A Good Indian Wife: A Novel

by Anne Cherian

  “Go on, try one.” Shanti held out a quarter.

  Leila popped in the coin and pulled the lever, watching to see what would come up. No match. No cascade of metal as in the machine next to them. “I guess I’m not lucky.” She grimaced. For a brief second she had been caught up in the excitement of the colors and the noise and hoped for a win.

  “You know what they say,” Shanti comforted her, “unlucky in gambling, lucky in love. Speaking of which, where is that handsome husband of yours?” Shanti felt guilty that she hadn’t made a greater effort to get to know Leila. But every time she planned to call, something came up. The interference of America, she called it privately, since the pace was so much slower in India and visits were always possible.

  “Handsome husband has become Mr. Busy Bee,” Leila joked, not wanting Shanti to guess the truth. Indians were so good at looking beneath the words, unlike Americans, who took things at face value.

  “He’s not going to be busy the whole time, is he?”

  “He warned me that he had meetings and what-not. I actually came to see Reno, and to spend some time with you and Oona. That is, if you have the time?”

  “Sure I do. But I’ll have to talk to Neel about this. He can’t bring you here and expect you to play Little Orphan Annie.”

  If only she could ask Shanti about Neel. Did Shanti know about Savannah? Had there been other girls? During that walk in the garden, right after putting ET down, and knowing he was going to reject her and accept Amita, Leila had asked Neel why he wanted an arranged marriage, implying the obvious: Don’t you have an American girlfriend? So many foreign-returned men married to please their parents even though they loved someone else. Neel had shrugged his shoulders and responded, “I didn’t wake up one morning and say, ‘I want an arranged marriage.’ It just seems the logical choice now.” After their marriage, she had taken great comfort from his words.

  “I suppose he will find some time.” Leila smiled.

  “Neel’s a great guy. And from what Bob tells me, he’s a superb anesthesiologist. You may not know this, but it’s difficult for anesthesiologists to get jobs these days. Neel had four offers.” Shanti focused on Neel the professional. Leila didn’t need to know about Caroline. That was in the past, and since most Indians don’t date, at least not openly, it would be difficult for Leila to understand.

  “I didn’t know that.” Leila felt a swelling of pride. She was married to a very accomplished man. Everyone wanted him in the operating room. That was why Neel worked so late at night.

  “His job really suits him, don’t you think? It calls for absolute knowledge of the situation and precision. No mistakes allowed. That’s Neel in a nutshell and probably why he’s so good. Though he’s not the bragging kind. He talks, but not about himself. Or you, for that matter. I just know that you both are from the same town, that you taught in a college and of course that you are very charming and pretty, which is why Neel married you.”

  Leila looked away, realizing that she would never be able to take any comfort from Shanti. In just a few sentences, Shanti had progressed from Indian to suave American. Shanti would never have tagged on the charming and pretty compliment in India. And what was she really saying about Neel? That he was quiet and didn’t open up about himself? He did like to talk and joke. But perhaps Shanti was right. Neel could banter around, but even with the others she had never heard him say anything personal.

  “You can say thank you, you know.” Shanti laughed. “It’s something you will have to learn here. People are very free with their compliments and they won’t understand if you don’t respond.”

  Leila looked down and played with her napkin. Shanti’s forthrightness was even more difficult to take than the compliment. None of her friends in India would have been so bold as to correct her. Now Shanti was almost accusing her of being rude.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s just that I went through all that in the beginning. When I met Bob’s mother, she took one look at me and said, ‘Bob, you never told us you married an Indian princess. She is beautiful!’ I had never, ever, been called even pretty, so of course I kept quiet. Then Bob nudged me. I looked up and there were all these smiling faces looking at me, waiting for me to say something. Do you know what I said?”

  “No.”

  “I’m mortified just thinking about it. I hid my chin in my neck and muttered, ‘I wish the earth would open up and take me in.’” Both Shanti and Leila laughed.

  “Like Sita.”

  “Yes, like our famous Mother Sita. Thank God the earth left me alone. Anyway, I don’t want you to go through anything like that.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for the compliment.”

  “Those two little words, ‘thank you,’ were another learning experience. Bob kept telling me I wasn’t saying them properly. He used to tease me all the time. ‘I tink you said tank again.’ I finally figured out that in India we never pronounce the ‘th’ sound. Bob taught me to put my tongue between my teeth,” she demonstrated it. She didn’t tell Leila that it was only recently that she had started calling her husband “Bahb,” and not “Bawb,” which the hospital personnel never understood.

  “I’ll remember that,” Leila said, though she thought she had pronounced the word correctly.

  She studied Shanti’s face: the dark, high forehead, deep-set eyes, and jutting nose. Almost black hands picked up a biscotti, a diamond gleaming on the ring finger. Shanti and she had followed such different paths to America. Shanti acted as if she had gotten everything she wanted in life, including a husband who loved her. That was what made her confident, and Leila felt a daub of envy. Shanti was like Rekha. She hadn’t taught students who got married as soon as they graduated and then brought their babies to see her. She never had to sit out endless rejections. Bob was the white knight who had rescued her from all that. Suddenly Leila wanted to know their story.

  “How did you meet your husband?”

  “Strange coincidence, I always say. I used to have a pen pal when I was in my teens, but you know how it is, after a few years we stopped writing. It must have been, oh, about twenty years later I suddenly received a letter saying her brother was coming to India. Could he look me up? Bob was that brother.”

  “Your parents didn’t mind that you married him?”

  “Yes and no. I was almost in my mid-thirties by then and we all assumed I’d never get married. I can’t tell you how many men I saw, all of whom rejected me. Then Bob came along. He didn’t seem to care about my skin color, so I decided not to care about his. I think my parents were secretly relieved I was finally getting married. Besides, they could at least hold their heads up because he is a doctor. You know how prestige-conscious people are in India.” Over the years she had stopped telling people—especially Indians—about Bob’s first wife.

  “Oh,” things began clicking in Leila’s brain. “You are almost newly married too, then?”

  “Heavens, no. We’ve been married almost eight years, but thank you for the compliment.” Shanti smiled and continued, “Now I can finally thank my mother for not allowing me out in the sun. She forced me to stay indoors in the summer, not concerned about cancer or wrinkles, mind you, but in case I got darker. I guess you can say I’m aging well.” She laughed.

  “My mother was the same way. Any time we went out, we had to take an umbrella.”

  “One of those ugly black ones, right? I tried to tell my mother that black absorbs the heat, but she never listened.”

  “My sister Indy would also say that, and Amma always replied, ‘That’s between the sun and the umbrella.’”

  “The first time I went back to visit, I took my mother seven different-colored umbrellas, one for each day of the week. It was a joke, but she was thrilled. She still uses them, I think.”

  “Do you go back often?”

  “In the first few years, yes. Now it’s not automatically India every time we take our vacation. Anyway, I’m quite different now. More of a feminis
t, so the whole male-oriented Indian society really gets on my nerves. I can’t stand it when my father sits around and expects my mother to serve him. He’s retired, but I guess the work of a housewife is never over.”

  “My parents are like that.” Leila wondered why Shanti objected to a woman looking after her husband. “So you don’t miss India?”

  “No, not really. But whenever we fought during our first years of marriage, I’d pack my bags and threaten to hop on the first plane. It’s harder to go back now. It’s…well, I guess it’s just different.”

  “How?” Leila thought of her classmates who returned as different people. Some had American accents, others claimed they couldn’t eat spicy food anymore. She wanted to become more American, but she didn’t want to stop being Indian. Was it only a matter of time before she also became that way?

  “For one thing, we fly in and out so quickly I get a very superficial sense of Bombay. What shocked me the most during my first visit was how dirty everything was. I’d heard others say it, and had always dismissed them as snobs. So it was odd to be in their shoes.”

  “You mean the roads, and the buses belching black soot?”

  “Those, obviously. But also the five-star hotels. Bob had taken me to the Taj on our first date and I was awed. It was so fancy. The waiters kept filling the teapot and Bob kept pouring, so I kept drinking. I was too shy to go to the bathroom and when we finally left the coffeeshop I was like a giant water balloon, just waiting to burst.” Shanti puffed out her cheeks and laughed. “Anyway, we went back there to recapture the good old days and all I saw was the shabby upholstery and the chipped china. You know, nothing was really five-star about the place.”

  “I guess that won’t happen to me. We only have a three-star hotel in our town.”

  “You’ll change,” Shanti prophesied. “You won’t know it and you may not even want to, but you will change.”

  Shanti was right. She had already changed. She did things by herself without relying on Neel and it was making her a stronger person.

  TWENTY

  NEEL READ THE SLIP HANDED TO HIM: I’m by the pool. Come and see me as soon as your panel is over. Caroline.

  He crumpled it up and stuck it in his pocket. He looked around the room. Nothing had changed. Dr. Ichikawa was still giving his talk, and the audience, like those anywhere, fidgeted, wrote notes, spoke to each other, and occasionally got up and left. Yet everything had changed. What was Caroline doing? Didn’t she know it was too dangerous? The place was crawling with doctors from the hospital.

  He tried to concentrate on Dr. Ichikawa’s remarks. But his mind was churning with fear and anger. He had never liked being out of control. First Leila had forced his hand and now Caroline was waiting for him downstairs. She was crazy to have come here.

  He considered leaving her by the pool. Not going down at all. But what if Patrick saw her? Or Sanjay? That would be the worst. And what if she did something more stupid? Right now he didn’t put anything past her. His collar felt as damp as his clammy hands.

  FIVE FLOORS BELOW the conference room where Neel was leading the discussion, Leila, Shanti, and Oona took the last table that provided an unobstructed view of the pool.

  “Don’t they feel shy?” Leila looked at the women, all clad in bikinis or skimpy one-piece suits.

  “My dear, they work out like crazy just so they can show off.” Oona looked regretfully at her Coke. “I know I should have ordered the diet one.”

  “But why would they want to show their bodies to strangers?” Amma had forbidden Leila to wear T-shirts from the age of twelve, saying they were indecent. She was slowly getting used to all the bare skin she saw during her walks, but she hadn’t even seen Indy in a bra and panties.

  “Why does the sun shine?” Shanti quipped. “Because it can.”

  Oona picked up the menu. “Let’s order something. I’m starving.”

  “But didn’t we just have lunch?”

  “I’m hungry again. So much for wanting to look like those women.” Oona nodded toward the pool. “Hey, isn’t that Neel? He must be looking for us. Quick, everyone, wave and get his attention.”

  Leila had seen Neel for almost a full minute before Oona noticed him. But she hadn’t said anything, wondering why he wasn’t at the conference. This morning he had told her he would be busy till midnight. Had the panel finished early—was he really looking for her?

  Neel searched around the pool. He couldn’t find Caroline. Perhaps she had gone, he thought, hope outpacing anger. But no, there she was on one of the bright blue chaises longues. She was in a pair of shorts, one of the few women not in a bathing suit.

  He strode past the other bodies without looking at them, his eyes on Caroline. She was gazing into the distance and hadn’t noticed him. Should he go before she saw him? Send her a note the way she had sent him one?

  “I think he’s coming toward us,” Oona said.

  “Are you sure he sees us?” Shanti asked.

  “Who could miss all these flying hands?” Oona continued waving.

  Neel stopped in front of Caroline and she stood up.

  “Hi.” Now that she was seeing him face-to-face Caroline was nervous. His nostrils were flared and the vein on his forehead pulsed. She had never seen him so angry before.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What is she doing here?” Caroline countered, hurt that he hadn’t even greeted her.

  “What do you mean?” Neel hedged.

  “I know you brought her, Neel, and you promised not to.” She was sure now. She had called his home repeatedly, hoping the wife would answer, but after a day, had known that the sick, angry feelings inside her weren’t based on neurotic imaginings.

  Neel was just about to argue that he hadn’t promised any such thing when he realized he would be better off dealing with the issue at hand.

  “Caroline, you had no business coming here. What if someone sees us?”

  “What if? They’ll have to know sooner or later.”

  “I prefer later and I prefer deciding when and how.”

  “I think it’s time you took my preferences into account.”

  “Did you come here just to make me angry?”

  “No.” Caroline almost broke down, “I came here because I love you. Neel, sweetie…”

  “If you really love me, you’ll go back right now.”

  “Neel, I’m so sad and upset, I just had to see you. I need you to comfort me.” The more distant Neel grew, the more she wanted him.

  “Caroline, this isn’t the place or time for that. I have another panel in fifteen minutes. It’s best if you leave right now. I’ll take care of the bill.”

  “I haven’t checked in yet.”

  “Good. Then let’s get you a taxi to the airport. We can discuss this in San Francisco.”

  He turned and saw Oona, Shanti, and Leila. It was like his very first operation—everyone looking, waiting for him to do something. He forced himself to smile. He’d make up some story later on. It was important that Caroline not see them. When she bent to pick up her bag, he half waved and indicated that he was leaving.

  Oona and Shanti turned toward each other like bookends, trying to keep to themselves the knowledge they didn’t want Leila to guess. Leila didn’t look at either of them. She stared down at the tablecloth and counted the packets of sugar. Then she reached for her hair, cut recently to shoulder length, and twisted it into a knot. Suddenly the loose strands felt suffocating.

  “Talk about forgetful doctors! Neel must have left something behind so the secretary had to bring it up.” Shanti made the excuse, her mind trying to catch up with her eyes.

  “You’re right.” Oona jiggled the ice cube in her glass. “I thought she looked familiar. Sanjay calls her ‘Madam Fake’ because she insists people pronounce her name the French way, Caroleen.”

  “Madam Fake.” Shanti laughed. “That’s a good one.”

  Leila couldn’t speak. She, too, had recognized the woman.
This was the girl whose picture Neel kept in his files. It wasn’t Savannah. It was a girl named Caroline whom Neel saw every day. Whom he was seeing now instead of coming to his wife.

  TWENTY-ONE

  THE REST OF THE DAY LEILA SMILED and nodded to Oona and Shanti. If only she could make an excuse and leave. Lie down. Cry. Vomit. Stop her heart from thudding its grief so loudly. Her eyes gave her no respite, constantly replaying the picture of the blonde. Caroline. She knew the woman’s name. It wasn’t Savannah. That was someone else to worry about.

  Oona kept pointing out the sights, her voice as cheerful as a tour operator’s. Leila couldn’t hear the words and it suddenly occurred to her that Nalini must feel this way all the time. Leila, too, had joined in the chorus of commiseration. “Yes, how terrible that Nalini’s husband refuses to send for her from Malaysia.” Poor, unwanted Nalini. But it can be worse, she communicated silently with her faraway friend. A husband can prefer another woman.

  It shamed her deeply that Oona and Shanti had seen Neel bend over the woman, leave with her, while he just waved to them.

  She managed to murmur the right responses and even ate half the plate of food. A few hours ago, she had been excited to be going out to dinner with the two women. Now the restaurant felt claustrophobic, the smell of the food nauseating and the conversation interminable.

  Nalini had to put on a face for the hundreds of people who knew her story. Leila only had to do it for two women. But it was physically depleting, and by the time they said good night, she was exhausted, though wide awake.

  Alone in the room, she slumped on the edge of the bed, boneless. Wanting to weep but unable to. Maybe she had already shed all her tears. Cried them internally these past months when Neel had rejected her every night.