He took my hands in his. “I somehow knew this would happen,” he said. “I want to know you always. Our families share a past, a common culture.”
“I’d like to talk to you about my father. I’d like to remember him the way he really was.”
“We’ll have tea, supper perhaps, and I’ll tell you all I know.” Ravi smiled a sad smile. My physical beauty drew him, and he had become smitten, but perhaps he would never come to love my true, deeper self.
Tonight, Ma and I are quiet at supper. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Her dreams of my perfect marriage have swirled away, but new dreams sprout. She’s standing on the mountaintop with Mr. Basu, and now the fog clears and the image comes into sharp focus. Ma’s in Darjeeling, bundled in linen and wool, a look of sheer joy in her eyes. Now I know—Mr. Basu’s fierce love for Ma makes him handsome. He has always been loyal and good.
“I thought it was my marriage that would make you happy,” I say. “I thought it was the success of the shop, but it wasn’t, was it? I see you on the mountain with Mr. Basu. I think you should go there with him. Follow your dream.”
“Oh, Bibu, I can’t leave you.”
“I can take care of the shop. It’s what I’m meant to do—helping babies, girls, women find happiness, find their way. But you, Ma—”
“I always loved textiles,” she says, clasping her hands in her lap. She gazes out the window again, always looking away. “I threw myself into that job to forget, Bibu. When Jamila visited the shop, I was devastated.” Ma looks down at her hands.
“You don’t have to talk about this—”
“I know your Thakurma told you about her, that you took Jamila’s ring back to her. You see, we scuffled, and I yanked off the ring. It was loose on her anyway, had never been properly fitted. The ring brought such despair to my heart. I threw that ring. I didn’t aim for the sink, but that’s where the ring landed. I thought the sewer had long ago claimed it.”
The air thickens and fills my chest, and grief pulls at my ribs. “Baba visited me in a dream. He tried to tell me that love comes in unexpected ways. Don’t you see, you must pursue your happiness, Ma. It would make me happy to see you truly happy.”
Ma’s lips tremble. “I’ve dreamed of returning to Darjeeling with Sanjay—”
“And trekking the way you used to, I know, Ma.”
“I couldn’t leave you, Bibu.”
“I’ll be fine with Pooja, and I’ll hire a couple of other helpers.”
“I’ll just go for a trip, nah? I can’t leave for good when you are not yet married—”
“I’ll be fine, Ma. I don’t need to marry just now. I have to figure things out on my own.”
Thirty-nine
Asha’s wedding is resplendent, a bright jewel on a ship on the Puget Sound. Ma beams, all her costumes perfect. The caterer has prepared a feast of Indian food and sweets—biryani, curries, samosas, pakoras, lassis, gulab jamin, and jelabis. Champagne and expensive wine. Sitar and tabla players flew up from San Francisco. Emotions and dreams rise in bright stars above the ship, and the winter air grows warm with the power of happiness.
Ma and Mr. Basu and I step onto the deck. Mr. Basu looks smooth and polished in a Nehru suit. Ma’s beautiful, bedecked in gold jewels and a golden sari, perfectly offsetting my bright blue sari with my enormous earrings. “You’ve outdone yourself, Ma,” I say, beaming. Every outfit is a perfect creation.
“You are responsible for this, Lakshmi,” Ma says. “It has always been your divine light that has helped our customers.”
“Don’t say that—you’ve worked so hard, Ma!”
“Look—they’re filming!” Mr. Basu says.
The cameramen with their handheld cameras keep to the background, shooting from the sidelines.
Through the crowd, we spot Asha and her groom, Vijay. Her leg has healed, and although she still wears a bandage, she can stand on her own. Vijay’s big hair puffs out on all sides, and his nose is more prominent than usual, but he’s a smooth actor, charming everyone in his path.
The couple glides toward us and envelop us in hugs. Vijay looks handsome in his formal, off-white, gold-threaded kurta pajama, Asha a vision in the brilliant red sari. She’s daring in gold jewels and a short choli revealing her belly button—but she’s on the edge of fashion.
“You’ve done such a marvelous job, Mrs. Sen!” Asha beams with pride. “And Lakshmi—you look incredibly beautiful—” Her voice breaks off as Nick appears. He’s to die for in a manila kurta pajama threaded with silver. My stomach turns somersaults. He’s transformed, a blond Adonis in the fabric of the gods. The tailored cotton works magic, outlining his muscles, his bulk, accentuating his height. Rainbow colors fill my bubbles, bouncing along the deck, sticking to kurtas and hanging from scarves. I’m mute, submerged in the ocean.
“You’re beautiful,” Nick says. “Mrs. Sen, you’re gorgeous. You did a great job with the saris.”
I hardly hear Ma’s reply. Nick and I are looking at each other, so much unspoken between us.
“Dance?” he asks.
It’s a slow song, and he’s pulling me onto the dance floor. He puts an arm around my waist, and instant fire races up through me, and I’m lost, the sensation undiminished over time. Our feet move in perfect synchronicity, the other wedding guests falling away—
He looks down into my eyes. “It was brave of you to say all that in front of everyone at the shop.”
“I feel free, and a bit—scared.”
“Did you mean what you said?” he asks. “About love at first sight?”
I nod, hardly daring to breathe. “Nick, I wonder. Could we start over again?”
“I thought you were happy with your life.”
“I will be. How is Liz?”
“I’m not seeing her anymore.”
“You don’t love her?”
“I don’t lie, Lakshmi. I loved you the moment I saw you.”
Warmth spreads through me. “I think I love you too, Nick. I think the bubbles were love.”
“Bubbles?”
“My feelings show up in weird ways.”
He laughs. “I like weird.”
“Do you still want to see me again?” I ask. “Or have I damaged our relationship beyond repair?”
“Everything can be fixed,” Nick says.
“Like pipes under sinks?”
He grins, sweeping me across the dance floor. I feel all eyes on us, as if we are the only couple on Earth. “So Lakshmi, what about your Bengali traditions? Families bonding with families?”
“I want to know more about your family, Nick. They’re very warm people. I like them.”
“And they liked you. But what about your mother?”
“She and Mr. Basu are leaving on a trip. I think she wants to be free of the shop, Nick. I’ll run the store for a while. What about you?”
“I’m leaving the limousine business,” he says, gazing into my eyes. “I’ve been looking for another business venture.”
My throat goes dry. “What kind of venture?”
“Whatever falls into my path. Serendipity.”
“Nick—”
“I’ve been learning Bengali. Did I tell you?”
“You? Bengali?”
“Maybe someday, I’ll be able to talk to your mother in her native language.”
Then he kisses me, so fast that I don’t have time to think. This time he’s not romantic and soft, but demanding, his lips firm, opening my mouth and taking. I’m lost, drowning in a vast sea of brilliant bubbles. He pulls me to him with a slight groan. “Oh, Lakshmi. Don’t leave me again. Don’t go off meeting other men—”
“I won’t, Nick. I promise.”
“I have to show you something.” He pulls a small shiny object from his pocket and slips it on my finger. “Jamila sent this to me. She said she had no use for it now—I had the engraving changed.”
“Oh, Nick.” It’s the ring! Inside are my initials and the Bengali words, I love you.
“Tha
nda lege jabey,” Nick says, holding me close. “Let me keep you warm.”
Forty
Nick and I own the shop together now. We have two new clerks and a steady stream of business. Ma and Mr. Basu send photos from Darjeeling. They’re standing on a mountain trail strewn with pine needles, their cheeks pink from the cold, steam rising from their mouths. They’re laughing into the camera. Ma’s happiness emanates from her letters in bursts of tiny violets.
Mitra’s father attended her dance performance, and when he saw her spinning in that yellow costume, he broke down and cried. After the dance, he hugged her for a long time, and he and Mitra went home and talked late into the night. That was a few weeks ago. He passed away quietly, in his sleep, last weekend. Mitra is flying to India to spread his ashes in the sacred Ganga River.
It’s springtime, a rare clear Saturday after a rain, when the tulips and daffodils bloom, cherry blossoms open in bursts of pink cotton, and the chickadees alight in the Douglas fir trees.
Nick is busy building a high shelf to stock a new shipment of silk saris. He’s wearing jeans and a white kurta that accentuates the muscles in his shoulders. A succession of giggling teenage girls has been marching through all morning to see the gorgeous new co-owner, the American man who fixed the ceiling, installed a new front door and a new dressing room, and sells—saris! When he winks at the girls, they melt.
In the afternoon, a familiar woman walks in wearing a floral print dress and a white sweater, her face serene, her black hair in a braid down her back. She walks straight toward me. I recognize her eyes that smile. “Hello, Lakshmi.”
“Rina!” I say, and nearly drop my coffee cup. “You look different. I mean, happy.”
“The sari you gave me. It worked. The pallu stayed over my head, like magic. The sari didn’t fall off. I looked gorgeous in it. My husband wanted me to wear it all the time.”
“I’m so glad. How is your mother-in-law?” Gone back to India, I expect, or Rina would not be showing so much leg!
“She’s still with us, but she has relaxed her rules. I took your advice and spoke to her about it.” Rina looks at Nick on the ladder and lowers her voice. “I heard about your new business partner. Your husband, nah? Word is getting around. Some of my younger sister’s friends are coming in just to get a glimpse of him.”
“I noticed a few more girls than usual,” I say. “Good for business.”
“You’re a very lucky woman,” Rina whispers to me. “I’ve heard he is a wonderful man, kind and considerate, and—”
“Who’s been telling you all this?”
“Pooja told me he drove her to her wedding rehearsal and then took you to a romantic lookout! Where is Pooja, anyway?”
“She’s finishing her last year full-time at the university, and then she’s going to San Francisco for medical school,” I say. “Dipak is going with her. I’ll miss her.”
“And your mother. She’s off in India, I hear.”
“And enjoying herself tremendously.”
Mrs. Dasgupta rushes in then, waving the Seattle Post. “Oh, Shiva! I see this article in the newspaper about this Nick selling saris with Lakshmi. Can you imagine? Oh, Shiva. I’ve come to see how this Nick plans to make the shop much better for Pia Dasgupta.” She stops and stares up at Nick.
He glances over his shoulder, and my face heats. He steps down the ladder and takes Mrs. Dasgupta’s hand. “Pleased to see you again, Mrs. Dasgupta. You’re looking more beautiful than ever.”
Mrs. Dasgupta pats the white bun on the back of her head. “The Light & Lovely cream has been working.” She elbows me. “And what about the two of you, practicing the Kamasutram, no doubt?”
My ears are on fire.
“You bet,” Nick says and winks at her. “And I hope you are getting on well with your new husband?”
Mrs. Dasgupta’s lashes flutter. “The Kamasutram is not at all what you expect, nah? We have tried all sixty-four—”
“Mrs. Dasgupta!” I cut in. “We have a new shipment of shawls just for you.”
“Ah yes, and your husband will show me?”
“My pleasure.” Nick helps her find a shawl, chatting with her the whole time, and then Chelsea comes in with Lillian, who is holding Jeremy’s hand. He’s carrying a swatch of sky-blue sari, holding the soft fabric against his face.
“We wanted to come and congratulate you,” Lillian says and hands me a sophisticated drawing of the blue sky expanding above a boy and his mother. They’re not touching each other, but they’re both smiling. Jeremy doesn’t talk much, but he is an unusually bright and talented child.
I hug Lillian and Chelsea. “Thank you. I’ll cherish this forever.”
Jeremy looks up at me, his cheeks pink. “Sky-room,” he says, and grins.
What more could I ask for?
Nisha calls later that week. She left her high-powered banking job to pursue the dream of her heart. She wore the imperial violet sari to a job interview, and she got a position as a counselor at a local university. She’s attracted to one of the other counselors, but she’s taking it slow.
I will take life as it comes too. I find solace in knowing that I’m true to myself, and one day, I receive a letter from Thakurma.
Dearest Lakshmi,
Everyone thought I was on my last legs, but Dr. Prasad says I’ve mysteriously improved and may have many good years ahead of me. Funny the way life works out, nah? I was of course disappointed that you chose not to marry Ravi Ganguli, but then, we make new discoveries every day, don’t we? Like finding rings in sinks.
I do hope to make a trip abroad soon, now that I am stronger.
With love,
Thakurma
Life is full of surprises, Baba, isn’t it?
I’m happy here with Nick. We’re saving the world, one sari at a time.
Acknowledgments
Deepest thanks to my editor, Maggie Crawford, for her insight, expertise, and guidance. Thanks to Mara Sorkin for all her hard work. I’m always grateful to my agent, Winifred Golden, for her advice, support, and uplifting sense of humor.
My deep gratitude to critiquers who patiently read the manuscript—or pieces of it—in various incarnations: Kate Breslin, Michael Donnelly, Lois Faye Dyer, Rose Marie Harris, Dee Marie, Skip Morris, Penny Percenti, Susan Plunkett, Sheila Rabe, Krysteen Seelen, Suzanne Selfors, Elsa Watson, and Susan Wiggs. Titles are always difficult to dream up, and Susan Wiggs is a genius. Thanks for Invisible Lives.
I’m grateful to my cousin, Tanya Mukerjee, for her wisdom regarding Indian marriage customs, and my cousin Sayantoni (Shy) Palchoudhuri, for information about Bengali saris, and for the wonderful phrase Thanda lege jabey. Many thanks to my parents, siblings, and to Randy, Daniela, and as always, my husband, Joseph. I’m indebted to my supportive colleagues at Milliman, Inc., and to my wonderful readers. Thanks for your letters!
Thank you to Natasha Jaksich, excellent editor, journalist, and friend, and Anju Naidu, owner of Maharanees Sari Shop in Kent, Washington, for letting me interview her about what it’s like to run a sari shop, and for the lovely sari catalog.
For additional information, I consulted The Sari: Styles-Patterns-History-Techniques by Linda Lynton (Harry N. Abrams, Inc., New York, 1995) and The Sari by Mukulika Banerjee and Daniel Miller (Berg Publishers, New York, 2003).
Reading Group Guide
Works of magic realism mingle realistic portrayals of events and characters with elements of fantasy and myth. What role does magic realism play in this novel? How does Lakshmi’s relationship with her namesake, the Hindu goddess Lakshmi, affect her life?
Lakshmi lives under the weight of her mother’s “old-fashioned longings” for her to find a suitable Indian husband, produce several male children, and become financially successful. How do these expectations differ from those of mothers in other cultures? What specific cultural values do Lakshmi and her mother share?
Do you express your culture and personality in the way you dress? What role does clothing
play in this story and in Lakshmi’s ability to see the hidden longings in others?
Lakshmi thinks, “I’m helping women, one sari at a time.” How do saris serve as catalysts for change for different characters?
Why does Lakshmi hide her beauty? Would you do the same thing if you were in Lakshmi’s position?
When Lakshmi first meets Nick, she unexpectedly loses her sixth sense. Why do you think this happens? Is Lakshmi still able to help others without her special powers?
Lakshmi understands “the power of pride—and fear—that can make us turn away from what we want the most.” She sees this in her clients and in her friend Mitra who cannot make amends with her dying father. Why does she feel compelled to help people reveal their hidden longings?
Lakshmi finds Nick and Ravi attractive in different ways. How does each man appeal to her?
When Lakshmi discovers her mother’s secret, why does she feel so disconcerted by her mother’s happiness?
What role does Jamila Tarun’s wedding ring play in the story? How does it serve to help Lakshmi gain a deeper understanding of her parents and the choices they made?
Lakshmi’s father visits her in a dream, and says, “There are things in life that happen by accident. Someone walks in front of you, smiles at you in the street. Serendipity.” What is her father’s message?
Do you believe that love grows over time or do you believe in love at first sight?
Do you have an invisible life? And if so, how much of it do you share with your family and friends?
Enhance Your Book Club:
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