Mehendi Tides

by Siobhan Malany

  Nanima interrupted in Urdu; her tone was short. She placed the photo among the others in the thin drawer of the armoire and shut the drawer with as much force as a small woman could have, then took a tiny key from underneath the folds of her sari and locked the cabinet, ending the morning’s tribute.

  Kate was left to ponder the questions swimming in her mind as she tried to form an image of her own mother’s face fading in her memory.

  BY LATE MORNING, a paddy wagon showed up to take them to Marah Bahri’s in Begumpet, on the other side of the park from Banjara Hills. The paddy wagon drove by way of a circuitous route, clamoring over the steep inclines and around the curves, many times nearly colliding with oncoming traffic. Sana had fallen asleep, her head vibrating against the window.

  The modest home set precariously perched at the end of a rubble street. The driveway sloped to one side making the home appear uneven, ready to slide down and sink into the rising road.

  Aunty Samina, Max, Hari, Yasmine, and Azra greeted them exuberantly, having already arrived. Nasreen, Yasmine, and Kate sat cross-legged on the floor. Azra and Sana sat off to the side whispering together, or rather Azra listening to Sana describe elementary school life in the US. Kate tried inconspicuously to dislodge betel nuts from between her teeth, stuck there from the morning’s paan.

  The older women sat on the sinking sofa conversing in Urdu, Laila in a yellow cotton sari, Aunty Samina in a rose-colored one, and Nanima and Marah Bahri both in widow white.

  For a while, Yasmine and Nasreen translated but grew tired of the wearisome conversation and at times broke into soft laughter at the loss in translation.

  “What? What did they say? I heard my name,” Kate asked in anticipation.

  “I think they are arranging your marriage,” Sana said, giggling.

  “You should speak now or forever hold your tongue,” Yasmine said, joining in the teasing.

  “Whatever.”

  “You think we are kidding?”

  Kate looked up curiously at Nanima. Behind the horn-rimmed glasses, the old woman’s eyes smiled at her, but her lips remained pursed. The nerves of her jaw twitched between smiling and pursing.

  Kate bent her neck forward in an awkward bow of respect to the elder decree. Nanima smiled, revealing blackened gums and red, paan-stained teeth.

  With no place to go, the afternoon passed quietly. After a lunch of spinach dal, biryani, and naan and more paan, Nasreen and Yasmine flipped through Indian fashion magazines, Azra dozed on her mother’s lap, and Sana colored a picture of Nanima’s house and sang softly to herself as she drew lifelike figures of all of her aunties and cousins. Kate fell asleep under the spinning fan until she heard Aunty Zehba’s voice fill the lackadaisical air and rose immediately lest Aunty Zehba should catch her sleeping and complain she was not adjusting to India time.

  Rahim and Anees had finally arrived in India. Aunty Zehba beamed widely as she presented her sons to the family. Tariq stood off to the side while his brothers absorbed the attention and shot Kate a sly smile that made her heart jump.

  Rahim had grown a beard to mark himself ready to become a married man. He wore a traditional button-down shirt and brown trousers and respectfully greeted Nanima and his aunts and gave Nasreen a warm, brotherly greeting. Anees tried to appear relaxed in a James Dean style sport shirt and jeans but shuffled nervously, seemingly uncertain about his transition into a man-in-waiting. He and Nasreen gave each other quick pecks on the cheek, avoiding eye contact, and Kate glared at Anees when his eyes met her to remind him that all was not forgotten, never would be forgotten.

  BY LATE AFTERNOON, they were back in the paddy wagon on a detour toward the city before heading home. Aunty Samina, Yasmine, Azra, and Tariq joined them. The older boys and Aunty Zehba went separately.

  The heat closed in on Kate as they walked through the shopping district, a shock after spending most of the day indoors under spinning fans. Select shops were open on Sundays if you knew what you were looking for and the right place to find it.

  Kate followed the group down an alleyway and into a jewelry store with no sign. She stepped up to admire the jewelry behind the cases before realizing she was alone.

  “Up here,” Nasreen hissed.

  Kate looked up to see the silver row of bells around Aunty Samina’s ankles disappear to the floor above. Nasreen was steadying Nanima as she climbed the circular open stairwell. Kate hurried up the stairs behind them.

  The floor above opened to a casino of businessmen huddled over tables, counting stones, weighing, and scrutinizing gems with dainty magnifiers strapped over one eye like a patch. Patrons crowded around as if they were watching the roulette wheel, anticipating a win.

  Kate leaned close to Nasreen and whispered, “Are we supposed to be here?”

  “This is how you buy jewels in India. Really expensive jewels.”

  A salesman waved Nanima and her entourage to his open table. Laila squeezed a chair in beside Aunty Samina and Nanima. Azra and Sana hovered next to their mothers. The man went away for several minutes and returned with large black velvet boxes. As soon as the salesman creaked open the first box, Nasreen grabbed Kate’s wrist with one hand and pressed her free hand to her chest.

  “Look at those rubies,” Nasreen gasped. “And diamonds!” She squeezed Kate’s wrist harder.

  “Ouch!” Kate cried.

  “They are gorgeous!” Yasmine exclaimed.

  Sameer and Tariq were less interested in the jewels and more interested in the two guards who stood at a stance by the only exit, both hands on their rifles slung around their shoulders.

  “Check out the AK-52,” Tariq whispered to Sameer.

  Kate, still immobilized by Nasreen’s grip, returned her gaze to the ruby necklace and earring set. They were exquisite against the bed of black velvet. The base of the earrings was a mosaic of rubies with a diamond in the center, and from the base hung a gold half-moon of inlaid diamonds and rubies curled around a set of three pearls. The man tilted the box upright and the half-moons swung gleaming, dancing in the light.

  Aunty Samina and Nanima handled the necklace and started haggling over the price.

  The man snapped the lid shut and put the rubies aside and opened another case. This one was a sapphire set.

  “Oooh!” the women cooed.

  “I love sapphires,” Nasreen squealed. “Makes you want to get married just to wear them, huh?”

  Kate gave Nasreen a worried look.

  “I’m kidding.”

  “I would like emeralds anyway,” Kate said with a smirk.

  After much debate and more haggling, the women decided on the ruby set for Rahim’s bride, Haseena. The armed doormen scrutinized their purchase before allowing them to exit the upper-level alleyway shop.

  Down the winding stairway in the store below, Kate admired a set of red bangles far more dull and artificial than the real ones tucked under the folds of Aunty Samina’s sari.

  “A souvenir from India,” Tariq said as he pulled forth a few rupees from his pocket and spilled them onto the counter.

  “May I have some too? Oh, pleeease, Tariq,” squealed Sana.

  “Of course, my little cousin.”

  The salesman scooped up the coins without counting them and handed over the bangles, the red set to Kate and a pink set to Sana.

  “Thank you,” Kate said happily, admiring the red bangles.

  “You’re welcome,” Tariq responded cordially.

  “Chelo,” Yasmine called from the door leading to the alleyway.

  They snaked through the alley, out onto a main road. Nanima purchased paan for all to share before piling into the idling paddy wagon. Tariq gently jostled the snoozing driver, who immediately shot upright, looked around, and jerked the van into traffic.

  “Just one more stop,” Tariq yelled over the paddy wagon’s muffler. “We need to pick up some chicken.”

  He rolled down his window to scan the shops as the car sped along the busy street. The dust, heat,
and noise poured in through the open window.

  “Here. Stop here,” Tariq yelled to the driver.

  The driver halted mid-street, mid-traffic. Persistent honking pursued.

  “Be right back,” Tariq said, jumping out.

  “I will go with you,” Sameer called, quickly unleashing the door.

  He turned back around and stuck his head in the window.

  “Kate, stay in the car this time. No sitting in rickshaws and stopping traffic,” he said, flashing a cocky smile.

  She returned a steady glare.

  “What is that about?” questioned Aunty Samina.

  “Nothing,” replied Nasreen. “Just hurry, Sameer.”

  Tariq and Sameer headed toward a shop with skinned chicken carcasses dangling under a tattered red and white striped awning. “Fine Foods,” the sign read. Below the lettering, crates of empty cola bottles formed a column against the wall. A man squatted on a bloody wooden stump chopping chicken parts. He was surrounded by cages stacked one on top of the other, each filled with bobbing, squawking chickens. Some of the cages were covered with burlap. In the open cages, the chickens snapped their heads side to side, responding to the movement on the street. Underneath the table stump, a satisfied-looking feral cat lounged in the shade.

  A few moments later, the boys returned with a wrapped package of chicken pieces looking proud as if returning from a hunt.

  Now dusk, the wagon meandered through the crowded streets transporting the group back to Banjara Hills. A week ago during her maiden voyage through the heart of Hyderabad, she had clutched the side of the car for dear life. Now Kate watched the street life, unfazed by the chaos and congestion. The sideways rocking of the van teased her with sleep as the paan’s aphrodisiac kicked in. Suddenly, the vehicle came to a screeching halt.

  Thump!

  Kate slid onto the floor, hitting the backside of the seat in front and landing partly on Tariq’s lap. He grabbed her waist.

  “What happened?” she questioned, blushing.

  Tariq pushed her abruptly off his lap.

  “Go! Go! Go!” he demanded, waving the driver forward furiously.

  The traffic was starting to weave around the van blocking its path.

  “We hit a man on a bike!” Sameer shouted.

  “What?”

  “Go that way, now!” Tariq was hovering over the driver pointing to an escape route.

  “To the right! To the right!” Sameer called out, taking Tariq’s lead and directing the driver.

  “We have to stop and see if he’s alright!” Kate shouted back.

  “No! It will cause a riot,” Tariq snapped. “Trust me! You don’t know!”

  She sat back, angry.

  “It’s better to keep going,” Sameer stated in a steady voice.

  “People are helping him,” Nasreen consoled. “We can’t stop.”

  Kate looked horrified at her best friend as a scene of what might be flashed in her mind. The wagon lurched forward. Tariq braced her again and continued to shout at the driver. The driver accelerated heavily away from the gathering crowd. Glancing out the back window, Kate watched a mob forming. Men waved their fists in the air. She looked at Tariq with his fists clenched, a fierce expression on his face.

  Nasreen’s mother looked fatigued and concerned but remained silent. Nanima sat wedged next to the window, lips still pursed, eyes squinting ready for sleep.

  Despite Nasreen and Sameer having grown up in America and not India, it appeared to Kate that they both nonetheless held an intrinsic understanding of their ancestral home that subliminally dictated their actions in extreme situations. She relinquished and let her weight sink into the creaking seat springs.

  The driver had turned down a side road and onto the throughway.

  Tariq stared intensely out the window, his fists still clenched.

  KATE FELL INTO a deep sleep on a pile of pillows under the spinning fan after Rahmsing served a late dinner. Nanima placed a sheet across her.

  Kate dreamt of strutting chickens, their wings arched back, white chests puffed out, displaying ruby necklaces. The chickens paraded back and forth across a ravine, the jewels sparkling as they prudently cocked their heads side to side.

  Slowly, the dangling rubies turned to drops of blood.

  Chapter 15

  Krishna’s Darkroom

  Chicago 1998

  Kate arrived into O’Hare at dusk carrying her duffel bag. If she took the ‘L’ to Evanston, she’d be home in an hour and would call her dad.

  She shuffled slowly toward the exit as if her bag weighed far more than it appeared. Her eyes tracked the floor. She almost didn’t see him standing there when she walked out of the terminal.

  “Hi, Kat.”

  “Dad!”

  The sight of her father was overwhelming. She froze. Travelers weaved to either side. Her father approached and circled his arms around her. Kate pressed her cheek against the breast pocket of her father’s shirt. The two of them stood together as passengers formed an hourglass path around them.

  “Let me take your bag,” Ian finally said as he led her out of the crowd and to a water feature in the main terminal.

  “Sit.”

  “Thanks for coming, dad,” Kate said, regaining her composure and taking a seat on the edge of the fountain.

  The sound of the cascading water pacified her mind.

  “What’s wrong, Kat?”

  She pondered his question for a moment. It had been a long time since she talked, really talked, to her father. She didn’t know how to start the conversation. Maybe he didn’t either. But he was here now, listening.

  Kate breathed deeply.

  “I don’t know if I will get through graduate school. Somedays, I feel I will go into the lab and the walls will just cave in on me.”

  Acknowledging this to her father was painful. She didn’t look at him but instead watched the arcs of water flow from the top basin to the bottom basin, a sort of miniature replica of the Buckingham Fountain.

  “Take it one day at a time, Kat,” Ian said.

  “Yeah. I guess,” she shrugged.

  “Hey, I happen to think you are brilliant,” her father remarked with compassion. “Whatever you want to do, you will do it and be great at it. Hang in there.” He squeezed her shoulder.

  She nodded and gave her father a half-smile.

  “Tell me, why did you hitch a ride to Texas, Kat? It was not in your nature and it was a little disconcerting.”

  “I was upset. Nasreen and I had a…confrontation.”

  “I don’t quite see how that would make you run away to Texas.”

  “She lied to me, Dad! She kept this horrible secret from me for years,” Kate revealed. “A best friend wouldn’t do that!”

  “Well, did she have a reason for keeping the secret? To protect something or someone?”

  Kate watched another crowd of travelers flood out of the terminal dragging suitcases or cranky children toward baggage claim, taxis, and waiting families.

  “Yes,” Kate finally acknowledged with a heavy sigh.

  “Well then what is the problem? Sounds like she is forgiven.”

  “It’s not that simple, Dad. Part of me is angry that I didn’t know,” Kate said irritated. “Part of me is so amazed by her courage to overcome. I don’t know if I would have had the same strength.”

  “You’re pretty strong, Kat.”

  “I don’t know. Nasreen and I are so different,” she brooded.

  “That’s what makes your friendship so special,” Ian said. “Yeah, you two are different, from different cultural and religious upbringings. But there is no one who knows Nasreen like you know her. You have experienced her homeland, her entire extended family! They welcomed you into their homes.”

  Kate looked up at her father.

  “Did you ever think that maybe keeping this secret from you hurt her more than it hurt you?”

  She hadn’t thought about it that way.

  “Am I help
ing? I don’t know if I am making sense. I just believe your friendship goes beyond your differences,” he stressed.

  “You are making more sense than you know, Dad.”

  “You don’t have to figure it all out on your own, Kat.”

  “Okay,” she said, sounding unconvinced but relieved.

  “Something tells me that isn’t everything,” he pried. “Come on, tell your old man. Is it about a guy?”

  His insightfulness surprised her. She shook her head.

  “I’ll listen if you want to tell me. Otherwise, I am hungry, and we should get something to eat in Chinatown.”

  “Can I ask you something first?”

  “Fire away.”

  “Why did you let me go to India and Pakistan? I was sixteen, Dad. The normal parental answer would have been, ‘are you crazy?’”

  “Fair question,” Ian said, laughing. “In fact, I wondered why you never asked me. The normal answer would have been no,” he confirmed. “But you are not normal, and neither am I. You see things in places and people like no one else, Kate. You get that from your mother. She was so insightful and compassionate.”

  She creased her eyebrows, intrigued.

  “I knew the trip would transform you. How could I deny it? And part of me had to let you go and experience. I didn’t want you to be defined by your mother’s death. If I held you too close out of my own fear, I would take something away that would inhibit you from becoming you, this wonderful woman.” His voice cracked slightly.

  Kate sighed, touched by his words but wishing that sometimes he had crushed her just a little by holding on too tight.

  “The experience overseas did transform me,” she told him. “In so many ways. I have these powerful memories,” Kate said, placing her hand on her heart. “Nasreen’s grandmother died last summer. I remember so much about her. I remember the people, the ceremonies, and all the amazing places we visited.”