Louisiana Catch

by Sweta Srivastava Vikram

  “Any tea or coffee, Matron?”

  “No, thank you.” I looked at him. “I won’t be able to sleep.”

  Rohan picked up his laptop bag and walked toward the front door. “I better get out of your hair. We both have an early start tomorrow.”

  We were facing each other.

  “Thank you for celebrating Mumma tonight,” I said with my voice cracking. A dam broke in my eyes, but I didn’t allow the tears to fall outside my eyes. “I will always remember it.”

  Rohan pouted. “I never get any lap dances from you. I am beginning to not trust you any longer.” He smiled and offered me the box of tissue next to the shoe rack.

  I punched him lightly.

  “Your mom sounds like an amazing lady. I am honored to have celebrated her birthday with you.” He opened the main door.

  I closed the door and stood between the door and Rohan. “What happened with your mom?”

  “Well, that came out of nowhere.” Rohan arched his eyebrows.

  “I am sorry. It’s just….” I ran my fingers through my hair and looked for the right words.

  “Nah, I am OK talking to you about it.”

  He sat on the cubby close to the door. “I didn’t know my mother really well.”

  I sat next to him on the floor in Virasana, also known as Hero Pose—kneeling on the floor, with my thighs perpendicular to each other and my knees touching. I slid my feet apart with the tops of the feet flat on the floor. This asana made me feel rooted, and I had to be strong to support a friend and listen to another story of loss. This pose also aided with digestion, and after all the wine and food, I knew I could use help.

  Rohan didn’t comment on my seating choice. He looked lost in the corridors of his past. “My father was born and raised in New Orleans. He met my mother when they were both in graduate school. She was the teacher’s assistant, and he always needed help—at least pretended to just so he could hang out with her.” Rohan sighed. “The year Mom left, everything felt confusing. I didn’t understand what was happening.”

  “Did she say anything?” I handed him a tissue.

  “Not really. She had started to keep silent. My dad, like a typical Irish man, wallowed in guilt after Mom walked out, and he somehow decided to blame himself for the wreckage in our home. He turned into a recluse and I had nowhere to go.” Rohan stroked his chin. “I kept wondering if I had done something wrong. My mind went to places no eleven-year-old boy’s mind should go. I wondered what had made Mom leave. I even waited on the front porch of our house, many nights, until it was dark, but she didn’t return. I didn’t know of any other Indian kid whose mother had walked out on him. I didn’t know any Indian kids in foster homes. I didn’t know of any broken, Indian homes. All Indian moms I knew were like your mom, Ahana.”

  I couldn’t comprehend how any mother could be so callous. Naina and I were the epicenter of our mothers’ worlds.

  He wiped his face with his long fingers in a downward motion. “Ahana, you are lucky to be surrounded by attentive family members who seem to have given you reinforcing, empowering messages throughout your life. After Mom left, my dad taught me never to cry. ‘Because crying makes us weak and vulnerable,’ he said. He didn’t want people at school to pity me. He didn’t want us talking about Mom. I was stupid to think that my mother would come back. After being abandoned by both my parents, in their own way, good thing I don’t believe in waiting for anyone any longer.”

  “My dad, like your father, doesn’t like to talk about Mumma or his pain. We can’t evade the truth that Mumma is gone. Instead of tiptoeing around the subject and avoiding spending time with me, it would be nice if I had his support.”

  Rohan looked at me, “I didn’t know.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Like you say, ‘It is what it is.’ It’s like I lost both my parents at the same time.” I stood up. “I am sorry about your mother, Rohan. No child should have to grow up without a mother.” My head felt heavy.

  “I am sorry about yours, Ahana.” He gave me his hand as I fumbled for my steps and stretched my eyes.

  I hugged him tight. It was comforting, being around Rohan. I could feel his unspoken words: I hear you, and I am here for you.

  Rohan patted my back softly and gently pulled away.

  Our eyes met.

  He cleared his throat. “I better leave.”

  * * *

  After Rohan left, I made some mint tea and sat on the sofa. I couldn’t tell whether he hated his mother or felt confused by her behavior.

  I took a sip of the tea and mindlessly scrolled through my phone. There was a note from Jay. “I guess that is the true definition of being broken, though. Not knowing where even to begin after being heartbroken and betrayed. It’s brutal, isn’t it? Good thing I am there for you. I know others have broken your trust.”

  I sat up straight and ran my tongue over my lips. I poured myself a glass of water and reread Jay’s message. My throat suddenly felt dry. What did he mean by “heartbroken” or “betrayed?” I pressed my temples.

  Was my privacy at stake? Jay made me feel a little afraid. For the first time, I used the door chain lock to secure the main door.

  - 15 -

  My head hurt from all the wine the night before. But being a running addict, I woke up before sunrise, drank hot water with lemon, and changed into my running pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and light workout jacket in case the morning chill was damp. I looked at my Garmin right as I stood up from tying my shoes. It was 5:45 a.m.

  My cell phone rang.

  “Brady? Everything OK?”

  “Sorry to wake you up. I was worried whether your family is all right.”

  I pressed the phone between my left ear and shoulder as I rubbed hand sanitizer on my hands. “Wait, what?

  “There was an earthquake in Delhi.”

  I sank into the cubby next to Naina’s shoe rack. “How did I not know about this?”

  “It happened in the middle of the night for us.” Rohan sounded a bit congested.

  “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll call Dad right away.” I always stay calm under crisis—a trait I get from my father.

  A little later, I showered, dressed, and left for work. I walked into the office and literally ran into Rohan’s room.

  “You all right?” He got up from his chair.

  I threw my arms in the air. “I can’t get through to my dad. I have been trying all morning. Naina tried, too.”

  “Did you try your aunt or anybody else who would know about his whereabouts? Or even your dad’s work number?”

  “It’s after work hours there.” I scratched my eyebrow. “I keep getting a message that he is out of area. My aunt isn’t answering her phone either.” I rubbed my pendant and tried to breathe. “Maya, my friend in Delhi, is vacationing in London.” My eyes were welling up. “I shouldn’t have made this trip to the US. I shouldn’t have left him alone in Delhi. I should have stayed with Dad.”

  I opened Rohan’s office door and started to walk out.

  Rohan quickly followed behind and stood in front of me. He closed the door and asked me to sit on the red couch in his office. He sat on the edge of his office table and spoke sympathetically. “Ahana, none of us can control what’s going to happen in our lives. You could have been in India but traveling when the earthquake happened. You can’t lock your father up in a room and punish him because you fear something will happen to him. You can’t become a prisoner in your own life. If not today, you’ll resent him for it a few years from now. And he’ll resent you for it.”

  Mumma was gone. I couldn’t lose my father too. I started to cry. “He’s all I have left.”

  “He’ll be fine. I promise.” Rohan’s voice dropped.

  “You don’t know that so don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “I am sorry.” Rohan handed me a tissue and spoke in a tone that mothers use to pacify their five-year-olds’ temper tantrums.

  “No, I am sorry for being edgy.”
I felt tightness in my chest. “Ever since Mumma died, I have never once stopped to worry about my dad. Yes, his work and golf keep him busy, but I also have a feeling that he buries himself under an insane schedule so he doesn’t have to deal with Mumma’s absence. He forgets to meet me when we have dinner dates. A few times, he forgot to pick me up at the airport. How many times am I supposed to let it go?” My face was burning.

  Rohan poured me a glass of water. “You’re the one who says that we must think positive because that impacts the outcome of everything. Why have you made up your mind that anything bad will happen to him?”

  “You listen to what I have to say?”

  “I know, right?” He smiled and brought me a piece of pen and paper. “Write down your dad’s contact information. We have offices in Delhi. I’ll have someone check up on him.”

  “That’s so generous. Are you sure?”

  “Who is being formal now?” Rohan put his hands on his hips, emulating my style. “Didn’t the Doña of Matronsville, as in you, once tell me that friends help each other without keeping scores?”

  As I started to wipe my tears, he asked, “Do you need a few minutes alone?”

  I breathed heavily. “Yes, that would be nice.” I didn’t need the rest of the office to see what a wreck I was in the morning. I was a terrible crier. Somehow, in front of Rohan, I cried so easily.

  I gave Rohan my dad and Chutney’s mobile phone numbers as well as their office and our home addresses. Rohan dialed a number as he walked out of his office and closed the door behind him.

  I looked over my shoulder, and once he was gone, I blew my nose into the tissue and threw it in the garbage. I pulled out the small mirror from my makeup pouch and noticed that the kohl underneath my eyes had spread to my cheekbones. I pulled out another tissue from the box on Rohan’s table and cleaned my face. I stood up and looked at the boats in the East River. The waters looked calm.

  A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

  “Is it OK to come in?” Rohan asked.

  I turned around. “Please. Don’t embarrass me.”

  Rohan closed the door. “I have some media contacts in Delhi who have special access to telephone lines in times of crisis. They’ll patch you through to your dad.”

  I wet my lips and throat. “Is he fine?”

  “Yes, he is, Ahana. You might not be able to talk to him for long because these guys need to keep the line free for emergency reasons. But you can hear your dad’s voice.”

  I walked to where Rohan was standing, “I don’t know how I’ll repay you.”

  “I am pretty creative; I’ll come up with a way.” He grinned.

  The phone rang. A familiar voice said, “Hello, Ahana.”

  “Dad!” I spoke in an authoritative voice. “You OK? And Chutney and Athena? And the rest of the gang? Why didn’t you call me?” My voice cracked.

  “I didn’t want to bother you in the middle of the night,” Dad said in response.

  “Seriously? It didn’t occur to you that I might be worried.”

  “I am sorry, beta. Come back to Delhi now. I need you here.” For the first time since Mumma’s death, Dad asked me for something.

  “No golfing until all this settles down.” I hung up without acknowledging his demand. I didn’t want to leave the US without finishing what I had come here for: the conference.

  As I said a bye to my father and handed the phone back to Rohan, he said, “Wow, you are a dictator even with your dad.”

  “Of course! Aren’t you with yours?”

  Rohan ignored the question.

  “Sorry…. Didn’t mean anything by it. I should be nicer to you, Brady.”

  “I can teach you new ways to be nicer.” He winked at me.

  I picked up my handbag. “You are an ass.”

  Rohan smiled. “Matron, hope you remember about the planning meeting with national officials, representatives of NGOs, and grassroots women’s groups? Hedick won’t be there now that the press release is making its rounds.”

  I high-fived Rohan. “Yes, of course! I have printed out twenty-five copies of our presentation.”

  “Awesome! I have to see Megan Black before our big meeting this afternoon. How about I meet you in the lobby of the building fifteen minutes before the big meeting? You have the address, right? It’s right across from Bryant Park.”

  “Coffee date, Mr. Brady?”

  “You’ve been keeping me so busy; I’ve been ignoring all the women in the Big Apple.” Rohan pouted.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Matron, Megan Black is the PR Head for Shine On, the bath products company sponsoring the gift baskets for the speakers.”

  “I know!” I winked at him. “I was teasing you, Brady.” I tapped on his door. “I am wondering whether we can ask Megan to host the segment on acid attacks at the conference.”

  “What does that have to do with Megan? If we want to pitch it to her, we need to be sure of the angle we are going to use.”

  I moved closer to him and showed Rohan a video on YouTube. “You don’t remember this one?” I pointed at his laptop. “This campaign where a young girl teaches high-school girls and their moms to boost their self-confidence and expand their views of what beauty means by taking makeup-free selfies with their smartphones and posting them on social media? Brady, even in India everyone was talking about the five-minute documentary film.”

  “Oh fuck, now I remember. Megan’s documentary director, Anisha Blackwood, made this piece. Fuck, I had completely forgotten about this connection!”

  I touched Rohan’s arm. “If you get her to say yes for handling the segment involving female survivors of acid attack, it will be brilliant. She’d be such a positive role model for it.”

  We thought of names for the segment and finally agreed on “Shadow.” Rohan covered my hand with his. “I’ve worked on a project with Megan in the past, so I think I can make this work.” He smiled at me as I closed his office door. “She is a powerhouse with a big ego, but will be pivotal to the conference. Keep your phone near you—in case we need to join forces to win her over. Megan needs winning over.”

  * * *

  The preparation to detach myself, so I could speak with a steady voice at the meeting, started in the women’s bathroom. I practiced pranayama, a few breathing techniques, and told myself over and over again: you are not your past.

  The meeting and my presentation went well. I wanted to include a special reach initiative that was often ignored: marital rape. Inspired by Hillary Rodham Clinton’s remarks at the U.N. 4th World Conference on Women Plenary Session in Beijing in 1995, I gave my presentation.

  I emphasized that the only way for a society to flourish was if women were free from violence. The only way families could grow was if women were free from violence.

  I breathed deeply. “In many countries, exemptions are given to husbands from rape prosecution. People do not understand the extent of trauma suffered by rape and sexual assault victims, especially when the offender is a loved one. Opinion polls show that people still believe that wife rape is less harmful than stranger rape.” I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. “These women battle depression.” I paused and pressed the sides of the podium. “Umm, they have trouble forming trusting relationships, blame themselves for the mess, and often develop poor body image issues.” I thought I would break down in the middle of the room.

  Rohan stared at me with a crease in his eyebrows, but eyes filled with pride.

  I took a sip of water. “Women raped by a partner is sacrilege, because in addition to the violation of their bodies, they are faced with a betrayal of trust and intimacy. They are violated by someone with whom they share their lives, homes, and possibly children. Often, victims of wife rape are not likely to see what is being done to them as a violation of their rights, because of lack of awareness as well as support. Society has only recently legally recognized wife rape as a crime in some countries.”

  I saw heads nod in
agreement. My confidence grew. “Cities and nations and schools and offices and streets need to be made safer. People of all genders need to be taught the importance of No Excuse. Not accepting any form of violence could help communities and nations do well. That is why every woman, man, child, every family, every community, and every country could only gain from supporting ending violence against women.”

  My face was burning and turned the color of a tomato by the time I finished my presentation. Many of the people present spoke with me personally about the initiative. Given the number of executives present, I was surprised we didn’t have any ego battles at the table. They understood why we needed to come together as a coalition and create awareness about freeing women from violence, especially intimate partner rape.

  “Dude, you were a rock star!” Rohan shook hands with me just as soon as we got inside the elevator.

  “You think so? I was so nervous.” I wiped my sweaty palms.

  “You nailed it.” He pointed toward the building’s entrance. “What you did in there, that was fucking amazing! Even if it’s not this year because of logistics and what have you, I have a feeling we’ll have more partners and supporters next year for the event.”

  “What makes you think this event will become an annual thing, Brady?” I just wanted to get through the next week and not think about Dad’s insistence that I return to New Delhi.

  * * *

  It was a quiet evening in Bryant Park. I wanted to know whether Rohan had guessed what transpired between Dev and me. The way he had looked at me in the middle of the presentation told me a lot. But Rohan didn’t say much.

  I spotted a team of little girls ganging up against one boy. “This reminds me of when Naina and I were kids. We would always become a team. And Naina would make all the boys run errands for us. If anyone objected, she would ostracize them from the game.”

  “Is any woman in your family not a tyrant?” Rohan asked teasingly.

  “Haha. I don’t think so. Naina and I, we even slept in the same bed, curled up against each other, holding hands. We all spent the summer vacation at our house in Delhi or at her house in New Orleans. My grandparents too would join us.”