Destination Wedding

by Diksha Basu

  “Both our mothers carry only Dooney & Bourke purses. And anyway, he’s never even mentioned marriage,” Marianne said. “Did you know that Karan is one of Asia’s fifty most eligible bachelors?”

  “According to?”

  “Hello! Asia magazine. He showed me the cutout,” Marianne said, glancing over at Karan, who was sharing Nono’s iced coffee and chatting with Tina’s parents. “Okay, that part was ridiculous. He had the laminated cutout in his wallet,” Marianne said. “But he’s incredibly charming. And he spends half the year in Hong Kong and travels everywhere. And he knew this whole secret nighttime side of Delhi. It made New York look so tame. I thought I had this cool life because I live in a brownstone in DUMBO and occasionally take Citi Bikes, but it feels so narrow compared to Karan’s life. Imagine wearing the hottest Indian designers and partying all over Asia. You know Karan hung out with Missy Elliot in a basement bar in Singapore last year? Forget the SNOO, eventually we could have a little halfsie baby who we could take along with us everywhere. She could wear headphones at concerts in Thailand and play with other olive-skinned halfsies.”

  “Stop saying halfsie,” Tina said. “You can’t name a single Missy Elliott song. You need to sleep.”

  “Get Your Freak On. More than sleep, I think I need to use the bathroom,” Marianne said. She got up. Karan stood up and asked, “Leaving?”

  “I’m going to get some rest,” Marianne said.

  “I’ll pick you up for the party,” Karan said.

  “That would be nice,” Marianne said.

  “What party?” Mr. Das asked. “I thought tonight was a free night.”

  “It is,” Nono said. “But my grandson is pulling out all the tricks for this girl.” Nono shook her head and said loudly, “Everyone falls for him. Karan, don’t cause trouble.”

  “She’s got dementia, Marianne,” Karan said in a half whisper. “Ignore her.”

  But Marianne felt silly because Nono was right to call her a girl, and even though she knew she was flirting, Marianne hadn’t had this much energy since college. She’d been up for twenty-four hours but she felt fine.

  “I’m meeting Mrs. Sethi for a walk in Lodhi Gardens in case anyone wants to join us,” Mr. Das said. He was hoping nobody would take him up on his offer but he wanted to let everyone know that he also had exciting things going on this week. He wasn’t here just to sit in his room and attend the events and then go back to sleep, especially if everyone else was going to be off discovering the city and forging questionable relationships.

  “I’ll come,” Tina said.

  “What?” Mr. Das asked. “Don’t you have plans?”

  “Nope, I’ll come. She sounds nice, Mrs. Sethi. I have to go to Sabyasachi and collect my outfit and then head to Khan Market to pick up some earrings I ordered so I’ll meet you there.”

  “Maybe I’ll see if David wants to come as well,” Radha said, looking sideways at Tina. It was one thing for her ex-husband to go around with this woman but it was altogether different for her daughter to start a relationship with her. “He’s been wanting to see Lodhi Gardens.”

  “It won’t be good for him to be out in the midday sun, Radha,” Mr. Das said. He wasn’t sure why Radha was suddenly so eager to meet Mrs. Sethi but he certainly wasn’t ready for that. “White skin is very sensitive. You have to be careful. Melanoma.”

  “He wears sunblock,” Radha said.

  “The harsh Indian sun doesn’t respond to American sunblock, Radha. We are in the tropics. The sun knows no rules here. I better get going. Tina, I’ll see you in the afternoon. Radha, remember to keep David Smith indoors in the afternoon.”

  Mr. Das quickly untied his Fitbit from his shoelace, strapped it around his wrist, and rushed off toward the main dining hall with this arm swinging at twice the pace that he was walking.

  Nono pulled another cigarette out of her bag and laughed and said, “You two squabble like youngsters in love. I’m off to inspect the rest of the grounds.”

  She stood up, cigarette in one hand, cane in the other, while her driver followed behind her holding her purse and ashtray. She turned to him and said, “Two feet distance at all times, don’t forget. And put that stupid notebook away but make sure the ashtray is close.”

  WEDNESDAY 11 A.M.

  Marianne and Tina’s Cottage, Colebrookes, New Delhi: Shefali Is at the Jeweler’s Getting the Shine on Her Gold Set Dulled Down So It Looks More Modern, and the Jeweler Won’t Stop Hinting That She Wants to Be Invited to the Wedding

  AN HOUR LATER, MARIANNE AND Tina were in their cottage getting ready for the afternoon. They were both wearing Indian clothes and looked like white and brown versions of each other.

  “Is that kurta from the Riyaaz years?” Tina asked, pointing her chin toward Marianne in an outfit that looked vaguely familiar. She was wearing gold chandelier earrings and her hair was braided. Her nose looked red, redder than it had this morning.

  “Look at us. It’s like we’re on our way to some South Asia Society social at Yale,” Tina said.

  Marianne took out a small plastic container of Neosporin powder and shook it out onto her nose.

  “Ow,” she said. “How can powder landing on it hurt?”

  She bent down and looked into the mirror, turning her face to the side.

  “Remember that Bollywood Nights party I organized?”

  “I do!” Marianne said. “That was the best event you threw. You made those vodka— What were they? In those small shells.”

  “Vodka pani puri shots,” Tina said. “I had forgotten about those.”

  That had been a good party, Tina remembered. And better attended than anything else she had tried to organize during her time on the board of the South Asia Society. It had been fun and glittery and glamorous and she had projected old black and white Bollywood films on the wall and made the Bhangra team choreograph a flash mob. Her next event, a roundtable discussion on whether or not English should be the official language of India, had made her fall asleep at the table. It didn’t really matter since there were only seven other people in attendance because she had forgotten to publicize it until the previous day.

  There was a knock on their cottage door. Marianne opened it and found Rocco standing there, wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

  “It isn’t that warm,” she said.

  “It isn’t that cold,” Rocco said and entered. “Girls’ rooms always smell nice. Sorry, women’s rooms. But then it sounds like I’m talking about bathrooms.”

  Rocco stopped at Marianne’s bedside table and picked up a candle.

  “Pine and eucalyptus? How come we don’t have this?”

  “I brought it with me,” Marianne said. “The smell helps me sleep.”

  She took the Jo Malone candle away from Rocco, inhaled the smell deeply, and placed it back down on her bedside table. It really had become a comforting smell over the years. It was silly, she knew, but an expensive candle seemed like a crucial part of her post-college personality. She had started with seven-dollar ones from TJ Maxx and made her way up to the two- or three-hundred-dollar Jo Malone or Diptyque candles and had also developed a favored scent per season.

  “What are you doing today?” Tina asked. She sat down on the sofa next to Rocco and pulled her feet up under her.

  “That’s what I came to ask you. I heard you’re going to Sabyasachi to pick up your outfits. Can I come? I brought a sherwani with me but I think the Bombay monsoon got to it and it appears to be covered with mildew of some sort. I’ve sent it to be dry-cleaned but it won’t be ready in time.”

  Rocco leaned forward and picked up an orange from a bowl and started peeling it.

  “I’m not going,” Marianne said. “I’m going to see India Gate with Karan and am banking on my outfit being the right size.”

  Rocco handed one slice of orange to Tina without saying anything a
nd Tina took it and ate it.

  “Why is your nose so red?” Rocco asked.

  Marianne touched her nose gently and said, “It’s fine.”

  “Is that a nose ring?” Rocco asked. “Have you always had that?”

  “It’s fine,” Marianne said again.

  Tina laughed and said, “Don’t bring it up.”

  Rocco took out his phone and connected to the Bluetooth speakers and put on some jazz that Tina couldn’t identify.

  “You can come with me,” Tina said. “I didn’t want to go alone anyway. I also want to buy a Kashmiri shawl from this guy near INA Market but I don’t want them to see you—prices suddenly go up when they spot a white person.”

  Rocco passed her another slice of orange.

  “I bet I could bargain a lower price than you,” he said.

  “Tina, you’re going to lose,” Marianne said. She dabbed at her lips with a tissue and walked toward the door. “I’m off to meet Karan. You two have fun.”

  Rocco finished the last piece of orange, put his arms behind his head, and leaned back. Male armpit hair always made Tina blush but fortunately red cheeks didn’t show up on brown skin.

  “When are we leaving?”

  “Not for another hour. Do you want to meet outside at twelve?”

  Rocco kicked his shoes off and put his feet up on the table.

  “Do you mind if I hang out here for a bit? Kai brought a girl back last night and she’s still around so it’s getting a bit awkward for me.”

  “Kai,” Tina said. “I keep forgetting he’s here. What has he been doing?”

  “Somehow successfully bedding a different beautiful woman every day. He’s really making the most of this wedding.”

  Rocco got up and walked to the kitchen. He took a bottle of water and filled the kettle and asked Tina if she wanted a top-up for her tea or a cup of coffee. He then opened their mini fridge and looked inside.

  “Can I take a Snickers bar?” he asked. He didn’t wait for her answer and took the chocolate, unwrapped it, and waited for the kettle to come to a boil. He opened the cabinet above the mini fridge and took out the bottle of instant coffee and some packets of brown sugar. Tina noted the ease with which he was making her cottage his own.

  “Do you want a snack?” Rocco asked. “I’m starving. Should we call for some butter-cucumber sandwiches?”

  “White people love sandwiches,” Tina said.

  “That isn’t fair, really, because all cuisines have their version of dough with filling. We have our sandwiches, you have your paranthas or your samosas—tomato, to-mah-to, if you ask me. The Italians have their pizzas, the Chinese have their dumplings, and so on and so forth. And these are a Colebrookes speciality.”

  “I’m well aware. Rajesh has been singing their praises since we arrived but it’s not a combination I’m drawn to,” Tina said.

  Rocco picked up the phone and called Rajesh and asked for a plate of butter-cucumber sandwiches. He sat down on Tina’s bed and leaned back against her pillows.

  “Do you like New York?” he asked. “I’ve been there a few times but never really got into the vibe of the place.”

  “Do I like it? Of course I like it. It’s New York. Center of the universe,” Tina said. “Where else would I ever want to live? It’s where everything is.”

  * * *

  —

  TINA THOUGHT BACK TO the week before when she had seen a rat climb up the leg of a man who was sleeping in a corner of her train compartment. She laughed it off as another New York City story, that crazy city, but between that and having recently seen people come screaming out of the Bedford station because someone had jumped in front of the train, Tina found herself increasingly tense on the subway these days. Then there was the time she had been sitting opposite an Indian couple with two small children and the mother was feeding them biryani by the spoonful, and even though the smell made Tina’s mouth water, she moved to the other end of the train, embarrassed. But then she felt angry at herself for feeling embarrassed and tried to push her way back. By the time she got to where they had been sitting, the family was gone and only a few yellow rice grains were left scattered on the floor.

  These days she felt best on the stretch of Lexington Avenue that had all the Indian shops and grocery stores. She never thought she would like that neighborhood, with its faint smell of curry that justified why others called that part of Murray Hill “Curry Hill.” Growing up, her mother had always encouraged her to act American in America and Indian in India, but she was often left feeling like neither. She knew her mother was just trying to make life in America easier for her. She remembered running into her classmate Suzie and her mother at the JCPenney in the mall, and her mother and Suzie’s mother bought them matching purple leggings. After that day, her mother always suggested she invite Suzie over. But the one time she did, Suzie spread a rumor that Tina’s family kept a pet camel in their basement and only drank milk from the camel.

  * * *

  —

  “CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE. I suppose so.” Rocco shrugged and walked over to her and held out the Snickers bar and offered her a bite. She shook her head. No matter how many years she lived in America or how many white men she dated, she would never be able to accept jhootha food. Had he offered her the first bite, she would have done it and then let him deal with her tooth marks at the start of his next bite.

  Tina’s phone beeped and she looked down to see a message from Andrew.

  Hope you’re having fun. I dropped off a box of your stuff and your keys at your front desk. It was weird being back in your building. Part of me wishes you had just ghosted me instead of us breaking up.

  “How does one go about ghosting someone?” Tina asked. She put her phone back down.

  “Leave the country,” Rocco said.

  “You’ve done that?”

  “I’ve had it done to me. I was really into this actress in Bombay and she told me she was going to London for grad school. RADA, she claimed. Said she had found a great apartment in Camden. Remember, the devil is in the details. And she disappeared, but then I saw her in a restaurant a month later and she claimed it was summer vacation in February.”

  “That’s not ghosting, that’s lying,” Tina said. “Ghosting is when you don’t lie but you just stop messaging or calling or speaking to the person.”

  “Is it?” Rocco asked. “I think that’s a new generation thing. That seems like a kind way to do it. I don’t think the truth is always necessary, especially if it’s just been something brief. Sounds like ghosting lets the person being left behind decide what they want to believe. Like I can tell myself that Mira’s family told her she had to end things with me otherwise they would cut her off so that’s what she did. Not that I once accidentally farted in her presence while reaching for my wallet in a cab and she mysteriously decided to lie about going to grad school immediately after.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Tina said.

  “Listen, don’t rub salt in the wound, okay? I was humiliated enough.”

  Rocco smiled and walked back toward the kitchen. He stopped over Tina’s suitcase, bent down, and picked up a gold stiletto. He held the Snickers bar between his teeth and examined the shoe with both hands. He looked over at her with a crooked smile and said, “Nice.”

  Tina shifted slightly on the sofa and pulled her feet down and crossed her legs. She smiled at his back as he returned to the kitchen to pour water into his cup.

  “You eat a lot,” Tina said.

  “I used to be a tennis instructor,” Rocco said. “I think I still have the appetite.”

  Rajesh arrived at the door with a tray with two plates, one with four triangles of cucumber butter sandwiches on white bread, with the crusts cut off, and one heaped with Lay’s salted chips.

  “Our famous sandwiches,” Rajesh announced. “I’m
so glad you called for these. I instructed the kitchen to put extra butter for you.”

  “Thank you, Rajesh,” Rocco said.

  “And ma’am,” Rajesh added, handing Tina a little Ziploc bag with slices of chilled cucumbers. “I brought this for you to place on your eyes. It’ll get rid of your dark circles.”

  “What?” Tina lifted her fingertips to her under-eyes. “Damn it. Enough with your home beauty remedies. My eyes are just fine, thanks.”

  But she grabbed the bag of cucumber and placed it in her fridge to use later in the day.

  Rocco poured his coffee and came back to the sofa to sit next to Tina. He picked up a sandwich and handed it to her and said, “You have really elegant hands. Your fingers are long.”

  He held her hands in his and said, “I said that to you in London too, didn’t I? I remember that. We were sitting at the bar—Punch and Judy, I think—and we could see our reflection in the mirror and I noticed your elegant hands then. Am I right?”

  Tina nodded at him. He was right. And his compliment had been so sincere she had loved her own hands ever since.

  “And then you made fun of the fact that I was wearing a watch,” Tina said. “You said you didn’t know anyone under the age of fifty wore a watch.”

  Rocco thumbed her watch then and said, “That’s true. It suits you, though.”

  “Do you ever want to get married?” he asked. “Not to me, I mean is that something that appeals to you—marriage? You know every single person at this wedding, any wedding, is thinking about that.”

  “I don’t have any strong views on marriage really. I’m not militantly for or against it. I’d like to care about someone enough to think about it but that’s about all. If I do get married, I want it to be to an Indian. From India. I think.”

  “Sure,” Rocco said. “Me, I want to have kids. Two daughters. And I want to pack them and their nappies and their mashed-up peas and show them the world.”