Bombay Brides

by Esther David

  Then one day, Papa called you at work, crying and saying that he could not live without you. You came home deeply troubled and left for India that weekend. You returned after a month, looking drawn and confused. That night, you said, ‘Maybe it’s time we all return to India and live with Papa and Mamma.’

  As I left the bedroom to tuck the girls in, I realized you had made a statement, not asked for my opinion. It was not important. When I tried asking about your plans, like job, housing and schooling for our daughters, you snapped back, ‘Don’t you miss your parents?’

  ‘I do, but now we have a lot at stake here. We do visit India twice a year, or our parents come and stay with us for long periods.’

  ‘Are you trying to say that they outstay their welcome?’

  ‘Not at all. But we do spend more time with them than most people.’

  You left the room saying, ‘Sippora is there and she will make all arrangements for us…’

  After that, we packed in silence.

  Your decision was final.

  It was not easy to return to India. We were both earning well, we had fairly decent savings. I knew there would be a problem finding work in India and prepared myself to start from scratch.

  I left Israel and bid farewell to friends and relatives. I was heartbroken to have to sell or give away some of my prized possessions. During this period, we were always tense and often fought for no reason at all. Suddenly, we were like strangers.

  I was busy, as I had to prepare the girls, who were unhappy leaving their school, friends and activities. And although they spoke fluent English, they were worried about studying in an English-medium school. I only concentrated on them.

  We took a flight from Israel to India and went straight to Ahmedabad. Previously we always used to stop over in Mumbai to meet my parents when your parents lived there. But on this trip we did not. I swallowed my hurt.

  We arrived at Ahmedabad’s Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel International Airport to a warm welcome. The whole family was there to receive us at 2 a.m.

  I realized that my days of freedom were over as we all crammed into Sippora’s car, hired another taxi and went to her apartment. Most of our bags were stored in A-107 at Shalom India Housing Society. While we were still in Israel, you had met the apartment owner, Juliet, in Ashkelon, given her the year’s rent in advance and signed all the necessary papers.

  A week later, we settled down in the apartment with your parents. I had the girls admitted to an international school which offered a baccalaureate qualification. We spent a year trying to fit in. And, as I had anticipated, you could not find a job. You spent the day chatting with your father or napping on the sofa in front of the television, with the sports channel always on. You did not help in the house, saying, ‘Why do you think we are paying such a fat salary to the cook and the maid?’ You were blind to the fact that I did the shopping, chopped vegetables and made chicken curry or fried fish, as the cook only made vegetarian food. Besides this, the girls had to be picked up and dropped, taken to the swimming pool or music classes, where they continued to learn the piano, and also to tuitions to brush up their English. I was so burdened with housework that I did not find time to look for work.

  We were growing apart, as we did not spend quality time together. We rarely spoke to each other, except for small household matters or whenever you asked me for a glass of water or cup of tea. I wanted to respond, ‘Get it yourself.’ But I did not. In the presence of my in-laws, I had to behave like a nice, gentle, well-mannered daughter-in-law.

  Our world was shattered. I felt I was your slave.

  In a year, I adjusted to my new role. Usually, we went everywhere with Sippora and her family in two cars. But I often faked a headache and stayed home to watch my favourite television serial Desperate Housewives, as I was quickly turning into one…

  For my own peace, I joined yoga classes and at home, behaved like the deaf-dumb-blind monkeys I had seen at Mahatma Gandhi’s ashram during one of our family trips.

  One night, things came to a head when we were alone and you held me in your arms. I pushed you away, saying, ‘So, when did you start noticing me?’

  Embarrassed, you smiled. ‘Why? Look, I am the same. I have always been with you.’

  ‘Well, yes, I was your maid all this while. And whenever we were alone in this bedroom, someone or the other always called you at the oddest time. And let me remind you that every single day, even before I had finished all the household chores, you were fast asleep. It was not like back home in Israel when I waited for you, even if you were late, and we spent time together. Here, you don’t even notice me…’

  You mumbled something like, ‘Papa needs me all the time.’

  You hugged me and I started crying; you kissed me and I melted in your arms.

  The next morning, you were caring and attentive. That evening, you suggested we take a walk and stop at a café. Happily, I agreed. You ordered two cups of cappuccino, samosas and cakes of our choice. That was when you told me that Papa was in bad shape and needed constant medical care. He was in the first stage of Alzheimer’s disease. You could not find a decent job, so you had to return to Israel and join your old office. All I could say was, ‘…and you never told me…’

  You said, ‘I was not sure about Papa’s condition. I came to know about it last week. Yesterday, when he started babbling like a baby, I was sure…’

  ‘It is when you need me that you are attentive, otherwise you are your parents’ little boy. So, when are we going back?’

  You sipped your coffee, placed the cup back in the saucer and almost blew my mind when you said, ‘We are not returning to Israel. I am going back alone. You have to stay with my parents and look after them.’ You did not look at me, but kept staring out of the window.

  ‘Great,’ I said and pushing away the cup, added, ‘…but Sippora is here and she is capable of looking after everything. Why should I stay here?’

  ‘Sippora has her own family to look after. As the only son of my parents, it is my duty to look after them.’

  ‘And what about your family…’

  At that very moment, Sippora walked in and sat next to me. I thought it was all planned, but she clarified, ‘I had gone to meet Papa and wanted to talk to Ariella, when Mamma told me that you were here, so I came to meet you.’ When you told Sippora about your decision to return to Israel alone, she retorted angrily, ‘It is not necessary for Ariella to stay in India. I am here and we have found a male nurse for Papa.’

  But you said, ‘I need to return to Israel, earn and support Papa, Mamma and my family. I will come to Ahmedabad twice a year; till then Ariella can be in charge.’

  Sippora held my hand. She understood my predicament but was helpless, as once you had made up your mind, it was impossible to talk to you. A week later, you flew to Israel and I went back to my routine.

  Before leaving, you gave me a list of instructions, especially about a certain photograph on our bedroom wall. You asked me to remove it. You had taken it when we were in Bali on our honeymoon. You had asked me to wear a bikini when we were on the beach. I was a little shy, but you had insisted that I wear the floral two-piece you had bought in Mumbai before our departure. It was a beautiful photograph and when we settled in Israel, it had pride of place in our bedroom, along with our wedding photo, portraits of Dalia and Orna and one of you floating in the Dead Sea in your swimming trunks, hat on head. These had come with us to Ahmedabad.

  When I removed my bikini-clad photograph, I saw that the wall behind it had a discoloured patch. To cover it up, I put the poster of Prophet Elijah, which Juliet had framed and hung on the drawing-room wall. It had always bothered me that since we had moved to Juliet’s apartment, the poster had stayed there as part of the decor. We had neither lit a candle for the Prophet, nor organized the ritualistic Eliahu Hannavi prayers, nor held a malida to thank him for our well-being. I moved the poster to my room, prayed to him and asked for help that one day, he would give you enlightenme
nt and we would again live together like a family.

  Actually, our bedroom was hardly private. It was a two-bedroom apartment and there was no extra room for us. The room allotted to us was shared with our daughters, who slept on the floor. Now that you had left, I would sleep with our daughters on the same bed.

  Before removing it from the frame and putting it away in an old album, I wanted to know why this particular photograph bothered you. After all, it was in our room. To this, you mumbled something about Mamma feeling awkward about it and that the maid often commented on it when she came to clean our room.

  On the night of your departure, after dropping you at the airport, I lay awake all night, feeling trapped by your plan of leaving me behind to look after your parents.

  In a week, I realized that my workload had tripled and I had much more to do than I had expected. Overnight, I was doing almost everything, as Mamma and Papa sat on the sofa watching television all day. It was then that I worked out a system wherein I could be free for an hour, between cooking, shopping, running the washing machine, drying clothes, picking up and dropping our daughters to school, helping them with homework and taking them for piano classes.

  I needed to find relief from the daily grind and joined a beauty parlour. I had befriended the owner, a woman of my age. Around that time, nail art was picking up in Ahmedabad and we included it as part of our parlour services. In a few months, I became known for my designs and young girls started clamouring to get their nails done by me.

  Every six months, you returned to Ahmedabad like a good son and responsible father, and you regularly transferred money to our bank account. I kept up pretences in front of your parents, but you knew that I had distanced myself from you. I put an extra mattress on the floor and slept with the girls, making sure to roll up the mattress and put it away before the maid cleaned our room. Although you tried to hold me, embrace me, touch me, I made it clear that I was very angry with you because you had cheated me and I had lost faith in you. This situation continued for more than two years. I was pained that you never discussed the possibility of our return to Israel.

  I understood that you managed very well in Israel on your own and had no intention of returning to Ahmedabad. All discussions about our future had stopped. You gave me the impression that you preferred this situation and had decided that we were going to live apart forever. Sippora tried to speak to you but you had stopped confiding in her.

  In such a situation, I assumed that you were having an affair in Israel. When I asked Sippora, she said that it was not so. It was just that you were happy with a life without responsibilities. Even when I told you that Papa was stable with medication, Mamma had her own life with her kitty-party friends and Dalia and Orna needed both their parents, my pleas fell on deaf ears.

  We lived like this for five years till Dalia and Orna were in their teens. Then I was invited to my niece’s wedding in Israel. I informed you that I would be travelling with our daughters and after a long time, we would be together as a family. You said you would receive us when we landed at Ben Gurion Airport. We were happy to see you. You drove us to our old home. But when you opened the door of our apartment, I saw that it was in a total mess. I also noticed that most of your things were not there. You explained that you did not live there anymore. Your office had given you a small apartment in Lod, near your place of work. I was angry and asked why you had not thought it necessary to inform me. You did not answer.

  I was disappointed that you did not stay with us. But you came to see us every day. We even went to the wedding together. To all appearances, we were a happy family. That night I told you I would not return to Ahmedabad. You were furious and forced me to return to India. On the flight back, I wanted to cry, but did not. Instead, I decided that I would return and start my own beauty parlour.

  Before leaving, I called my Israeli friend Yolam and made arrangements to start the parlour. By the time this letter reaches you, I will be back in Israel, in our apartment, which is also my home, where we first started our life together.

  All along, I have always obeyed you.

  I even removed my bikini-clad photograph from our room.

  I replaced it with the poster of Prophet Elijah.

  I prayed to him every day…

  He heard my prayers and I am here…

  I will start my beauty parlour after having a traditional Thanksgiving malida ceremony for Prophet Elijah with a platter of sweetened poha, dates, apples and bananas, followed by a dinner of chicken biryani and Alphonso mangoes for my friends.

  I believe the Prophet has shown me the path to a new beginning. When I had returned to Ahmedabad, every night, before switching off the lights, I would pray to him and miraculously I would see a ray of light from the nightlight fall on his hand as he pointed towards a distant horizon.

  Before my departure for Israel, I had taken Dalia and Orna into confidence and lied to Mamma, Papa and Sippora that I was going to Mumbai to meet my parents, as I had not seen them in a long time. Actually, I left for Israel with their help. As a parting gift, my mother gave me a poster of Prophet Elijah. It will have pride of place in my new workplace. One thing is certain; I will not allow you to take decisions for me, nor will I allow you to play with my life. I do not want to be the wife of someone selfish like you. You will receive the divorce papers very soon. But you have the right to meet our daughters. Peace be with you.

  Shalom.

  Ariella

  9

  Elisheba

  As told to Malkha

  DURING PASSOVER, THERE is a favourite chant about the barter of goats, known as Had Gadya, which recounts the story of a goat: ‘One little goat … my father bought for two zuzim. Then came a cat and ate the goat that my father bought for two zuzim. Then came a dog and bit the cat that ate the goat that my father bought for two zuzim. Then came a stick and beat the dog … my father bought for two zuzim. Then came the fire and burnt the stick that beat the dog that bit the cat that ate the goat that my father bought for two zuzim. Then came the water that doused the fire that burnt the stick that beat the dog that bit the cat that ate the goat that my father bought for two zuzim. Then came the ox and drank the water that doused the fire that burnt the stick that beat the dog that bit the cat that ate the goat that my father bought for two zuzim. Then came the Shohet and slaughtered the ox that drank the water that doused the fire that burned the stick that beat the dog that bit the cat that ate the goat that my father bought for two zuzim. Then came the angel of death and killed the Shohet that slaughtered the ox that drank the water that doused the fire that burned the stick that beat the dog that bit the cat that ate the goat that my father bought for two zuzim. Then came the Holy One, blessed be; He slew the angel of death that killed the Shohet that slaughtered the ox that drank the water that doused the fire that burned the stick that beat the dog that bit the cat that ate the goat that my father bought for two zuzim.’

  But in my story there were two little goats, which my husband Saul had bought for four thousand rupees. All Jewish children like to sing this chant during the Passover Seder. In fact, everybody likes the stanza about the goat that was bought for two zuzim. When it came to this particular chant, the mood changed and the congregation sang with gusto. Like everybody, I also sang it, till I became a character in the episode of the two goats. This episode happened at Reuben’s bar mitzvah ceremony when he turned thirteen.

  We are only a hundred and forty or fifty Jews in Ahmedabad and such events—bar mitzvahs, circumcisions, malidas and festivals—are few and far between.

  That year Reuben celebrated his thirteenth birthday and it was time to include him in the ‘minyan’ of ten men necessary to hold prayers at the synagogue. Everybody loved Reuben because he had learnt to play the Shofar with Jonathan when he was nine years old. Jonathan, who had been playing the Shofar for the last twenty-four years, had just about mastered it, but Reuben had learnt it quickly. Reuben’s parents Nurith and Gideon were proud of their son’s prof
iciency. Sometimes when Jonathan and Reuben played the Shofar one after another, it was hard to believe that the sound was so loud, clear and voluminous.

  Reuben is a serious child, good at studies and passionate about cricket, like all Indians. God bless him. His father, Gideon, is a businessman who manufactures machine parts for textile units. He wanted to celebrate Reuben’s bar mitzvah in a grand way. The talith or prayer shawl had come from Israel. Reuben’s aunt had gifted it to him. She had specially flown in from Israel with her family. Other relatives from Israel, Mumbai and Thane had also come to bless Reuben when he received the prayer shawl.

  As the caterer of the community, I had planned the entire menu for the bar mitzvah with Nurith—breakfast, lunch, dinner. I had organized many such events for the Jewish community of Ahmedabad and had often catered for Nurith and Gideon from the time they were married in Mumbai and had their wedding reception in Ahmedabad. Gideon belongs to Ahmedabad and Nurith is one of our many Bombay Brides.

  As bar mitzvahs are often held early in the morning, we had planned to serve tea, coffee, biscuits, sandwiches and jalebis, followed by a vegetarian pilaf and ice cream. A break was planned before dinnertime.

  And that was the hitch. According to tradition, bar mitzvahs are held on Saturday, the Sabbath; but I had misjudged the problems that could arise when I cooked meat on a Saturday evening. I decided to speak to Nurith about it, but changed my mind. That was my mistake. I should have spoken to her and told her about the difficulties of organizing dinner during the Sabbath, as it is taboo to cook food from Friday evening, when the Sabbath starts, to Saturday night, when it ends. Because of this problem, some families avoid having parties on Saturday night. Instead, they serve a vegetarian meal or organize a festive dinner on Sunday night, which gives enough time to cook meat.

  I never told anybody about my anxieties. According to the law, it was not possible for my husband to butcher an animal on Saturday night. It had to be slaughtered on Friday before sunset, then salted and frozen and only cooked on Saturday evening. Till then, it had to stay in the freezer. I was always anxious before I cooked it on Saturday night.