Arranged Marriage: Stories

by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

  “Mom.”

  The voice from behind startles me. I swing around to face it and am struck by a sudden dizziness. The floor beneath my feet is rippling treacherously, preparing to dissolve.

  “Do you feel OK?” Dinesh’s hands grip my upper arms. His fingers are strong and confident with youth. “Mom, are you drunk?”

  I can’t focus too well on his face, but I hear the shock in his voice and beneath it a surprisingly prim note of disapproval. It makes him sound almost … motherly. I want to laugh. But then he sniffs, and his face changes, its features wavering as though seen through water. “What’s with all the fumes in the garage? Mom, what were you doing?”

  His voice shakes a little on the last word. I notice with surprise that he’s wearing a blue pajama outfit that I bought him sometime back. Along with his tousled hair, it makes him look unexpectedly young. Afraid of what I might say.

  I want to respond with something positive and significant, perhaps something about how I love him too much to abandon him no matter how enticing suicide might seem. I want to hold him tight like I used to when he was little and there had been a thunderstorm. But all I can manage is to whisper, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Whoa, wait till I get you to the bathroom,” Dinesh says. He wedges a shoulder into my armpit and half drags, half carries me to the sink—so dexterously that I wonder if he’s done it before, and for whom. He holds my head while I bend over the sink, retching, and when I’m done, he wipes my face carefully with a wet towel. Even after he finishes, I keep my eyes tightly shut.

  “Be back in a minute,” he says. He shuts the bathroom door—an act of kindness, I think—behind him.

  In the mirror my face is blotched, my eyes swollen. I stare into them, feeling like a complete failure. I’ve lost my husband and betrayed my friend, and now to top it all I’ve vomited all over the sink in my son’s presence. I think of how hard I always tried to be the perfect wife and mother, like the heroines of mythology I grew up on—patient, faithful Sita, selfless Kunti. For the first time it strikes me that perhaps Mahesh had a similar image in his head. Perhaps he fled from us because he wanted a last chance to be the virile Arjun, the mighty Bhim. And for a moment I feel a sadness for him, because he’s going to realize it too, soon enough—perhaps one morning when he wakes up in bed next to Jessica, or as he throws her a sidelong glance while maneuvering the Mazda into a parking spot—that the perfect life is only an illusion.

  Dinesh is back, with a red plastic tumbler which he fills with water. “Drink this,” he says in a tone I myself might have used when he was a sick child. I raise the tumbler obediently to my mouth. The water is warm and tastes of toothpaste. Even without looking at him, I can feel him watching me, waiting for some kind of explanation. I can feel, too, the fear still rising from him, can almost see it, like the waves of heat that shimmer off summer pavements at noon. But I can’t think of a single thing to say. So I stand there under the loud, accusing whirr of the bathroom fan, staring at the worry line gouging Dinesh’s brow (he’s got that from me), running my finger along the edge of the empty plastic tumbler.

  Slowly an image takes shape somewhere behind the stinging in my eyes. It is so disconnected from what’s going on that I think I’m hallucinating from all the carbon monoxide. It’s a fired clay bowl, of all things, simple and unadorned, its glaze the muted brown of fallen leaves. For a moment I’m confused, then I recall that I saw a slide of it in my spring Art Appreciation class, I’ve forgotten the time period and the potter’s name, though I know he was someone old and famous. I turn the bowl around and around in my mind till I come upon what I’m looking for, a small snag on the paper-thin lip, and I hear again the teacher’s nasal New York accent telling us that this was the master potter’s signature, a flaw he left in all his later works, believing that it made them more human and therefore more precious.

  “Mom!” Dinesh’s voice breaks through my thoughts. There’s an anxious edge to his voice. I realize he’s been asking me something for a while.

  “Sony,” I say.

  “I said, how did your evening go?”

  I pause for a moment, tempted. Then I say, grimacing, “I made a mess of things.” I’m surprised by the lightness the admission brings. In the rush of it, I daringly add, “I’ll tell you about it if you want. I could make us some hot pista milk. …” I reach out to draw him to me, a little afraid that he will pull away, will say, Nah, Mom, I got stuff to do. But he lowers his head so that his bristly hair tickles my cheek and gives me a quick, awkward hug.

  “Sounds OK to me.” He is smiling now, just a little. “Hey, Mom, you haven’t made pista milk in a long time.”

  Later I stand over the stove, stirring the blended pistachios into the simmering milk, watching with wonder as it thickens beautifully. I know there will be other fights, other hurtful words we’ll fling at each other, perhaps even tonight. Other times when I sit in the car, listening to the engine’s seductive purr. Still, I take from the living-room cabinet two of the Rosenthal crystal glasses Mahesh gave me for our tenth anniversary, and when the creamy milk cools, pour it into them.

  Tomorrow I’ll start a letter to Mrinal.

  The glasses glitter like hope. We raise them to each other solemnly, my son and I, and drink to our precious, imperfect fives.

  GLOSSARY

  The words below are from different Indian languages (mostly Bengali and Hindi). Some words, such as “bearer-boy” are Indianized British expressions from colonial times.

  adivasi member of indigenous tribe (the word itself means original people)

  almirah large closet

  alu Potato

  amchur powdery mix made from ground mangoes, black salt, and other spices

  amreekan American

  apsara celestial nymph (from Indian mythology)

  arre bhai hey brother, a customary expression Among men

  ata custard apple

  ayah Nanny

  babu master, gentleman; common appellation for Bengali men

  baisakhi violent April thunderstorm

  banja Barren

  bearer-boy young servant employed for running errands

  bhadralok people of good family

  bhai brother, a term often used between male friends

  bhaiya brother, a more informal term

  bharta spicy dish made from roasted egg-plant

  bhaviji sister-in-law; ji at the end of a word indicates respect

  bindi dot worn on forehead by many Indian women; a red one usually signifies that the woman is married

  biriyani fried rice dish seasoned with onions, raisins, and spices; can be prepared with vegetables, meat, or chicken

  boudi older brother’s wife

  bride-viewing the process, involving a meeting of the potential bride and groom in the bride’s home, by which marriages are arranged

  brinjal eggplant

  bustee slums

  chachaji uncle (father’s brother)

  chai tea

  champa sweet-smelling gold-colored flower

  chand-ke-tukde epithet of admiration, literally, piece of moon

  chapatis Indian wheat bread similar to tortillas

  chappals sandals

  charak a fair held at a particular time of year

  choli close-fitting blouse worn with sari

  chula wood- or coal-burning stove

  churidar narrow pants worn by women (and sometimes men) under a long tunic (kurta)

  dacoit bandit

  dain mythical witch who devours human flesh

  dal lentil soup

  darwan desh Gatekeeper country, a term often used by expatriate Indians in referring to India

  dhakai fine handloomed sari made in Bangladesh

  dhania coriander

  dhoti piece of cloth tied around the waist and reaching to ground; worn by men

  didi older sister

  dupatta long scarf worn with tunic (kameez or kurta)

  filmi pertaining
to films

  firingi genji foreigner, westerner man’s undershirt

  ghazal poetic song (from the Muslim tradition)

  ghu-ghu brown bird, similar to dove

  girgiti lizard

  gulabjamun dessert of fried dough balls soaked in syrup

  hasnahana hing sweet-smelling flower asafetida

  jadu magic

  jhi-jhi cricket-like insect that makes a buzzing noise

  kachuri stuffed balls of dough, spicy, rolled out and deep-fried

  kadam tree with fragrant ball-like blossoms that flower during the monsoons

  kajal black paste used as eyeliner

  kala admi dark-skinned man

  kalia spicy curry dish (usually fish) particular to Bengal

  kameez close-fitting tunic worn over pants by women

  karela bitter melon

  kaun hai who’s there

  kheer dessert made of thickened milk

  khush-khush fragrant grass out of which thick window-coverings are made. These are sprayed with water in summer to keep out the heat

  kokil black songbird

  kul sour fruit used for making pickles

  kulfi ice cream

  kumkum red paste or powder used for a dot on a woman’s forehead

  kurta long loose tunic worn over pants by both men and women

  lauki large green squash

  lichu litchi

  mali gardener

  maharajah king

  malmal soft cotton fabric

  mandi bazaar

  mashi aunt (mother’s sister)

  memsaab lady of the house, a respectful term used mostly by servants

  michil procession

  momphali peanuts

  neem tree with bitter medicinal leaves

  nimbu-pani lemonade

  paan betel leaf

  pakora spicy snack made of vegetables dipped in batter and deep-fried

  palloo the end of the sari that falls over the shoulder, sometimes spelled pallav

  panipuri popular roadside snack made of crisp deep-fried puffs filled with potatoes and a spicy sauce

  papad crisp lentil wafers

  paratha Indian wheat bread rolled out and panfried

  patisapta complicated dessert of stuffed lentil crepes in syrup

  peepul large tree with heart-shaped leaves

  phul gobi cauliflower

  pista pistachios

  pista kulfi pistachio ice cream

  prasad food offered as part of a prayer ceremony

  puja prayer ceremony

  pulao Indian fried rice, generally vegetarian

  puri Indian wheat bread, rolled out and deep-fried

  qurma highly spiced dish made with vegetables or meat

  raga Indian melody

  rajah king

  rasogollah dessert made of curdled milk balls cooked in sugar syrup

  rogan josh spicy lamb curry

  sahibi westernized

  salwaar-kameez set of long tunic and loose pants worn by Indian women

  samosa a snack made from wheat dough, rolled out, stuffed, and deep-fried

  sandesh dessert made from sugar and curdled milk

  sari long piece of fabric worn by Indian women

  shapla water plant

  shiuli small white flower that gows in Bengal in the winter

  shona term of endearment used for children, literally, gold

  singara same as samosa

  sitar Indian stringed musical instrument similar to guitar

  surma eyeliner

  tabla classical Indian drums

  tulsi basil plant, considered sacred in India

  veranda balcony

  wallah a suffix denoting possession or belonging; e.g., union-wallahs: men belonging to a union

  yaksha mythical demon, male, guardian of household or treasure

  yakshini female of yaksha

  zamindar landowner

  zari gold thread

  CHITRA BANERJEE DIVAKARUNI

  ARRANGED

  MARRIAGE

  Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni is the bestselling author of the novels The Mistress of Spices, Sister of My Heart, and The Vine of Desire; the story collection The Unknown Errors of Our Lives; and four collections of prize-winning poetry. Her work has appeared in The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, Ms., The Best American Short Stories 1999, and other publications. Born in India, she now lives in the San Francisco area. The dedicated Web site for the author is www.ckitradivakaruni.com.

  First Anchor Books Trade Paperback Edition, June 1996

  Copyright © 1995 by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Anchor Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  ANCHOR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  “The Bats” has appeared previously in Zyzzyva (Spring 1993).

  “Clothes” has appeared previously in the anthology

  Home to Stay (Greenfield Review Press, 1990).

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the Anchor hardcover edition of this work as follows:

  Divakaruni, Chitra Banerjee, 1956–

  Arranged marriage: stories / by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. —

  1st Anchor Books ed.

  p. cm.

  1. East Indian Americans—Social life and customs—Fiction. 2. Women immigrants—United States—Social life and customs—Fiction. 3. India—Social life and customs—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3554.I86A 1995

  813′.54—dc20 94-37210

  CIP

  eISBN: 978-0-307-47678-4

  www.anchorbooks.com

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