A Match Made in Mehendi

by Nandini Bajpai

“Um… yeah,” I say. I take a deep breath to get my mind right for our meeting. We take seats at the front of the room, Ms. Furst behind her desk, me in a chair pulled up to it.

  “Thanks again for the lovely mehendi bracelet,” she says, holding up her hand to show off the dragon bracelet I did for her the other day. It’s clearly visible, though the bright orange has faded to a soft peach. “I’ve had so many compliments on it.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “So I wanted to discuss what happened with Aiden’s project,” Ms. Furst says. “I have to say I was disappointed. I thought he had more artistic integrity.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get him into trouble,” I say, and I can’t quite look at her. “I thought we were just hanging out. That he liked me. And that it was a cool collaboration. Or whatever. I guess he thought something else. Or wanted something else. But I couldn’t let him take credit for my work.”

  “No, you were right to tell me,” Ms. Furst says. “And I must say that I loved how your motifs turned out in that medium. They’re so unexpected, supersized like that. Have you thought about using something in that scale for your project?”

  “No,” I say. “First of all, spray paint is Aiden’s medium. I did love using it, and maybe I’ll try it again sometime, but right now I want to do something personal to me. And I love working on miniature pieces with traditional henna. But I think I’m going to try it on wood. I just haven’t decided on a subject yet.”

  “That, Simi, is up to you,” Ms. Furst says. “My advice is to choose a subject you have a deep feeling for. Use a medium you have mastery in. Allow yourself to experiment and fail. Only something good can come out of that process. Right?”

  “Right,” I say with a nod.

  But I still have no idea what that subject is going to be.

  “How did it go?” I ask Noah during our walk home from school. I’m curious about this morning’s intro between Suraj and Jassi.

  “It was interesting,” he says. “Suraj was definitely surprised.”

  “He wasn’t weird about it to Jassi, was he?”

  “No, he was a gentleman.”

  “He didn’t decline?” I ask, undeniably envious of Jassi.

  “He didn’t decline,” Noah says.

  “Well, I hope they’re a good match.”

  He shrugs. “They have a lot in common and they have a similar sense of humor. Definitely a possibility for something there.”

  “Good,” I say tersely. “The app’s doing its job.”

  Noah raises an eyebrow, looking ready to challenge my response. But then his expression changes. He grabs my hand and drags me across the street.

  “What are you doing?” Then I see Connor coming down the sidewalk on his bike. Most people our grade drive to school or walk, but he makes riding a bike seem cool. He sails past, looking like a Greek god. He doesn’t seem to notice us in the crowd.

  “What?” I say. “It’s just Connor. Why didn’t you say hi?”

  “I don’t know,” Noah mutters. “I’m waiting for some signal from him or something, but he’s not giving up anything.”

  Dear God, we are both such a hot mess right now. Suraj and I may be a lost cause, but maybe I could try to save Noah and Connor. The problem is, Noah can be so painfully shy and sensitive; sometimes it hurts to watch. I put an arm around him. “There may never be a signal. You might have to just take the leap.”

  “I don’t know, Simi. I don’t think I’m there yet.”

  “It’s okay,” I relent. “There’s no rush.”

  Some matchmakers we are. Both of us miserable about crushes we can’t or won’t do anything about.

  “There’s so much stuff going on right now,” Noah mumbles. “Woofstock. Your grandparents visiting. And we’re in the midst of ensuring the most spectacular matchmaking coup in Mayfield history—under Amanda’s nose, at that. That’s all the drama I can handle at the moment.”

  He isn’t wrong. We do have a lot on our plate.

  “Okay, but don’t think you can get away with avoiding Connor forever.”

  chapter twenty-three

  Choorian,” Nanima says, handing me a little cardboard box. I remove the sparkling glass bangles from their layers of carefully wrapped newspaper.

  It’s eight on Saturday morning, but we’ve all been up for hours—since my grandparents’ flight from India arrived at Newark at five a.m. I’m low-key exhausted, but I’m on my second cup of my dad’s spicy chai—strong and milky—so I should be wide awake any minute.

  “They’re beautiful!” Holding my arm up, I admire the stack of bangles on my wrist. I definitely don’t have this shade of purple. “Thanks, Nanima!” I curl up next to her and give her a hug. She’s the same sweet-faced, gray-haired grandmother I’ve always known—she always smells like sandalwood and roses in full bloom, and she doesn’t seem to be aging at all. This visit, she’s brought me dozens of sets of bangles, in every color of the rainbow—which is good, because I’ve outgrown all my old ones.

  The last set is real silver, a simple, classic design that will go with everything.

  “And here’s your remote-controlled car, Navdeep,” Nanima says, looking slightly worried. “I hope it’s okay?”

  Navdeep usually sends Nanima a shopping list well before they leave India. He’s found a place in Delhi that stocks cheap stuff for his robots and other contraptions.

  “Yesssss!” Navdeep grins, revving the wheels furiously. “No one sells this frequency here! It’ll be perfect for our new project—after I make some adjustments!”

  “Uff, stop that racket.” Mom pops her head into the family room, trying to get Navdeep to chill, but it’s no use. The rest of the day he’s racing the car all over the house, driving everyone, especially poor Sweetie, absolutely nuts. At least this means he’s taking a break from writing essays for his early-action college apps, which is all he’s done lately. The stress cloud he’s wrapped in is so thick you can cut it with a knife.

  No one has been in the kitchen today except to make chai. Masi brought over a home-cooked brunch and so did some of our neighbors—it’s Desi potluck day. We can just relax and hang out with Nanima and Nanoo.

  Except they’re jet-lagged and ready to sleep at noon.

  “Just push through the next several hours,” I tell Nanima. “If you stay awake till the evening, you’ll sleep through the night and be over it tomorrow!”

  “I’m fine,” Nanima says. “He’s the problem.”

  Nanoo’s head has slid sideways in his armchair. He’s gently snoring.

  “Nanoo.” I shake his arm. “Wake up!”

  He wakes up with a start and gives me a sheepish smile. “Keep talking; that’ll keep me awake.” His long white hair and beard make him look like Dumbledore. He’s always had the wise-wizard thing down.

  “No, you talk, Nanoo,” I say. “And I’ll listen.”

  “What should I talk about?”

  I settle in on the sofa. “Tell me about how you met.”

  Nanima laughs—I’ve heard the story so many times—but it only gets better. So she drapes her arm and shawl around me and pulls me close.

  “Nanoo was in college with my brother, and they became friends,” Nanima starts. “Then one day he came over to visit, and that’s when it all started.”

  “I didn’t live far away, so I rode down on my cycle,” Nanoo says. “It was faster than walking. But when I got close to my friend’s house, I saw him walking down the lane with the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.”

  “Nanima!” I chorus with Geet and Preet, who sit on the floor in front of the sofa, their arms and elbows resting on Nanima’s knees, since there’s no room left on the couch.

  “Yes, and I stopped looking at where I was going and rode straight into a ditch!”

  Nanima laughs. “He looked like a scarecrow when we fished him out of the nullah. Luckily it was full of rainwater—not anything worse.”

  “Both me and my cycle were soaked and dented when we go
t ourselves out,” Nanoo says. “I was so embarrassed.”

  “Then what happened?” Preet asks.

  “Bhai-sahib went to get him a change of clothes, and my mother went to make hot chai,” Nanima says. “She told me to get the angeethi started so he could warm himself. I felt so self-conscious starting the fire with this big, damp fellow staring at me. He was sitting there in a T-shirt, towel, and topknot, not saying a word.”

  “Why didn’t you say something to Nanima?” Geet asks.

  “I was tongue-tied,” Nanoo says. “Your nani was so pretty, and the smoke from the angeethi was going in her eyes, even though she kept waving it away. It made her face all red.”

  “It wasn’t just the smoke,” Nanima says.

  “I helped fan the coals to get the fire going. By the time the chai and clothes came, the flame was blazing,” Nanoo says, and then adds with a twinkle in his eyes, “In more ways than one!”

  “Then he started cycling down every day,” Nanima says. “And bringing books for my brother, and newspapers for my father, and homemade atte-ki-pinni from his grandmother for my mother. She had quite a sweet tooth.”

  “Wait, what about you guys being from different religions?” I asked. “I mean, it had to be a big deal that you weren’t Sikh, right, Nanima?”

  “Nothing is a big deal unless you decide to make it so,” Nanoo says. “We just lit a lamp for both Wahe Guru and Mata Rani in our home after we got married and called ourselves doubly blessed. It’s been that way at our house ever since.”

  I’ve seen Nanima’s little mandir, which has pictures of the Sikh gurus and Nanima’s favorite devi—Sherawali Mata, the one that rides a tiger. Nanima and Nanoo go on pilgrimage to both the Sikh Golden Temple in Amritsar and the hilltop shrine of Nanima’s Mata Rani. One day I’ll go with them.

  “That’s such a beautiful story,” Preet says dreamily. She’s dreamy a lot these days.

  “But I hear that there is another beautiful story happening in the family now,” Nanima says. “Who is going to tell us about the new one?”

  “Jolly!” I say, because he suddenly appears. Talk about timing.

  He’s dressed up for the occasion, in pressed pants and a button-down, even though the rest of us are still in pajamas.

  “Very nice to meet you, Nanima, Nanaji,” Jolly says, looking adorably nervous. “Hope it’s okay to visit today. You must be so tired.”

  “No, no, young man.” Even Nanoo’s eyebrows are smiling. “You’re the most interesting thing to have happened since we were here last. How are you?”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jolly says, going pink behind his clipped beard. “My mother sends some atte-ki-pinni. She was told Nani likes it.” He goes even redder as everyone laughs. “What did I say?”

  “Nothing, beta,” Mom says. “There was a story Nanima was just telling us that also had atte-ki-pinni in a starring role.”

  “Was it a good story?” Jolly glances shyly at Preet.

  “The best!” Preet says.

  After brunch, I give Nanima and Nanoo a drawing I’ve been working on all day, lying on the floor with my sketchbook even while listening to them and everyone else catch up.

  I went with Ms. Furst’s advice: Choose a subject you have a deep feeling for.

  It’s good, I think, but I’m nervous about whether my grandparents will like it. What I’ve drawn is such a personal memory for them that it might have been completely different from how I imagined it.

  It’s them when they first met—I based it on the black-and-white pictures I’ve seen of their wedding. They’re sitting by an angeethi, looking into each other’s eyes, and woodsmoke from the glowing coals is curling prettily around them.

  “This is so beautiful,” Nanima says. She sounds all choked up.

  “Just how I remember it,” Nanoo says. “What talent. You’re going to be a great artist.”

  “She is going to be a great matchmaker.” Preet’s right hand is tucked into Jolly’s.

  Nanima cups my chin with her wrinkled hand, looking at me fondly. “So I’ve heard. I’m so glad there will be someone to carry on our family’s sanskars and traditions. Simi, I can see it in your eyes. You must embrace your gift, for it is rare. Like me, you are a stubborn girl. But in time you will learn just how special it is.”

  I nod solemnly, trying to let Nani’s words sink in. No disrespect, but I’m so not there with matchmaking yet. I need to see for myself that it’s right for me.

  “Preet and I have an announcement,” Jolly says. He looks shy and proud at the same time. “We’ve spoken to both our parents. And with their blessings, we’ve decided to get engaged.”

  The family explodes into cries of badhaiyaan, backslapping, and hugs. After I stop jumping from excitement, Geet hands me a pinni—it’s traditional to “sweeten the mouth” after getting good news.

  I bite into the atte-ki-pinni—sugared wheat flour browned in buttery ghee and pressed into fist-sized balls with raisins and cardamom—and think that the taste of it will always remind me of happy endings. Both old and new.

  chapter twenty-four

  It’s only October,” Nanima says as she zips up her wool coat. “And still so cold.” The crisp fall air—ideal Woofstock weather—isn’t warm enough for her. She wears a muffler and mittens. Both Nanoo and Nanima have their internal thermostat set to Delhi temperatures and need to layer up at anything below seventy-five degrees.

  There are stalls for food and fun, including my henna stall. I’m supposed to do tattoos during the first half of the game to raise money for Buddy Dog. But it’s hard to focus—there are people and pups everywhere. And the crowd gathered on the bleachers and the sidelines of the soccer field is already totally taking sides. At least half the school must be here, along with assorted adults and kids from the community. I even spot Amanda presiding over a section that seats what I suppose is the whole Taylor clan—all brunette, olive-skinned, and fit.

  “Look at that dog.” Nanima points at an Afghan hound. “I’ve never seen a dog like that before.”

  The Afghan isn’t the only exotic breed in attendance; there are dogs of every shape, size, and age at Woofstock.

  I hand Nanima the designer coffee I bought her at the ’Burban stall. “Try this. It’s called the Puppychino, in honor of today.” She takes a sip of the whipped confection and smiles.

  I spot Jassi, Kiran, Rebecca, Marcus, Connor, and lots of others from school. Random people I’ve never talked to keep saying hello.

  Noah walks over. We got here early this morning to set up for the event, but he ran home to shower and change after the heavy lifting was done. He hugs me and then leans in to whisper in my ear. “Look over there. To the right. That’s Ethan’s mom.” Noah points toward the Taylor clan.

  “The one chatting with Amanda’s mom?”

  “Uh-huh.” He lowers his voice. “They’re in the same church group, and all their older kids were or are teammates in one sport or another. Amanda’s dad’s company sponsors some of them, including Ethan’s club soccer team.”

  This would be a good thing if Amanda and Ethan were still together, or in any way compatible. But I’m starting to get why Amanda’s so into Ethan. Her older sisters are serious athletes, and it looks like her mom and dad could knock out a marathon without breaking a sweat—they’re both wearing fancy running shoes, and Mrs. Taylor is hopping out of her seat with excitement, like a cheerleader ready for the big game. Amanda probably thinks that if she can’t excel at a sport, she’d better date someone who does, especially when that someone has already earned her parents’ stamp of approval.

  Noah nudges me toward the soccer field, where the teams are gathering. “Look.”

  Ethan stands on the edge of the gathered crowd, looking more awkward than I’ve ever seen him. He’s kneeling in the dirt, focused on his dog, but I catch him sneaking a peek at Teá, who’s got her own dog on a leash and is laughing with some of her teammates. The minute she turns around, he goes back to playing with his dog.r />
  Okay. These two need an intervention.

  “I’ll be right back, Nanima and Nanoo,” I say, grabbing Noah by the hand and heading to center field. We stop where Ethan is kneeling near his dog, Noel, a white pup with black patches wearing a Red Hawk bandanna. Teá’s dog runs over to us, and she follows.

  “Let me see: yellow dog, curly tail…” I scratch the dog under her chin. “You must be Neva!” She tilts her head in ecstasy and starts to paddle her back leg. “Hey, Teá!”

  “Hi, Simi! Thank you so much for setting this up!”

  Ethan stands with a shy smile. “This is my friend Ethan, remember?” I say, and grin. “I hear you two have a lot in common.”

  Neva sniffs Noel, tail wagging furiously, and Noel flops on his back in a state of blissful submission. Teá and Ethan laugh.

  “Hey,” Ethan says. He’s scuffing the grass with his soccer cleat, but his eyes don’t leave Teá’s.

  “I saw you play in the game against Branch Brook last week,” Teá says. “That save—you were amazing.”

  “Thanks,” Ethan says. “Your team is incredible. Today’s game should be fun.”

  “Nanima packed some samosas, Noah,” I say, devising a smooth exit. “Want to go try?”

  “Sure, I’m starving.” As we walk away, he says, “Well done.”

  We’re headed back to where Navdeep has set up folding chairs for my grandparents when Connor appears. “Hey, Simran. Hey, Noah! I heard you guys helped plan this.”

  “It was all Noah’s idea,” I say.

  Noah can’t wipe the grin off his face. “But it was a total team effort.”

  “It’s cool to see all the rescue dogs,” Connor says. “We’re in the market for a new puppy. Lost my old dog in California. That’s half the reason I didn’t mind moving. It just didn’t feel like home without Penny.” He shows us the little pug tattooed on his biceps. “That’s her.”

  “Adorable,” I say.

  “They’ve got some watermelon-strawberry ices over by the girls’ team,” Connor says. “You guys want?”