by Nisha Sharma
Jai rubbed his hands over his face. He remembered when he was a kid and he’d overhear conversations about how all the money had gone to pay for Dad’s treatments. How his brothers had dropped out of school to take over the new store.
How much more could he help his father and his nana if he became a doctor? If he succeeded?
Maybe he’d have to risk being different and taking a chance. He had his family’s support, and, honestly, that was the most important part.
Jai looked over to his father. “Hey, old man,” he said in as bright a voice as he could manage. “Let’s say you’re right, and I go after my dream. Will I still be your favorite if I don’t make it?”
Jai’s father smiled, his mouth spreading in a toothy grin. He chuckled. “Yes,” he said. “But only if you try.”
“Only if I try. Got it.”
Jai turned to Nana Veeru. He still had a tube up his nose, an IV plugged in. His chest rose and fell in slow, soft breaths. One side of his face still drooped. Jai touched the dark, wrinkled fingers of one hand.
He wished so badly he could ask Nana what he thought about sending out his applications. “I would’ve really liked it if you were here in this moment with me, Nana,” Jai said quietly.
His father mumbled something, then coughed.
“What was that, Dad?”
“Your nana,” he said slowly, “would be proud, Jai. When he wakes up, he’ll tell you himself. Show him that you are trying to follow your dream.”
“Show him?”
Jai’s father nodded, adjusting his head against the padding of the back of his chair. “A gift. If you follow your dream, that will be a good gift.”
“Show him that I am following my dream…oh.” He checked his phone. In an hour his mother was going to come and pick them up with the van. Would that be enough time?
He opened a new browser on his laptop, and after making sure he had the right documents ready—an essay from Dr. O’Hare’s class, his information for the Common App—he checked the portal for Columbia University first-year applicants.
With his feet still propped up on the bed, he started a new profile and began drafting Columbia’s specific essay questions.
* * *
It was late when they got home. The nurse arrived shortly after to help with the bath and personal-care routine. Mom then tucked Dad into bed, and once he’d fallen asleep, she sat with Jai and his brothers at the old kitchen table. They ate takeout chole bhature and drank huge mugs of masala chai. There was also dhokla, his father’s favorite, but Neil had gotten into it earlier, so Jai didn’t want to touch it until his dad had had his share.
“How is Nana doing?” Gopal asked.
“He slept most of the time,” Jai said. “I spoke to him for less than five minutes before we left. He’s still not verbal, and he’s frustrated because of the facial drooping and the new paralysis. His attending physician was really nice, because I asked a bunch of questions and the guy stayed around and answered them for me.”
“What kind of questions?” Jai’s mother asked.
“About treatment plan, length of treatment, medication, quality of life. I know that Masi is going to be a little overwhelmed with everything once Nana comes home, so I figured I’d try to get a head start and help her with it all. I have a couple quizzes coming up based on winter break reading, the Winter Showcase, work, and all that, but I can probably have something put together in a few weeks.”
“You need to sleep, too, my bacha.”
“It has to be done, right? And this is my way of helping now.”
“You know,” Neil said as he motioned with a piece of bhature, “I don’t think this will make Masi feel better. She’s really upset that you’re mad at her. She was just trying to do her job.”
Jai pushed his plate aside and took a long drink from his mug. He was not going to argue with his brothers about Masi. He’d talk to her directly if he had to. Besides, he’d pretty much apologized for giving her the cold shoulder with the note he’d left in Nana’s room.
“Jai, puttar, you should talk to her. She only has your best interest at heart.”
Nope, Jai thought. He was not going to take the bait.
Gopal had opened his mouth to say something when the doorbell rang.
“Who is here this late?” Jai’s mom said. “I’ll get it.”
“Who do you think it is?” Neil asked. “One of your friends?”
“Not me,” Jai and Gopal said simultaneously.
A few minutes later, Jai’s mother returned, with Masi following close behind.
Jai’s stomach twisted. Why wasn’t she with Nana Veeru?
As if reading his mind, Masi said, “Everything is fine. They’re letting me spend the night with him in his room, so I decided to drive home and get a change of clothes. I wanted to stop on my way—to see Jai.”
She looked at him with fierceness in her eyes as she produced the folded piece of paper from her coat pocket. “I got your Christmas present.”
“Christmas present?” Neil asked. “Dude, we don’t do presents.”
“We don’t,” Jai said. He hadn’t done presents with his family in years. Mostly because they didn’t have the money to do it. Besides, they didn’t really celebrate Christmas. Some of his desi friends had the whole tree-and-presents thing, but for the Patels, Christmas was mostly an excuse to eat really good food with family.
“What changed your mind?” Masi asked.
As his brothers and mother looked on, Jai stood and shoved his hands in his back pockets. “First, I thought you would tell me when you were going to go to the team with your recommendations. You didn’t have to, I get that, but it felt like you didn’t give me a chance. You’re always pushing me to be better, to do better, but this wasn’t fair, Masi.”
“Jai!” his mother said. “You don’t speak to Masi like—”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Masi said, interjecting. The woman’s face, clear of makeup, looked tired and worn. She’d tied a scarf around her head today instead of one of her colorful dhukus, and she wore a sweat suit. Everything about her screamed burnout.
“I never meant for you to feel that way,” she said. “But I’m a teacher, too, Jai, and I had a responsibility to those students. I also gave you plenty of time to act on your own. And the only reason I push you harder than anyone else is because I know you have the potential to give more.”
“I know that. But you have to let me figure things out on my own sometimes. You can’t box me into corners, okay?”
“I never meant to—”
“But you did. With my recommendation letters, with my essay, with everything. Then with telling Radha she needs to dance. Really? You didn’t give me another alternative. And I’m not saying I’m not grateful for what you do, but I need to make my own decisions.”
She pressed her lips together until they formed a thin line and nodded.
“You’re right about something, though,” he continued. “I can’t help Nana if I can’t help myself. So, uh, I talked to Dad today.” Jai looked at his brothers, his mother. “He gave me some advice, which basically was about making sure I do what I want to do in life, and to give you a gift to thank you for helping me along the way. So, there you go. The paper I left was your gift. I still have some supplemental essay questions to answer before it’s done and submitted, but I asked one of the nurses if she could print the screenshot for me.”
“What?” Gopal burst out. “What gift? What screenshot?”
Masi unfolded the paper. She passed it to Jai’s mother first, who pressed a hand against her chest when she read the words at the top, and then to Gopal and Neil.
“You’re applying to Columbia?” Neil said. He broke out into a grin. “Finally! You’re pulling a Good Will Hunting!”
“Okay, I have no idea what that means, but yes. I�
�m applying.”
“And your father was the one who changed your mind?” Masi asked.
“He just put things into perspective. He also called me a few choice names in Gujarati. You deserve most of the credit, though. Thanks, Masi. For always being there for me.”
She opened her arms and pulled him into a warm hug. He buried his face in her neck. She’d been his rock. The dancing, the long hours of quiet conversation, and the constant lectures to be stronger and better.
When he pulled back, Masi held his face, and with tears in her eyes she said, “You are going to be a brilliant doctor. Just like your nana Veeru.”
“We’ll be okay, right?” he said to Masi, his mother, and his brothers. “Not like before. Not like when we didn’t have…when we were struggling to pay for food, and the house—” He was horrified when his voice broke, but thankfully Masi just held him close. Then his mother came over and hugged him.
He couldn’t respond, so he just held on. Then his brothers jumped him in a group hug.
“Columbia!” Gopal and Neil started chanting.
“Don’t let your fool brothers get to your head,” Jai’s mother said. “You are just sending in your application. It’s not like you have gotten in yet.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Jai replied. “I can always count on you to keep things real.”
“It’s my job, puttar. Jammie, why don’t you sit and have a cup of chai? It’s still hot. I’ll pack some food for you too. Take a few minutes before you go get your things. It’s Christmas, and you could use a little break, no?”
They all crowded around the old, scarred table, with refilled cups and Jai’s application screenshot in the center of the table. He hadn’t realized until this Christmas dinner that his family wanted this for him as much as he wanted it for himself.
“So, what are you going to do now?” Gopal asked.
“What do you mean, what is he going to do now?” Neil replied. “He’s the brown version of Will from Good Will Hunting. He’s gonna see about a girl!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
New Year’s Day
Radha
From the Recipe Book of Radha Chopra
Dada’s Signature Chole
To make Dada’s signature chole recipe, you must have:
Chickpeas
Cumin
Fennel seeds
Cardamom
Cloves
Bay leaves
Dried gooseberry powder
Dried mango powder
Onion
Tomatoes
Garlic
Turmeric
Red chilies
Pomegranate seeds
Salt
Pepper
Ginger
Dhania
Grind ginger and garlic into a paste using a mortar and pestle (or a blender with a little water). Cook the chickpeas in the pressure cooker. Sauté sliced onions, ginger, and garlic until they turn brown in color. Then add tomatoes. Cook until soft. Add all the spices to create our gravy. Add cooked chickpeas and water as needed. Simmer for three hours on low. Garnish with dhania.
Radha’s note: It’s almost impossible to find gooseberry powder outside an Indian grocery store.
To make the bhature, the yeasted fried bread to eat with the chole, a cheat is to buy biscuit dough in a can, roll it into thin, four-inch flat disks, and drop them in hot oil. Same taste, a fraction of the work.
SHAKTI: Happy New YEAR!!!
RADHA: Happy New Year! I just got back. My mom picked me up from Philly airport bright and early, loaded me up with Starbucks, and I am ready to get started.
SHAKTI: Started? Today? On New Year’s? Have you talked to Jai yet?
RADHA: Not yet. I have no idea how I’m going to, either. This is a huge change in the choreography.
SHAKTI: Well, you have to soon, since he’s the one getting a new dance partner. And by new partner I mean you.
RADHA: Yeah, let’s figure that out later. Any chance we can get in one of the school studios today? Does someone have a key?
SHAKTI: The drama club is rehearsing today. We can ask them to let us in.
RADHA: Okay. Can you gather the seniors? We’ll start with them, like we started the first time. Then we’ll bring in Jai.
SHAKTI: You got it, boss babe.
Radha packed her dance bag, opting to include her ghungroos just in case. She stripped out of her travel gear and into the comfiest pair of workout clothes she owned, complete with bright green leg warmers and a bandana.
She was halfway down the stairs when her mother called out to her.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asked. She stood in her office doorway, wearing leather pants and a cashmere sweater.
“I’m meeting with the dance team,” Radha said. “We’re making some adjustments to the choreography.”
“Oh.” Her face fell, and she picked up a card on her desk. “I was hoping that we could spend the day together. I still haven’t given you your gift for Christmas.”
“Oh? What is it?”
She handed the card to Radha. “Something I hope you like. It’s because I know you like cooking so much now. And your newfound love for choreography, of course. Consider it a peace offering.”
Inside were three folded pieces of paper. The first was a flyer for an intensive summer class at the local cooking academy. The second was an entry into the New Jersey Food and Wine Festival as an amateur competitor in her age bracket. And the third was an entry for a dance competition in the choreography category.
Radha’s stomach bottomed out. Besides a few comments here and there, her mother had been so hands-off since her panic attack that Radha had hoped she was turning over a new leaf and listening to what Radha wanted to do. In fact, she’d planned on telling Sujata about her decision to dance in the showcase after all. Thankfully, she’d waited just long enough to find out that her mother hadn’t changed at all.
She folded the papers up, put them back inside the card, and tried to smile. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it.”
Sujata’s grin faded. “What, you don’t like them?”
“No, that’s not it. Thank you. Really.”
“Then what? The classes were really expensive, Radha. You’ve been learning how to cook with your father and cousin. Imagine what a class could do for you!”
Radha sighed. “It’s not…I’m not learning to be a professional. I’m learning my family history. Food is a cultural gateway. I know your family history, which is kathak and all about your background as a dancer. This was about Dad.”
“I don’t understand,” Sujata said. Her arms crossed over her chest.
“Mom. I don’t want to compete. It takes the fun out of cooking.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Sujata said, waving a hand like she was brushing away a fly. “The competition would be a slam dunk. I looked at last year’s winner and you’re already way better than them. Same with the choreography. If you insist on doing that as part of your course curriculum, then I can’t stop you—”
“Mom, did you even hear a word I just said?” Radha asked. “I don’t intend on ever competing. I love cooking. I love dancing. It’s okay to be good at something without competing. Please don’t take this joy away from me too.”
“I’m not taking anything away from you! I’m trying to help you. Why are you always making me the bad guy? It’s my job to make sure you’re the best you can be, and this is how you can be the best.”
“You don’t have to try and make me the best. You just have to support me so I can figure it out on my own. Cooking is something I share with Dad—”
“Your father!” her mother raged, her words as pointed as daggers, her finger jabbing in her direction. “He�
��s the reason you’ve given up, isn’t he? You know what? I think it’s time to call it. You haven’t given a bit of effort to your dance career here—”
“What? How do you even know that?”
“—and if you love your father so much, if you love cooking with him and being with him more than me, you should probably move back to Chicago.”
“One minute I have to go back because I’m not doing what you want, and then, when I agree to visit Dad, you change your mind. I’m tired of you threatening me with Chicago,” Radha said, trying to keep her voice even.
“Threatening you? I may be more liberal than some of the other Indian parents here, Radha, but don’t you forget that in this house, you do not talk to me like that.” Sujata’s accent was as hard as the words spewing out of her now.
“I don’t know how else I can get you to listen to me. You still blame me for Kathak Classics and refusing to perform. You think that I screwed up, when actually I made a choice. I think you’re the one who screwed up, all on your own. You can’t use me to rewrite your own history anymore.”
Her mother slapped her across the face.
The sting was sharp and quick. Stunned into silence, Radha pressed a hand to her burning cheek.
“How dare you?” Sujata shouted, her voice trembling. “How dare you, when I’ve given up everything for you!”
“That’s what I’m saying! Who asked you to, Mom? Who asked you to do any of it when all I wanted was to dance or, I don’t know, cook a freaking meal?”
“Then you could do that in Chicago,” Sujata replied.
“Fine. But before you buy my ticket, you should probably talk to Dad, because I’m pretty sure that you can’t just send me wherever when you have full custody.”
Radha tossed the card on the desk, spun on her heels, and grabbed her dance bag. She was racing out the door in her UGGs moments later. She couldn’t deal with her mother right now. She had bigger fish to fry. Like making sure her boyfriend and her Bollywood dance team won regionals.
