Gone with the Wings

by Leena Clover

  “Look under the tables,” Dad had screamed. “I discussed contingency plans with Sarla. I told her to take shelter under the library table or the dining room table in such a scenario. We had a plan!”

  Motee Ba and Dad had safely taken shelter in the university basement, along with all the staff.

  “There’s a lot of damage, and we will have to do some rebuilding.” The fire marshal had told Pappa. “But your daughter is the only one missing.”

  They never found her body. The neighbors and Dad's colleagues launched Search and Rescue, the police launched a massive man hunt. But there was no sign of Sarla Patel, mother of two, wife of a promising young immigrant professor who was one of the top most minds at Pioneer Poly. Dad had thrown himself in his research, feverishly filing more and more patents. Motee Ba assumed the mantle of mother and raised us kids in an alien country.

  The case had remained open for some time, and the search had continued. As time went by, it had been relegated to the bottom of the pile as new tragedies occurred, and fresh crimes were committed. Seven years later, Sarla Patel had been legally declared dead. My Dad was a free man, free to marry again if he wanted to.

  The topic is completely taboo in our family and no one mentions it. Apart from a sometimes irrational fear around weather warnings, our life has moved on.

  I snuggled into Tony's broad chest, and Becky hugged me from behind. We rocked together in a sandwich, just like we had as kids. I have no memory of this ancient tragedy, other than begging my mother for some extra cookies for my snack on the way home from school. Sometimes, I wonder if that was good or bad. But I had been too young, and I hadn't missed much, growing up in a loving household.

  Another siren split the sky and there was a chorus of “Thank God”, “Finally” and “About time”. Prudence Walker, that paragon of excellence, started sniffling with relief. I spotted a suspicious wet patch on her skirt, right around the hips.

  Dad and Tony cautiously flipped the shelter door open. We trooped out one by one, looking around curiously, accessing the damage. The house was still standing as we had left it. The picnic tables had toppled over and all the food was gone. Oh well, glad I ate some before, I thought irrationally and then giggled with hysteria. A couple of windshields were shattered, and some of the trees were stripped bare of the fruit which was scattered all over.

  Tony had tuned in to the radio in his truck.

  “An F-0 touched down five miles south of here, no casualties,” he reported. “We have been cleared now. All clear.”

  He repeated, as if to be sure himself.

  “Let's go make sure the cafe's alright,” Sylvie prodded Jon, and all the guests said their good byes one by one.

  We were huddled in the family room two hours later, after cleaning away all the debris. Everyone looked shaken. Pappa was quiet, and Dad seemed to have aged a decade. We were all sipping some brandy.

  “Doctor's orders. You too, Jeet!” Pappa was firm as he brought out his priced cognac and poured two fingers in our glasses. “We've had a shock.”

  “Do you ever wonder what happened to her, Dad?” I asked for the first time in my life.

  “Only every day of my life!” Dad was solemn and I staggered under a wave of guilt.

  Why had I never given much thought to the woman who gave birth to me?

  Chapter 7

  After being in low spirits in the Labor Day aftermath, life gradually returned to normal.

  Most of the university jobs had been handed out, and the scholarship or financial aid hopefuls had resigned themselves to a big bursar bill. The library jobs had also been filled. I never knew what the winning skill to land these was. Most student employees were part time, working maybe 15-20 hours in the week. They checked out books, gave helpful information, did some shelving - stuff even a high school student could easily do.

  Students found it easy to accept that they were not bright enough for a fellowship grant. But they took it hard when they did not land a library job.

  “Whaar can I find Meera Madam?”

  I heard someone asking about me.

  My co-worker pointed me out. “There she is.”

  She shrugged in response to my raised eyebrow. The girl turned and I recognized her from the other day.

  “What is status of application?” she asked me urgently.

  I was a bit confused.

  “I apply for library job. You take print? What is status please?”

  I hesitated before answering. “All the positions have been filled.”

  She looked shattered, and then her eyes teared up. She turned aggressive, her tone demanding.

  “I am gold medalist. Top in my university. Why I cannot work at library, please?”

  “Hey, hey, hold on. I don't handle the job appointments. I can't help you here. It's not my decision!”

  I backed away a bit.

  “I was promised financial aid. But they took it away. I need job to pay rent. Can you help, please?”

  She sounded desperate.

  “Have you checked the university website for campus jobs? Maybe they still have openings at the food court or in the residence halls? Custodial always has openings.”

  “Ayyooo, I do not want to touch meat. I am a Brahmin. Pure vegetarian, you see.”

  She beamed at me, expecting me to nod, or pat her on the back.

  Pappa had hunted in the jungles of Africa and fed me mutton broth as a child. So I did not see.

  “No need to eat it. You just have to do the work.”

  Her face told me what she thought of that.

  “No non-veg stuff!” she proclaimed with finality. “What is this custody?”

  “Janitorial services. You know, sweeping and mopping the floors, cleaning out bathrooms, that sort of stuff.”

  She looked shocked and her face turned red.

  “Madam, I just say I am Brahmin. Pure Brahmin. I do not touch the garbage or the toilet. That is beneath my caste.”

  I wondered what kind of hygiene and sanitation these people followed.

  “Well, there’s no such thing here. What's your name again?”

  “Jyothi. Jyothi Sudhakaran. Pure Iyer. Tamil Brahmins, you know.”

  She gave me a knowing look. Her genealogy meant nothing to me.

  “Well, Jyothi. In this country, we believe in honest work, whatever it is. I am sorry, I have to head to a meeting.”

  I said goodbye and left, marveling at the difference in culture. Would I have the same views, if I had grown up in India, I wondered. I heard Jyothi cry out after I had barely taken five steps away. I whirled to witness a weird tableau.

  Jyothi Sudhakaran looked about to explode. Her fists were curled and she was shaking with anger. Prudence Walker looked at her and laughed maliciously.

  “No job here too?” she sniggered at the poor girl.

  “God will never forgive you. You are evil woman.”

  Prudence put her hands on her hips and grinned. “What nonsense. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You take away my money. Now I cannot pay rent.”

  Jyothi seemed about to cry.

  Prudence shouldered her and started walking away.

  “Are you snatching food from the mouths of babes now, you witch?” I spit out.

  Prudence looked too innocent. “More like incompetent fools. You wouldn’t understand, Meera.”

  Unable to take any more of Prudence, I walked away, already late for my meeting.

  My shift over, I backed out the Camry and headed to Sylvie's. Becky wanted to discuss some menu changes and she wanted me along for moral support.

  Jon brought out fresh hot fries smothered in melted cheese, topped with scallions and jalapenos.

  “You can start with this, girls. Burgers Ok for you?”

  I opted for a fried fish burger, and Becky wanted the same.

  “Now what is this all about? Are you two girls here to ambush two poor old people??” Sylvie joked, but she looked slightly worried. “Should I have
your grandma here for some support?” she asked me.

  “I don't know. Becky wants to discuss something. I'm just here for the ride.”

  I stuffed my face with a big forkful of the cheesy fries. Becky would make me suffer for it later, but I wanted to stay neutral in front of Sylvie.

  “It's like this,” Becky started as Jon shuffled in next to Sylvie, setting down a tray with our burgers on the table.

  I looked at these people, at their weather beaten faces and the tension in their eyes. They were as much a part of my life as Motee Ba and Pappa and I wondered what was bothering them so much.

  “We have our regular customers. Folks that have been comin' in all these years. But we could still have more. There is a big international population in town among the student body. And the other staff from the world over.”

  We nodded. We all knew that.

  “Folks go to Oklahoma City or Tulsa when they want to celebrate or eat something different. Why not give them that here?”

  Becky flushed as her idea was finally out in the open.

  “See here…folks also want to eat healthier. They want their fruits and vegetables and more fiber in their diet. We can also have a healthy menu or low fat menu.”

  “Now hold on right there, Missy,” Jon wheezed. “What's the guarantee that will work?”

  “Well, there's only one way to find out!” Becky was persistent.

  “So you want to nix our menu and start serving sticks and berries?” Sylvie huffed.

  “Of course not! All our old favorites stay. The chicken fried steak, pot pie, burgers, wings, and meatloaf. We’re not changing any of that. And of course, the pies and cobblers stay, Sylvie. I’m just saying maybe we can add a new special of the day, along with our regular specials.”

  “Meera, you tell 'em!” she suddenly turned on me and I stuttered.

  “Err ... tell them what?”

  “We can add some Indian dishes to the menu, like curry, or those pakora fritters Granny makes,” Becky reminded me. “Actually, I need Meera's help in this.”

  She looked at Sylvie, and the couple shrugged.

  “I'm not the one you gotta ask, girl!” Jon pointed toward me. “So you girls come up with the menu and give us the options.”

  Jon ended the small powwow, leaving for the kitchen with the empty trays.

  “Just wait and see, Meera. Its gonna be awesome.”

  Becky was very confident but frankly, I did not share her faith in my abilities.

  Chapter 8

  Becky and I were sitting at our kitchen island, munching on chips and guacamole.

  “This is so Yum!” Becky mumbled between bites.

  “And also very fattening,” I grumbled.

  Avocado is one of my food vices, along with chocolate and cheese and a host other.

  “Well, at least it’s more heart healthy than cheese. Better than queso, what?” Becky reasoned.

  “What are you girls up to? Talking about guys?” Jeet sniggered as he copped a handful of chips and a big scoop of the guac.

  I swatted him away.

  “Don't you have any homework?”

  “Whatever! Tony's coming in a few and I am waiting for him.” He walked over to the couch in a huff and surfed to VH-1, raising the volume to High.

  I rolled my eyes. “So where were we? The simplest are the potatoes. Start writing.”

  We talked about what dishes we could add to the menu. I wasn't very sure how to execute all this.

  “Isn't that too much to take on?”

  “No worries,” Becky reassured me. “I’m sure it will be a breeze.”

  Tony walked in. “What will be a breeze?”

  “The new menu at Sylvie's,” Becky said, eyes shining. “We’re adding Indian fried potatoes and the fritters for every day. Veggie Burgers too. Then Meera's recipes on days we have Fried Chicken, Pot Pie and Blue Plate Special.”

  Becky looked at me. “I also want you to make the Sunday Chicken Curry or Lamb Curry with the rice pilaf.”

  "Hold on, hold on, babe. Let's just run this by Sylvie and Jon first, give it a shot, and then we will see.”

  “OK, I guess.” Becky was finally realistic.

  “Isn't Dad home yet?” I yawned as I called out to Jeet.

  “I'm just coming in, Meera. What's up?” Dad was tossing his keys in the silver dish on the console.

  “You're late today,” I observed.

  “We had the first meeting of the Indian Students Association this semester. New post holders, new enthusiasm.”

  He went through this every year and was pretty familiar with it all by now.

  “Funny thing happened.”

  Dad took some chips and tried to scoop up the remaining guacamole.

  “Any more of this?” he asked hopefully.

  “Would’ve been, if these two gluttons hadn't hogged it all down,” I complained, throwing a wad of kitchen towels at Jeet and Tony.

  “Stop that, Meera,” Dad frowned. “You can be so childish sometimes. Anyway, there was this girl waiting for me outside the meeting room. She just wouldn't let me go. She wanted to know why she didn’t get an assistantship. She went on and on about how she couldn't get any other job. How I should understand because I was Indian too. It was all a bit sad.”

  “Wait a minute. Not that Jyothi girl? Speaks with a weird accent, dresses weirdly? She said she was top in her university. Had a gold medal.”

  “That's true,” Dad agreed. “Unfortunately, there's a crop of exceptionally bright students this year. All the assistantships were given out at the time of admission.”

  “That’s just the thing. She was offered aid during admission. But they took it away.”

  “What are you saying, Meera? Who told you that?”

  “I have it from the horse’s mouth.”

  I refused to say any more.

  “You’ve been through the system, Meera.” Dad was serious now. “You know these decisions are not taken lightly. It’s not that easy to take away financial aid once it has been offered. Not until the person fails miserably.”

  I nodded. “But this horse almost admitted it. Any guesses who it was?”

  Dad’s face became pinched as something dawned on him. “This is not related to Prudence again, is it?”

  “And how!” I slapped my knee, excited. “I saw them fighting over this in the library today, Dad. You’ve got to believe me on this one.”

  “What happened?” Dad asked wearily.

  “That girl didn’t get a library job. Prudence was laughing at her, making fun. The girl looked mad enough to punch Prudence in the face. She accused Prudence of taking away her money. And Prudence gloated!!”

  Dad slumped his shoulders.

  “I’m all for autonomy in the department. Especially with the younger members of the staff. Prudence has access to some research dollars this year. Maybe she thinks the girl is not suitable. She’s not sure what her research interests are. And she cannot communicate well. Granting aid in such cases is a waste of funds.”

  Dad was thinking from the other side of the fence in his role as Professor and Faculty Advisor.

  “I feel bad, but what can I do. I have to turn someone away each year.”

  “You mean Prudence can reverse a decision the department made just because she doesn’t like someone? She doesn’t like most people, Dad!”

  Dad was beginning to look weary.

  Motee Ba walked in and pulled on her apron from the peg in the kitchen.

  “Come on, kids. Stop your jabbering and let your Dad put his feet up. I’m heating up dinner.”

  I went to our library room to pick up a good book, and Becky and Tony waved goodbye.

  Dad hadn’t said much when he heard about how Prudence mishandled the funding situation. But I sensed he wasn’t happy with her. There wasn’t much anyone could do. Retracting financial aid was bad enough for the department’s reputation. Accepting they made a mistake and offering it back would be worse. I agreed with Dad that
Prudence was maybe justified in her actions since Jyothi didn’t live up to her credentials.

  I spotted Jyothi in the distance a couple of times, going around on campus. I prayed I wouldn’t run into her again. There was nothing I could do for her.

  Fall was finally making its presence felt in Oklahoma. The days were still pretty warm, but the mornings had that chill that smelt of winter. The evenings cooled down pretty quickly, and we could finally switch off air conditioning and get some fresh air from the open windows at night. The light breezes brought the scent of jasmine mixed with some tea roses from the garden. I had started dressing in layers, but still wore shorts and capris.

  I walked down to the Electrical Engineering building one day to ask Dad out for lunch. I try to drag him to the food court once in a while. I think he just pulls something out of the vending machine on most days. I heard a cloying voice as I neared his office and my blood pressure went up a bit. I had no wish to run into Prudence Walker. The door was slightly ajar and I could see a stiletto clad foot swinging lazily.

  Dad was talking about some complex communication protocol, probably discussing some technical paper. Prudence giggled and said something I couldn’t hear. Dad’s tone remained unchanged and he went on. I tried to peep through the door without being seen.

  Prudence Walker was sitting on top of my Dad’s desk, leaning over, almost thrusting her flat chest in his face. Dad was looking down, rifling through a big bunch of paper. Prudence was staring at Dad, a lustful look in her eyes. My mouth dropped open. I’d suspected Prudence had a crush on Dad. But I had never actually seen it firsthand.

  I rapped my knuckles on the door, not bothering to be subtle.

  Dad looked up, and I sensed him sigh with relief.

  “Oh Hi Meera, come in, come in,” he said heartily.

  He looked at Prudence.

  “Let’s do this later, Miz Walker. I have a lunch date with my daughter.”

  Prudence Walker was breathing fire at me.

  “In fact,” my Dad offered, “why don’t you join us? We are just going to the food court.”

  Prudence looked torn.

  “I have a class,” she said reluctantly. “Professional hazard, I guess,” she smirked, twisting her ugly mouth, glaring at me. “Times like these, I wish I shelved books for a living. Must be nice, hunh?”