CHAPTER SIX
Doctor Swati had a box waiting for Asha when she came for her regular biweekly checkup.
“Priya and Madhu have sent this for you. They have called every week since they left to check up on you,” Doctor Swati said. “They have asked if you wouldn’t mind talking to them once in a while. I can set it up so that they will call here after your next checkup.”
Asha licked her lips. She didn’t have a problem speaking with the parents, but she didn’t know what she would say to them.
“You don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to,” Doctor Swati said when she saw Asha’s reluctance.
“No, no, I’ll talk to them,” Asha said, and then paused. “But what will we talk about?”
“They might just want to say hello and ask you how you’re doing,” Doctor Swati said. “They won’t interrogate you. They’re just worried about their baby.”
Asha nodded. “I don’t have to talk to them now, do I?” She needed to prepare herself to speak to the parents. It would probably be the mother who would talk to her. She had seemed so worried when they had met.
“For now, just take this home with you and open it with your husband and children,” Doctor Swati suggested. “It’s gifts for all of you.”
“But they’re already giving us money,” Asha said. “Why should they send us gifts?”
“Let them,” Doctor Swati said. “It makes them feel like they’re taking care of their baby as they take care of you. And it’s also a way for them to say thank you.”
Asha felt uneasy taking the box home, but she was also curious to see what was inside. Something from America, obviously, and that was exciting.
The box wasn’t heavy, and in any case, Asha wasn’t pregnant enough to feel any pressure at carrying things, not yet.
Pratap was painting a house that Raman was doing electrical work for, and the children were in school, so only Mohini, Puttamma, and Kaveri were at home.
Kaveri was sitting at her sewing machine, her feet moving as her hands maneuvered the blouse she was working on. Both Kaveri and Asha continued to sew for the local women. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was a little extra.
There was a letter in the box. It was written in Telugu. Asha would read it later, after the box had been emptied and everyone had oohed and aahed over the gifts.
“Underwear?” Kaveri said, holding a packet with six panties. “They sent you underwear. And look, a watch! This must be for Pratap.”
Puttamma looked at the clothes sent for the children. “Oh, just touch this material, so soft, so nice. And this pretty frock for Mohini! She will look like a princess.”
They had also sent some toys. A few cars, a truck, a fake telephone that made sounds. Since they had sent nothing for Kaveri or her children, Asha divided the toys among Girish, Sirish, and her own children.
For Asha, they had sent a beautiful silk shawl. It was blue with a delicate design in silver and white. Asha draped it around her shoulder as she sat down to read the letter.
Dear Asha,
We hope that this letter finds you in the best of health. We are so grateful to you for carrying our baby and we hope that you are taking good care of yourself.
As promised, we have sent our taped voices by e-mail to Doctor Swati, and she will put them on the iPod we gave to you. I hope you can operate it without too much trouble.
We’re also sending some gifts for you and your family. We hope that you like them. If there is anything else you need, please let us know.
You are free to write to us (you can find our address on the back of the envelope) if you wish. We would very much like to be able to talk to you and have asked Doctor Swati if this will be possible. We know that you do not have a phone in your house, but if you wish we could get you a mobile telephone so that you can keep in touch with us as well as Happy Mothers if you need to.
Thank you and all our best wishes,
Priya and Madhu
Asha knew the father had written the letter, as she didn’t think the mother’s Telugu was this good, but the sentiments were definitely the mother’s, even though the letter was signed by both of them.
Were they trying to buy her good behavior by sending her presents? Or were they genuinely just saying thank you?
They had said that Asha could ask them for anything else she needed, and Asha thought about that as she stroked the soft shawl. She was already feeling too warm under it. She saw Kaveri eye it with envy and wondered if she should just give it to her. But it was such a beautiful shawl, almost like a silk sari, and Asha didn’t want to part with it; it was the nicest thing she had, certainly the nicest thing anyone had ever given her. If they sent something in the next box, she thought, she would give it to Kaveri.
“The parents of my baby sent a box now and then, too,” Kaveri said. “But nothing like this. It was more like vitamin tablets and a belt for my stomach and things like that. They never sent anything for the boys. Your parents are different. Good.”
There was envy, but Kaveri had no malice. She was grateful and happy for Asha’s good fortune.
“You can have the shawl if you want,” Asha said suddenly. She hadn’t intended to, but the words spilled out.
“No, no,” Kaveri said, even though Asha could see she was tempted to take it. “You keep it. Next time if they send something, you can give it to me.”
“They want to talk to me on the phone,” Asha said. “And they want to buy me a mobile phone.”
Puttamma shrugged. “These foreign people think we don’t have phones in our country. Today, everyone has one.”
Asha ignored Puttamma. Yes, everyone had a phone these days. The vegetable seller, the auto rickshaw driver, Raman, all did . . . but she and Pratap didn’t.
“Did your parents want to talk to you?” Asha asked Kaveri, ignoring her mother-in-law.
Kaveri nodded. “Yes. I talked to them whenever I went for my checkup. But it was difficult. They didn’t speak any Telugu like your parents do. So one of the nurses translated. They just asked me if I needed anything, if I felt OK. They always started crying when I told them the baby was kicking.”
Asha smiled. “I think my mother will cry, too. She seems very emotional.”
“We Indian women are,” Kaveri said.
That night Pratap wore his watch and was impressed by its sophisticated look. It was silver in color with a chain band, and the dial was white with hour, minute, and second needles. There was a small box at the bottom of the dial that showed the date.
“Why did they send something for me?” he wondered.
“Next time we want parents like yours,” Raman said. “It’s good that they want to get you a mobile phone. In construction, you know, you can’t do business without it.” He held up his black phone wrapped in plastic to prevent scratching.
“You should be careful, though,” Kaveri said. “Don’t get too excited about presents from the parents. You know how it is; they take their baby and don’t look back until they want another.”
It was Mohini’s second birthday, and for it she wore the pretty dress from America. Last year they had gone to the temple, and Asha had made a meal of the kids’ favorite foods: mango dal, potato fry, and yogurt with thick slices of mangoes. Kaveri, Raman, their kids, and Puttamma had come to their hut. It wasn’t a sumptuous meal, but Asha had had to save money to buy the mangoes, which were becoming more expensive by the season.
This year, since they had the money, Asha and Kaveri decided to have a big lunch with fried okra curry, sambhar, pulao rice, payasam, and even a cake that they had ordered at the nearby bakery. Cakes weren’t part of Asha’s childhood, but she wanted them to be part of her children’s. She had ordered a pink cake with Mohini’s name written on it in English.
It felt good to be in the kitchen with Kaveri. Her nausea had now passed, and she felt she had more energy. She wasn’t tired all the time, holding her belly, feeling her insides swirl. She could play with her children, go to the market to shop—and be
st of all, make food for her family. Kaveri was a decent cook, but Pratap liked his wife’s food, so he was pleased to see Asha back in the kitchen.
With the price of vegetables going up, especially basics like tomatoes, it used to be difficult to manage within their small budget. But since the parents were giving them ample money every month to buy food, Asha didn’t think twice before buying a dozen tomatoes, though she still bargained with the woman selling them to get the price down, out of habit.
The morning of Mohini’s birthday, they followed all the rituals. She was given a bath, and then the whole family went to the nearby temple. The pundit did the birthday puja in Mohini’s name, and Pratap and Asha held hands, pleased with their family and what they knew the future now held for them.
At the end of the puja, Pratap broke open a coconut by smashing it on the floor. The water poured out, and Asha felt it was washing away their past and laying out a new tomorrow before them. The coconut was offered to Lord Venkateshwara Swami, whose temple this was.
Mohini held out her little hand, as they all did, to receive the holy water, tinged with mint. They drank the water with their right hand and wiped their hand by rubbing it over their foreheads and into their hair. Mohini followed suit, and Asha prevented her from drying her hands on her new dress by giving her a white handkerchief.
They all sat down on the floor, facing the god as they ate their prasad, white sugar candies that were said to be blessings from God.
“So many things have changed since her last birthday,” Pratap said.
“All for the better, Anna,” Raman said to his brother. “All our lives have been made better. I never thought we’d own our own house, a pukka brick house, but we do. And even though it is just a flat, it is ours and that makes me so proud.” He looked lovingly at his wife then, and Kaveri smiled back at him.
“Lord Venkateshwara Swami has provided for us,” Kaveri said, and put her arms around her sons, who were sitting on either side of her. They squirmed a little but allowed Kaveri to kiss them on their cheeks.
Manoj sat next to his father and looked speculatively at the white candy in his hand, melting slowly, making his right hand sticky. He then put the candy in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Why does God give us sweets?” he asked no one in particular.
“Because whatever God gives us is sweet,” Asha said, reaching out and wiping his hand with the same handkerchief she had used to dry Mohini’s.
“God gives us floods and earthquakes, too, but those are not sweet,” Manoj said.
Puttamma sighed. “Today is Mohini’s birthday and not a day to talk about floods and nonsense.”
“Next year you will start going to a special school, Manoj, and there you can ask all about such things,” Asha said.
“I like my school,” Manoj protested. “The teachers are nice to me.”
“In this special school the teachers will be nicer,” Asha promised. “And you will learn a lot more than you do now.”
Manoj shrugged, his gesture strikingly adult on his little body. “I learn enough now. I learned about the solar system yesterday.”
As Manoj talked about the sun and the planets, Asha watched him with delight. She touched her stomach and thanked God for bringing her this opportunity. Manoj would learn bigger and better things. He would have more education than Asha and Pratap had ever dreamed of. He wouldn’t end up painting houses; he’d end up living in those big houses, having a big job, being a big man.
Puttamma talked about how pleased she was that both her sons had found such wonderful and sacrificing wives. It was a day of celebration, of being positive. She knew that unpleasantness lay ahead—but for now, they should enjoy their good fortune.
In the afternoon, Srinivas, Pratap’s cousin, joined them, along with his wife and parents. His wife, Nayantara, was from Hyderabad and was a little snobbish. She hated living in Srirampuram and constantly talked about how her husband and she were working on moving to Hyderabad as soon as possible. If anyone could do it, though, they could; Nayantara and Srinivas were the most educated people Asha knew.
“Another baby?” Nayantara asked when she noticed Asha’s belly. “In India the way things are, no one should have more than one child. You already have two. Do you know that in China for the longest time people could have only one child? If they had another, it was a crime. Now they can have only two and no more.”
Srinivas looked apologetically at Asha and was about to say something when Nayantara shushed him. “I don’t mean to be rude, but can you even afford to have a third child? I mean . . . you’re living with Kaveri and Raman.”
“We’re going to buy our own flat very soon,” Pratap said defensively. “This is just temporary until we find our feet. We just moved from the village.”
“But still, three children?” Nayantara wouldn’t let the matter go.
“Children are Lord Venkateshwara Swami’s blessing,” Srinivas’s mother, Tarla Devi, said. “And I think Asha is doing a wonderful thing by having one more child. He might be like Manoj, another gem of a boy, or like Mohini, such a beautiful girl.”
“God doesn’t provide for children; money does,” Nayantara said.
“Money isn’t a problem.” Raman spoke this time to defend his older brother and his wife.
“Please,” Asha protested. “This is not an appropriate conversation in front of the children.”
Even though the children were sitting in another circle in the TV room, Asha used them as an excuse. She could hardly explain to Nayantara that the child she was having wasn’t hers. That all her concerns were meaningless.
“Oh,” Nayantara said, immediately looking guilty. “I guess they’re happy about having another brother or sister.”
There won’t be a brother or sister, Asha wanted to tell the stupid, arrogant girl. But she nodded and smiled and asked if anyone wanted more sambhar.
“Don’t listen to her,” Srinivas’s mother said to Asha after dinner when they were alone in the kitchen making tea. “She is a she-devil who doesn’t want children. You have the children you want. You are a wonderful mother, and your children are such a pleasure. I would love to have grandchildren like them. But I doubt sweet children will ever come out of my daughter-in-law’s acid womb.”
Asha quietly stirred the tea, adding the right amount of milk and sugar to the pot.
“And Mohini’s dress . . . it’s so beautiful,” Tarla Devi said. “Where did you buy it?”
“A gift from friends,” Asha said, and couldn’t resist adding, “from America.”
“You have friends in America,” Tarla Devi said admiringly.
“Yes,” Asha said, and didn’t even flinch as she lied.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Do we fight too much?” Priya asked the next morning.
Madhu had made an elaborate breakfast: a Spanish omelet with a spicy tomato salsa, yogurt with muesli, and a fruit salad. It was their Saturday-morning ritual. They woke up late, and one of them cooked a big brunch that they ate while they leisurely read the paper in the dining room.
“The fight wasn’t my fault,” Priya added as she put a triangle of Spanish omelet on her plate.
“I said I was sorry,” Madhu said. “I know women think it’s their exclusive, God-given right to talk to their friends about their problems, but men do it, too, you know.”
“You bet I know,” Priya said. “But Athar tells Farah everything, and she tells everybody, so that’s probably not the right friend to confide in.”
“Got it. Can we move on?”
Priya looked at him while she chewed on the omelet and nodded.
“Thank you,” Madhu said sarcastically, and turned on the television, flipping channels until he found CNN.
“I think our Saturdays are going to be very different when the baby comes home,” Priya said.
“Why? I think we can still have brunch with a baby in the house,” Madhu said. “We shouldn’t become the kind of parents who give up being a couple to becom
e parents.”
“I don’t think it’s a conscious thing,” Priya said. “I think it’s one of those things that just happens. Nina and Jordan were a normal couple until they had kids, and suddenly they had no time for anything. Either their kid is sick or she has a birthday party—something or other to keep her from seeing us on weekends.”
Madhu stirred sugar into his filter coffee. “And look what happened? Jordan was sleeping with someone else, and Nina was having a nervous breakdown.”
Priya grinned. “I don’t think Jordan cheated on Nina because they became parents. Or is that something you intend to do?”
“No. But Nina won’t even have a babysitter over so she and Jordan can go out. Hell, they’ve never spent a night away from their girls,” Madhu said.
Priya wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know if I will, either. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that we have to be a couple as well as parents, but right now, as I wait for this baby, I can’t imagine letting her out of my sight once I have her.”
“But you will,” Madhu said, looking her in the eye. “Just because it’s been a long way to a baby doesn’t mean we have to sacrifice our lives for it.”
“But we do have to, Madhu,” Priya said, licking her lips. “A baby will change our lives. We will not be able to sit down and eat every meal in peace.”
“As long as we can do it once in a while, that will be enough,” Madhu said, reaching over to place his hand on his wife’s.
Priya didn’t think Madhu truly grasped the concept of what this baby would do to their lives. He was living with the idea that the baby would calmly follow his plans and agenda and not screw anything up. Nina told Priya how shocked she’d been at the loss of her freedom once she’d had Rebecca. It had been a huge blow to all of a sudden not even be able to go to the supermarket without having a baby hang about her. It had taken getting used to, but for the first few months she thought her life was over.
“Do you think we should shop a little this weekend? Buy something for Asha and her family?” Priya asked.
“Didn’t we just buy them stuff?” Madhu said. “I think it can wait. Or do you just want to go baby shopping?”
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