How to Find What You're Not Looking For

by Veera Hiranandani

  The next day, though, Ma apologized and said she’d try to respect the way Leah and Raj wanted to raise their child. Things aren’t always perfect with Leah and Ma. But they’re not bad, either. In some ways, they’re back to normal.

  Sometimes you wonder why Leah and Raj were in such a rush, but maybe it was because they felt like getting married was the only way to make people see their love as real.

  You both walk faster, the soft drops dotting the sidewalk. Neither of you say anything for a few minutes, and all you hear is the whisper of rain in the trees and the click of Ma’s shoes.

  “Can I ask you something important?” you finally say, breaking the silence. You’ve been waiting for a quiet time to ask her this question. But after Geeta was born and you moved to your new apartment and Leah and Raj came back, things have only been busy and loud.

  “Okay,” Ma says. She pulls her sweater closer around her.

  “Why didn’t you ever show me the letters Leah wrote to me?”

  Geeta makes some funny gurgling sounds. You stop the carriage and make sure her blankets are tucked in. “Because I thought she forgot all about me. I thought she didn’t care anymore. I spent months thinking that.”

  “Oh, Ari,” Ma says and stops walking. Raindrops land on the printed silk scarf covering her hair. “I didn’t mean for you to think that.”

  You nod. You’ve been waiting for her to be the one to bring it up, but you didn’t want to wait anymore. Ma’s hard sometimes, but she’s your mother and she’s a fighter. Sometimes, though, she doesn’t always fight about the things that need fighting about.

  “At the time, I thought it was simpler that way. But I was wrong,” she continues.

  “Do you still have them?” you ask, worried she might have thrown them out.

  “Yes, I’ll give them back tonight. They’re yours, and I’m sorry I took them from you.”

  “Thanks,” you say. You finally feel satisfied and full of the one thing you had wanted for so long, for Ma to say she was sorry.

  Later, you might write a poem about it.

  The rain gets a little heavier, and you head toward the bakery, which is also now home, two homes blended into one.

  Ma brings Geeta inside, but you hang back. You want to stand under the awning and watch the rain. School is going to end in a month, and it will be summer again. You look in the direction of Rocky’s Records and the Sweet Scoop. So much has changed, but Gertie’s hasn’t. It’s still here, still beating, like a warm heart in the center of your new family, a family you never imagined you’d have, a family you weren’t even looking for.

  The mailman, Joe, covered in a gray raincoat, walks by and hands you the stack of mail. You thank him and start flipping through the letters and catalogs before you bring them inside. It’s mostly bills and the Pennysaver, which Ma likes. Then you see a letter addressed to you. It’s from Grasshopper magazine. You tear it open. It says:

  Dear Miss Goldberg,

  We’re pleased to let you know that we would like to publish your poem, “A Poem for Baby Geeta,” in our fall issue. If you agree to this, please sign the enclosed form and send us a short biography, no longer than one hundred words, to the address below.

  You feel something you’ve never felt before, like you’ve never been so in your body, like you’ve never been so Ariel.

  “Ma!” you yell and run up the stairs to your apartment, waving the envelope. “Ma!”

  You show her the letter, and she claps when you read it. She takes it and reads it again to herself. Then she stares at you.

  “What?” you ask.

  “I got you an early birthday present,” she says. “I was going to wait, but now seems like the right time.”

  “Really?” you ask.

  “Come,” she says. You follow her into her bedroom, where Geeta’s asleep now in her carriage. Ma opens her closet, and on the bottom, next to her shoes, sits an IBM Selectric typewriter.

  “How did you get it?” You speak low so you don’t wake up Geeta, and kneel in front of the typewriter. “Is it from my classroom?”

  “No, it’s one from the high school. They just bought new ones for their typing classes. But it works just fine. Miss Field arranged the whole thing,” she whispers back.

  There’s a little card on a string hanging from the side, attached to the roller. It says: “To Ariel, may you always write what’s in your heart. Happy Birthday. —Ma, Daddy, and Miss Field.”

  You jump up and down as quietly as possible, and you hug Ma.

  “It’s the best present I ever got. Can I put it on my desk?” you ask.

  “Of course,” she says. “I wanted you to have it because I don’t want you to be like me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just want you to be better, that’s all.” Then she looks at the Selectric. “My daughter, a published poet. Such a mensch you are.” She pats the space over her heart.

  Ma’s never called you a mensch before. You hug her again and give her a big kiss on the cheek.

  “You’re a mensch, too, Ma,” you say, and then you try to pick up the typewriter, but it’s too heavy, so you and Ma carry it back to your room together and place it on the center of your desk. Ma plugs it in, pats your shoulder, and leaves you sitting at your desk, staring at it. You can’t believe you have your own electric typewriter. Last month, when you first moved, your new bedroom seemed so dark and small, only enough room for one bed. Leah took the other one for when Geeta’s older. But now, sitting in front of this typewriter, the room feels bigger, brighter, filled with possibilities.

  You think about the poem idea you had before and put your hands on the keyboard. You feel its electric hum.

  You begin.

  Author’s Note

  Sometimes, readers ask me if the book I wrote is based on a true story. The answer is always complicated. I think the best art emerges from truthful and authentic spaces, but how this happens in fiction is a complex journey for each storyteller. I often turn to my own family history for inspiration, and in this story, I’ve blended fact with fiction in possibly the most complex way I ever have in my writing.

  In 1968, my mother, a Jewish American woman from Brooklyn, married my father, a recent Indian immigrant from Bombay (now called Mumbai). My mother’s parents—my grandparents—were upset about the marriage. For a time, my grandfather thought it was his duty to reject my mother and her choice. He was devastated by what he felt was a renunciation of her Jewish identity and his—an identity deeply important to him. My father had lost his parents by then, but his brothers and sisters had hoped he would marry an Indian Hindu woman and were also disappointed by the choice my parents made.

  My parents, however, followed their hearts, eloped, and have been married for 53 years. It wasn’t an easy journey. Ultimately, love motivated people on both sides of my family to stumble through some difficult periods. By the time I was born, they had all evolved enough for me to enjoy close relationships with everyone, but the complex issues they grappled with persisted in a variety of ways over the years. I grew up in a community where there were very few Jewish or Indian American families, let alone both, and I continue to process and embrace the layers of my biracial identity and interfaith family.

  I have often thought about what this time was like for my parents and admired their courage to forge their own path. I’ve also considered the historical context during which they made their decision. They were married in 1968 in Connecticut. This was only a year after the Supreme Court ruled, in the famous Loving v. Virginia case, that any state laws banning interracial marriage were unconstitutional. Before the Supreme Court ruling, sixteen states still had laws against interracial marriage. Though Connecticut did not have anti-miscegenation laws at the time, I wonder what would have happened if my parents had wanted to get married before the ruling in a state that banned interracial marri
age, since some of those states had laws specifying South Asians on their list of “non-whites” and some didn’t.

  In the mid to late 1960s, the United States was deep in the Vietnam War and the civil rights movement. Protests against racism and the war swept the country. Along with other important pieces of civil rights legislation, like the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965, The Immigration and Naturalization Act of 1965, which abolished the immigration quotas and allowed more immigration opportunities for people from all over the world, was passed. This changed and further diversified the racial and ethnic makeup of the United States, and a large number of Asian immigrants, including my father, entered the country.

  But along with the strides toward equality made during this time, President Kennedy, Malcom X, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. were assassinated as part of a violent and devastating backlash to civil rights progress. I’ve wondered how much my parents were affected and motivated by the breathtaking amount of positive and negative events happening all at once.

  This was among the many questions I pursued when writing a story about Ariel, a twelve-year-old Jewish girl living in Connecticut, whose older sister falls in love with an Indian American college student. What would her awareness be of the many changes going on around her—both in her country and in her family? How would they affect her identity as both a Jewish girl facing antisemitism in a mostly non-Jewish community and as a white girl experiencing white privilege?

  Another part of my personal truth is that I’m a parent of a child with dysgraphia. I’m grateful that in our current world there has been an increasing amount of support and awareness in this area of education, but I’ve thought about what it would have felt like in a time like 1967, when such knowledge and resources didn’t exist. This also played a part in Ariel’s character.

  So how true is this story? Who is Ariel? Is she a version of my mother, my child, or perhaps myself? Well, Ariel is Ariel. That’s all she can be. She, and all the other characters in How to Find What You’re Not Looking For, are inspired by many influences. The story is infused with the experiences that my family had, that I’ve had, the historical context I’ve researched, and the things I’ve chosen to imagine—after all, this is fiction. Every story carries its own fingerprint, the unique pattern created out of the writer’s singular quest, background, and imagination. A story that moves you with the depth of its own truth is truer than anything I know, and I hope you discover some truths meaningful to you while reading this book.

  Acknowledgments

  Many people had an integral part in making this book, and I’m beyond grateful to all of them.

  First, I must thank everyone at Pippin Properties and my super-agent, Sara Crowe. You’re a true mensch, and I wouldn’t be where I am in my writing career without your magic.

  Thank you to Kokila publisher and editorial genius, Namrata Tripathi. Somehow you always know precisely the right question to help me get to the heart of what I’m trying to say. Because of you I’m a better writer and a better person.

  Thank you to everyone at Kokila Books/Penguin Young Readers who read the manuscript and added their wise thoughts, including the editorial team: Zareen Jaffery, Joanna Cárdenas, and Sydnee Monday; designers Jasmin Rubero, Kelley Brady, and Kristin Boyle; the production and managing editorial teams: Caitlin Taylor, Natalie Vielkind, and Ariela Rudy Zaltzman; Jennifer Dee and the rest of the PYR publicity team; and Christine Colangelo and everyone part of the PYR marketing team. I also want to thank the PYR sales, subsidiary rights, inventory, and warehouse teams, and finally, a big thanks to Jen Loja and Jocelyn Schmidt for your leadership and support!

  I’m so grateful to my family, including my husband and best friend, David Beinstein, and my incredible kids, Hannah and Eli, for reading my work, cheering me on, and listening to me agonize at the dinner table over plot lines about made-up people.

  Thank you to my sister, Shana Hiranandani, my forever trusted confidant in writing and in life.

  Thank you to my in-laws, Phyllis and Hank Beinstein, who were excellent resources in many areas of Jewish culture, Jewish bakeries, and 1960s education. I must also thank the website myjewishlearning.com for their delicious black and white cookie recipe!

  I’m blessed with the loving memory of my grandparents, Maurice and Gertrude Goldman, and I thank them for having the courage to open their minds to new ways of thinking and passing down their Jewish traditions to me.

  I’m grateful for my extremely talented author friends and early readers: Gwendolen Gross, Barbara Josselsohn, Sheela Chari, Sayantani DasGupta, and Heather Tomlinson, who were crucial in helping me get this book just right. And to my ever-supportive friend, Sarah Hinawi, who always helps me get out of my comfort zone.

  Finally and most importantly, a huge thanks to my mother, Anita Hiranandani, and my father, Hiro Hiranandani. Mom and Dad, I’m so appreciative of your willingness to share your stories with me. I’m so lucky you had the courage to follow your hearts and to have you as parents. I owe you everything.

  About the Author

  Veera Hiranandani, author of the Newbery Honor-winning The Night Diary, earned her MFA in creative writing at Sarah Lawrence College. She is the author of The Whole Story of Half a Girl, a Sydney Taylor Notable Book and a South Asia Book Award finalist. A former editor at Simon & Schuster, she now teaches creative writing at Sarah Lawrence College's Writing Institute.

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