SUBJECT:
RE: [TDBSS] Trivia question
I’d remember every wonderful intimate detail and have sugarcoated the more awkward ones. Painful ones would still be there, but not as searing as when they occurred. Call them manageable. But the good memories would still make me smile real big. :D
Helen
* * *
FROM:
“Nancy Bogatka”
TO:
DATE:
October 23, 20XX 7:48 AM
SUBJECT:
RE: [TDBSS] Trivia question
Oh, yeah. That hurt/pissed off part would sear it into my memory. Like Helen said, the sweet parts would be sweeter, polished with the ideal sheen. The end would seal it.
My two cents, er bucks (CA cost-of-living adjustment
Miss Nancy
* * *
FROM:
“Preity Sharma Lindstrom”
TO:
DATE:
October 23, 20XX 7:56 AM
SUBJECT:
RE: [TDBSS] Trivia question
And if this long-lost (maybe) love you thought was gone forever popped back into your life? Say, maybe sent a brief message of hello. Would you be curious? Or would you be more crawl-back-under-that-rock-and-leave-me-alone?
Preity
* * *
FROM:
“Valentina Swiridow”
TO:
DATE:
October 23, 20XX 8:14 AM
SUBJECT:
RE: [TDBSS] Trivia question
Good God! Six posts before 8 AM! Y’all are wild women this morning!;)
> And if this long-lost (maybe) love (that you
> thought was gone forever) popped back into your
> life.
I would have a panic attack. Really. I would have a physical reaction -- tightness in my chest, maybe the shakes, I would not be smiling, I would be excited but also sort of scared. I would call my close girlfriends, email my sorority sisters
Tina Bambina
* * *
FROM:
“Leydiana Martinez”
TO:
DATE:
October 23, 20XX 8:15 AM
SUBJECT:
RE: [TDBSS] Trivia question
I would assume if he were to contact me, he would have grown up a bit. I sure have. I’d have to be pretty immature at 35 to still be pissed off.
Leydi
* * *
FROM:
“Inglath Johnson”
TO:
DATE:
October 23, 20XX 8:27 AM
SUBJECT:
RE: [TDBSS] Trivia question
Depends on what’s transpired in the meantime, personal growth-wise. It could be mild curiosity. With maturity, contact could be made with a “bygones are bygones” mindset. If there hasn’t been a lot of personal growth, or ill will is still harbored, then it might could fall into the “piss off, I don’t have time for you” arena.
Inglath
* * *
FROM:
“Lisa B. Ruddy”
TO:
DATE:
October 23, 20XX 8:33 AM
SUBJECT:
RE: [TDBSS] Trivia question
Okay, spill it, Preity. What’s this all about?:-)
* * *
FROM:
“Carmella Grimaldi”
TO:
DATE:
October 23, 20XX 9:01 AM
SUBJECT:
RE: [TDBSS] Trivia question
spill what???? i thought this was a trivia question???? -carm
* * *
FROM:
“Heather V. Taylor”
TO:
“Preity Sharma Lindstrom”
DATE:
October 23, 20XX 9:05 AM
SUBJECT:
FOR YOUR EYES ONLY!
Sending this off-list, private to you…
Oh. My. God.
I just turned on the computer, and I’m skimming all these posts, and it HITS me…
This is about that Indian guy from first year! The one you met over winter break! And oh, coincidentally, SOMEONE is going to India for a wedding next month! ARE YOU GOING TO CONTACT HIM?!
Just so you know, I have goose bumps as I type this!!!!!!!!!!!!
Heather <--first-year roommate who remembers ALL
* * *
I wasn’t going to go to Kiran’s wedding. I hadn’t planned on it, even after she returned my email, and we exchanged a few more. I didn’t go to her first wedding; she didn’t go to mine.
Then she phoned, and we both felt the winds of change that had blown through our adult lives. Afterward, I knew I couldn’t miss this, even if it meant leaving my husband and kids for the first time and traveling alone to the Other Side of the World.
“I’ve always been jealous of you,” Kiran said to me on the phone. “That’s why I was such a little shit.”
“First of all,” I said, “you were a big shit. And second, jealous of me? Why on earth would you be jealous of me?”
“Because you’re perfect, Preity.”
I about laughed my ass off. “No one’s perfect. Least of all people who appear to be.”
“Yeah, that’s what you hear all the time, but—”
“Did you know I was bulimic?” I couldn’t believe I said it, to Kiran of all people, but once it was out, I felt like a ton of bricks lifted from the top of my head. (Picture a female Indian laborer here.)
“No, I did not—! Geez, no one tells me anything about anyone’s medical condition. And why would they? I’m only a doctor.”
“No one knew. Except my dentist.”
A pause, and then, “No one…?”
“Not even my parents. They still don’t.”
“When was this? How long—? Are you still—?”
“I’m fine now. It went on for about five years, on and off, starting in college when the ole metabolism took a nosedive, and a lifetime of ‘khaa, beta, khaa’ caught up with me.”
At our house, “eat, dear, eat” was my mother’s mantra. She practically ran after Tarun and me with food in her out-stretched hand. It was never, “Are you hungry?” but “Have some” of this and “Have some more” of that. We could say no, thank you all we wanted; still she heaped another helping on our plates, striving to ensure our stomachs never rumbled and we never experienced a single hunger pang. Mom said she knew she and Dad “had arrived” (meaning attained success) when they could afford ($$, not lbs.) to eat ice cream, a luxury in India, until they puked. Needless to say, ice cream was a staple of our diet.
My little brother, being “Joe Athlete,” can still get away with pigging out, no worries of packing on the pudge, but my Get Out of Jail Free card expired in college. “Welcome to my world,” my best friend Veronica said when I stepped onto the scale and shrieked in horror. (Picture Munch’s The Scream.) I thought my jeans had shrunk in the wash, but no, it was me who had expanded. And only through the midsection. My figure resembled a toothpick spearing an olive! “No more gorging on ice cream in the dining hall,” V
eronica said. “Desserts go straight to the hips.” But try as I might, I couldn’t control myself with ice cream. Even today, I lack portion-control with certain foods and must avoid them entirely, like an alcoholic must abstain from alcohol.
“I rotted my teeth with all the stomach acid,” I told Kiran. “And still, I couldn’t tell my parents. Can’t you just imagine? I’d never hear the end of it. ‘All these starving people in the world, and here, this spoiled rotten girl not only has the luxury of eating like a queen, afterward, she sticks her finger down her throat and intentionally throws up. She’s puking enough food to feed a village! We should send her to India. Let her volunteer in the Peace Corps. That will teach her.’ So, since I couldn’t tell the folks my shameful secret, I couldn’t afford to pay for the kind of dental work I really needed until after grad school.”
“Oh, Preity…”
“Hey, on the upside, no college loans. But yes, downside, I’ll be making payments on the Mercedes in my mouth for several more years.”
“And I was just noticing your lovely smile at New Year’s…” Kiran said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “It’s over and done. All’s well that ends well.”
And that’s what brought me to the Other Side of the World….
In Mumbai, I feel like a woman waking from a coma, then more like a ghost. A dead wife looking down from heaven, able to see, but not touch her loved ones.
Life in India went on without me. My memories, flash-frozen in time, thaw and feel fresh. Raw. This is how my parents feel, I realize. Why my mother never wants to come here, and my father never wants to leave.
I learn Riya-didi never delivered the letter to Arsallan. I locate him—he’s a pediatrician, how wonderfully fitting for him. I wait outside his office, just wanting a glimpse of him before I decide how and when I’ll approach. But when he steps out, when I see him, I’m bowled over by a barrage of emotions.
He looks the same. Aside from his hair, now threaded with copper and silver. Otherwise, the same.
It doesn’t feel like sixteen years have passed. It hardly feels like sixteen minutes. Didn’t we just walk on the beach? Didn’t you just kiss me under the stars?
Don’t I want to go to the bookmark we placed at the end of our chapter, to resume our story?
I’m stunned to realize my mother was right.
My feelings are too strong. The risks are too great.
How can we just have coffee, or lunch, or dinner? It won’t be enough.
Tears spring to my eyes. I whirl in the opposite direction, walk for blocks in a stupor before hailing a cab. At the hotel, I have myself a good, cleansing cry, then pick myself up, brush myself off, and go downstairs to the lobby. I ask the concierge to recommend a Goan restaurant. Once there, I order bebinca and start to write.
It takes several drafts to get the words right. When I’m satisfied, I print a final copy and phone Rani in Pune. “Hi, I need a huge favor, no questions asked. Would you be willing—?”
“Just name it.”
This time, I watch from a distance, observe the delivery, make sure it reaches Arsallan’s hands, wait until he opens my envelope…
* * *
Once upon a time long, long ago, in a land far, far away, there was a young princess who met a young prince from another kingdom. For some unknown reason, the princess and prince were instantly familiar to each other, drawn together, as if their hearts recognized one another from another time, another place.
The princess loved the prince before she had any concrete concept of love. She had no need to label her feelings, knew that whatever she felt, the prince felt. A mirror reflection. That’s how it is when two souls connect. No insecurities, no second-guessing. You just know…
Their romance was sweet and innocent and pure. But before their love could take root, or take flight, the princess died a sudden, mysterious death. She journeyed to her next life, not realizing that her soul, like all souls, carried the memories, the lessons of her past, including the prince’s love. You see, once you are touched by true love, it remains part of you, even if you don’t consciously know it.
Among other things, the former princess’ experience of the Real Thing set the bar for every subsequent suitor. She knew to wait, not to settle. And sure enough, when the love of her new life came along, she recognized him as the one fate intended for her. Together, they built an enchanted life. It wasn’t always easy. Life challenged them plenty, but they held fast to their commitment to each other, trusted and supported each other, and overcame every obstacle, learning and growing stronger together.
Then one night, out of nowhere, the past whispered in her ear. She remembered. Memories of her past life, her past love came to her, as messages in bottles, thrown out to sea, finally washing ashore, reaching their intended destination. Amid happy memories, she recalled a terrible injustice that occurred before she died. A mistake she was never able to put right because the prince never received the last, parting letter she wrote to him. It broke her heart to realize she’d unwittingly broken his.
The former princess couldn’t bear this. She had to find the prince—an old man now—wherever he was. Even if she had to turn the world upside-down and shake it. He had to know the truth; she had to set the record straight: She loved him. Now. Then. Always. Forever.
When she found his dimension, many changes had taken place in her absence. At evidence of the prince’s wonderful life and achievements, her heart filled with joy. At the same time, a bittersweet realization came to her: Though she could see the prince’s dimension, she couldn’t touch it. Even with a pure heart, she couldn’t reenter, not without grave peril, for the words she wanted most to gift him were forbidden to them now, fraught with danger. Contained in their sweet nectar was a poison capable of killing the others to whom they’d pledged their love.
With utmost care, she composed another letter and watched from a distance as the courier hand-delivered it to the prince. Then she turned and walked away without looking back, secure in the knowledge the prince would understand the message contained therein:
“We were together before; we shall be together again. We need never say good-bye; with soul mates, it’s until next time…”
* * *
Bebinca
(Layered, Upside-Down Coconut Custard-Cake)
SERVES 6–8
2 cups coconut milk
2 cups dark brown sugar
1 cup rice flour
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon ground cardamom
¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg
10 egg yolks, lightly beaten
¾ cup melted ghee or unsalted butter, divided
3 tablespoons toasted almond slices
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. In a small saucepan over very low heat, combine coconut milk and brown sugar, stirring frequently until sugar dissolves. Remove from heat. Allow to cool to room temperature.
3. In a mixing bowl, sift together flour, salt, cardamom, and nutmeg.
4. Stir in coconut milk mixture to dry ingredients, then add the egg yolks. Mix until smooth—neither too dry, nor too runny. (Add a little water if too dry, or a little flour if too thin.)
5. Grease a deep, 7-inch round aluminum pan with 2 tablespoons ghee.
6. Pour 1 cup of batter into pregreased pan. Set on middle rack of oven. Bake until top turns golden. Remove from oven. Pour 1 tablespoon ghee over top layer. Bake until top turns golden brown. Remove from oven. Using spatula, remove “pancake” and stack on plate.
7. Repeat step #6 until batter is finished. Stack all pancakes in pan and bake 15 minutes.
8. Cool to room temperature. Turn pan upside down onto plate. Gently extract bebinca, so the shape stays intact.
9. Garnish with toasted almond slices. Serve at room temperature.
Kiran Deshpande: Shaadi
Be not parted—growing old, taking thought, thriving together, moving under a common yoke. Come speaking sweetly to o
ne another; I’ll make you have one aim and be of one mind.
ATHARVA VEDA
* * *
Kiran & John
TOGETHER WITH THEIR PARENTS
YASHWANT AND MEENAL DESHPANDE WILLIAM AND LAURA LEIGH COOPER
INVITE YOU TO SHARE IN THE JOY OF THEIR MARRIAGE IN PUNE, INDIA ON NOVEMBER 24, 20XX
* * *
At the altar, John and I stand facing each other, but we don’t see each other.
The countdown to the zero hour, the muhurta, has begun…
“Kuryat sada mangalam…shubha mangala savdhan…” wedding guests recite ancient, sacred verses in Sanskrit, reading from their programs, which provide the English translations as well: May this marriage bring happiness…the auspicious time for the marriage is coming…
Per tradition, I stand on the west side of the mandap, an outdoor gazebo, facing east. John stands on the east, facing west. Both of us in clear view of the officiating priest and guests—north and south respectively—we’re hidden from each other. Between us hangs the antarpat, a white curtain with a kumkum-drawn auspicious swastika—right-facing, rotated forty-five degrees, a dot in each quadrant—a sacred symbol of good luck in Hinduism dating back to the fifteenth century B.C.E.
The Hindi-Bindi Club Page 30