The sound of the television woke up Mina. The kids were awake, watching cartoons. How was it possible that kids were so difficult to wake up on school days but were up at the crack of dawn on Saturdays? She groaned and buried her head under the pillow. The bedroom door opened and her daughter walked in. "Amma, amma, are you awake?" Well, if she wasn’t, now she definitely was.
Mina lifted her head to glare at her daughter and was rewarded with a charming smile. "Sekar Uncle wants to know were the coffee is?" In hell, where he too should be; she bit back the thought, and smiled at her daughter. "Tell him I’ll be right out to make the coffee." Her daughter smiled back and ran out of the room. Mina watched her disappear. She was tempted to flop over and go back to sleep. Oh damn that Sekar, did he have to have coffee so early on a Saturday morning. But then again he must be excited; after all, today was the day, the day that Tulsi, his bride, arrived in California. She sighed and got out of bed. No one should have to get out of bed before eight on Saturdays, she muttered, as she donned a faded dressing gown and staggered to the bathroom. As she brushed her teeth her reflection scowled back at her. "You look a mess," she told the reflection. The reflection cheerfully mouthed back the words to her.
Mina emerged from the bathroom. The scowl that had been lifting from her face returned, as she saw her husband sound asleep. Sekar was his cousin, so shouldn’t Mayank be the one up and making the beastly coffee. She shook him. Mayank muttered some unintelligible words and flipped over. She thought of trying again but gave up. Mayank had the ability to sleep through an earthquake.
Her son and daughter were sitting on the couch of the family room, engrossed in the activities of some cartoon character that was threatening to annihilate the world. Sekar was flipping through a section of the morning newspaper; the rest of it was strewn at random on table couch and floor. Drat the man, couldn’t he keep the newspaper together? Who did he think would pick up after him?
Sekar looked up, saw Mina smile, and followed her into the kitchen. There he perched on a kitchen stool and watched while Mina set about making the coffee. "Don’t you have any off the strong Indian coffee?" he asked, as Mina reached for the bottle of Folgers. It doesn’t even strike him that he could help, and now he wants proper coffee. It came from being waited on hand and foot by three sisters, and a fond mother, who thought the sun rose and set because of her only beloved son. Biting back her impatience, Mina managed to reply, "No." Not that it really mattered. Sekar had gone on, "Never mind. It’s just that all this instant stuff is so tasteless. I really miss a strong decoction. I’ve asked Tulsi to bring coffee." Oh, oh, here we go again, thought Mina. Tulsi. Wasn’t there anything he could talk of but Tulsi?
Sekar chattered away oblivious to Mina’s terse replies and sleepy yawns. Mina mentally tuned him out, just as she used to in college, on hot afternoons, when the lecturer had droned on and on. Sekar had been there too. They had been classmates in the engineering college. He had been one of those annoying students who always knew the answers to every question the lecturers asked and would look on smugly while others floundered. Outside the classroom too Sekar had waxed eloquent on every topic under the sun. Once in a heated discussion on women in the work place, he had declared that women were best off at home. The men should work and the women look after the home and hearth. His classmates of the fairer sex, Mina included, had been furious. They had argued till they were blue in the face. But Sekar had remained steadfast and smug in the superiority of his viewpoint. That day he had earned the title "MCB," male chauvinist bore. The girls agreed calling him pig would be an insult to pigs. And he hadn’t changed a bit, thought Mina, as she viewed him through the steam that rose from her coffee cup. There he sat across from her, still talking too much, assured in the superiority of his viewpoint. She gave an impatient shake of her head and set her coffee cup on the counter with a bit too much force, making the contents slosh over. "What’s the matter, Mina?" Sekar asked. Mina was saved from replying by Mayank’s entry into the kitchen. Relieved, she got up and gave him an extra wide smile, saying, " Sit here, Mayank, while I get coffee for you." Mayank stared at her sleepily, apparently wondering whether it was sarcasm or a genuine offer. Mina hastily got up, pushed him onto the stool she had vacated, and busied herself making another cup of coffee. Sekar evidently did not mind a change in audience. He effortlessly switched to Mayank, going over for the umpteenth time the morning’s plan of going to the airport to meet Tulsi.
"Perhaps we should leave earlier than ten, in case of traffic."
God, thought Mina, as if no one had ever done this before. They were just going to the airport, not to the South Pole. The fuss Sekar was creating! " I’m sure Tulsi will have the sense to wait if we are late," Mina sweetly remarked. The remark had its expected effect. Sekar renewed his campaign to leave earlier. Mayank glared at Mina before turning to reassure Sekar that 10 o’clock was ample time to leave for the airport, even if there was traffic. Suppressing a giggle, Mina pushed on to further victory. "Mayank, you give the kids breakfast while I have a bath and get ready. Don’t want to be late dropping them off at Lata’s place and delay going to the airport." With a sweet smile at the guys Mina quickly exited the kitchen, before Mayank could protest. She waited till she reached the confines of her bedroom before she permitted herself to laugh. That had been good. Listening to Sekar was bad enough. It taxed her patience to the very limit. To make matters worse Mayank tended to exhibit conservative Indian male attitudes when Sekar was around. Mina was glad that Tulsi was arriving. They’d hopefully see less of Sekar. And Mayank would return to his normal understanding self. Mina had not still recovered from that day six months ago when Sekar announced that he had decided to marry. It was a Friday. The kids were at a sleepover. Mina and Mayank were to go to an Italian restaurant over on Castro Street. Then Sekar had arrived from Roseville. Mina saw his car pulling up in the driveway. She’d hastily muttered to Mayank, " No way I’m going to cook tonight." She didn’t cook that night but she didn’t get Italian food either. For Sekar did not like Italian food. It was so bland. How could anyone enjoy eating all that boiled pasta? Sekar preferred Indian food, so they’d ended up at the Mayuri.
It was a pleasant restaurant. Not overcrowded. Just enough people to create a sort of hum above the clatter of cutlery and the chink of glasses. Light bounced off the gold-tinged paintings on the walls and made the peacock feathers in the vase glow. The food when it arrived was good and piping hot. Fluffy naans, baingan barta, dal fry and mutter paneer. But all of it was wasted on Mina, who was still cross at missing crab cakes and fettucine alfredo.
That’s when Sekar had pompously announced his marriage plans. "I have informed amma and appa that I am agreeable to marriage. I have told amma to look for a suitable girl. I told her I don’t want any doctors, engineers. No working girl for me. I want a girl who will be willing to stay at home. I earn enough, my wife will not have to work." Mina had been irritated. His declaration to marry sounded like he was doing a favor to womenkind. And the stay-at-home wife statement roused in her all the old animosities of their college days. "It’s not a question of money. Sometimes a woman just wants to work. Mayank earns enough but I enjoy working," she’d said, as she contemplated how the baingan barta would look on Sekar’s head. Then she’d nearly choked on a piece of naan when Mayank said, "It’s true a working wife does make life hectic. I sometimes feel it would be better for the kids if Mina were at home."
"Exactly so," Sekar had crowed.
Mina had been speechless with fury. She’d decided that the baingan would look better on Mayank’s head and it had been a close call. It was with what she later termed a superhuman effort that she kept control. Later, when Sekar had gone to sleep in the spare bedroom, she’d had a whale of a fight with Mayank. "What do you mean it is better that wives don’t work? How could you say that? And what do the kids lack? Are you suggesting that I don’t work?" she’d spluttered in rage.
"It’s true. I think it’s much easier when only one person is working," Mayank had insisted. "Especially in this country when there’s no family, none of the grandparents, aunts and uncles to help out."
"All right then, you resign and stay at home with the kids," she’d hissed at him.
The rest of the weekend she had gone around tight-lipped and Mayank had been surly. After Sekar left, Mayank seemed to regain his senses. "I think Sekar brings out the conservative male in Mayank," Mina had vented in the office to Lata.
Lata had laughed, "That’s the way guys are. Don’t worry, everything will be all right." And she had been right. Life had got back on an even keel. But every time after that, when Sekar appeared, Mina would be wary.
Thankfully within a month Sekar got his vacation time and left for India. He’d left carrying big suitcases loaded with presents. Among the parcels was a velvet box with an expensive gold bracelet. A flashy piece, studded with diamonds, rubies and emeralds. For his wife to be. "You don’t even know who it will be. How do you know whether she will like it," Mina had protested. Sekar had disagreed. All women like expensive jewelry, he’d declared, as if it were a universal truth. And Mayank had agreed. "How would you know?" Mina had asked. " And how come you have not given me any of this stuff?" This time Mayank had just laughed and retreated.
A knock on the bathroom door was accompanied by her son’s treble, "Amma, amma, come, we are ready." Mina opened her eyes to the steam-filled bathroom. The soak in the tub had been refreshing.
"Mina, hurry up," came Mayank’s voice. "You’d better leave soon if you want to drop off the kids and be back in time to go to the airport." Mina sighed and rose from the tub. "I’m just coming out," she yelled.
Why did they all have to go to the airport? Sekar had phoned a week ago, voice brimming with excitement. Tulsi would arrive on Saturday, the eleventh, on SFQ 112, via Singapore and Seoul. He’d fixed it up, then, that he would drive down to Sunnyvale from Roseville on Friday night and spend the night with Mina and Mayank. The next morning they could all go to the airport to meet Tulsi. "Does he want all of us to go with him, including the kids?" Mina had asked. " Wouldn’t it be better if he just went?" No, Sekar wanted them to accompany him. Mayank agreed, much to Mina’s annoyance. A compromise was worked out; she would go but not the kids. "I still don’t see why I have to come," Mina had grumbled and made arrangements with Lata to drop off the kids.
The kids were happy to be going to Lata Auntie’s house. On the way they discussed all the fun they would have, the ice cream they would eat, with Lata Auntie’s kids, who were the same age and had the same interests.
"I hope it’s not too much of a bother," Mina asked as she dropped off the kids.
"Oh not at all," Lata replied. "I just have to provide them lots of ice cream. So how’s Sekar? Ready to meet his bride?"
"I know I am ready," Mina said as she got into her car. "I’ve had enough of hearing about Tulsi."
"Just remember that it’s not her fault," Lata called out. Mina smiled, waved and headed back home.
True, it was not Tulsi’s fault that the very name Tulsi irritated Mina. What could Tulsi do if Sekar was such a dope? In fact all men were dopes when they were newly wed. Sekar was just a bit dopier.
Sekar had returned from India with just one word on his lips–Tulsi. It seemed as if Sekar’s life had dissolved and reformed around Tulsi or at least thoughts of her. Nothing happened without some glowing reference to Tulsi, a veritable litany in praise of her, which all who came into contact with him had to endure. She was, if one believed Sekar, beautiful, charming, chaste, shy, witty, reserved, open… Never mind if some of the qualities seemed to be diametric opposites of each other. To Sekar, Tulsi was a paragon of perfection, the girl of his dreams.
Mina and Mayank had held a wedding video viewing party. Potluck and a first glimpse at the paragon of perfection. Mina had commented to Lata, "Why should I be the only one to suffer through those endless albums and videos. I think all of you can suffer too."
The guests had come bearing foil-covered dishes. Pullao and raita, stuffed peppers and paneer koftas, and loads of bhajis and samosas. Mina had made special payasam for dessert. Throughout dinner and dessert, the video had played and the albums were passed around. The women had exclaimed over the bride’s beauty, the heavy, gold worked saris, and the exquisite jewelry. The men had ragged Sekar, "You lucky dog, she’s beautiful and loaded." All the guests agreed, Tulsi was beautiful. Slim, average height, long black hair. She had stood throughout with eyes downcast, shy and reserved. It looked like Sekar had found the girl of his dreams. One who would as per his wishes stay at home.
And to think that Sekar’s marriage to Tulsi had been almost a chance occurrence. Sekar had arrived in India to disapprove of all the girls lined up for him to see. The month of leave wore on and prospects of Sekar marrying had dimmed. Then a week before he was to return to California, Sekar and his parents had gone to attend a wedding in Chinglepet. There they had seen Tulsi and met her parents. Everything had fallen into place. Sekar had approved of the girl and his parents had approved of the family. The news had flown over the phone lines from Mayank’s mother to Mina. Tulsi was the daughter of rich landowner parents. She was considered to be a beauty and very talented. Within a week the nuptials had taken place, a quiet affair, since time had not permitted otherwise. Mina still wondered at the speed of it all and about the girl’s people being willing to rush through a marriage. Hadn’t they wanted to make proper inquiries? She said as much to Mayank. "What’s their hurry? My parents did a thorough background check before they even allowed you to come and see me. And whoever heard of a quiet wedding for an only daughter?" Mayank had laughed at her thoughts on the matter. "You’re not there, so you don’t have the whole picture," he’d chided her. But Mina had continued to wonder.
The clock on her car said nine-thirty. Mina decided it would be better to skip the brief stop at Albertson’s that she had planned, to pick up milk. If she was late, Mayank would not be pleased. He was a fiend for punctuality. If Mayank said ten, then he would want to leave on the dot of ten. She did not want to delay Tulsi’s arrival, not by one minute. All Tulsi’s actions in India were telephonically chronicled by Sekar and relayed to Mina and Mayank. They knew it all, the exact number of forms that were filled, when they were signed, the time spent in the visa line. It was such a relief to everyone when Tulsi finally boarded the flight in Chennai. No, Mina did not want to be the reason for any delay.
Mina smiled as she pulled into her driveway. She’d made it back in time. Swinging her keys, she entered the house. "I’m back," she called out, walking into the kitchen to place her keys on their hook. There was no reply. That was odd. Mina glanced at the clock. It was not yet ten. Relieved, she walked into the living room laughingly protesting, "I’m not late. It’s not yet ten on the kitchen clock. We can leave at once." Then she stopped short, words dying on her lips. Sekar was seated on the couch, hands gripped together, knuckles showing white. Mayank continued to be seated, carefully examining the lines on his hands. Their silence made Mina uneasy. What had happened? The morning’s mood of expectancy and excitement had vanished. There was an air of gloom and despair. Alarmed, she looked at Mayank. " Is ... is something the matter?" Sekar abruptly got up and walked over to the window to stare out at the garden. Oh god, it was Tulsi; something had happened to Tulsi. She looked enquiringly at Mayank. He looked at her silently, shook his head, and said aloud, "Let’s have coffee."
Coffee? Mina had a weird feeling of suspended animation. Before she could utter a word, Mayank rose and pushed her into the kitchen.
"She’s not coming," he whispered.
Mina stared at him in total bewilderment. "She’s not coming," Mayank repeated.
"Who? Tulsi? You mean Tulsi?" Mina slowly asked.
"Yes, yes, who else?"
Mina let out a sigh of relief. All right, Tulsi was still alive. In those brief moments Mina had envisioned gory scenes of a plane crash. She filled the kettle with water and plugged it in.
"Periappa just phoned and said she was not coming," Mayank continued.
"Why, what happened?" Mina asked and when Mayank did not reply continued, "Is she sick or something?"
"No, she’s fine." Mayank hesitated and then the words tumbled out. "She’s not coming now or ever. She has gone to London. Apparently she had some old flame, I guess not so old. Anyway she took the flight to Singapore, and there she got on a flight to London. She phoned Periappa from London, so that no one would worry when she didn’t turn up in San Francisco. She sent her apologies to Sekar and said she was sorry for any inconvenience she had caused. Can you believe that? Can you believe the boldness of that girl, the utter shamelessness?"
Mina gasped as she heard the tale. The spoon in her hand clattered onto the counter, spilling coffee granules. She stared open-mouthed at Mayank. After what seemed hours all she could gasp out was, "She went to London and isn’t coming?"
Maynak nodded. "Get the coffee," he said and went back to the living room.
Mina stood transfixed. She stared at the coffee granules on the counter, then automatically reached for a paper towel to wipe them off. Mechanically she took a fresh spoon, measured coffee into the cups, and added milk. The whistling of the kettle woke her from her reverie. She poured the water into the cups and stirred. She couldn’t believe it. Never would she have thought it possible. Poor Sekar, he must be devastated. No wonder he had been silent.
Mina entered the living room carefully balancing the tray. She had overfilled the cups. Mayank was back on the couch, again examining his hands. He avoided her gaze as she placed the tray on the table and handed him a cup. Sekar looked as if he had not moved from his vigil at the window. He stood all droopy and tired, every line on his back clearly depicting his state of dejection. Mina picked up a cup of coffee and went over to him. "Here, drink this," she said. He turned and stared at her blankly. "Here, drink this," she repeated, gently shaking his arm. He blinked at her touch, then slowly registered her presence. He silently took the cup from her and turned again to stare out of the window with unseeing eyes. Mina returned to the sofa and sat next to Mayank. "Say something," she whispered.
"What?" Mayank whispered back.
A good question. What did you say? Sorry to hear your wife has left? She glanced over at Sekar. He looked limp like a deflated balloon. He brought to mind a rag doll she’d once had. Sekar looked like the doll the day it had gotten ripped and the stuffing oozed out, the same expression of sad bewilderment.
The phone rang. Mayank reached for it. "Sekar, it’s for you," he said in an odd voice. "It’s Tulsi’s parents."
Sekar turned from the window, eyes blank then slowly becoming hard with fury. "I do not wish to speak to them." He walked over and set the coffee cup with a click on the table. "In fact, I think it is best if I leave for Roseville right away." He turned and marched out of the room. Mayank without a moment’s pause put the phone down and went after him. Mina could hear him arguing with Sekar, urging him to stay on. Apparently he lost the argument, for she soon heard Sekar’s car start and pull out of the driveway. Then Maynak called out, "I think I’ll go for a haircut." She heard the door shut after him. There was nothing else to do but pick up the coffee cups and head for the kitchen.
