I couldn’t believe Jay would deliberately hurt me. I had done so much for him.
“Ahana, don’t make me say something we’ll both regret. How can you not see that Jay changes the subject to evade accountability? He tests your boundaries.”
I got up quietly and saw another message from Jay, “Awww, honey. What made you think I am gay? I am sorry you got confused and made me upset.”
I didn’t respond. That was the first time I realized that I had let someone toxic into my life again. My sheltered upbringing had, once again, left me vulnerable and eager-to-please. The phone continued to ping, but I ignored it. Naina snatched the phone. She read the new messages from Jay—ones even I hadn’t seen—and, finally made a forward flicking gesture with her chin. I gathered the willpower to turn off the phone and put it away. It made me extremely uncomfortable.
That night at the party, Naina stayed with me throughout. My phone was turned off and in Naina’s purse. On the way back home, we picked up Chutney. She sat up front next to the driver and complained about the smog-filled skies of New Delhi—Mumma would have probably done the same thing. Naina asked me to turn on my mobile. “Let’s see what the douchebag has to say.”
She peered over my shoulder and read Jay’s messages. With her hand on her forehead, she screamed, “He doesn’t apologize for being a jerk. He blames you for making him upset. He deflects responsibility. He deliberately misrepresents your thoughts and feelings to the point of absurdity. I am going to squeeze his testicles so hard until his eyes pop out!”
Naina breathed hard. “Jay is a malignant narcissist. You need to break off this friendship, Ahana.”
I started to sweat and feel queasy. I normally never get carsick. But I asked Baburao to pull over so I could puke on the side of the road. Chutney got out of the car and offered me a bottle of water while Naina held my hair. Chutney offered me tissues. “Naina is right, beta. Stay away from Jay.”
I blew air out of my mouth and drew my arms above my head as soon as I sat in the car.
“I bet he’ll come back with gaslighting.” Naina shook her foot.
Both Chutney and I gave Naina a puzzled look at the same time.
“Meaning, he will try to erode your sense of reality. Jay will probably say things like ‘That didn’t happen,’ ‘You imagined it,’ and ‘Are you crazy?’” Naina sighed loudly. “Or he’ll plead and come up with a sob story. I know his type.” She looked out the window as Baburao started to drive. “This fucking therapy group; I wish I could ask you to quit, Ahana. Because, for better or worse, he comes with the group. But I also know it helps you.”
There was a ping.
I hated that Jay could tell from my settings whether I had read his messages.
Naina took the phone from my hands and started to read aloud. “C’mon, babe. You are imagining things and getting all riled up. Don’t be crazy! I didn’t tell you about the relationship because it almost doesn’t exist any longer. After over seven years together, the bitch walked out, saying we weren’t compatible. It’s that aspect of my life that I don’t like to mention because it reminds me what a failure I am. But you are my best friend and I feel this is a safe space for me to be vulnerable.”
The email went on, but Naina stopped to read it. She looked at me. “Fucker still hasn’t admitted whether he was married or not and he still defines it as ‘on and off.’”
* * *
When we got home that night, I logged onto my therapy group. I wanted to tell someone, I am so confused about why I let Jay into my life and refuse to cut him out. When I didn’t engage with Jay, he wrote me another message. “You have a pattern, Ahana. No one can tell you anything that you don’t like. You turn around and insinuate they hurt you. You walk away from them.”
That was my first real realization that Jay sounded caustic, just like Dev. It was exhausting, even thinking about the two men.
- 11 -
We all tried to fill the spaces between silence after Naina left for the United States. She stood by me for Mumma’s first death anniversary rituals, and she stayed until I had a lot more clarity about Jay.
Jay had missed checking-in on me on Mumma’s first death anniversary, despite my conversation with others on the therapy board about how hard the day was for me. Naina was right; Jay was self-involved and cared for no one. He never wanted to know anything about my life or work. He chose when he would walk away from conversations. It was almost comical how randomly he was offended. I was angry at Mumma for letting me grow up so shielded that I literally had no defenses against the world except a rigid, laughable modesty.
In the summer of 2014, we ran an artwork competition for the T-shirts we were going to give away to conference attendees. I happened to mention this on our chat therapy board. “Babe, maybe you can take my work,” Jay had messaged me privately.
“I didn’t know you painted.”
“Our friendship has changed, Ahana. You no longer take any interest in what I can do. I miss us.”
There we go again! “Jay, the competition is open to anyone above the age of eighteen. You should definitely consider submitting your work.”
Jay sent his artwork—it was a moustache. A long moustache curling up at each end. The left tip he had painted hers and the right tip of the moustache had his painted on it.
“Babe, what do you think of my artwork? The his and hers stands for equality.”
“It reminded me of a Roald Dahl character.” I couldn’t think of anything better to say. I had seen signs like these outside restrooms in Mexico.
We wanted an artwork that would speak of women, safety, and protection without the need to have the name No Excuse. We wanted the severity of violence against women highlighted. Understandably, the team didn’t pick Jay’s ridiculous submission. His competitors had sent in artwork focusing on women’s empowerment, VAW, equal pay, and gender equality. We selected the logo of a woman, a caricature, saying NO to violence against women by extending her right arm, with her palm facing forward. It was red in color, as red demands attention, and makes us feel a variety of feelings tied to primitive needs.
Jay got upset when he received the formal rejection email. “I thought you were my friend and you would help me with my business.”
“I am your friend, and that’s why I told you that we were holding a competition. The final selection, it’s not up to me, Jay.”
Predictably, he didn’t write back. His social media update read, “One of the worst days of my life.”
Sore loser! It made me respect him even less.
* * *
Betwee
n preparing for the conference and Naina’s wedding, and coordinating travel dates with all the relatives, I had very little time to agonize over Jay. I couldn’t force him to respect me, but I did make a choice not to be disrespected.
I was buying laddoos from Mumma’s favorite sweet shop for Rohan when he called on Skype video. “I can’t believe you will be in NOLA while I am away in Los Angeles. There are so many places I would have taken you to. Crappy planning, Matron.” He made a sad face.
“I am sorry—the dates weren’t under my control. I do want to taste Sazeracs with you.” I paid for the laddoos and walked out of the store.
“Really?”
“Of course! What are they made from?” I sat in the car and asked Baburao to head toward the pickle store. Masi loved mango pickle from a shop in Old Delhi.
“Sazerac is a rye whiskey based drink with Herbsaint, bitters, lemon juice, and a sugar cube. It’s pinkish brown because the bitters redden the bourbon. Truly original Sazeracs are made with rye whiskey, though. The Herbsaint adds a very distinct licorice flavor like absinthe, and the lemon makes it tart. If you use bourbon, then it is sweeter so even more complex.”
“Can you use wheat bourbon instead?”
“And you call me an alcoholic?” Rohan grinned.
“Shut up, ya.”
“Nah, no self-respecting Southerner would bastardize their Sazerac with an overly sweet wheat-based bourbon.” He smiled.
“Aaah.”
“How do you know so much about whiskeys?”
“My mom was a whiskey connoisseur.”
* * *
In the third week of September, over three months after Naina had left for the United States, it was time for me to travel westward, and divide my stay between New Orleans and New York.
I was going to fly into New Orleans by the end of September, and spend a few days with Naina’s parents, then head over to New York in early October to work with Rohan on the conference. Eventually, I’d fly back to NOLA in November 2014 for the conference and Naina’s wedding.
Naina had screamed with joy. “Josh and I can’t wait to show you around the Big Apple. Love you. Can’t believe you are going to stay with me in NYC! Yay!”
Jay knew I was going to be in NOLA-NYC-NOLA. But since he had never expressed any interest in meeting, at the last minute I decided not to tell him the dates of my stay or travel. I was quite exhausted from the one-sided friendship and his temper tantrums.
* * *
I flew into New Orleans on a Tuesday. Naina often teased me, “Yo, you’re the only woman I know who doesn’t wear sweatpants on fourteen-hour flights. How can you wear boots and fitted skirts on a trans-Atlantic journey?”
I poked her dimples, “Just the way you can wear track pants with ‘glamor’ embroidered across your buttocks.”
It felt good, thinking about Naina, as I checked in my luggage. I was at Terminal 3 of the Indira Gandhi International airport in New Delhi, purchasing Ayurvedic foot lotion for Masi, when someone touched my shoulders. I turned around. Clad in a red shirt and black designer jeans, my past had caught up with me.
“You are leaving India now? Our marriage wasn’t enough?”
I took a few steps back. How did Dev know to find me here?
He walked closer. I could smell his Giorgio Armani Eau De Toilette. “You didn’t want to pose for me. But you post pictures on social media for the world to see. You have male friends who comment on everything you post and address you as ‘babe.’” He added air quotes.
I held my bag to my chest. Dev has been stalking me online!
Dev didn’t raise his voice; others in the store couldn’t tell I was being harassed. “You are the biggest hypocrite.” He walked an inch or two closer. “You like all the male attention, but you hid inside your Mumma’s sari to keep up the pretense of being a good girl. Your Mumma is the reason you made up those accusations about rape.”
Something inside of me shifted; I pushed him. “Don’t you dare!” I didn’t care if I was making a scene. “You hurt me.” I prodded his chest. “Thank God for my mother because I was able to walk away from a monster like you!” The tears blurred my vision. A few store clerks asked whether I was OK. Dev looked stunned. “This isn’t over, Ahana.”
“No, it is over. Stay away from me.” For the first time, I wagged my index finger at him. He stepped back. Whether my words would stop Dev or not, it didn’t matter in the moment. I dared to set boundaries. I dared to speak for myself. I boarded the flight with my head held high.
The airplane ride felt longer than usual. This was my first trip to NOLA without Mumma. This was the first time I was going to see Masi after Mumma’s funeral. I was cold, and I could barely keep anything down during the flight. I tried to meditate, and then read a book. But my mind kept going to memories of my trips to NOLA with my family. Mumma, the bravest woman I knew, feared flying. She would always sit in the middle, Dad toward the aisle, and me in the window seat. She would press both our palms tightly both before and after takeoff. Even single malts and fine French red wines couldn’t calm her nerves.
I looked out the airplane window and realized how much had changed in my life in the past year and a half. Divorced Dev. Moved in with my parents. Lost Mumma. Spearheaded the conference. Got introduced to Jay and Rohan.
I looked for Mumma’s face amid the stars. For the first time in my life, I openly admitted to myself that I was slightly upset with her for enabling me. I wish you had taught me to protect myself instead of overprotecting me, Mumma. If only you had allowed me to stand up for myself instead of becoming my voice.
* * *
Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport felt so strange without Mumma. I felt a sudden emptiness inside of me. I almost thought of turning around and going back to India, when I suddenly saw a fellow traveler’s T-shirt with the quote, “What cannot be endured must be cured.” I sat on a chair with my bags to my side, and palms cupping my face. What and who would I return to in Delhi? Yes, there was Dad, Chutney, Athena, and a few of my friends. But that was about it. The universe was giving me a fresh start. I had to learn to move on.
Masi and Mausa picked me up at the airport. “You look just like your mother, beta.” Masi cupped my face in her palms. Her eyes looked empty. I hugged her tightly. Masi pulled out a cigarette or two. We drove home in quietude.
Masi had cooked my favorite kebabs and chicken biryani with raita, a cucumber yogurt salad garnished with crushed mint. “After a long flight, Indian food works best.” She patted my palm.
“Good thing you aren’t a doctor.” Mausa nudged Masi.
We all smiled.
Masi and I sat late into the night, talking. “My mother was a health nut but a terrible cook.” Masi and I laughed, thinking about Mumma frying samosas and cringing at the smell of oil. “I get my lack of culinary skills from Mumma, Masi.” I leaned into her.
She massaged my head with hot oil, and asked about Dad. I told her how aloof he had become. “I am going to visit him after Naina’s wedding, and give an earful. Problem is, after your Mumma, there is no one around to scold your dad. You pamper him too much.” Masi kissed my forehead. Mumma, Masi, Chutney, and Naina—they were all just outspoken women. I was the only one who was happier when not using words.
I spent the next few days with Masi. She lived in the Garden District, which was an easy cab ride to downtown New Orleans as well as the convention center. The weather was warm, and passion flower and cosmos flower were in bloom. I strolled through Jackson Square in my summer dress. Two children ran around with airplane arms, just like Naina and I used to.
I was happy to take time off from the conference, therapy group, and chats with Rohan and Jay. Masi met up with me for lunch every day. The bank she worked for was in downtown New Orleans. She took me to Mumma’s favorite restaurants. I binged on jambalaya, blackened catfish, and crawfish étouffée. We visited Cafe Du Monde and shared a plate of beignets along with cafe au lait. Mausa, being the leading cardiologis
t in New Orleans, was able to join us only for drinks and dinner in the evening. He bought Mumma’s favorite whiskey and raised a toast to her. He had mapped out the best running trails close to their home for my morning runs. In Delhi, because of pollution, I could almost never go for morning runs. “Going out earlier, before the smog settles, could be injurious to your health,” Mumma had warned me.
“How do you know these routes, Mausa?”
He smiled. “These are my secret routes for running away from your Masi when she asks me to unload the dishwasher.” Masi threw a cushion at him. Naina got her sense of humor from her father.
On my fourth day in NOLA, Masi got stuck at work; we canceled our lunch plans. I changed into pajamas and got comfortable in the family room and got much needed rest. Running into Dev had unraveled raw wounds, and I hadn’t had any time to process our altercation.
I called up Ms. Roy to inform her I had arrived. She said, “On the day you caught your flight to America, Dev showed up at work and demanded to see you.” Apparently, our team’s newly hired assistant got nervous and blurted out my plans—I knew how Dev worked his charm and intimidation. And Dev knew I only flew Virgin Atlantic or Emirates. There were no Virgin Atlantic flights to NOLA from New Delhi that night and only one Emirates flight that evening. I sighed with relief; it meant Dev and Jay weren’t in contact.
I browsed through my phone; there were no messages from Rohan. He was on the West Coast for some work, and then to attend a friend’s wedding.
I tied my hair in a bun and wiped my glasses with the corner of my T-shirt. I missed chatting with Rohan. “Aloha, Brady,” I texted him and folded my legs up on the sofa. I was such a different person without Dev around.
“Welcome to America!! How was your flight? By the way, I am in California, not Hawaii, :)” he wrote back.
“Ya-ya, very funny. :) Been having a great time in your city.” I flipped over so my stomach was pressing against the sofa.
“You are mean!!! You are not even missing me.”
Louisiana Catch Page 10
