The Rearranged Life

by Annika Sharma

  I gasp. Dating an outsider can be acceptable, but living together before marriage is still taboo.

  “Krishna Mavayya was a badass,” I tell my dad now, and he chuckles, comfortably reminiscing. We’re still in the car, facing each other in our seats.

  “He didn’t tell your Ammama or Tattaya. Or even Amma. He went on his merry way for over a year.”

  There’s some question whether I’m being compared to someone who pushed the boundaries even further than I did. But I have to know what happened, so I ask.

  “Your Amma and I were going to leave for America one week after we got married. Krishna Mavayya came back from school for our wedding. A family friend of ours had asked about Krishna’s status, to see if they could marry their daughter to him. Your Ammama and Tattaya were certain this marriage would be fixed too. They went as far as to say yes to a meeting.”

  “Like you and Amma had?”

  “Exactly. Krishna then dropped the bomb, so to speak. He told everyone at the meeting–your grandparents, your mom, the prospective family, me, that he would only marry Neelam.”

  “That’s intense!”

  “And an understatement. I was only in the family for three days, and this was my induction!” he exclaims, and I giggle.

  “How were Ammama and Tattaya with the news?”

  “They told him on no uncertain terms he would not marry Neelam. Your grandmother said she wouldn’t cross the threshold of the house with a bride so different from our family. Neelam’s family was not happy either. They wanted her to marry someone similar to their own family too. The differences were not easy. Amma’s sendoff to the United States was very uncertain and she left during a very tumultuous time.”

  “But they were married anyway,” I say, thinking of Mohini and what a wonderful child came from such an inauspicious start to a family.

  “They eloped.”

  “They what?”

  “They got married in secret. When they arrived at the house, your grandfather couldn’t even look Krishna in the eye. They had been humiliated by his announcement and the public scrutiny that came after. To save face, both families threw a big wedding. Amma couldn’t go because we were in graduate school. She was so upset, it was probably for the best.”

  “They’re at our house now. It couldn’t be so bad,” I rationalize, not wanting to picture my family being torn apart.

  “It took a year for your grandparents to reconcile with Krishna. They didn’t invite him to any events. He and Neelam didn’t call either of their families for their parties or poojas either. It was very tense. Amma called and tried to fix their problems. She wrote letters, too. When Mohini was born, and it was the first grandchild, the ice began to melt.”

  “I had no idea,” I say, wonderstruck.

  “To be fair, Krishna chose a wonderful woman. Neelam runs a tight ship, and they are a good match. He should not have lied, though. And on your grandparents end, they were blindsided. The issue became bigger than a love marriage because of all the deceit. I have never heard your grandmother be mean except for when she talked to Krishna during that time.”

  “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I mumble, and he gives me a sympathetic glance. “So, why now? Why are you telling me this now?”

  “I guess so you know you aren’t alone.”

  His simple statement brings me an enormous sense of understanding. Through this journey, despite James and Sophia’s support, I have felt alone. That has been the saddest part. It nags at night and makes me feel like no one truly gets it. When I’m happy with James, a part of me is broken that my parents aren’t involved. When I’m with my parents, a piece of me is with James and that piece tells me to stand up and fight more often. None of my friends have gone through this. Sejal doesn’t understand. Sophia tries to, but even in her immersion in my culture as my roommate, she has no idea what the daily struggle entails. I thought my father had no idea either, and has only viewed it as a family tragedy. Here, he proves with one familial tale that we aren’t so far apart after all. He’s known me better than anyone all along.

  “Nithya, this story of love and fighting your family has existed for much longer than you think. You don’t believe it, but we were young once too. We faced those same struggles. We’ve had our own fights. Amma fought to go to college in a time when girls were just beginning to feel encouraged. Krishna Mavayya fought for the woman he loved. None of this is new. It’s just a different context.”

  “Amma hasn’t come around, even if she knows what it’s like,” I say stubbornly.

  “She remembers very vividly what her parents have gone through. She doesn’t know how else to get you to listen without using harsh words. It’s not right, but it’s the only way she knows. Neelam has turned out fine for our family. Krishna and she have adjusted. It wasn’t so catastrophic after all. You have to remember also, Nithya, that we found out very abruptly what was happening. It was very much a shock to both of us, just like it was with your grandparents. Sometimes, snapping is the only way to handle it.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I sigh. “I didn’t expect this to happen. It just did.”

  “We know… and you told us very soon in the grand scheme of things. I have watched you this school year. You became very careful around us. Then you mentioned James once, and Amma noticed. Your face is much easier to read than you think. Being in love with an American, well, I won’t say it was our happiest moment. But we have dealt with love marriages before, and we will find a way again.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes… you will always be my daughter, and I will love you no matter what.” He says this fiercely and then comes in for a big hug. The familiar scent of cardamom with the burden being lifted from my shoulders is a sensation I will never forget. “But I have one very big favor to ask you.”

  “Anything.” I pull away questioningly.

  “Let us meet him. Let us form an opinion, too. Marriage is two families coming together,” he repeats the wisdom he’s told me since I hit puberty. “Lying, keeping secrets, doing things in a less dignified way… it doesn’t become you. You are better than that. You wouldn’t have chosen him unless he was worth something. So let us decide how we feel, too.”

  “Done.” I tell him, honestly. The burden is lifted. I’m free.

  y the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania and the Board of Trustees…” the President of Penn State speaks. “I hereby confer upon you baccalaureate degrees. You are now graduates of the Pennsylvania State University.”

  The cheers are momentous. Sixteen thousand family, friends, and newly graduated seniors erupt in applause and raucous cheers, despite the administration’s requests for decorum (and a last minute appeal for money from the alumni association). To hell with it, we think. We put four years and thousands of dollars in. A loud cheer is exactly what we need.

  The commencement speakers at the ceremonies I attend (two, for both degrees) speak of greatness untold and our inner spirit, which can carry us away in the sails of success if we pursue the opportunity. They are rousing speeches, ones filled with hope, promise, and optimism. There is a quiet ambition, one to be greater than our preceding generation and no one, with the exception of a young child, has the naiveté and careless abandon that a new adult has to believe the notion… because we don’t know better and we don’t want to.

  When thousands of graduates, waving to our families as we make frantic phone calls telling them where to meet us outside the Bryce Jordan Center, file out of the rows upon rows of seats, we are full of desire to be rich, famous, and successful in our fields.

  It has been six weeks since the rejection and since I changed everything by admitting I had begun to date an American. One who stands now in his suit, about to shake hands with my parents. Our families flank each other, Tristan and Anisha already talking about basketball. Mrs. St. Clair and Mr. St. Claire are watchful, quietly observing this major step for all of us. My father, whom I have never respected
more, reaches out first.

  “It’s nice to meet you, James. I hear you’re going to law school–congratulations.”

  James reaches his hand out, and in the stretched out seconds before their hands connect, Amma meets my eye. Grace Hopper’s quote rings in my mind, “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.” Amma’s slight nod isn’t a loud proclamation that all is well, but the subtle meaning that she’ll try is good enough for me. When I smile, unable to help myself, she returns an equally encouraging grin.

  James and my dad clasp hands, meeting eyes. To me, it feels like a compromise, one of many this year has produced. When James makes a move toward Amma, I hold my breath.

  “I have heard a lot of nice things about you. Thank you for helping my daughter through the last few weeks,” she tells him.

  When James says, in his characteristic humility, that it was nothing, a spark of respect gleams in her eyes.

  “Let’s get a picture, everyone,” Mr. St. Clair suggests. We all position ourselves–kids by kids, parents by parents. The formality in the picture is about to be captured by a random passerby until Mrs. St. Clair gently puts her arm around my mom, who stiffens slightly before, to my awe, relaxing and returning the gesture.

  Now that they’ve met, we will see what the future holds for James, my family, and I. There are decisions to be made and plans to be worked out if James and I last as long as I suspect we will. Yet today, when Mrs. St. Clair animatedly talks to my mom, whose hands slowly stop wringing as she warms up, and when James, Mr. St. Clair, and my dad are already discussing the technical aspects of conducting such a huge graduation, I don’t feel a rush to come to solid conclusions. In fact, I’m not in a rush to think too much at all. Instead, I close my eyes and breathe in.

  “Congratulations, best friend!” Sophia cries as Sejal hands me flowers and gives me a big hug as we return to the apartment. Both are still dressed up from their ceremonies, which happened simultaneously with mine.

  Sejal and I formed a bond over the college rejections, one I never expected. I was under the impression she would think she overestimated my abilities. Her answer had shocked me when I had told her I wouldn’t be joining her anywhere last week.

  “Are you kidding? What the hell more could they want? You’re exactly what a doctor should be!”

  I’d stared at her, too dumbfounded to speak. I’d never heard a compliment so directly from Sejal, and all I could counter it with was a simple thanks, but it had touched me deeply. All this time I had viewed us as competitors out for blood, but underneath it all, she had truly viewed me as an equal. It took a failure to realize we’d found success within our friendship.

  “You ready for New York?” she asks, with true enthusiasm.

  “I’m ready for anything,” I tell her confidently.

  A laboratory in New York called a week ago. They offered me the position to research the neurological basis of emotion. It seems serendipitous considering this entire year has been one emotional journey. It also marked the beginning of a different road. I hadn’t gone into this interview with scripted answers. Instead, I did enough digging into what the research was about and how to show I was interested. I went in blank, determined to be knowledgeable and more than that, to be honest.

  “What made you apply for this position?” The interviewer, Joanna, had asked me in the kindest tone I’d ever heard.

  “I didn’t get into medical school,” I said and this time, the words didn’t hurt. “It seemed like the end of my world, because as we’ve already talked about, I was pretty involved. When I thought about it more, however, I realized I still want to know more about the human body. I still want to keep learning. Medical school may have been the original goal, but the motive behind it, to constantly study the body and what it’s capable of… that hasn’t faded. Medicine might be the front line, but research is what pushes it forward. I’ll be happy making any difference I can in healthcare. If that means I go back to my lab roots, then I’ll do it. If I can learn and make a difference, it seems like the perfect opportunity.”

  Joanna had looked pleased at my answer. I walked out of the interview without any disappointment.

  My father was right. Life is a blank slate. It can be geared toward one goal, with a narrow focus and tunnel vision, and then the world steps in. It can hit you like a brick wall or it can touch you like a feather, but from that moment, you are never the same. Your direction is changed forever. Suddenly, the straight path, the one you walked on your entire existence, is fading away in the rearview as you’re headed toward a new destination. Perhaps the road will lead me back here. Perhaps I’ll have to reexamine the decisions I’ve made someday in the future and take a loop. But for now, every time I consider a path, whether it is old or new, a new road sprouts up from the one I am traveling on. They are parallel, perpendicular, loopy, and zigzaggy, and hilly, but they are taking me where I need to go. Where I’m meant to be.

  It’s taken only nine months to come to this crossroads. The same amount of time it would take to fly a spaceship to Mars. To grow four and a half inches of hair. For women to conceive, grow, and give birth to a baby. It feels like my entire life has changed. My very first choice was to take the path that led to James. Every other offshoot has been unprecedented, a surprise opening on a back road… Choosing to date him, learning to make life-changing decisions on my own, the ability to come back undefeated from a devastating blow, and the openness to changes–something I never would have been down with at the beginning of this memorable senior year. Nine months. That’s it.

  I don’t know how James and my family will play out. I don’t know what I’ll do in the future. I do know one thing, as I stare at Sejal’s family, Sophia and her mother Sarah, my family and the St. Clairs: For now, when I am surrounded by the people I love, the open road in front of me looks glorious.

  To Amma and Daddy, for being my pillars of strength. You never cease sacrificing for me, all in the name of my success. For that, I am the luckiest. I hope I can live up to the privilege of having you as parents. Sri, you are every form of dignity and brilliance that I could never manage. Every step you take fills me with pride. I love you three. Thank you for our culture, love and laughs.

  To my extended family in India—you may be far away but your support is close to my heart.

  To my best girls: Liz, my best friend on earth, for being my rock and the best listener I have ever met. Melissa, for reading every draft I’ve written and always responding when I had doubts about the story…or what shoes to buy. Sarah and Kayla, for always dropping everything and indulging in Starbucks with me. Nidhi, Sarika and Trusha, for being loving, realistic and supportive of my shenanigans. Megan, for seeing into the future and telling me to finish the story the day I wrote the first scene.

  To Rob and Rachel, the SBS family, and my supportive Penn State professors for encouraging me to meet my professional potential as well as my personal aspirations. It’s not every day you get to watch the best when it comes to both learning and exploration.

  To Stacey: the day you asked for my full manuscript was one of the most exciting days of my life! It only gets better every time you go to bat for me, and have my best interests at heart. I couldn’t have asked for a better agent or friend! Here’s to many more.

  To the NAC—Amanda, Ara, Jessica, Kate, Laura, Marie, Meredith and Sophia: our little debut family is amazing. Thanks for all the #ff’s, freak out chats, and tips on how not to lose our minds.

  To my CQ family: Lisa, for smoothing out the many kinks and making this a novel instead of a Word document and understanding these characters. Nikki and Andrew, for answering many, many questions about everything under the sun, even the ones directed to the wrong person. Eugene, for the time you spent on my cover and all of your tech expertise. Clare and Vicki for all of your promotion and help. Anita, for all the number crunching. Helga, Tanya and Rhea for all the behind-the-scenes work and Hans for your technical expertise.

  And finally, f
or all of the people who read this book and feel something. James and Nithya’s love story going into the world is monumental for me…and if you are reading these words, I owe you my utmost thanks, love and hugs for using your precious time to hear their tale. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

  Annika Sharma was born in New Delhi and brought up in the United States, where she moved with her parents as a baby. A proud alum, she graduated from Penn State University with dual degrees in Biobehavioral Health and Neuro-Psychology, and minors in Biology and Human Development and Family Studies. She received her Master’s degree in Early Childhood Special Education before pursuing her dreams of becoming a writer, landing her agent Stacey Donaghy of Donaghy Literary Group while daylighting as a preschool teacher.The Rearranged Life, her first novel, was written in the month before graduate school.

  Annika, a Gryffindor and Scorpio, spends much of her time dreaming of adventure, working on her next book, going on Starbucks runs with family and friends, shopping online and watching superhero movies.

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  Caller 107, by Matthew Cox

  (http://bit.ly/1oSS2nf)

  When thirteen-year-old Natalie Rausch said she would die to meet DJ Crazy Todd, she did not mean to be literal.

  Whenever WROK 107 ran contests, she would dive for the phone, getting only busy signals. At least, with her best friend, even losing was fun―before her parents ruined that too.

  Her last desperate attempt to get their attention goes as wrong as possible. With no one to blame for her mess of a life but herself, karma comes full circle and gives her just a few hours to make up for two years’ worth of mistakes–or be forever lost.