by Ajay Patel
Once Vaishali had acclimated to living in America, Vijay had to admit that she had greatly pleased both Rohit and their parents. Her mild disposition and her traditional deferential behavior made her a joy to their mother in particular. Because Vaishali’s family was thousands of miles away in India, she latched onto Shantiben eagerly, thus forming a close bond between daughter-in-law and mother-in-law. Every time Vijay visited home, his mother would gush with pride and happiness as to how she finally had a daughter after having been subjected to two sons for so long, as if that had been some cruel punishment inflicted upon her.
“Your parents are never going to like me as much as they do Vaishali, even if I went to a tanning salon and became the next Martha Stewart!” Jennifer hissed back before the door opened. Vijay could only look back at her with a pleading look before Vijay’s father opened the door to let them in.
Jayendrabhai was an older version of Rohit, equal in height, but slightly heavier in the stomach area despite the recent futile purchase of an ab-roller. He wore eye glasses typical for an Indian electrical engineer of his generation—bulky with thick square lenses that cried out he was not willing to spend the extra twenty dollars to get the featherweight lens option. Upon opening the door he stood a little unsure of himself on how to greet them. Some hosts welcome guests in their home with a colloquial “hi” while others welcome guests more formally with a “hello”. Indians have a combined version which Vijay had once coined as the “hi-hello”. A hi-hello involved a variation of greeting and interrogation of past goings on before the guest has even had a chance to be guided to a seat. Questions regarding the status of health, family, and business often were thrown out as if they were a request for a password in order for entrance to be granted. Vijay’s father generally adhered to this Indian hi-hello custom except when it came to Jennifer. He had never been able to develop that common thread to pull from in order to relate to past goings-on with her. As a result, whenever Jennifer visited, only an awkward but smiled hello greeted her with an accompanying sense of panic as he tried to think of something to say to fill in the gap where the hi otherwise might have been.
Shantiben came to the rescue from behind him announcing that dinner was already prepared and that they need not bother with idle chitchat in the living room when that could be done more efficiently at the dinner table while they all ate. Despite the efficiency, however, dinner went far worse than even Vijay could have anticipated. Jennifer had been able to give up eating with a knife, spoon, and fork so that she too, like Vijay’s family, scooped into her mouth healthy portions of roti, shaak, and daal using only her hands. But despite her breaking down this barrier of difference, there were other barriers that Jayendrabhai and Shantiben maintained that had not yet been broken down, the most apparent of which was communication. Every few minutes Jayendrabhai and Shantiben would unconsciously speak in Gujarati thereby unintentionally shutting Jennifer out of the conversation. Vijay tried to interrupt them so that they would revert back to English, but he was not always quick enough. All Jennifer could do, not understanding a word being spoken during these times, was to try to mimic the expressions of those speaking so that she at least gave the appearance of being a part of the conversation. When Jayendrabhai spoke in a happy tone recalling some discount he had been able to negotiate from an unsuspecting salesman, Jennifer would join in the laughter at the table while waiting for Vijay to offer a brief but delayed translation. Likewise, when Shantiben spoke in a depressing tone about the health problems a family friend was suffering, Jennifer would put on a “that’s terrible” face and slowly shake her head to mirror his mother’s expressions.
Despite Jennifer’s willingness to play-act this way, Vijay could tell that she was feeling left out of the conversation after a long story had been told in Gujarati. Shantiben, too, realized Jennifer was being excluded, so she explained in her halting English, “I am telling Jayendra how the son of a family friend of ours’ is to be getting a divorce and how hard it is being on their family,” she said sadly, conjugating every verb into the present tense not having fully mastered the English language.
Jayendrabhai replied in his attempt to be a part of the conversation, “I told you Niraj’s marriage would never last more than a year when he chose to marry that Italian woman!” Before anyone could stop him with a look of warning he continued, “Those matches always fail because only Indian women are strong enough to make a relationship work!”
Shantiben realized the effect of her husband’s words on Jennifer and quickly tried to do damage control by cutting him short and adding towards Jennifer, “Jayendra is not always knowing of what he is talking about! Of course many girls who are not Indian are good girls, like you…” It was too little too late and getting worse by the minute. An awkward silence followed as Jayendrabhai realized his mistake and chose to put handfuls of food in his mouth as an excuse for not talking anymore.
Vijay knew the night was a disaster. For the rest of the evening, Jennifer no longer chose to play-act during the spouts of Gujarati. She just sat at the table rigidly without speaking to anyone.
The drive back to Los Angeles was a long and quiet one. Vijay, afraid to say anything, could tell Jennifer was upset and in a mood where talking, if it was to be done, would have to be started by her.
As they pulled into her driveway, Jennifer looked at him with tears in her eyes. Vijay knew already what she had to say. She told him how although there was love between them, it did not seem so strong that it could overcome the many obstacles that resulted because there was a “them”. Vijay struggled to think of something to say that could fix everything and make them feel happy like they were in law school all over again. But the continued silence in the car confirmed that there was nothing else to say. He sat there for a moment, in the car, next to her, realizing how tragic it all was. Together, they were two pieces of a puzzle whose edges and cuts, when arranged, fit perfectly with each other. Unfortunately, they were pieces from two very different puzzles that would always have trouble matching with the other pieces around them. And before he knew it, Jennifer and Vijay were no longer a “them.” They would no longer cause a stir at Indian functions. His parents would no longer have to try to make an effort. Vijay sat in the car staring blankly ahead, alone, as Jennifer, crying, ran up the stairs into her apartment, gone from his life.
2
Madame-Ex
“You need to get out! End of discussion! We’re going to a party tonight!” Amit spoke to Vijay emphatically. They sat out on the terrace of a bar sipping half-priced happy hour drinks after work on Friday.
Amit and Vijay had been friends for a little over two years having first run into each other in the lobby of their office building. Like Vijay, Amit had graduated from law school and was working at a different law firm located in the same office building. Sharing experiences about growing up to be an Indian attorney jump-started their friendship. However, as many similarities as there were between him and Amit, there were just as many differences. It was these differences that made them even better friends. Vijay, having lived up in Northern California for three years and also having been in a long-term relationship with Jennifer, had no experience in the Indian singles community. Amit was the complete opposite. He grew up in Los Angeles and had never really left the area going to UCLA for college and USC for law school. As a result, Amit practically knew every Indian in Los Angeles, or at least it felt that way when Vijay was with him at Indian parties.
“Amit, I don’t know about some of these parties you take me to. At the last one, there were all of these FOBs looking at me strangely,” Vijay complained, taking a sip of his Corona, referring to the fresh off the boat crowd that had come to America from India.
“First of all, there’s no such thing as an FOB anymore Vijay,” Amit said, jokingly. “We call them FOAIs now. You know! ‘Fresh off Air India!’”
Vijay shook his head, laughing. “Since you know so much, let me ask you a question. What do they mean when they
point at me and call me an ‘Aieebee Seedee’?” Vijay asked.
Amit burst out laughing, putting his hand up and fighting valiantly to not spray the Heineken he was drinking in Vijay’s direction. “They were calling you an ABCD—an American Born Confused Desi!” This was a term the FOAIs threw back at their white washed Indian brethren. “Boy, did they ever get that one right!”
“If you’re just going to make fun of me, I don’t know about going out tonight,” Vijay replied testily. “It’s been a hard week at work. I wouldn’t mind just hanging out at my place watching the Lakers game while I veg on the couch.”
“No way! Just take a nap and be ready tonight!” Amit commanded.
Vijay could have put up more of a fight, but realized there was no talking to Amit. “So whose party are we going to? Vijay asked, admitting defeat.
“This girl Jasmine is throwing the party at her parents’ place while they’re out of town. Do you remember her? She just won Ms. LA India two weeks ago.”
“How could I forget?” Vijay said with a grin on his face. After Jasmine had won the beauty pageant, Vijay had joked “with that title under her belt, it won’t be long before she becomes MRS. L.A. India!”
“It’s your turn to drive and the invite says be there at 9 sharp,” Amit informed Vijay. “So pick me up at 10:30 so we can get there around 11:00.” Their arrival time was based partially on the concepts of being fashionably late and IST, otherwise known as Indian Standard Time, which meant arriving on time meant arriving an hour too early. “And Vijay, please try to look sharp for a change for this party. After all, it’ll be full of beauty pageant types. I’m tired of having all the women hanging all over me all of the time!” he laughed. While Vijay and Amit looked similar from a physical appearance perspective, their styles were exact opposites. Vijay was used to wearing comfortable tee shirts, blue jeans, and running shoes while Amit was more of a Kenneth Cole and Armani production.
“Oh aren’t you just the comedian!” Vijay said sarcastically, rolling his eyes leaving Amit behind to head to his car, wondering what he should wear that evening.
Jasmine’s parents owned three Ramada Inns, one of which was located on prime real estate across the street from Disneyland. Using the current Indian hotel exchange ratios, this meant they were fairly wealthy, and the house Vijay and Amit drove up to reflected this. It was a “souped up” custom home with Indian features, including marble columns and Ganesh statutes that looked oddly out of place in the otherwise Spanish styled ranch house. Walking up the driveway to the house they could already hear the bhangra dance music. From past experiences, Vijay knew that the quality of the guests was directly related to the quality of the deejay. From what Amit was saying, a popular deejay with three CDs currently available for sale at the local Indian music shops had been flown in from New Jersey. Moreover, Jasmine and all her friends would be attending guaranteeing that the “A” crowd would be there, with the “A” standing for attractive.
“Damn! This’ll be the party of the year! How often do you get the chance to hook up with beauty contest winners?” Amit’s excitement grew as they approached the front door.
“I don’t know what you’re so excited about,” Vijay replied, trying to play it cool. “It’s not like you’re going to hook up with Jasmine or anything! She’s been going out with Sushant for over two years.”
“You keep forgetting!” Amit shook his head as if this were the tenth time he was teaching the concept to Vijay. “Although Jasmine may be taken, all of those other single beauty contestants at the pageant are going to be here as well!”
“As if I’d want to lower my standards and hang out with a runner up?” Vijay quipped. The joke, however, fell on deaf ears as Amit was making a scurried dash to get into the party ahead of Vijay.
They entered through double front doors that when opened, released a wave of loud music in their direction. In front of them a velvet rope cordoned off the stairs to the second floor and a darkened living room in a desperate attempt to keep certain rooms free from party damage. Unfortunately, many of the guests had taken the rope as an invitation to go into areas where they might get more privacy, as if they were VIP rooms found often in bars and clubs. Walking to the back of the house they arrived at a large patio and pool area where in one corner, the source of the loud music could be found. A deejay and his inexplicable crew of four assistants were set up, each person assigned only one particular task ranging from loading CDs, hitting the play button, turning on the strobe lights at the appropriate time, and talking in the microphone when appropriate to encourage the crowd to join the fun on the dance floor. In the opposite corner, a table was loaded with trays of appetizers and another table was laden with bottles of alcohol. The fact that there was still free food and alcohol to drink at this hour boded well for the party. But what really convinced Vijay that this would be a party to remember was when he heard Amit exclaim as he stared in the room full of people through the doorway. “Oh my god! Contestants from Ms. San Francisco India, Ms. California India, and Ms. India America are all here!” he sounded like he was reading off of a road map with each destination being a beautiful woman.
“Take it easy and relax! These women know when a man’s hormones are off the chart.” Vijay held Amit back. Instinctively, the two of them went to the bar and mixed themselves some drinks. It never really mattered what they drank. It was just a party ritual of theirs that gave them something to do while they stretched their party muscles and worked up their nerves to go up to women. Once comfortable, with drinks in hand, they began to evaluate the female talent in the room. After identifying appropriately attractive targets that were in the room in pairs, they teamed up and approached them. They met several attractive women this way, all of whom were hoping to break into modeling. These hopes were based largely on their successful training for the numerous fashion shows conveniently sponsored by the local sari boutiques in Cerritos, otherwise known as “Little India” by the locals. And as if almost on cue on every fourth song, each woman interrupted their conversation with excited outbursts and an “Oh my god! This is my favorite song! Do you want to dance?” This interruption, of course, was not seen as an entirely bad thing from their perspectives.
After dancing to a few songs with two of the women they had met, Vijay and Amit left to go back to the bar to get another drink. As they stood there talking, Vijay saw her. She was unlike any other woman at the party. While many of the women they had met were recent or past beauty contestants who had the cute and adorable look designed to win the hearts of audiences and beauty contestant judges alike, the woman who had walked into the far side of the room was altogether different. It was not that she was unattractive. Actually, she was quite stunning. What set her apart from the other women in the room was that she seemed indifferent about appearances. She had no calculated smiles. No fake hellos that she appeared to be peppering left and right. She was a sincere handshake in a room full of fake kiss-kisses.
Amit’s back was the only other witness to this mysterious woman’s entrance. Vijay felt it was his duty to apprise him of her presence.
“You’re not gonna believe the woman that just walked into this room!” Vijay said excitedly.
“Where?” Amit asked without turning around.
“Seven o’clock,” Vijay replied. He didn’t have to say the usual things that had to be said with other guys such as “don’t be obvious” or “don’t look right away”. Amit was a professional.
Amit went the opposite direction to put his glass on a nearby table, and then came back to where he and Vijay were talking. However, by now, Vijay had turned around so that his back now was to the woman, allowing Amit a view of her.
“Say no more” Amit said, having locked in on the woman Vijay had identified, indicating definite approval in his intonation. “But I have to tell you, based on the way she dresses and carries herself, we are talking ultra-high maintenance chick.” The woman was wearing what looked like a designer silk outfit straight
out of a fashion magazine that looked expensive, was perfectly tailored for her, and exuded power.
Vijay took another glance in her direction to confirm he was right to focus on her and then asked him, “What’s her story?”
“I don’t know,” Amit professed ignorance. “This is the first I’ve ever seen her. Let’s ask Rocky,” he suggested. Rocky was a friend of Amit’s from college who more importantly was related to Jasmine. This relation had resulted in their invitation to the party and potential additional access to information about the mystery woman walking across the room.
They walked over to him while he was in the process of mixing himself another apple martini. “Rocky, you’ve got to help Vijay here,” Amit said. “Who’s that woman over there?” he pointed to her.
“Yeah! What’s her name? Do you know anything about her?” Vijay was eager for information about the new love of his life.
Rocky looked over to where Amit was discretely pointing and turned back to face them with a look to indicate that additional information would be forthcoming. “Her parents are friends through Jasmine’s mom. I’ve seen her a couple of times at family functions over the years, but not often. She’s bad news. In fact, people call her Madame-Ex, as in ex-girlfriend to a lot of guys,” said Rocky. “She’ll flirt and be friendly. And then once you start to fall for her she drops you like a rock.”
“Are you sure?” Vijay asked, hoping by verifying he’d hear justified reasons for her having such a reputation.
“Definitely,” Rocky responded. “In fact, there’s an interesting story about her,” he said ominously. “There’s this guy back east. He’s a cousin of one of our friends Mani. You know him Amit,” he looked at him, “His name is Jayesh.”