Priya in Heels (Entangled Embrace)

by Ayesha Patel

  I ran into Vicki on the river walk. She huffed and puffed in an awkward jog, like a person who didn’t know how to run correctly, or who didn’t run at all. She panted, “Tyler! Good to see you!”

  “Hey, Vicki. Looking good.”

  “Trying to get into that dress before the wedding.”

  I frowned. “Speaking of weddings…”

  “I don’t know what’s going on with Priya.”

  “Have you heard from her? My calls went straight to voicemail.”

  Vicki planted her hands on her hips and caught her breath. “She’s in India.”

  “What?”

  “I think she went to spread her mom’s ashes.”

  “Not to get married, right?”

  “No. She’s looking for closure.”

  “When is she coming back?”

  “A couple of weeks.”

  A couple of weeks? Pree left the flipping country and didn’t bother telling me? Well, apparently, she’d decided, after all that, that I wasn’t anything to her. Who left the country without telling the people who meant the most to them?

  Meagan was burning up my phone. Well, if Pree had made her decision, a choice that didn’t involve me, then maybe it was time to move on or at least get my mind off her with someone else. Maybe it was time to give Meagan another try.

  I tossed my cell phone from hand to hand and Vicki glared at me. “What?” I asked.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “You have that mad look. Just give her a little time.”

  “I keep trying and trying.”

  “Don’t give up. Please.”

  I groaned. “Who’s taking care of her dad’s house?”

  She shrugged.

  “Yeah.” Even if Pree did yet another thing that hurt me, I would make sure that at least her father knew I cared and not just about Pree.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Mow his lawn.”

  “What?” She knitted her brows.

  “Someone has to take care of the yard while he’s gone.”

  A grateful smile slowly spread across her face. “That is so sweet.”

  “So India, huh?”

  “Yes, to the village her mom came from. Her mom’s family is still there. And they are a lot nicer than her dad’s side.”

  “Sounds like a good place to go back to.”

  “It’s good for her to see family who loves her and her mom. Her dad will be happy, too. He’s talked about going back for a long time.” She looked skyward and smacked her lips. “I bet they are eating all kinds of fatty sweets and fried street foods. I bet there’s some colorful festivity going on, too.”

  She looked back at me. “India is a different place. Not everything is great, but how you respect your parents is top priority. Taking her mom’s ashes there is very significant. You know how most people complain about having to see their families or having to take care of their parents?”

  I nodded.

  “Priya would never feel that way about her parents. She appreciated everything they sacrificed and endured for her. They never told her about one single hardship. I know they went through a lot because they were close to my parents and I’d overhear things. It’s admirable. That’s why she tried to protect them, and why she felt so strongly about their happiness. Do you get it?”

  “I’m selfish, aren’t I?”

  She shook her head. “Priya has three great loves in her life: her parents, medicine, and you. She’s only whole when she has all three. She uses the term ‘reapproximation’ at work when she sews body parts back together to try to make them as good and aligned as they were before. She has to do that with her life, and it’s a struggle, but she needs you there.”

  “I hope she gets to that point when she comes back home.”

  “Me, too.”

  “She might be more Indianized, though.”

  Vicki laughed. “That’ll be a good thing. India is amazing.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Priya

  Papa shared a few laughs with me on the trip, a sound I thought I’d never hear again. At points on the longest flights—namely from New York to London and from London to Paris, and from Paris to Mumbai—we took turns sleeping. I didn’t trust the men around us, and Papa seemed to feel the same.

  I read a dozen magazines and went through my music playlist until the songs annoyed me. Crying babies, people crawling over me to get in and out, and crowded aisles made me wish we’d gone into debt paying for first class. Four seats, aisle, six seats, aisle, then another set of four seats for each row made the international flight a nightmare.

  From Mumbai, we hopped a flight to Gujarat’s capital, Ahmedabad.

  Mummie’s two brothers, Dev Mama and Pranal Mama, met us outside. We greeted one another with partial happiness, partial loss.

  “You’re so beautiful, beti. You were this little when we last saw you.” Dev Mama flattened his palm by his knee.

  I laughed. “I was twenty-one!”

  “Are you hungry?” Pranal Mama asked.

  “A little.”

  We bought vendor food. Oh sweet heavens, Indian street food was incredible. Roasted, spiced chickpeas in newspaper cones; smashed, curried potatoes sandwiched in bread called dabeli and dunked in chutney; and sweets, so many sweets.

  Papa crossed his legs and ordered cha. Cha in India tasted different for obvious reasons: the milk came from local water buffalo, the water came from faucets, and the ingredients were true Indian. It tasted amazing. I closed my eyes with the first sip and shuddered, thrown back to the day at the mandir when Mummie and I had reminisced about how good the food was here.

  I reopened my eyes to blurriness and wiped away pooling tears.

  “Beti?” Papa lifted my chin.

  I shook my head. “Just missing Mummie is all.”

  He nodded to his brothers-in-law, and they gradually returned to airy conversation.

  A frail, elderly woman in a thin sari, worn-out sandals, and old bracelets clamped her hands together and muttered in Gujarati about needing money to feed her starving children.

  My heart broke. I gave her five rupees and the rest of my food. The woman clasped her hands together, tilted her head, and profusely thanked me, blessing me by the gods for my generosity.

  “Beti, don’t spend your money on the beggars. I know you want to help them, but you can’t. Someone could be watching and think you’re a naïve, rich tourist and try to rob you.”

  Flashbacks of the alley ran through my mind. Ty wasn’t here to save me. One thought of him made my stomach roil. God, I missed him, and it took everything in me not to dash to the closest internet café and email him.

  “Yes, Papa.”

  We returned to the Jeep for the long ride to a little dirt road village. The men were in high spirits and no one inquired about my engagement. I had a feeling they knew the basics. I relaxed and enjoyed the wind in my hair as I watched throngs of people cross uncontrolled streets whenever they could. People honked and yelled. This place was worse than Times Square.

  When it started to rain, we attached the Jeep cover and rolled up the windows. It poured as if we were in the middle of monsoon season.

  The streets cleared pretty quickly. In the distance, a woman and her son crossed the street. Rain drenched her. Her hair and sari clung to her face and body, but she wore a smile. The little boy wore a regulation school uniform: button-up, two-colored shirt with khaki shorts, socks, and black shoes. His mother held his backpack in one hand and an umbrella in the other, except she kept the umbrella over his head while she took the brunt of the rain.

  I smiled. How heartwarming a mother’s love was, even when she was poor and soaked. She reminded me of Mummie’s selfless and abundant love. I blinked away tears and fought to accept memories of Mummie without them.

  We drove through the city and a couple of small towns. Beautiful green fields and trees filled the spots
in between. Endless fields with bright shrubbery edged toward untouched forests. There were probably lots of snakes in that beauty, too.

  We rode over uneven and rocky terrain and more dirt roads until we entered the village.

  “They’re here! They’re here!” kids cried as they ran ahead of the Jeep in excitement.

  A crowd formed around us as we parked in front of Dev Mama’s house. His wife, Leeta Mami, came out to greet us along with their two young boys. The kids were shy, but everyone else in the village wasn’t.

  Both Mamas brought the luggage inside. People stopped and gawked, strangers or relatives, I wasn’t quite sure. Mami stayed by my side the entire time.

  It had been an exhausting trip and a long day. The sun set as we settled in, though I kept everything in my suitcase. The houses in the villages weren’t broken into rooms with specific purposes. They had an entrance room, two main rooms where cots leaned against walls, and a kitchen. So there wasn’t much space to unpack.

  “Good night, Papa.” I leaned down and hugged him from behind the lounge chair.

  I glanced up at the spread of stars, brighter here without light pollution. My heart swelled as I excitedly told Papa, “Do you see that twinkling star to the left of the moon, the lower side?”

  He and all the men studied the sky as if what I pointed at was the most important thing in the world.

  “Tyler named that star after Mummie.”

  They ooh’d and ahh’d. Papa grinned. “Tyler is a nice boy.” And then, to my shock, he turned to the men and explained, “Tyler works at NASA,” and went on to tell them of all the wonderful things that made up Tyler O’Connor.

  He and all the men in the village sat around in the front of the house, blocking the road. He would probably sleep outside on a cot with the others.

  In the morning, we ate nastho together with cha, fresh and delicious. Mami squatted while she prepared food on a low table and cha on an equally low stove. Then we ate cross-legged on a bare floor.

  “Milk?” Mami offered as she poured a cup each for the boys.

  I declined. Water buffalo milk made for a great ingredient, but it didn’t taste good alone. And this milk was fresh, unpasteurized, straight from the water buffalo’s teat next door.

  Papa and Dev Mama left to meet friends and arrange the prayer for tonight while I walked into the backyard where Mami washed dishes.

  “Do you want a bath?” she asked.

  I nodded and returned with my bath things.

  Mami picked up a boiling pot of water and poured it into a plastic tub container already partway filled with tepid water until the mixture was on the hotter side of warm. She carried it into the shower stall where I locked myself in.

  I checked for spiders first and foremost. Carved, latticed walls at the top acted as windows and let in light and air. I stripped off my clothes, squatted, and used a plastic cup to pour water over myself. I scrubbed and soaped up and washed my hair, then poured cup after cup of water over myself until I was clean.

  Villagers didn’t waste much water and electricity here, and they had strong thighs from so much squatting.

  I spent the rest of the day helping Mami and getting to know her again. She was so nice, like a second mother, and reminded me of Mummie. I loved spending time here.

  That evening, we met Papa, and practically the entire village, at the mandir across the way. The sheer amount of people who came out to pay their respects to Mummie floored me and brought tears to my eyes. Their sympathetic faces and nods didn’t help my shaky control.

  The crowd parted for us. Mami pulled her sari train over her head in devout respect. I wore a salwar kameez but didn’t wrap the dupatta around my head, mainly because I no longer cared about the rituals. We sat in a semicircle in front of an altar with the priest and Mummie’s ashes and prayed.

  I couldn’t bear to look at Papa, though Mummie’s brothers held up well. Mami, on the other hand, wiped away tears. I dropped my head and released my own, letting them spill onto my lap. I didn’t wipe them away until we finished the ritual.

  Papa carried Mummie’s ashes out of the mandir. We followed him and the priest through the village to the outer road that led down to the river. The priest chanted some more and sang mantras as Papa and Mummie’s brothers each touched the container and poured her cremated ashes into the water.

  I exhaled and whispered, “Good-bye, Mummie. I’ll always love you…”

  Mami must’ve heard those words, because she drew an arm around me. I covered my mouth with my dupatta in hand and bawled. Mami cried with me.

  The crowd sniffled and muttered. Papa and the Mamas wiped away a few tears. They walked toward me, patted my head as I stared, teary-eyed, at the river that washed away Mummie’s final remains.

  “Let’s go, beti,” Papa said in a soft voice.

  “Can I sit here for a while?”

  He nodded. He walked with his brothers-in-law back to the house. Mami sat beside me on a boulder. We remained quiet, wiping tears and stifling sobs. After a while, we stopped crying and watched the soft, lapping waves in serenity.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Priya

  “Why this river?” I asked Papa the following day.

  “Mummie loved the river of her birthplace. She didn’t want her ashes spread at a big mandir or in the Ganges river. She was born in this poor but beautiful place, and she wanted to find peace here.”

  “Do you think she found peace?”

  “If we are at peace, she’s at peace. We are at peace.”

  I smiled. We were content not traveling to see touristy places or seeing friends and distant family. No Taj Mahal or horse rides this time.

  Every remaining day I walked to the river, where the women washed clothes. They dunked the fabric in water, slapped them against small boulders, rubbed them down with a bar of soap, washed, repeat, and wrung.

  Farmers brought the water buffalo and oxen to the river to drink and bathe. Children played upstream and bathed. I waved at the kids and strolled alongside the river in search of seashells.

  Whenever Mummie had visited her village, she’d walked to the river almost every day. This place had cleared her mind. She had found serenity here. When I started going with her I understood why. A field of nothingness waited on the right, a steep hill to the village to the left. Life slowed down at this crossroad.

  Once I had found a seashell and I’d search for them on every trip.

  “Why do you want these? We can buy these in the States,” Mummie had once said to me.

  “Because they’re from our village, and this river that we love so much.”

  “What are you going to do with all these shells?”

  I had lost or broken most of them. I’d threaded a few to make tassels for bookmarks, and the rest I’d piled into a small bowl on my dresser. The shells that I collected on this trip would be used to make a frame for a special picture of Mummie. I hadn’t chosen which picture because I held so many dear.

  Our time in India came to an end far too soon. We left with hugs, cheers, and well wishes. Papa and I rediscovered our close relationship again, not to mention precious closure.

  When we arrived at Papa’s house in Austin, I dragged my suitcase out of the trunk and looked at the lawn. It had been clipped and cared for during our absence. I asked, “Who mowed the lawn?”

  Papa shrugged. “Maybe someone from mandir?”

  “Welcome home!” a neighbor called from across the street.

  Papa waved.

  “Nice fellow came by to take care of the house.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “American guy, said his name was Tyler.”

  Papa cracked a smile. “What a nice boy.”

  “Yeah,” I whispered.

  I spent the evening helping Papa unpack and organize and headed home in the morning.

  …

  I bit my lower lip in dreaded anticipation of turning on my cell phone, but I did it anyway.

  Vicki:
Are you back? Call me ASAP!

  Vicki: Nothing serious, just need to know you’re safe.

  Jeeta: Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in a while.

  Jeeta: Priya, don’t scare me. Where are you? How are you? Call me!

  Tulsi: We’re freaking out. Where are you, hooker? Vicki says India. Did you run off and get married?

  Manuk: I emailed my address for you to return my stuff.

  Ty: Are you home yet?

  My heart beat faster. That was all Ty texted. Gone all this time and he’d only sent one message, and the message was shortly after I’d left for India.

  I cringed. He was getting over me. Well, I had to tell him the truth about me turning down Manuk. He could make a decision then. No. What was I thinking? He wasn’t going to make the stupid mistake I’d made. I’d left him. He’d fought for me, and I had continued to reject him. It was my turn to fight for him, no matter what. I made my resolve.

  I returned all the text messages first, including Ty’s. I crawled out of the car and dragged my things upstairs to the apartment but paused at Ty’s door and knocked. Nothing. I waited another minute before trying again. Ty wasn’t home.

  “Priya!” Vicki hugged me as soon as I walked in. “You’re home! How was it?”

  “Emotional but good. I brought some sweets for my sweetie.” I handed her the golden-wrapped treats.

  “Yum, halwa.” Vicki drooled.

  “Have you spoken with Ty?”

  “Yes, but only once a couple of weeks ago. He asked how you were.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged. “He’s still talking about moving, but I dunno.”

  “I need to talk to him.”

  “He’s been busy, or avoiding me and Raj. He hasn’t texted or returned our calls in a while. I don’t see him at home much. He hasn’t played at The Harmon’s since the engagement incident.”

  “Oh.” I worried. “All I can say is that I’ve made a firm decision and all parties know about it, except Ty. There’s no crawling back to Manuk, not that I would. We saw where trying to be with him got me. I have closure over Mummie. Papa and I are close again and happy. He’s accepted Ty. And we’re feeling some serious peace.”

  “I’m glad. You scared us.”