The mother moved away from Sushila and put her hand on Asha’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Asha didn’t answer, just blindly looked away from the monitor. This was their baby. She had known it all along, but she supposed that there had been a tiny part of her that fantasized that the baby somehow, some way, could be hers. Now with the mother standing there, staking her claim, her fantasies dissipated and she felt beyond foolish.
“You don’t have to stay and meet the children,” she said in Telugu, as politely as she could. “I mean . . . if you have to leave, that’s OK.”
“We’re in no rush,” Sushila said. “We have the car for the day, the week if we want it.”
The mother seemed to understand her better and asked in her strange and accented Telugu, “Do you not want us to meet your children?”
“No, no,” Asha said quickly. “You’re welcome to meet them. I just didn’t . . . I mean, why would I not want you to meet the children? Meet the children. They’re wonderful children.”
She felt silly talking like this. Why couldn’t she just tell them that she didn’t want them here, didn’t want them intruding in her life? Wasn’t her shame already complete with these people looking inside her? Now they wanted to see inside her family? What, did they want to take them to America as well?
“You said your son was very smart,” the mother said.
What, poor people couldn’t have smart children? Asha thought snappishly.
“Yes, he is,” she said with pride. “He’s only five, but they have put him in the third class because he’s far ahead of children his own age.”
“Asha’s son is a cutie,” Divya said. “They come and visit every day. Asha is the only mother we have who has family visiting her regularly. The others come from places too far.”
“Is he going to a special school for gifted children?” Sushila asked.
Asha felt uncomfortable.
“We didn’t have the money . . .” She paused; she felt poorer than she ever had before. “But now with this”—she looked at her belly—“we hope to send him to a special school. We have one outside of Srirampuram. Doctor Swati said she’ll help us with a recommendation and everything, and then maybe next year he can start there.”
“These schools are very expensive,” Sushila said. “How much money are you getting? How much, Priya?”
“Mummy,” the mother protested.
“Please, this is not appropriate conversation,” Divya added, looking sternly at Asha.
“Oh come on, the boy needs an education,” Sushila said. “How much?”
Divya raised her hand and came in front of Sushila. “Please, you’re upsetting her.”
Asha was glad for Divya’s intervention. This was humiliating, she thought, talking about money like this. Maybe she had been too quick in liking Sushila after all.
“We’ll manage,” Asha said, her head high, before Divya could speak. “We’ll make sure our son has a future.”
“Of course you will,” Sushila said. “I mean, look at the sacrifice you’re already making to make it happen. You’re an amazing mother for doing this.”
Asha almost said something then; something like she was also doing this to help Sushila’s daughter and son-in-law, but the gate opened then, and Asha saw Pratap. He was carrying Mohini, and Manoj was behind them, holding his father’s shirt with one hand and a notebook with the other.
He saw Asha and left his father to run to her.
“Look, Amma, look at what I got!” He thrust the notebook at her and Asha flipped through it.
“I got a hundred in maths,” he said. “No one got a hundred. Only me.”
Asha’s chest swelled and she hugged him. “You’re such a smart boy.”
He stopped then and noticed the others on the veranda and smiled at them. “I’m Manoj,” he said in Telugu.
“I’m Sushila,” Sushila said.
“I’m Priya,” the mother said, and held her hand out for Manoj to shake it.
Pratap put Mohini down, folded his hands, and said “Namaskaram” to the women. Asha had told him that they were coming but had assured him that they would be gone by the time he came with the kids.
Divya left them alone now, and they all sat down, uncomfortable with one another. Only Mohini and Manoj were oblivious to the tension.
The mother had brought presents for the children and Pratap. Mohini got a beautiful princess dress in pink and white with a crown. She immediately insisted on wearing it and pranced around, asking if she looked pretty.
“I asked the people at the toy store what would be good for a gifted child like Manoj, and they gave me this,” the mother said, and held up a big box wrapped in pretty colors. Manoj took the box. “I also got him some books.” She held out another wrapped box that she gave to Pratap.
Manoj said thank you in English and attacked the wrapping paper.
“It’s a construction set,” the mother said. “It’s supposed to be good for smart kids like Manoj. It helps them build things; they can build anything with it.”
Manoj looked at the box and read easily, “Capsela, ninety-one pieces, forty-seven models, fifteen principles,” he said.
“Excellent,” Sushila said. “You are a very smart boy, aren’t you?”
“I got a hundred in maths,” he said in response.
As he opened the box, the mother gave another box to Pratap.
“No, no,” he said, putting his hands up. “You already gave me a watch; I can’t take any more.”
“Please,” the mother said. “It’s a small present. I think . . . I think you’ll like it.”
Pratap looked at Asha and she nodded. She would have to ask Pratap to bring something for the mother—but what present could they possibly give?
Pratap gasped when he removed the wrapping paper. Underneath was a box with a picture of a camera.
“It doesn’t use film. It has a chip, and if you take it to any photo shop, I checked, they will print the pictures for you,” the mother said hurriedly.
Pratap turned the box around in his big hands and opened it. He pulled the black camera out, wrapped in translucent paper for protection.
“I’ve never had a camera before,” Pratap said in awe. “And I always wanted one. Especially to take pictures of the children.”
The mother smiled widely. “I’m so glad you like it. I can show you how to use it.”
“Oh my God,” Divya said, coming onto the veranda. It was obvious that, even though she had left, she was watching from inside. “It certainly is an expensive present.”
“Challa thanks,” Pratap said, flushed with excitement. “This must be so expensive. You really don’t have to bring us presents . . .”
“It’s not expensive,” Sushila said. “You shouldn’t think about it. Just enjoy the camera. Take pictures of your children and your family, something you can look back at when your children are older.”
The evening became easy after that. The mother taught Pratap to use the camera, and he took pictures of everything, showing each picture he took to Asha and the children after snapping it. It helped when Divya sat a little away from them, seemingly busy with her phone with the wide screen, finally no longer keeping a watchful eye on them.
Asha hated to admit it, but the presents had made her soften toward the mother. She showed Pratap her new earrings, and he agreed that they made her glow.
“Has Manoj been tested?” the mother asked as they talked about the children.
“Tested?” Asha asked.
“Yes, to see how smart he is,” the mother said.
Asha frowned. “He is smart. You have doubts?”
“That’s not what she’s saying,” Sushila said. “It’s just a way to find out what level he’s at so he can be taught better.”
Asha looked at Pratap and they shrugged. They didn’t know anything about testing.
Sushila nodded. “You said Doctor Swati was helping you with the school
?”
“Yes, there’s a special school . . . outside Srirampuram,” Pratap said. “Doctor Swati will get Manoj into that school.”
“But he hasn’t been tested at the school?” the mother asked.
“No,” Pratap said. “She said it was too late to apply this year, but we could for next year. He will start there next year.”
The mother and Sushila looked at each other and then smiled at Pratap and Asha.
“What?” Asha asked.
“Well,” Sushila began, and then sighed. “It’s strange that he hasn’t been tested. Any school will want to test him before they even consider taking him in.”
“Doctor Swati said that they will send us admissions material soon,” Asha said. “Are you saying he can’t get in?”
“I’m sure he can,” the mother said. “Can you tell me the name of the school? Maybe we can look it up as well and see how good it is.”
“It’s a good school. We know it’s a good school,” Asha said, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. Doctor Swati had said it was and she believed her, but now these people were talking about testing and whatnot. And now that she thought about it, it did raise her suspicions that the school had just believed them that their son was smart; how did they know he was?
“I’m sure it’s a good school,” the mother said. “We just . . . you know, I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
Asha gave them the name of the school then. “It’s one of the best schools here,” she said defensively.
“Thanks,” the mother said, and looked at her watch.
“How about you take a picture of all of us, Pratap?” Sushila said as she stood up.
“Stand together,” he said to the women.
The mother and Sushila flanked Asha, who self-consciously put her hands around her belly. Pratap snapped the picture and Asha wished he hadn’t. He had for posterity locked this time, this time when she was pregnant, standing with these women who would never have known her but for the fact that the mother couldn’t have children.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“OK, you gave me hell for getting a surrogate, but you’re like a mother hen with Asha,” Priya said to Sushila as they drove back to Hyderabad.
“It isn’t her fault that you’re exploiting her,” Sush said, and then shrugged, shaking her head. “I have been tough on you. I know. Andrew made me see how it may have sounded to you.”
Priya waited. Was an apology on its way? This had never happened before.
Sush took a deep breath. “So I’m making amends. I know I’ve been hard on you, and I could have done better. Andrew also said that if I piss you off too much you won’t let us see our grandchild. And . . . as I would like to know my grandbaby . . .”
“Ah,” Priya said, and couldn’t stop from smiling.
“And we will not speak of this anymore,” Sush said, smiling as well.
“Yes, Mummy,” Priya said, and felt a weight lift off her.
“Doesn’t something smell fishy with that school business?” Priya said. “How can they get admission to a school for special children without an interview?”
“I didn’t like that doctor,” Sushila said.
“Doctor Swati is lovely,” Priya said. “You just think she’s exploiting these women. But this money is making it possible to give Manoj an education.”
“You know that five lakh rupees won’t go a long way, don’t you?” Sushila said. “It used to be a lot of money a long time ago, but now it’s not enough to build a life on.”
“The kid first needs to be tested,” Priya said. “And let’s check out this school. And then . . . how can we help with his schooling? I mean . . . if I had a job, I’d tell Madhu that we should just fund it, but I don’t have a job and I don’t know when I’ll have one.”
Sushila nodded. “No, it’s a big burden for a private person, but maybe we can find him a scholarship.”
“That’s a great idea,” Priya said. “Do you know anyone through UNICEF who can help?”
Sushila seemed thoughtful. “I’ll think about it. I’m sure we can come up with something. We could talk to the Parikshits as well. They are very much into helping schools and students. It could be an option.”
“That would be great,” Priya said. “Or I could do an e-mail drive to raise money; what do you think?”
Sush nodded again, but she wasn’t really listening. “It’s like a baby factory there,” she said. “And that house? My God, it was peeling off the edges. I know, I know, it’s better than the slums. That’s India, everything could be better, but then again, it could be much worse.”
When they got back, Priya called Madhu, waking him up. He wanted to be woken up, he had told her the night before; he wanted to hear about the baby and how Asha was doing.
“She has ten toes and ten fingers,” Priya told Madhu about the ultrasound, and he laughed.
“And she’s beautiful, right?”
“She looks like a weather map, but the most beautiful weather map I have ever seen,” Priya said. “Asha loved the earrings. She thought so much of them, and to think they were on sale, seventy percent off at Macy’s. I paid next to nothing for them.”
“And did he like the camera?”
“Absolutely,” Priya said. “But I don’t know . . . I felt that our gifts made them feel less, as if they were poor.”
“They are poor, Priya,” Madhu said. “If they had money, they wouldn’t need to do this.”
Then Priya told him about Manoj and his schooling issues. She was suspicious that Doctor Swati had done no research whatsoever into special schools and had just said so to reassure Asha, and maybe to motivate her to sign up again sometime down the line.
“Maybe you should talk to Doctor Swati,” Madhu suggested.
“And say what? I don’t want to create any problems, not now, not with the baby due in eight weeks,” Priya said. “But I’ll do some research. Mummy said she would look into a scholarship.”
“Did you just say Mummy? Usually it’s Sush or just ‘she,’” Madhu said.
“She’s being supportive. She’s making amends; she actually used the term making amends because she’s worried I won’t let her see her granddaughter. She admitted she was being too hard on me,” Priya told him.
“And hell hasn’t even frozen over,” Madhu said. “So she thinks she can find a way to help this kid?”
“She said she’ll look into scholarships,” Priya said.
“You know if it’s just money, we can just . . . I don’t know, send an e-mail out to everyone we know and collect as much as we can. Even if everyone we know gives fifty dollars or so, we can raise a good chunk of money,” Madhu said.
“I thought about that, too, but will that sustain years of schooling? I think a scholarship would be better. If that doesn’t work out, then we can raise money or, you know, send money, whatever we can,” Priya said.
“We’re not the Rockefellers, honey,” Madhu said. “No one said we have to save the world. But we can try to help this boy. Will you get him tested?”
“Mummy said she’ll find out how we can do that,” Priya said. “We can bring him to Hyderabad for it. The Parikshits have been great, by the way. They just handed me a car and a driver.”
“My parents’ house is going to be poor digs compared to this,” Madhu said, but Priya could hear he was joking.
“Maybe I should just stay here. They’ve offered me the place for the whole two months if I want,” Priya said.
“You just want to avoid a scene between my parents and Sush,” Madhu said.
“I don’t know, Madhu. She’s a different person here. She’s not critical, not judgmental. These people genuinely adore her,” Priya said. “And on the trip to see Asha, she was a rock. She’s really trying. I swear, we have never had this kind of intimacy before.”
“Never too late,” Madhu said.
They talked some more and Priya hung up laughing because Madhu charmingly but unsuccessfully tried to have phone sex wi
th her.
The whole family was present at dinner, as they almost always were. Vikas made it a point to be home for at least one meal every day, he had told Priya.
Priya could see the easy relationship Mona had with her in-laws and hoped that her time at Prasanna and Sairam’s would be similar.
Sush had updated the Parikshits on the surrogate house and told them about Manoj. Once Priya had told Mona about Asha, Sush had stopped hiding it like it was some dirty secret.
“We give out a scholarship once a year,” General Parikshit said. “Well, by we, I mean our foundation does. We set it up several years ago at Vishal’s, my older son’s, insistence. We have helped several young people with funding to go to the States to do their master’s, and we have offered support for students to go abroad for various courses. We usually don’t offer support for such young children, but if this boy is as intelligent as you say, maybe we can swing something.”
“You mean that?” Priya said, unable to believe that this might actually be easy.
“Absolutely,” the general said. “In India, Priya, it’s all about who you know.”
“Of course, we need to have him tested first,” Vikas said. “There are several applicants every year for this scholarship. We only offer one, and we try to give it to the best applicant possible.”
“Your recommendation will definitely put him at the top of our list,” Mona said. “I manage the foundation, more or less, because Papa and Vikas are so busy with everything.”
Priya looked at Mona curiously.
“What do you do . . . I mean, for the foundation?” Priya asked as she refused another helping of butter chicken. There was only one server tonight, as it was just the family and them. She could get used to this. Good food, cooked for you, served to you—this wasn’t a bad way to live.
“Everything,” Romila said fondly. “She manages the finances. Of course, we have an accountant, but she works with him. Mona has a bachelor’s degree in finance, and she’s even a certified chartered accountant. Those exams are very difficult to pass, but our Mona, she cleared them in one go.”
Mona flushed. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Of course it was,” Vikas said. “Mona also does all the fund-raising and dispensing of the funds. Besides the scholarship, we also have a program to help single mothers, especially in villages. They’re socially ostracized once their husbands die, and financially strapped. Mona travels to these villages and works with some NGOs that specialize in such matters. And we bought a farm last year; it’s an hour outside of Hyderabad. When someone contracts AIDS in a village, they’re thrown out, but on this farm they all live together and they also work. A lot of the food on this table comes from produce grown at the farm, and that is Mona’s baby. She bought the land, got the farm going, found the right NGOs to help run the place, everything.”
A House for Happy Mothers: A Novel Page 23