Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors

by Sonali Dev

  So, yes, this was completely out of character. Even more out of character was how exhausted Nisha had sounded when she hung up. Nisha’s default mode was perpetual motion. Trisha redialed her number to make sure she was okay as she pulled under the columned porte cochere. Her sister didn’t answer.

  Yash’s Tesla was parked in front of her, which meant she wasn’t so late that everyone had already left. Ugh, weren’t there supposed to be silver linings to family fiascoes? Her attempt at barreling herself back into the fold might have crashed and burned, but did the entire family need to witness it?

  Backing her car right out and leaving sounded tempting, but she was here and she could really use one of her grandmother’s hugs right now, and maybe some advice on how to keep herself from becoming too emotionally invested in Emma’s case. Last night had gone by in such a blur, she’d barely gotten to see Aji.

  She got out of the car, and then idiot that she was, she peeked into the garage to see if HRH was still here too. Yup, there was no silver lining in sight. HRH’s black Tesla, one of the test models from the first batch to leave the Fremont plant, gleamed in its spot under the rest of his cars stacked up on the hydraulic platforms of his garage. Maybe she could just hide until he left. He had to be going back to the hospital soon—he had consulting hours this afternoon.

  As she made her way through the house she considered calling her sister again and screaming. Mostly because she had the urge to scream, but also because she wanted to make sure that an alien hadn’t abducted Nisha and left behind a cyborg in her place. A cyborg who didn’t know just how important Animal Farm debriefings were to Nisha.

  The Animal Farm was the family’s nickname for itself. It had all started with this picture book called The Animal Farm that some auntie visiting from India had brought the Raje children. HRH, a fan of the novel by George Orwell, had been horrified when he saw the book and ordered Yash to throw it away. But Yash, like any older sibling, had delegated the task to Trisha, and she had been so intrigued by the brightly colored, haphazardly printed book that she had read it. And laughed so hard that the rest of them had taken it from her and also read it.

  It was the story of wild and domestic animals living together in harmony in a hamletlike forest. The animals walked on two legs, lived in houses that ranged from hutments to palaces, and wore puffy bow ties if they were male and frilly aprons if they were female. But the thing that had made the Raje children guffaw until they had tears in their eyes was the very random morals each story ended with. These animal-humans who got into all sorts of messes always made everything better with a group hug and with throwing out lines like “One step at a time. That’s how you change the world!” or “A person is only as good as his word!” or “United we stand, divided we fall!”

  The Raje cousins had all grown up in the same house. Trisha and her three siblings; Yash the scion of the dynasty, Nisha the perfect big sister, and Vansh the free-spirited brat who did as he pleased. He was currently in Uganda trying to dig wells and set up filtration systems, working toward his plan to save the world one clean water drop at a time. And their two cousins: Esha, HRH’s older brother’s daughter and the oldest of the cousins, whom Trisha’s parents had raised since her parents had died in the air crash she had miraculously survived. And Ashna, HRH’s younger brother’s daughter, who technically hadn’t lived with them, but who for all practical purposes had while her father battled alcoholism and her mother took long breaks from him and ran off to India every chance she got.

  Growing up with her cousins and siblings had been fun, but also something of a whirlwind. Ma had made sure they were all too busy upholding the Raje academic and extracurricular standards to have any free time at all. But it was a whirlwind you never had to navigate by yourself. Loneliness was a feeling Trisha hadn’t experienced until she left for college.

  While at home, every night before bed they had all gathered in their grandmother’s room to wish her good night and tell her about their day. Trisha had loved that hour they got to be together and to be kids. Raje kids, but kids nonetheless. At these nightly gatherings, they had loved reading The Animal Farm aloud and hamming up those moralistic concluding lines from the stories, and the strange book had become a family heirloom. When it had fallen to tatters, Aji had tucked it into a plastic sleeve and put it in the storage room where it had disappeared along with their childhood.

  The book had also given birth to an entire family of nicknames. That’s where “Shasha” came from. Between being the tallest and gangliest of the girls, and between it somewhat rhyming with Trisha, she had forever become Shasha, the clumsy giraffe who always missed out on things because she did not fit into places.

  Yash, of course, was Shambhu, the lion who was a domineering control freak who didn’t always know best. But they had all long lost their ability to poke fun at Yash. He had turned into someone you couldn’t mock for any reason. Nisha was Rimbo, the hippo who kept the peace. Ashna was Tombo, the elephant who was always trying to be someone she wasn’t. Esha was Siya, the detached swan, although she was never in the thick of their shenanigans so the nickname had barely stuck. Vansh had been too young to be deemed worthy of a nickname.

  Trisha’s was the only nickname that had stayed firmly in place.

  Today the Animal Farm was all gathered on the upper floor, where Esha and Aji had their private suite of rooms. It was Trisha’s favorite part of the house. Even more beloved than her own childhood room with its canopy bed and ceiling painted to resemble the Simpsons’ sky from her favorite TV show growing up.

  Trisha had always believed that every place had a pulse, a native texture to its air as it sank into your lungs. The air here in America vibrated at an entirely different frequency than the air in India. It was one of Trisha’s earliest memories: the change when they landed in Mumbai on their trips. Then they would take their family’s private jet to Sripore, and the air there would feel entirely different from Mumbai. Sometimes when Trisha found herself alone, which was almost never given how many of them there were, she would stick out her tongue to see if the air tasted different. It did. The air in the Sagar Mahal tasted clean and sweet, like rosewater.

  The air in Aji’s room tasted just like that. And the comfort of it alleviated some of Trisha’s nerves. Still, she peeked around the corner of the sitting room. Sure, it was silly to slink around as though she were some sort of thief but she needed to know where everyone was positioned so she could strategize which corner to disappear into. But the walnut-paneled sitting room was empty.

  Two life-size portraits of Sita and Parvati by Raja Ravi Varma, arguably India’s most renowned classical artist, hung on two sides of a life-size dancing Ganesha statue carved from a single piece of sandalwood. All three of the deities gave her their benevolent smiles, and Trisha felt forgiven for all the sins she might ever have committed, which she suspected was the purpose of the pieces in the first place.

  The door to Aji’s room cracked open and sounds spilled out. Trisha heard her father’s voice say, “We can discuss the rest later. I have to be at the hospital.”

  She dived behind the leather sectional.

  Holy shit, why had she done that?

  HRH strode across the sitting room in his signature trample-little-animals-in-his-way style and Trisha scrambled around the couch on all fours as silently as she could. If he heard her, she would die of mortification. Die.

  He stopped. Shit shit shit. Ma followed him out of Aji’s room. Trisha drew herself around the corner of the couch where she begged the paintings of the goddesses to keep her hidden.

  “It’s not like the girl is stupid,” HRH said with enough disdain that Trisha had no doubt who the “girl” in question was. “We all know her brain is not the problem. It’s just utter selfishness.”

  “She’s busy,” Ma said placatingly. “You know how brutal hospital hours are. And she’s trying now.”

  He huffed—well, not really, he was HRH—but his tone was huffing as hell. “I’m he
re. Yash is here. Nisha called even though she couldn’t make it. Ashna has a restaurant to run and she made it. What she’s trying to do is make some sort of point. She’s just being vindictive. We were better off with her out of things. She’s hurt him enough already. You and Ma-saheb have to stop coddling her.”

  Ma made a sound that Trisha didn’t hear because her ears were ringing. The elevator slid open and her parents disappeared into it.

  “Shasha?”

  Great. Just great! The last person she needed to see right now.

  “Hi, Yash.” She blinked up at him, trying to push the tears back.

  “Can I help you find something?” He squatted down next to her.

  “I thought I had lost a contact lens. But I think it just moved around.” More blinking ensued.

  “Contacts trouble again, ha?” he said, giving her a smile that commemorated every incident of her stupid lenses popping out at inopportune moments. It was a kind smile. And it set off a horrid sense of loss inside her. She would never be vindictive with Yash.

  “I thought the meeting was at two. I’m so sorry I missed it.”

  The kind smile disappeared. “Ma always does these at noon.” His look turned sad, as though he’d just realized that there was no reason for her to know that.

  “You’re the one who never wanted me to be here,” she wanted to say. But it wasn’t true. He had never asked her not to come. He had never asked her to come, either.

  “Is Rob really running against you in the primaries?” Rob Steele had been Yash’s best friend since law school. Trisha couldn’t imagine how betrayed Yash must feel right now. The two of them had the same political platform. Only Steele was white.

  Yash’s eyes widened, clearly surprised that she knew anything about his political career. He stood and offered her his hand.

  She let him pull her up. That look of surprise made her feel like a piece of shit. The only reason she knew about Steele was because HRH had slapped her head with the information.

  “I really wanted to be here today, Yash,” she said tiredly.

  “Or you’ve picked this time to stick it to HRH. He’s under a lot of stress, Shasha. Give the man a break.” That was pure Yash, worried about every person on earth . . . except, of course, the sister who had almost ruined him.

  Did it strike any of them that she had a life, that her decisions were not based on sticking it to anyone or being vindictive? Why had she thought this was a good idea again?

  Getting sucked into this conversation was a bad idea. It would only end with her feeling even more guilty than she already did, or with Yash running out the door toward something more important. “My afternoon opened up, and after yesterday . . . I, well . . . I wanted to be here. But I can’t always get away from work.”

  Again, he looked surprised that she had explained herself. “Everything okay at work?” His concern seemed genuine. It was his best expression, also his favorite one. All you had to do was google him and you’d see this face telling you Yes, I care.

  He looked at his watch, their oldest uncle’s Rolex, the Raje equivalent of the Crown. Any caring she might have imagined in his eyes got buried under the need to get to the next place he needed to be.

  “Peachy!” she said breezily. “Good luck with your meeting.”

  He stopped halfway to the stairs. He never took the elevator. It had been installed after the accident that had put him in a wheelchair for two years in high school, but he’d never stepped in there once after he had gotten out of that wheelchair.

  “You don’t have to come to these, you know,” he said.

  It was like being slapped in the face. “I’m sorry. I thought maybe we could try to . . . I thought you wouldn’t mind me being there.” Despite every effort not to, her voice quivered.

  He squeezed his temples over those crystal gray eyes. “Come on, Shasha. All I meant was that I know how much you hate these shindigs. If you really want to be involved”—he didn’t say “suddenly” but she heard it all the same—“you can help in other ways.”

  She had the strange urge to laugh. “Do you want to run that by HRH and have your head bitten off, or should I?”

  He smiled at that. Then suddenly understanding lit his eyes and she kicked herself for not keeping her mouth shut. He glanced at the spot behind the couch where she’d been hiding. “What did Dad do now?”

  “Nothing.”

  He looked at his watch again. “I can’t be late for this meeting.” Then he looked at her again, really looked at her, the way he used to years ago. “Call me, please? Let’s talk, okay?”

  Right. Except it was probably fifteen years too late to talk, and it might take another fifteen for him to find the time. “Sure. Go to your meeting. I’m fine.”

  And in true Yash Raje fashion he got right down to it and flew down the stairs.

  Trisha headed toward Aji’s door and ran right into Ashna. “Shasha! I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  “I got the time wrong,” Trisha said, too tired to explain further.

  Ashna laughed. But there was no judgment in it. Trisha gave her cousin a tight hug. Ashi never judged her. She was the only one in the entire family who accepted Trisha for exactly who she was. She didn’t care what Trisha wore, whether or not she was single, or what she had done fifteen years ago. For all her somber bearing, she was the most stress-free, zero-expectation presence in Trisha’s life.

  “Good news is HRH and Mina Kaki left,” she said, with a commiserating smile. “Yash, too. So your timing is actually perfect.”

  “You mean I missed the Avalanche of Disappointment?” Trisha said. But of course she hadn’t missed it at all.

  Ashi twirled one of Trisha’s curls around her finger and tucked it behind her ear. Her too-perceptive jet-black eyes glittered. “Nisha told us about the grant when she called in to the meeting. That’s amazing! Totally expected, but amazing!” If Ashi thought that this particular change of topic would cheer Trisha up, she was right on the money.

  Trisha beamed.

  Her cousin matched her beaming smile. “Listen, I’ve got to go, but you’re stopping by later for the food, right? You can tell me about it then.” She adjusted that huge bag on her shoulder—why she and Nisha needed bags this big was a complete mystery to Trisha; she only ever carried her wallet. Halfway to the stairs Ashi stopped and came back. “Oh, and thanks for taking care of Emma Caine. Is she going to be okay? I didn’t get a chance to speak to DJ about it yesterday.”

  Trisha remembered the look in Emma’s eyes when she had left her yesterday. The disappointment—the damn emotion just wouldn’t stop plaguing her.

  “Well, the other doctors were wrong. Her tumor isn’t inoperable. I’m going to be able to remove it.”

  Ashna squeezed Trisha’s arm. “Oh, Shasha! You are magic. I knew it! Thank you!”

  It was exactly what Trisha needed to hear. Her parents’ disappointment didn’t matter. What anyone thought of her didn’t matter. What mattered was that she got to do this. To save lives.

  An alarm rang on Ashna’s phone and she gave Trisha another quick hug and made her way to the stairs. “Really have to go. Can’t wait to hear all about the surgery,” she threw over her shoulder. Were those tears in her eyes?

  Trisha hadn’t realized that Ashna was so close to Emma Caine. Unless of course this was about the noble, and elusive, brother. Aha!

  As she pushed the door to Aji’s room open she felt a bit like one of Sripore’s show horses after completing a particularly fraught obstacle course. She took a deep breath, soaking in the smell. It was beautiful. There was just no other word for it. It was sweet and decadent and calming. A perfect representation of her grandmother, in all her Queen Mother glory. Only, her grandmother wasn’t there. The connecting door to Esha’s room was slightly ajar. Trisha tiptoed to the door and pushed at it the slightest bit.

  Esha’s room was all white walls, white floors, and white linen. Completely bare except for the large circular bed, and t
hick shades that plunged the room into absolute darkness. The only light came from the silver oil lamp that had burned without pause for over thirty years in front of a life-size painting of Esha’s parents, framed with carved marble so intricate it looked like one of Aji’s lace creations. Aji sat in a white wing chair by the bed, her fingers flying on a crochet needle.

  Esha lay belly down on the bed, her white comforter pulled up to her shoulders and her hip-length hair gathered in a voluminous bun at her nape. She looked like she was floating on water, ethereal.

  Aji caught sight of Trisha and her eyes lit up. Trisha loved her grandmother’s eyes. She had heard on more than one occasion that she had inherited them, but she didn’t think it was true. Aji’s eyes were a deep brown with flecks of fiery amber and gold, but the magic was in the intensity of the kindness they held. Trisha could only hope that someday, maybe fifty years from now, she could emulate even a fraction of her grandmother’s poise.

  Aji placed a finger on her lips, a signal that it wasn’t okay to go inside. Trisha nodded and tried to smile, but her stupid lower lip protruded in a pout all on its own. She pulled it back in, but she stood there watching. She wouldn’t get a hug from her grandmother today, but she could soak up some of the peace from the scene in front of her.

  Disobeying Aji was out of the question. If Esha was having an episode, disturbing her would only lead to her having a seizure. Esha never left the Anchorage grounds. Not since Trisha’s father had brought her to California when she was six. Aji and J-Auntie had homeschooled her. Anytime she needed medical attention, HRH took care of it. After Trisha had earned her medical degree, she had slowly started to share that job with him.

  Attending any of the public Raje shindigs was out of the question. Her nerves couldn’t take the overstimulation and it brought on seizures. Ambition was too violent an emotion for the eldest of the Rajes of this generation. If that wasn’t an irony, Trisha didn’t know what was.