We walked to the fountain at Columbus Circle. Dog walkers were fussing over their pets.
Central Park was a block away. I stared at the fall colors and thought of the last time I had felt so alive.
“Look at me.” Rohan turned me so I faced him. “You’re a lot more together than you think or know.” He stared into my eyes. “Yes, it kills me to admit that you are nicer, kinder, and a more reliable human being compared to a lot of people I know.” He smiled.
I drank some more water. “Have you ever loved and lost anyone, Rohan?”
He looked hesitant.
“What was her name—the one because of whom you pretend to be a playboy just so you can shield yourself from a heartache?”
Rohan ran his palms over his face. “Is it that obvious?”
“Well.”
“It’s a long story.” He tried to discourage the conversation, but I was determined.
“And I have nowhere to go.” I started to walk toward the entrance of the park. The newsstands were opening and people were buying newspapers and lotto tickets. I passed a man selling fresh fruits and juices. Horse carriage rides and horse poop welcomed us along with the morning sun. I didn’t see many elderly people. Commuters in business formals were rushing toward the subway or entering yellow taxis. Young moms with babies in strollers and lululemon fitness wear were out for a run inside the park. There were patrol cars making the rounds as street vendors started to line up their food carts at different intersections. They were selling inexpensive coffee and bagels and pastry and donuts and the like. There were at least two dozen pigeons fearlessly attacking people holding breakfast bagels in their hands. They were too lazy to fly and too fearless to abandon bread even when shooed away. A few young boys were on skateboards chasing the birds. Homeless men were digging food out of trashcans.
Rohan crossed the street with me. “Rita. Her name was Rita. But this can’t go anywhere.” He touched my shoulder.
I patted his hand. “I promise.”
“We were high school sweethearts. Studied at Tulane University together. It was going perfectly well until I found her in bed with my roommate my sophomore year.”
“I am so sorry, Rohan.”
“I confronted her. She denied it. Asked for a second chance. I gave it to her like a fool. We dated through college and even after that. I proposed to her and she said a yes.” Rohan’s eyes looked empty. “We had planned our wedding and honeymoon. But she had plans of her own.” He kicked an empty soda can.
“What happened?”
“Oh, I became a cliché in my life, Ahana. While I was in graduate school, working two jobs so I could buy her the house of her dreams, Rita continued with her affairs.”
“I am….”
“It is what it is. I’m glad all that shit happened before we got married and decided to raise a family. But betrayal from someone you love eats at your confidence and ability to judge people, doesn’t it?” Rohan stared at the ground and let out a sigh.
I knew exactly what Rohan meant.
“Bloody bitch!”
“Thank you, Ahana Chopra, for siding with me.” Rohan stared brazenly into my eyes.
“I shouldn’t have said that. But it’s her loss.”
“You think I’m a good catch?” Rohan pulled out a smile from somewhere as we walked toward the Bethesda Fountain.
I laughed. “Oh, God, dumbo! Be serious.”
In New Delhi, I couldn’t imagine a morning like this. The only place Dev wanted to accompany me to was parties or our bedroom. And almost every time I went for a walk or run alone, there was a scene—the abuse and intimidation in the middle of a road, zero support from passersby who crowded and watched women get harassed like zombies, the auto-drivers rushing to pacify the perpetrator—nothing was pleasant.
“I met her too early in life. Got too serious too soon. Learnt my lesson never to make the same mistake again.”
“Meaning you’ll never fall in love and settle down?”
Before Rohan could answer, a female tourist stopped to ask Rohan for directions.
I didn’t repeat my question. Figured I didn’t want to put him in an awkward position.
After talking to Rohan, I felt much lighter. I hoped he felt the same way. It amazed me how Rohan and I could talk about the most dark, painful, and serious matters yet always find space for light humor.
* * *
Rohan and I arrived at work. It was still early, so there was no one around. Before we both went into our respective offices and closed the door behind us, he said, “Matron, I didn’t get the chance to respond to your question about falling in love.”
“Yeah?”
He flaunted his dimple. “Never say never.”
“Good. I’ll be on the lookout for a hottie for you.” I smiled.
He tapped on the door of his office and smiled. “Don’t be picky, Matron—even if there’s a pole and an audience involved, don’t rule her out.”
I looked for an object to throw at Rohan.
“Heehee.” He closed his door.
The day progressed. I hadn’t been exaggerating when I told Rohan that a colleague had been raped in broad daylight. Word had gone around the company a few days ago, and now, my boss in New Delhi was updating me on my colleague Rakhi’s deteriorating status and the political bureaucracy. I worked harder to channelize my disappointment with Delhi, where men preyed upon women and did not allow them to breathe with dignity or safety.
After his 4:00 p.m. meeting, Rohan followed me into the pantry area. As I made a cup of tea, he poured himself a cup of coffee in his patent Saints mug with “Who Dat Nation” printed in giant gold and black. “How are you holding up?”
“It’s been an awful day. I am very upset about Hedick. How can he be so conniving?”
Rohan heard me patiently. Somehow, his silence calmed me down so much more than anyone’s words ever would have. “I have the draft of the press release ready. Come take a look, and we’ll send it out to media outlets bright and early tomorrow, OK? I promise, this countermove will shut up Dracula.”
I told Rohan about Rakhi and the email from Ms. Roy with the update. “I am disgusted with New Delhi right now. I never want to see it. But it is also where my family lives and where Mumma’s ashes reside. It’s her birthday tomorrow and I just….”
“If there is anyone who can take on these fuckers, it’s you, Ahana. I know it. Never stop believing in yourself.” He gently pressed my shoulders.
I marveled at Rohan’s ability to say the most tedious things but somehow manage to comfort me.
* * *
That evening after work, I went to the Ganesha Temple in Flushing, Queens, with some relatives visiting from Connecticut. Naina didn’t like them, so she went away to Pennsylvania to hear a psychiatrist speak. I didn’t want to go to the temple, but I didn’t want to hurt Mom’s cousins. More importantly, it was Mumma’s birthday the next day, and I knew it would mean a lot to her. We always went to the temple on birthdays. My online therapy friends had suggested I do the things Mumma enjoyed for her birthday and celebrate her. I borrowed Naina’s salwar kameez, a brocade red, sleeveless, heavily embroidered piece of work, which was rather short and very loose for me. I often teased Naina that she had Bollywood tastes in Indian clothes. On my therapy forum, I posted a selfie of me at the Hindu Temple with the title, “Desi Girl,” after the temple visit.
I didn’t check my messages until I got back home later that evening. Everyone but Jay had posted comments about how they liked the outfit and my “Indian look.”
“I didn’t recognize you in your Indian outfit.” Jay sent me a message the second I got online. Stalker?
I wore my glasses and tied my hair up in a knot and wrote back. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Nah, I am your favorite friend, so I will always recognize you.” He added a wink at the end. “I meant you looked beautiful.”
“Haha, thank you. But how many women do you pay these empty compliments to?” I a
dded a smiley at the end of my message.
“The only woman I see is my cleaning lady. Trust me, you are not like those fat Mexicans.”
I remembered why I’d been out of touch with Jay for a while. I was bloody annoyed at myself for replying so breezily to his message. “How can you make such racist, cruel, and sexist remarks, Jay?”
“Fuck, I feel I am always walking on eggshells, Ahana. We can go from fun to serious so fast when you misinterpret a single little thing. I talk to my other friends, and they all understand that I am funny. Yes, it feels like you are looking for a reason to be disappointed with me sometimes.”
I threw my arms in the air. “I misinterpret because we communicate via emails and messages, Jay. You never come to the phone or Skype.”
“There we go, again. I told you I am depressed and don’t want to pull you down by getting onto the phone, but you won’t let it go.”
I collapsed on the chair as I heard my heart beat loudly. I was angry at myself for engaging with Jay. He knew what buttons to press; I reacted. Mumma would say that my empathy was my strength, but it only made me prey for men who knew what weaknesses to look for.
* * *
Next morning, October 14, I didn’t want to get out of bed. I had woken up every hour after midnight. I had gazed at the stars, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mumma. Is she celebrating up there? Did people wish her a happy birthday at midnight? I called up Dad, Chutney, and Lakshmi. I tried not to cry when I spoke with them. They had said a small prayer at home and planned to go out to dinner to Mumma’s favorite Greek restaurant. The last time we took her there, Mumma had picked up pieces of her favorite feta cheese and repeated a few lines from William Carolos Williams’ poem “This Is Just To Say”:
“Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.”
When Dad raised a toast to her, she said, “Darling, gastronomy and poetry are a natural pairing.”
It felt cruel to wake up in a world where I couldn’t celebrate the woman who meant everything to me. I composed myself when I spoke with Naina and Masi in Pennsylvania and New Orleans respectively, but it was hard. My family was big into celebrations. We would cut the cake at midnight. Give our gifts. Plan the birthday dinner a month ahead of time. Being completely alone on Mumma’s birthday was another reminder of the solitude in my life.
After finishing the phone calls and freshening up, I did a few sun salutations in the living room to calm myself down. I went to work but didn’t see Rohan. When I asked Crystal, she said he was busy with a client. I didn’t expect him to remember the importance of the date, anyway.
But Jay was a part of the online therapy group where I had shared that it was Mumma’s birthday. There were no “Hope you are OK” messages from him, yet our entire friendship was based on helping each other heal through our maternal losses.
I had mailed him a card from Delhi for his mother’s birthday at a P.O. Box number Jay had shared for Baton Rouge. I had checked up on him several times that day to make sure he wasn’t depressed. He’d written back, “If you weren’t around, I’d probably be someplace way the hell in the middle of nowhere. In the woods or some goddamn place. You’re the only reason I’m around, practically.”
It did seem odd Jay saying this as though I were a major presence in his life. But what did we really share? My voice had only been a stream of bytes in the global data network. That wasn’t a real friendship, was it?
I finished some more paperwork, and right before shutting down my laptop, looked at the time. It was 6 p.m. Not a word from Jay. I didn’t want to talk to him; however, I expected a note. A part of me wondered whether Dev and Jay had connected over social media—all the hints that Jay had been dropping about my past made me nervous. Dev hadn’t made any contact since the airport incident. I needed to stay connected with Jay to find out what he knew and whether he was in communication with my ex-husband.
- 14 -
Rohan was sitting in the lobby of Naina’s building when I entered. I was so lost in my thoughts that I jumped when he cleared his throat.
I held my laptop close to my chest. “What, are you a stalker now?”
Rohan pointed at his phone. “Or a good friend who is worried about you not answering your text messages.”
I pulled out my phone from the handbag. “Oh shit, I am so sorry! I put it on mute while I was working on estimating breakfast costs for the conference.”
“I bet you thought I was an inconsiderate jerk not to call and check on you.” He pressed the elevator button and held the door for me.
I was overwhelmed to see Rohan. Today was one day when I didn’t want to be alone. And without me uttering a word, he had shown up.
As we reached the eighteenth floor and the entrance to Naina’s apartment, I stepped around him and slid my key in the lock. “Seriously, why are you doing this?”
Rohan set my bag, his laptop, and a bag of groceries down on the cubby by the door. “I am cooking you dinner. This is a major friendship step. Now, remember my awesomeness whenever you get mad at me.” He laughed in an exaggerated tone.
“Paagal.”
He stretched his arms over his head. “Since I wasn’t in NOLA when you visited, I am bringing New Orleans to you tonight.”
“I am not hungry.”
“You look like you haven’t eaten all day, Matron!”
“But….”
He pushed me onto the sofa. “I am sorry I couldn’t call you earlier. I was at a client off-site in New Jersey. Fucking, moronic drivers in the Garden State. I tried to text you several times to ask what you were in the mood for.” He rubbed his hands together. “But I am here now, and I’m going to make us some Southern comfort food.”
Rohan looked around for something. “Do you not have any wine, Matron? Shame on you. And here you keep bragging about Indian hospitality. Tsk. Tsk.” He grinned.
I was so tired; I didn’t rise to the bait. He continued, “See, my Irish genes come in handy in moments like these.” Rohan pulled out a French pinot noir, my favorite, from the grocery bag, and set it down on the table. He hummed and fumbled around in the kitchen, looking for a corkscrew. He looked so comfortable in a strange kitchen, happy to cook, while I ran away from the mere mention of cooking. Rohan poured me a glass of wine and served some olives stuffed with bleu cheese along with it.
“This is too much, Rohan.” I had spent the day feeling lonely and exhausted with no one to talk to. The outpouring of his generosity overwhelmed me, especially today.
“No, it isn’t. I am a Southerner. And you know what they say about Southern hospitality?” He busied himself in the kitchen.
I crossed my legs and sank deeper into the sofa. “No, I don’t.”
Rohan covered my feet with a throw. “Relax and enjoy yourself.”
It felt good to be taken care of for a change.
We discussed my own thirty-minute talk scheduled right toward the end of the conference. We had argued plenty, and he was aware of my reservations, so Rohan asked me gently what I was willing to do for my job, how I would approach my responsibilities, and what I was willing to risk for the conference so it would truly be a truth-to-power event. With the conference less than three weeks away, I needed to decide. This had to be a speech and closing remarks to remember.
Rohan poured me my third glass of wine.
“Can I ask you something, Rohan?”
“Are we turning this evening into let’s-grill-Rohan night?”
“No. No.” I waved my hands as if trying to dismiss a bad smell.
“Then sure.” Rohan smiled and sat back on the sofa.
I wiped my mouth and collapsed deeper into the sofa. “Why do you like New Orleans so much?”
“New Orleans is the perfect place for romance.” Rohan took a sip of his wine.
“You know what intrigues me the most about New Orleans? Women sit on their guys’ shoulders and flash the world? I know using the word logic defeats the p
urpose of Mardi Gras. But, c’mon; everyone but the guy sees her thing. That’s awful!”
“Verbalize thing? What does thing mean?” Rohan teased.
“Her tits. Boobs. Breasts. Happy?” I started at the floor as my face heated up.
“I’m assuming the guy sees them later when the girl is totally drunk and they are in the hotel.”
“Excuse me? What are you hinting at?” My hands were on my hips.
“Haha, don’t flatter yourself, Matron; I said hotel.”
I tried to hit him, but he was too quick for me and got up from the sofa.
“All right, let’s get some food into you before you get sick.” Rohan hummed and behaved like the perfect friend and host.
He played Frank Sinatra in the background and made a big Cajun meal: blackened catfish, red beans and rice with Andouille sausages, corn in a special sauce, and a big salad.
Dinner was delicious.
I raised a toast to him. How well Rohan and I fit, despite our opposite worlds; it scared me. I was learning to trust and take risks again. How he helped me open the lonelier parts of myself that I shared with no one confused me. Our friendship had started to feel so old and comfortable; I was grateful.
I ate like I had never eaten before. “That’s my third helping,” I said coyly.
“How are you not as big as a house?” He laughed loudly.
“You caught me on a day I hadn’t eaten anything at all,” I mumbled softly with tears in my eyes. I didn’t tell him I hadn’t eaten this well since Mumma’s death or my divorce.
There was a pause for a few seconds. I have no idea what that meant.
Rohan cleared up the dishes and didn’t allow me to get up from the table. He served us some New Orleans style bread pudding with whiskey sauce that he’d brought with him. “To your mom. Happy birthday!”
I stared at him with tears in my eyes.
“It was your mom’s favorite dessert, right?”
When we were married, Dev didn’t even remember Mumma’s birthday. I had to remind him every year to wish her.
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