A Bollywood Affair

by Sonali Dev

  “If you nick me can I go to the magazines with it and cry abuse?”

  She unwrapped her arms from around him and stepped away, her pout pushed out in all its glory. “Come on, Sam, baby, don’t be like that. You broke my heart. I was upset.”

  Plus it was really good publicity. DJ had told him that Neha was booked solid for the next five years.

  “And I withdrew the case. I thought you liked messing with the press. I thought you’d get a laugh out of it.”

  He’d got more than just a laugh out of it. He’d got someone to go to bat for him.

  Samir would never, ever hit a woman.

  “Are you all right? You look ill. I’m sorry, I really didn’t realize you would be so upset about it.”

  “I’m not. You’re right, it’s pretty darned funny. I’ve always thought it would be a hoot to be labeled an abuser.”

  Her pout turned gargantuan, taking over her entire face. Huge tears pooled in her eyes. He couldn’t stand to stay and watch. He couldn’t even get himself to say good-bye. He turned and walked away.

  “Sam,” she called after him, her voice rising in pitch. “Sam, come back. I’m sorry.”

  You have no idea what it means to be sorry, Neha.

  Fuck, he really was turning into a drama queen.

  Samir no longer woke up with nightmares. Now he woke up from erotic dreams with such intense pain in his heart he wished for the nightmares. But his dreams were the only time he got to hold Mili, to feel her against him. And it was so real, he fell asleep every night praying for it, the pain afterward be damned.

  He clutched his pillow and sat up in bed, waiting for his heartbeat to slow. The guest rooms in the studio complex weren’t half bad. The owner had done a good job with the place. He’d skipped the glitzy granite and glass and gone rustic. Lots of natural stone, wood, and terra-cotta. Samir walked to the balcony that overlooked the Matheran mountain. In the dark, only the gray outline of the mountain was visible against a moonlit sky, but during the day it was magnificent, all red earth and lush green woods.

  Like everything else these days the silence made him restless, and he reached for the phone. There was only one person he could call at this hour.

  “Hello, beta.” Sara’s voice didn’t seem as raspy and tired as usual. There could be only one reason for her cheery tone.

  Suddenly Samir wished he hadn’t called. Then just as suddenly he was glad he had. He settled into the rattan rocking chair. “How are you, Sara?”

  “Don’t I sound good?”

  “You sound really good.” Over the two weeks he had spent with her after Mili threw him out, she had progressively gotten stronger and more cheerful. It had been the most hellish two weeks of Samir’s life but he couldn’t have spent it anywhere else. Sara didn’t know him. Didn’t question him. Essentially she had left him alone and been happy with whatever time he spent sitting next to her as she rested after her radiation.

  “Mili was here with her friend today. They stayed and made lunch with Kim. Mili makes the best rotis, did you know that? But that friend of hers, she’d burn water.”

  “Sounds like you had fun.”

  “It’s great that Mili comes to see me.”

  He had no idea why she did it. But he couldn’t imagine her not doing it either. “How is she?”

  “Why don’t you call and ask her yourself?”

  “How’s Kim?”

  “She’s fine too. She didn’t feel too good this week. It’s hard on her taking care of me. She’s the older one, you know. She gets tired.”

  “Someone should be taking care of both of you.” They shouldn’t be stuck like that alone, taking care of each other, waiting for visitors to cheer them up. Suddenly he had an idea.

  “Sara, would you . . . would you come here to India? Come stay with me? Let me take care of you?”

  She went completely silent for a long moment. “Are you serious?” He heard a sob.

  “I’m absolutely serious.” Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

  “Let me think about it. Let me talk to Kim. But Samir, just that you asked. Thanks, son.”

  “Sure, Sara. Think about it. I’ll talk to my lawyers and see what paperwork we need if you decide to come.”

  “Mill, you’re not seriously going back to the library. You spend all your time either at the library or at Pierce Hall. I never get to see you anymore.” Ridhi pulled her shiny new car into the smelly parking lot.

  “Ridhi, I just spent two hours in the car and four hours in Sara’s house with you.” Mili pushed her door open and got out of the car.

  “Yeah, four hours of having a mother rave about her son.” Ridhi followed Mili up the stairs. “Why don’t you just tell her what a bastard her son really is? I mean, what kind of son leaves his mother to die by herself?”

  Mili let them into the apartment and tried to muster the energy to respond. “Sara’s not dying. She’s actually responding to radiation beautifully. Her past two scans have been cancer-free.” She didn’t tell Ridhi that she believed it was because she was finally able to talk about her son. Talk to her son.

  “I hope so. She has been getting better each time we go see her. Are you sure you don’t want to come eat dinner with Ravi and me?”

  Ridhi had moved back on campus to finish out the semester. Ravi lived in Dallas. They had an apartment there and they visited each other on weekends. Ridhi’s parents had taken one look at the apartment she shared with Mili and bought her a condo in Ann Arbor a few miles away. Ridhi was well and truly over her rebellious phase and she had gladly moved out. Now if she would only stop trying to get Mili to move in with her.

  Thanks to the paper Mili had coauthored with Dr. Bernstein she had won another fellowship and it had more than solved her rent problem. She was almost done with her course and she wasn’t going anywhere until it was time to go back home next month. Plus the reason they had an apartment was so Ravi and Ridhi could have their privacy when he was here. Mili had no interest in being the bone in that kebab. Also, much as she hated her apartment, she wasn’t ready to let it go.

  “Not tonight, Ridhi. Tonight I have a lot of studying to do.”

  “Mills, at least come up with a new excuse. And when are you going to start eating again? Look at you. You’re wasting away, honey.”

  “I’ll pick something up at the union. I really have to study. Two papers due next week.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

  “Nothing happened. Hey, can you call Sara and let her know we made it back safe and sound? So she doesn’t worry.”

  Ridhi handed her the phone. “Here, you do it. And while you’re at it, why don’t you call her son and tell him to come fix the mess he’s made.”

  Mili dialed Sara’s number and went into her bedroom. Sara answered, all bright and cheery. Mili hadn’t ever heard her sound this strong.

  “Mili, I have wonderful news. You’re not going to believe this. Samir’s asked Kim and me to move to India with him. He wants to take care of me. Can you believe that?”

  Mili’s heart twisted so tight in her chest the pain made her breathless. Sara sounded so excited, Mili could not believe this was the same woman who had barely been able to talk on the phone two months ago. Two long, painful months. The parched pain of unshed tears tore at her eyelids, jabbed at her throat. She swallowed and forced herself to speak. “Of course I can believe that. He’s trying to be a good son.” And that wasn’t a lie.

  “Mili, he’s not just a good son, he’s a good man. Can’t you forgive him for whatever he did?”

  Mili squeezed her dry eyes shut. Her throat felt like she was swallowing nails. “There’s nothing to forgive, Sara.”

  “Child, don’t wait until it’s too late. Lost time is lost forever.”

  It was already too late. Their time was never theirs. How could she lose what was never hers? Why, then, did it hurt like this?

  “Sara, can I call you later? I have a paper to finish.”

>   Sara let her go without another word. Mili stared out the window. Cruel sunshine pierced her tinder-dry eyes. Her yellow bike stood wedged between two other bikes in the stand. She had come home from school one day the week after he left and found it repaired. The seat replaced, the brakes fixed, the handle unbent. There had been no note, nothing to tell her who had done it.

  One of these days she’d walk it to the Dumpster. One of these days when she could bring herself to touch it.

  The studio complex was a two-hour drive from Samir’s flat in a north Mumbai suburb. But his driver and he had been stuck in traffic for two hours and they were barely out of Karjat. Samir was so restless he couldn’t sit in the car one more second. He had gone over the screenplay for the hundredth time, tweaked the dialog, called the dialog writer and ironed out every nuance of the Hindi translation.

  He had called Lawrence so many times his set tech was no longer answering his calls. His AD wasn’t taking his calls either. Neither was his executive producer. “Sam, this is my twenty-ninth film in Mumbai and I swear to God, I’ve never been more well prepared for a film. You cannot do anything more until shooting starts. It’s Navratri. Everyone needs time to celebrate the festival season from now until Diwali. If you don’t stop calling people, they are going to drop out of the project. I’m turning my phone off now. I’ll see you on set first thing Monday.”

  And she really did turn off her phone. Because when he thought of something else and called her again in five minutes, she didn’t answer.

  As for his driver, Samir loved the man; he had been with Samir for seven years now, but Samir could not discuss the three girls he was three-timing one more time without strangling his scrawny, red-scarf-covered neck.

  “Javed, I’m going to get out and start walking. Pick me up when the traffic jam clears.” He opened the door and got out of the car, feeling like a swimmer breaking water and gulping air.

  Javed stuck his head out of the car. “Sam-Sir, have you gone crazies? What are you doing?”

  “I’m walking, boss, what does it look like I’m doing?” Samir threw over his shoulder.

  “But we are one hundred and fifty kilometers from home.” For some reason Javed pointed to his watch as he said it. Another time Samir would have made fun of him for it.

  “I know. So hopefully you’ll catch up before I make it all the way back.” He held up his cell phone. “I’ll stay along the road. Call me when you start moving.”

  Javed smacked his head with both hands and looked heavenward in response.

  Samir had walked for two hours before Javed made it to him and picked him up. It was another two hours before they got home. The last person Samir expected to see when he let himself into his flat was his mother.

  “Baiji? What are you doing here?”

  “Arrey, what kind of question is that for a son to ask his mother? It’s my son’s house. I’ll come and go as I please.”

  He quickly bent down and touched her feet and she pulled his face to her and kissed his forehead.

  “I’m sorry.” He hugged her and found it hard to let her go. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Of course, you come and go as you please. All I meant was that you should’ve called me so I would have picked you up at the airport. When did you get here?”

  “This morning. Your housekeeper let me in. Then that cook of yours tried to bully me into letting him cook. But I set him straight. He’s going to do the cutting and chopping and cleaning. I will be the one doing the cooking. No way is some strange man cooking for you when I’m here.”

  Samir had tried to get his mother to come and stay with him for years. But she never visited him. She hated Mumbai. It felt like a foreign land to her. She’d been here only once five years ago when he’d moved into this flat and that was it. He was the one who went to see her. She found Virat’s military cantonment housing much more restful. And since Rima had come into the family her preference for Virat’s home had only doubled. “When you get married I’ll come stay with you,” she liked to say. “I need female company now. I’ve spent my entire life with you boys. Now I need some softness in my life.”

  “Don’t you want to know what I cooked?” she asked, searching his face.

  “Actually, Baiji, I’m not hungry. I already ate.” He smiled. He really was happy she was here. He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t. But he couldn’t bear the thought of food right now.

  “Chintu, I have been waiting for you for dinner and I’m starving. You will eat something.” She gave him a stern look but he saw the worry it masked and his heart squeezed.

  He washed his hands and sat down to dinner.

  His mother had cooked all the things he loved: dal and potatoes and spicy kadhi. He tried really hard to enjoy it.

  “Are you going to tell me what the matter is?”

  “Matter?”

  “See. Usually if I asked you one question you gave me three different answers in one breath. Now I get ‘matter?’ What is that?”

  He shrugged.

  “And there’s a beard growing on your face. And your cook was right. You’ve lost too much weight. Beta, what happened in America?”

  “Nothing, Baiji.” Nothing had happened in America. It had all just been nothing.

  “Since when do you lie to your mother? Is it Sara? Are you regretting not meeting her sooner?”

  He did feel bad that Sara hadn’t been part of his life before and he felt guilty that he had spent so much time hating her. But he didn’t regret not reaching out to her sooner. And that was because the amazing woman watching him eat had never let him feel motherless. Even now, Sara was Sara. In a weird sort of way he loved her. Finding her was like unwrapping a gift he had not wanted and being surprised by how different it was from what he had expected.

  But his love for Baiji was alive, definitive. It was wrapped up in the edges of the sari she had used to wipe crumbs from his mouth, to dab tears from his eyes. It was wrapped up in the hands she had used to wash and bandage not just a tattered back but scraped knees, to roast rotis just the way he liked them. It was a real and tangible love, tied up in memories and experience, in a face so familiar it didn’t have to speak its worry to communicate it.

  “Baiji, actually there is something I want to discuss with you.” He got off his chair and squatted next to her.

  She pushed his hair off his forehead. He hadn’t realized how long it had grown. “I’m listening,” she said.

  “I want to bring Sara and her sister Kim to India. Kim is too old to go on caring for Sara by herself. They have no one else. What do you think?”

  She pulled his face to her belly and kissed his head. “You stole the words from my heart, beta. It’s the best idea. It’s the only idea. If we don’t take care of her, who will?”

  He laid his head on his mother’s lap. Her warmth, her strength seeped into him and for a few moments the incessant raw ache inside him let up. “Thanks, Baiji.”

  She continued to stroke his head. “Beta, I’m so proud of you for having the strength to go see her. You’ve made me proud of how I raised you. Thanks for turning into this man.”

  If only she knew what kind of man he had really turned into. The kind of man who had to be threatened and dragged to see his sick mother. The kind of man who killed innocence and had no idea how to fix it.

  “Samir, do you think they can get here before Diwali? Maybe we can have Diwali here this year. All of us, because if we go to Rima’s home it will be hard to keep her off her feet. Let’s have Virat and Rima come here instead. What do you think?”

  “Yes, Baiji, let’s do Diwali here.”

  She lifted his face off her lap and peered into it. “So what else is the matter, beta?”

  “I’ll try to get the lawyers to expedite the paperwork.” It was all he could say.

  People loved to rant about bureaucracy in India and how it was impossible to circumvent. But if you knew the right people things worked like clockwork. It took one phone call to his lawyer to set the w
heels of Sara’s visa in motion. She had talked to Kim and Kim had seen no reason to refuse.

  “Sam,” his lawyer said in his courtroom baritone, “since I have you on the phone, I need Virat and you to sign a few more papers for the Balpur property to finish executing your grandfather’s will.”

  “Sure. Send them over.” The sooner he had nothing more to do with the bastard the better.

  “And you brothers still want to do a split, right? You get the haveli and Virat gets the lands?”

  Virat had given him a choice. Something had made Samir choose the haveli. “Yes. And once the split happens we can do whatever we want with our share, right?”

  “Of course.” He sounded taken aback. “Were you interested in selling? I can look for buyers if you want to sell.”

  “No, I don’t need a buyer. But there is something else I need you to do for me.”

  Ridhi barged into Mili’s office and dragged her to the union for lunch. “I want to actually see you eating.”

  “Isn’t there anything interesting on TV today?”

  “Very good! There’s some of that old snark. I miss you, Mills. Come back to me.” She waved her hands like a Bollywood chorus dancer beckoning her audience.

  “I’m right here, Ridhi. Stop being such a drama queen.”

  “You’re not right here. You haven’t been right here since your stupid Romeo left. I swear if I get my hands on him, I’ll kill him.”

  Mili groaned. It was going to be a long lunch hour. They picked up their sandwiches and waited to find an empty table. The union was packed today.

  “And speaking of your stupid Romeo, his lawyer’s been trying to reach you on my phone. He said you could call back even if it was late.”

  Mili nibbled her sandwich. It tasted like cardboard. She thought all the legal stuff was taken care of. Why was the lawyer calling again? Her stomach wobbled. Would this nightmare ever end? She took the phone Ridhi was holding out and dialed.

  “Hello, Ms. Malvika. How are you?” She always felt like she was in a courtroom scene in a film when she spoke to the man. It was a good thing he used her first name. Now that her marriage was officially “void,” she no longer knew what her last name was.