Bombay Brides

by Esther David

  For the prayers, Salome had woken up at 3.30 a.m., had a bath and worn a new sari to greet the sun. It was going to be a long day for her, as Passover was to be celebrated that very evening. She had made preparations the day before with Elisheba, cooking date sheera, which they left in the fridge of the storeroom of the synagogue, along with lettuce and parsley, used as bitter herbs, and Matzo-bread-bhakhris for the Seder table. It had been a long night for both of them and it would be a longer day with the Passover prayers. That night, the cantor had slaughtered a goat according to the law of kosher for the Passover prayers, packed the meat in neat plastic bags and kept it in the fridge. Those who had ordered meat for the week would collect it later in the morning. In the afternoon, Salome and Elisheba would make mutton curry and rice for the Passover table at the synagogue.

  Salome enjoyed participating in the Seder at the synagogue with other families. She sighed. Except for a few single women like Ruby and Hadassah, all the houses had families and children. She regretted that she did not have a child. Anyway, she consoled herself, all the children were like her own, especially Sippora’s youngest. With a heavy heart, Salome took the elevator to the terrace. It was dark, so Ezra had switched on the light in the anteroom for the Jewish community of the city who trooped in to see the miracle of the sun. Saul Ezekiel was already there with others, their heads covered, facing the skyline, waiting to see the sunrise.

  There was silence, as this miracle occurred only once in twenty-eight years. It was believed that on this particular day, the sun would be at the same point in the centre of the horizon as when God created light. It was mentioned in the Jewish Bible, Genesis—I ‘…And God said, let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night… And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also. And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth…’

  Ezra switched off the terrace light and looked at his wristwatch; it was 5.45 a.m. Saul looked intently at the horizon with a sense of excitement and expectation. He did not want to miss the moment when he could synchronize the time of the sunrise and the prayers. It had to be at the same time. All eyes were glued on the horizon. They could see the silhouettes of other buildings. But as soon as there was a glimmer of brightness on the horizon, a soft, ethereal light enveloped them and they were face-to-face with the sun. Strangely, they felt alone, facing the miracle of creation.

  The sun and its golden orb had touched the horizon like the Creator’s hand. Saul started reciting a prayer. With every word, the sun rose. The prayer ended in three minutes. The sun was rising from the illusionary line of the horizon, which divided sky and earth. By the time the last line of the prayer was said, the sun was shining in the sky. The moment of magic passed, the sun rose higher, transforming from gold to silver, as the prayer ended with a resounding ‘Amen’.

  The mystical moment was over. They were engulfed in bright light. Buildings came into focus, street sounds were audible and they heard the call of a golden oriole, which flew over them with a flash of gold, heralding a new beginning.

  Salome felt tears sting her eyes. She was going downstairs to make preparations for the tea party when she felt a tiny, warm and sticky hand slide into hers. It was Sippora’s son, looking up at her, hiding in the folds of her sari, sucking his thumb. Salome picked him up and kissed him. As the lift door closed, the child snuggled into her arms. She thanked the Lord for small mercies.

  8

  Ariella

  DEAR DANIEL,

  When you receive this letter, you will assume it is a love letter from me. You will be disappointed. I am very angry with you. I did not know you were such a rat. We have been married for twelve years but I have always felt that I did not know you. Take one small example. I spend hours preparing delicious lunches and dinners for you or some unusual recipe for breakfast, but you never appreciate my efforts. You just say, ‘It’s okay.’ And whenever I ask you, ‘What would you like to eat today?’ your standard reply is, ‘Anything.’ I have started feeling as if I am just ‘anything’ in your life. Cleverly, you cover up these shortcomings with a show of affection and gifts, which make me happy and I forget my pain.

  I can never forget that day in September, just before the Jewish New Year, when I was nineteen years old and your family sent a marriage proposal for me while you were in Israel. You had left for Israel when you were maybe fifteen years old. When I saw your date of birth, I realized that you were ten years older than me, but your photograph in your army uniform was impressive. I was hesitant, as I had not seen you in person, but Father said that you belonged to a good family and after your army service you had been employed as a captain in a hotel in Eilat in south Israel.

  Your sister Sippora, who lived in Ahmedabad, had seen me in Bombay and felt that we would make a perfect couple. She sent you my photograph, in the same way that I had received yours. A few months later, your father came to meet my parents to apologize that they would have to withdraw the marriage proposal. Your mother wrote to you that I was dark-complexioned, and she wanted a fair-skinned daughter-in-law. Your mother was very proud of the fact that you were fair and looked like a foreigner. Actually, I was relieved, as I did not want to marry someone who had rejected me because of my colour.

  I accepted my fate and continued to study the various forms of nail art. I told my parents that I would not see any more suitors from India or Israel.

  But a year later, my life was to change. At a bar mitzvah in Bombay, I saw an American staring at me. I assumed he was a Jew, as he was wearing a kippa. I was flattered and started dreaming that we would fall in love and get married. I did not know who he was and did not have the courage to ask anyone to introduce us.

  A week later, my mother told me that you were in Bombay for a few days and your father wanted to renew the marriage proposal, as you had seen me at the bar mitzvah. I was confused.

  There were so many people there—many young men, some known, others unknown. I could not place you. During a bar mitzvah, the family often invites family and friends from Pen, Panvel, Thane, Alibaug, Ahmedabad, America, Canada and Israel. Maybe you were in the Israeli group, speaking a mixture of Hebrew and Marathi. Anyway, I had torn up your photograph and thrown it away when you had rejected me.

  My father convinced my mother after you saw me and liked me. I told my parents, ‘I will take a decision after I see him. Now it’s my turn. I want to see how fair he is … and if you expect me to go to the beauty parlour, so that I look fair and lovely like the advertisement on television, I will not.’

  My parents were worried, as it was not easy to find a husband for me and they had decided that you were the perfect match. When D-Day arrived, I went to my nail-art class and, with a wicked smile, made a scorpion on my thumbnail, hoping that you would see it and reject me. That evening, I did not reach home at the usual time, as I knew that you had been invited at teatime.

  All day long Mother tried calling me, but I did not take her calls. I reached home later than usual. I was certain Mother would be upset, as I was dressed in my old jeans and a plain white T-shirt, unlike the last time when I had worn a canary-yellow salwar-kameez with a red dupatta. I did not care because I did not want to marry you.

  When Father opened the door, I saw that you were the tall American I had noticed during the bar mitzvah. I was filled with regret. I smiled weakly and went to my room.

  There was no time to change as mother was serving tea and samosas. All I did was wash my face, comb my hair and slip on my favourite red heels, just for a touch of colour. In the drawing room, I sat studying you and noticed that you spoke perfect Marathi, like most Bene Israel Jews. Suddenly, I was overcome with anxiety, as I was sure you would reject me a second time.

  I liked you. You had nice eyes. You were eating a samosa and watching me. My heart leapt with the hope that eventually we would get married. You seemed to be reading my thoughts because you a
sked my father if we could go to a nearby café, so that we could get to know each other. The elders agreed.

  You were cordial and put me at ease, as I was fidgeting with my hair. Once we had settled down, I felt more confident and asked, ‘So, what brings you here? The first time when you received my photograph, you rejected me because of my skin colour.’

  ‘Well, photographs can be deceptive. Last week when I saw you at the synagogue, I was struck by your beauty.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘You are very beautiful…’

  ‘But what about my colour…’

  ‘You have a beautiful colour.’

  ‘You are so fair. We would not look good together.’

  ‘It is more important that we like each other.’

  ‘Did you come to see me, consider me, evaluate me, my colour, my looks? You don’t have to. Someone like you must have tons of girls falling for you in India and Israel.’

  ‘That is why I am here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, a few months back, I was at a friend’s home for dinner and his wife asked me what happened about the marriage proposal. I told her the truth. Hearing my reason for refusal, she was very angry and told me that it was unfair to reject a woman without meeting her.’

  ‘So you started feeling guilty and returned to check me out?’

  You changed the subject by pointing to the glass counter of pastries and asking, ‘Would you like to have a cake?’

  ‘Changing the subject?’

  ‘Not really. I have a sweet tooth.’

  ‘You mean, after all the samosas, you are still hungry?’

  ‘When I arrived at your place with my parents, uncle, nieces, nephews, etc., etc., you were not there, so how would you know how many samosas I had? Actually, I ate because your mother told us you were delayed. And I was sure that you would not turn up. I was nervous and ate all that your mother kept piling on my plate.’

  ‘Ah! That reminds me. I had promised Mother that I would bake a cake. But it just slipped my mind.’

  ‘So I was right. You were trying to avoid me.’

  I froze when you asked, ‘So you don’t like me? You agreed to meet me just to please your parents?’

  I looked down at my nails and noticed the scorpion I had painted. I felt a chill pass down my spine. One false move and I could lose you. This was no joke. This was about marriage. I knew many parents from our community were trying to marry their daughters to you. And here I was, behaving like a fool, when you were offering yourself to me on a platter.

  So I asked again, ‘But what about my colour?’

  Desperately, I was trying to hide the fact that I was falling in love with you. With my silly chatter, I was sure I would lose you. I started scraping the scorpion from my nail. That was when I felt you touch my cheek. I looked up, startled, and saw you smiling. I was embarrassed. You misunderstood the startled look and asked, ‘Sorry, are you angry…’

  I kept silent. I could sense the tension between us. I looked straight into your eyes and said, with a deadpan look, ‘I think you would like a brownie!’

  ‘I would… Will you marry me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  We left the café, laughing. Our parents were happy on seeing us, as we were holding hands when we entered the house. There was a lot of laughing and kissing. Our families sealed our alliance by feeding sweets to each other and finalizing dates for the engagement and a quick wedding. Everything had to be finalized before your departure. I would follow you once my papers were cleared by the Israeli consulate.

  The next day, when we met at the same café, I was dressed in a leaf-green salwar-kameez with a flowing dupatta of the same colour and had worn a subdued shade of lipstick and blue eyeshadow. You held my hand in yours as I asked, ‘Do you really like my colour?’

  ‘Yes, I am looking forward to the day we will get married.’

  I was pleased, but this doubt stayed with me as long as we were together. It was indicative of our differences, which would come to the fore much later after our wedding and the years we lived together in Israel and India.

  Sometimes, jokingly I would ask, ‘How come you are so fair?’ And you would trace your genealogy to a great-grandfather who had married a Bagdadi Jew, who had been very fair. They had eloped, as in those days there was constant conflict between Bene Israeli Jews and Baghdadi Jews.

  To go back to our love story. Once the date for the engagement was finalized, the family waited for your sister Sippora’s arrival from Ahmedabad, where she worked as a beautician. I liked her and we bonded easily. When she had seen me for the first time, she had decided that I would make the perfect partner for you. Even after you had rejected me, she had been persistent in trying to get us married.

  We had a grand wedding, followed by a glittering reception. Soon after our short honeymoon in Bali, you left for Israel and I followed three months later.

  We started life in a small apartment. I learnt Hebrew in an Ulpan. Later, we had two beautiful daughters, Dalia and Orna. We came to India often or our parents came to Israel.

  When our daughters were in preschool, I joined a beauty parlour and again learnt nail art from a Chinese beautician in Eilat. I kept myself busy, but sometimes our cold and hot natures clashed. I noticed that whenever I was frank, you froze and did not speak to me until I apologized and we went back to our peaceful day-to-day existence. It bothered me that every time I said ‘sorry’ I felt belittled but it pleased you.

  But then all love stories have a twist and ours also had one. After ten fairy-tale years, when we had settled down with a few problems here and there, which we sorted out effortlessly, lightning struck our little world.

  On our tenth wedding anniversary, we had planned a party at a Kosher Indian restaurant in Tel Aviv. This meant driving from Eilat to Tel Aviv to meet our cousins from both families in time for the party. We often partied at this restaurant, as they had a crooner who mixed Israeli songs with Bollywood numbers. Maybe we would take to the floor as we often did. The interior resembled the film set of a Hindi period movie, with Technicolor curtains, carved arches, tables with lion-paw legs and straight-backed chairs with curved hand rests. And they would keep changing the atmosphere of the restaurant with multi-coloured lights and smoky effects as the music reached a crescendo.

  We loved it. Unlike our usual selves, we became overtly romantic whenever we went there and by midnight, when we returned home, we were like a newly-wed couple. But that particular night ended differently.

  I remember that evening clearly. I was wearing a royal blue silk sari with a gold border, which I had decided to pair with a heavy pearl bracelet, long dangling earrings and a gold choker—your gift to mark ten years of our married life. While I was fixing the sari-end, you stood in front of the mirror, throwing me appreciative glances and adjusting your turquoise-blue tie over a black shirt. Your cell phone rang. You put it on speaker, as it was a call from India.

  It was Sippora. She wished us a happy married life and said she was passing the phone to your parents. Surprised, you asked, ‘Are they in Ahmedabad?’

  ‘Yes, they have come to Ahmedabad as Papa is not well.’

  ‘He never told me.’

  ‘It’s okay … nothing to worry about.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He is getting tests done at the hospital … does not look serious.’

  Mamma came on the line, wished us and passed the phone to Papa, who started sobbing, ‘I miss you … my son…’

  On the way, always excited about the long drive to Tel Aviv, Dalia and Orna chattered away, but you were silent. Your mood had changed. You felt guilty about leaving your parents in India, although I was sure you were relieved that they were with Sippora. But we had to go through with the party, as we had invited four other couples and their children. That night the party was not as much fun as usual.

  When we returned home and went to bed, you said, ‘Maybe Papa and Mamma should shift to Ahm
edabad permanently. They will not be comfortable in Israel. Remember the last time they were here … I cannot ask them to emigrate to Israel…’

  I kept my silence, as it was one topic which always created tension between us. I leaned over, looked into your eyes, said, ‘Happy wedding anniversary,’ kissed you, turned on my side and went to sleep. I was afraid something was going to destroy our marriage. I woke up feeling sick.

  I had nothing to say in the matter, for your parents often came to stay with us in Israel. During those times, I was overworked with their demands and always on edge as I tried to please them. It was not easy in Israel. Without any help, I had to work, drop and pick up the girls from school, do the shopping, clean the house and do so many other chores, as all Mamma did was dry the washing and find fault with my cooking while Papa sat zapping the channels on television, without understanding a word of Hebrew. In addition, I had to help the girls with their homework. So by the time we went to bed, I was in no condition to talk to you. But you were happy when they were with us.

  Sippora often called when I was alone and told me that maybe we would receive phone calls from Papa. We should not worry about these, as he was having memory lapses. He sat on the sofa all day long and had make-believe conversations with you, although Mamma, Sippora, Opher and their children kept reminding him that you were in Israel, not Ahmedabad. Sippora consulted the best doctors in town; Papa did not have a major medical problem. No amount of sedatives helped. He was adamant that he could no longer live without you. Sippora did not want to disturb our family life. She knew that you could take hasty decisions.