“Such fun memories.”
“During my Christmas break, and sometimes summer holidays too, Mumma, Dad, Chutney, and I traveled to New Orleans to be with Naina and her family. And just like these girls you see, we would ignore all our boy cousins and other guys in the neighborhood. We were so happy to count stars and chase butterflies. Mumma and both my masis kept mango lassi or lemonade ready for us after we had been out in the sun. Naina and I even shared our drinks.”
“The pair of you, such tormenters. How come I never saw you in New Orleans? Your aunt lives in the Garden District, right? That’s where I grew up.”
“Because you were probably chasing cute girls when I was playing in the rain.”
“What makes you think you aren’t cute, Matron?”
I blushed. “Rohan, kuch bhi boltaa hai.”
“What did you say in Indian?” He prodded my elbow as I looked at the floor.
“In Hindi, ullu. I didn’t speak in Indian.”
“Say that again. What does it mean?”
“I said, ‘This owl says anything that comes to his mind.’”
“This ullu made you blush.” The word sounded hilarious in Rohan’s mouth.
To avoid further embarrassment, I changed the topic. “I love the St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans.”
“What about it?” Rohan looked at me.
“The architecture is gorgeous. But there is this peace I get from attending the Mass. I feel like everything will fall into place.”
“When you are in NOLA, I’ll take you to a cafe that makes the best bread pudding. It’s right next to the cathedral. As a kid, I went there, well my parents prayed there, only so I could eat that darn bread pudding.” He smacked his lips.
Before I could say anything, Rohan stood up. “I’m going to get us some coffee.” He hit his forehead with his right palm. “Oops, tea for the British Matron here.”
“Very funny.” I shook my head. “But it’s my turn, yaar.”
He interrupted me. “Yaar.” He repeated after me in a heavy American accent.
“It means ‘friend’ in Hindi.”
“You keep talking to me in Hindi. You must like me.”
“Such an ass.” I rolled my eyes and pretended to look annoyed.
“I know. Stop obsessing about it in public.” Rohan grinned.
“Paagal.”
Rohan paid for two beverages and added a few bills to the tip jar. The server looked like a young boy who was probably a student. He flashed a big smile in Rohan’s direction. It was these small things about Rohan that I appreciated.
“Here you go, Matron.” He spoke with an English accent.
“Thank you.” I took a sip. “May I say something, Rohan?” I held his hand. He looked at me.
“Don’t worry. I am not proposing.” I laughed.
He smiled.
“You have a safe space with me—if you ever want to talk.” I offered him a fist bump.
He returned my fist bump. “You are a good friend, Ahana. I’m on your side.”
I got up and dusted my dress. I finally knew what I wanted to focus on for my speech for No Excuse. I had worked too hard on this conference for someone like Dev or Jay to tarnish my reputation.
I exhaled loudly. “It’s OK to trust people. Not everyone is looking to hurt you.” I suppose I was also preaching to myself.
- 16 -
A few days after Rohan and I hung out in Bryant Park and shared a little bit more about our personal lives, we were scheduled to meet with one of the sponsors in Midtown west.
“I’m glad Doug is only one of our sponsors. I could have run around the reservoir twice in the time you guys spent talking about sports.”
“A runner, eh? Seeing as we only talked about sports for maybe ten minutes, you must be an Olympic medalist.”
I dusted my hands. “Maybe I am. We’ve never talked about running.”
“Why do we need to talk about it? Meet me at the South Park entrance at 5:30 p.m., and we’ll see how fast you are, Matron. If you win, I’ll stop calling you Matron.”
“Let’s make this interesting, Brady.”
“I am listening.”
“If I win, which I will, you’ll have to take a yoga class with me.”
“At the studio near Naina’s place?”
I held Rohan’s wrists. “How do you know?” I ran my tongue on my lips.
“Chill out and stop thinking so much, Matron!” Rohan smiled with the authority of a mind-reader. “You post quite a few pics of the yoga studio and your hot teacher Sheila on social media.”
“Oh.” I sighed loudly.
Rohan smiled and brought his shoulders to his earlobes. “Back to our bet. If I win, which I will, you’ll hang out with me at my favorite dive bar in NOLA. Keep your cocktail dress ready.”
It was fun being competitive around Rohan. “Fine, and how about loser buys winner dinner?”
“Ooh, look at you trying to wiggle out a date with me.” Rohan’s tone changed.
I hit him lightly on his arm.
“I am teasing, Matron. I’m not that desperate.”
I half-snorted.
Rohan gave me an amused look and joined in the laughter.
I felt something in that moment. Did he feel something too? I wondered. Rohan read my mind it would seem. “All your New Delhi boys in the metro will be happy to see this smile.”
“I don’t take the metro, mister.” I spoke without thinking.
“Princess Ahana has a Mercedes and a chauffeur. She fancy.” He double-stressed fancy.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
He put his hands in his jacket pocket and bit his lower lip. “I’ll see you in the evening.”
We said our goodbyes, walked in different directions, and went about the rest of the afternoon.
* * *
It was Friday; I left work early so I could get back to Naina’s and relax a little. Be it the bureaucracy or dealing with cultural misunderstandings or getting reminded how much evil exists in this world, the conference preparation had exhausted me. I put on the kettle and listened to Ella Fitzgerald. I noticed I was humming, for the first time in years.
I changed into my running clothes and walked to the park. Over a dozen horses were tied to carriages, ready to give people a tour of midtown Manhattan. Tourists were bargaining with coachmen. The Middle-Eastern street vendor was making fresh falafels, while street performers were prepping up for their next act. The rush of traffic, meandering tourists with their shopping bags…it was nice to leave them behind and enter Central Park. The big rocks, birds chirping, array of fall colors, small pond, crisp air, the temptation of quiet and peace inside the park. I didn’t think of work or therapy or Jay. I was grateful to be here.
Rohan showed up, fifteen minutes early and ready to go. He had his Garmin. He stretched his quads and then his arms. I knew Rohan ran everything from 5Ks to marathons. But the calves on him told me I was going to grab a drink with him in NOLA and buy him dinner later that evening. Shit!
We both switched on our Garmins.
“OK, so I have the route mapped out.” I pointed toward a map of the six-mile loop on my phone.
“Got it, Matron!”
We ran. We looked happy. We competed. We didn’t have to make eye contact with the other runners we crossed. Rohan, every now and then, tried to run in front of me, so I would slow down. Such a paagal. We ran to run away from whatever each of was running away from. It would seem running gave us both an out. In Delhi, I often had to wear a mask because of the polluted air in the mornings. At night, if I decided to go for a run, I had to worry about my safety. I clenched my jaw thinking about New Delhi. In New York, people and the weather let me be.
While I was lost in my thoughts, I saw Rohan speed up. My average run speed is 8:23 a mile. Yes, I am that into details. But Rohan was way ahead of me. I sped up. I ran like I was running away from my attacker or chasing a mugger. But Rohan won.
“Cheater.” I was pant
ing.
“Hey!” Rohan hit me lightly on my elbow. “I won fair and square.”
“Is it really fair and square,” I imitated his American accent, “if you don’t tell people you are a seasoned marathoner and entice them to compete with you....” I waited to catch my breath.
“Oooh, sore loser!” Rohan folded the fingers in his right hand such that it looked like a microphone and coughed, “loser” into it.
“Shut up, yaar.” I smacked him.
“All right. All right. Let me show you something.”
“What? Where?” I squinted my eyes.
“Sheesh, you difficult Indian aunty.” Rohan smiled at me. “Trust me. I think you’ll really like this place.”
We started to walk in quietude. No specific reason, mostly because we were exhausted. After a few moments, we arrived at a castle in the middle of the city. My eyes couldn’t believe it.
“Pretty neat, eh?” Rohan looked at me. “It’s the Belvedere Castle.”
“I love castles.” I spoke excitedly as we climbed the stairs.
Once we reached the upper observation deck, I saw a 360-degree view of the park. Buildings on one side and the reservoir on the other, I had never seen anything more calming in my life. I felt free.
I took out my phone to capture some pictures.
Rohan snatched my phone. “Let’s take a selfie.”
“Give it back.” I tried to reach Rohan’s right hand.
“I will if you take a picture together first. And the caption will read: ‘Team No Excuse reports from NYC.’”
“Thank you for all your support, Brady.”
Rohan put his arms around my shoulders. There was a beautiful blue pond in the background. The sun was shining in our eyes. “Say, ‘Who Dat?’” Rohan yelled in my ears.
The picture turned out to be hilarious. Rohan with his lips twisted and me with my eyes rolling.
Rohan started to laugh hysterically.
“Laughter comes so easily to you, Rohan.” I focused on an empty space in the air between us. Yes, I envied him.
“It’s important for all of us to surround ourselves with positive people who lift us up.” Rohan gave me his hand. I grabbed it; he pulled me up.
He and I walked to the park entrance.
“I am going to head back to New York Road Runners. You wanna come?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a non-profit running organization based in New York City. They have free lockers where I left my stuff.”
We were at the fountain at Columbus Circle, waiting for the walk light to turn white, when Rohan said, “Did you know that the New York Marathon is the world’s biggest and most popular marathon?” He pointed at the park. “A lot of people we saw running in there might have been prepping for it.”
I stretched my arms over my head. “I wish we had things like these in Delhi.”
“Fitness stores? Or marathons?”
“Locker rooms and public places in the middle of the city where you feel safe. In New Delhi, women have two choices—one, to retaliate and make it clear that lack of safety is unacceptable; two, to cower down, look for the shortest route home and make a mental note to avoid that particular road or store or locality whenever possible. I feel suffocated. And there is also the case of monkeys.”
“Monkeys? I don’t get it.”
“I have a wild story for you.”
“You’re giving me goosebumps, Matron.”
Rohan grinned; I hit his arm.
“In New Delhi, a few times, monkeys have chased me.” I started to laugh thinking about the time when I was out for a run near the parliament and the monkeys came running after me. “I was screeching like a mad woman and the monkeys kept chasing me until they had a run-in with a fruit vendor. Then they went after him and the bananas displayed on his cart.”
“You are making shit up.” Rohan tried to stifle a laugh.
I touched the lump in my throat. “I swear. I am not kidding.” I started giggling. “Once our help, Lakshmi, was attacked by monkeys because she refused to let go of the bag with fresh bread in it. I kept telling her to put it down, but she was adamant.”
Rohan asked intently, “What happened?”
“They bit her bum.” Despite my efforts to hold in my laughter, I sputtered like an old water faucet and snorted loudly. “I am sorry.”
“God, this is the funniest and weirdest story I’ve ever heard.” Rohan erupted in laughter. “Move to the United States.” There was a certain look in Rohan’s eyes that I hadn’t seen before. “I mean it, Matron. Move here. New Orleans, much like New Delhi, is notoriously famous for its sweltering hot summers, cuisine that makes your taste buds sing, and legendary musicians. And you can tell me more of your monkey stories.” He elbowed me.
I looked at him. “Brady, before I can even think about moving, we have to get through this conference.” I didn’t want to tell Rohan about my father’s request without determining whether my dad really wanted me to return to India or he had just blurted those words in a vulnerable moment.
“At least make it an annual thing.”
I shrugged, “One thing at a time, OK?” We were at the mall entrance.
Rohan laughed, “Really? What crazy life are you leading outside of work? So far, I’ve seen mugs of chamomile tea, a book, and a lot of very late e-mails from you. Sounds like a rocking social life.”
I laughed. “Are you saying I couldn’t go out on a date if I wanted to?”
“I know you can’t pick a guy.”
Our argument continued as we crossed the streets and entered the Shops at Columbus Circle and took the escalator up to the New York Road Runners’ store.
“How about I prove you wrong?” I stood in front of his face as he opened his locker.
“Pick you up, at 7:30 p.m.?” He slammed the locker.
“Where are we going?”
“You owe me dinner, Matron.”
“I know! I mean where?”
“That’s a surprise.”
“Fine. I’ll pick up a guy afterward.”
Rohan shook hands with me. “We have a deal.”
* * *
When I reached Naina’s, I took off my running shoes and socks. Naina’s luggage was in the living room and dirty dishes were piled in the sink. Piglet! I cleaned up the kitchen floor and wiped the counter with anti-bacterial wipes. After making myself a glass of green smoothie, I pulled out a colorful glass from the cupboard and poured the healthy drink into it. I folded my legs and sank on the sofa. The quiet time was so sacred. I liked living in a city where I was unknown.
I noticed an arch of a rainbow outside the living room windows fading quickly. NYC was full of magic indeed. I texted Naina, “Welcome back!!” and told her about my dinner plans with Rohan. She was in a meeting, so she sent me a quick response with three heart emojis and one of fire emoji.
I browsed through my work emails. There were pictures of jute tote bags, which we had ordered as gifts for our plenary speakers. I’d hired a nonprofit in rural India to make these handmade bags, and they had done an incredible job.
I logged into my online therapy group to share the success and recent developments related to the conference, because the moderator said it was important to share positive improvements with the group in order to reinforce positivity. I was delighted to read the message from Nina, the lady who’d lost her son in a car accident, that she had brought home a puppy. She finally felt ready to care for another living being. I left her a congratulatory note on the therapy group’s message thread.
There were several notes from Jay.
“Hey, what’s up?” That was the first message.
“Guess what? I bought another cat. I saw her and I had to help. I have a weakness for those in need.”
“She is a Persian cat. I have named her Diana…you know, like the princess? She is a beauty and I had to have her.”
“She looks into my eyes and purrs. Looks like she was betrayed just like you. You w
ould love her. Beautiful things like each other. :)”
What did Jay mean by ‘betrayed like you’? I took off my tank top and fanned myself with it. I knew we were no longer talking the death of my mother. Jay sounded unhinged. How I wish he’d just log off and go feed his cat.
I looked at my phone again. There was a photo of Diana the cat. I read further.
“Nothing from you, Ahana. Sorry; didn’t mean to disturb you on your busy day.”
I wrote back, “Hey, I was out for a run. Congratulations on Diana. I had no idea you were planning to adopt a cat.”
Once again, it felt as if Jay was waiting by the phone. In less than ten seconds, I heard from him, “I didn’t adopt. Paid big bucks for it. $1,500.”
That’s a weird comment.
He sent me a picture of Diana perched over his head. This was probably the first time Jay had sent me a close-up picture. Maybe he was starting to build trust? In all his selfies he shared on social media, you could see mostly his silhouette, not his face clearly. I took out my glasses and wiped them with a tissue before putting them on again. I looked closely. Jay had small green eyes, wide eyebrows, angular features, a long chin, and a narrow mouth—the expressions on his face made him look untrustworthy. I tried not to be harsh, but having worked with female victims and survivors of violence, I could get a good sense of people’s personalities by just looking at their faces. With Jay, even his smile seemed fake—it only involved his mouth. There was no emotion in his eyes or face. I couldn’t tell what his hair looked like because the cat strategically covered his head.
But I was relieved about one thing: Jay’s picture proved beyond any reasonable doubt that Dev wasn’t behind Jay’s online personality. They were two different men. But I still had to find out whether they had connected over social media.
The first time I’d seen Rohan’s photograph, right before he and I connected over social media, I never felt anxious or fearful. Rohan looked cheeky, handsome, and a bit of a cad. But there was something warm about his face. There was coldness in Jay’s eyes.
“You there?” Jay interrupted my thoughts with his note.
“Nice cat hat. :)” I wrote back.
Louisiana Catch Page 15
