And Laughter Fell From the Sky

by Jyotsna Sreenivasan

  Then, a few weeks ago, against her mother’s wishes, her father had sent Dilip’s and Rasika’s horoscopes off to India. Three mornings ago Appa had received an e-mail from the astrologer stating that it wasn’t a good match, but if the two wanted to get married, they should send $200 for a special pooja to compensate for the unlucky star positions.

  Her father spent a few days pacing and twitching, while Rasika acted disappointed. Her mother had wanted to go ahead and send the money. “How long are we going to wait to get her married?” she demanded. “Let’s get this pooja done and get it over with.”

  “No,” her father had said, shaking his head and jerking his shoulders. “If it is not in the horoscope, better not to risk it. She is our only daughter. Let us make the best match for her.”

  India was their last hope.

  Rasika had escaped early in the morning, before they could catch her. She’d gone to her gym, where she’d agreed to the date with Benito, and had brunch with Jill, and then they both had wandered around a mall. Now she hoped she could sneak quietly into the house without her parents noticing.

  She hadn’t so much as flirted with any men since Abhay. Oddly, one reason she had been keeping away from men was that she wanted Abhay to be proud of her. She wanted him to know that she was following her chosen path in a mature, honest way. She’d get married soon to someone appropriate, Abhay would be a wedding guest, and she wanted to be able to look at him with clear eyes and have him know that she really was the person she always wanted to be. So she’d been plodding along, dutifully going to work, coming home, and helping her mother with the cooking. She’d bought a couple of craft magazines but hadn’t decided what craft she wanted to learn. Her days passed in a gray fog. Once, last Saturday, she had driven by the bookstore in Kent where Abhay used to work. It was silly, she knew, but somehow she felt better after seeing a place where he’d been.

  But today she just couldn’t be dutiful anymore. She was desperate for some excitement. Benito had been interested in her for months. She thought he was gorgeous but held back from flirting. She’d been remarkably demure. But she just had to get away from her parents tonight. Anyway, she and Benito didn’t have to end up in bed tonight. She had some self-control, after all. She was just going over to his place to relax and have a little fun. No one had to know.

  Unfortunately, as she drove up to her house, she saw that both her parents were at home: Amma’s car was in the garage, and Appa’s was in the driveway. She opened the door to the house as quietly as possible and slipped off her shoes.

  “Rasika?” Her mother’s voice shouted down to her.

  “I’m just here for a minute. I’m going out with Jill tonight.”

  “Come here.” Amma appeared on the upstairs landing as Rasika tried to sneak up to her room. Amma’s hair was messed up. It was held back in its usual ponytail, but one side was sticking out in a puff. “We talked with Prabhu Uncle last night about arranging for some meetings once we get to India. Your appa was up all night, on the phone to India. You must look at these photos and select.”

  “I don’t have time now. We’re seeing a movie, and it starts really soon.” At the top of the stairs she tried to slip past her mother and into her room, but Amma gripped Rasika’s upper arm.

  “You are not going anywhere. You will look at these photos now. We are trying our best to get you married before the deadline. Before your birthday in January.”

  Her father emerged from his office. He had pouches under his eyes, and his hand trembled as he reached an arm toward her.

  “Come on, raja.” He put his hand on her back and guided her to a chair placed next to his.

  “Show her the best one first.” Amma stood behind Appa with her hands on the back of his chair.

  “We will get to that.” Appa clicked, and Rasika saw a smiling brown man with a mustache.

  “That one is too short,” Amma said.

  Appa scrolled to the next: a long-faced man who looked as though he’d just eaten a lemon.

  “I don’t know why they don’t smile for their photos,” Amma said. “Although this fellow is so ugly, it wouldn’t matter.”

  “He is an IIT graduate,” Appa reminded her. “No one is looking at his photo.”

  “Maybe he has bad teeth,” Amma suggested, “and he is trying to hide his teeth by keeping his lips like that. I am not giving Rasika to someone who already has bad teeth. As if she needs that headache.”

  “We don’t know if he has bad teeth,” Appa said. He scrolled to the next photo. Rasika waited for their comments. They were both silent. She saw a somewhat puffy-faced smiling man. His teeth looked OK. Was this the “best one”?

  Amma said, “He has a brother in this country. He will already be somewhat Westernized, Rasika.”

  “Just because his brother lives here?”

  “His brother will be talking about this country, sending things home. This fellow will be familiar with the U.S. You won’t have to worry about someone who is—how do you say? FBI?”

  “FOB,” Rasika said. “Fresh Off the Boat.”

  “This one is no FBO. He is Westernized. And living in Bangalore, how can he not be? Bangalore is a world-class city. At least that is what they say nowadays. Twenty years ago no one paid any attention to Bangalore. Now all the high-tech companies are there.”

  “It may be a high-tech city, but I still don’t think I could marry someone who grew up in India.” Rasika stood up.

  “But he is so handsome!” Her mother put her hand on Rasika’s shoulder and pushed her back down on the chair. “Just look!”

  Rasika looked. He was light-skinned for an Indian, which for Amma meant handsome.

  “His field is biomechanical engineering,” Appa said. “A very promising area.”

  “That goes without saying,” Amma remarked. “All these fellows are in promising fields. We would not bother showing Rasika someone who is just an arts graduate, after all. Appa has called the travel agent about tickets. We will go in December. The matrimonial agent will send some more photos later on today.”

  “Amma.” Rasika stood up again. “I am not marrying someone who grew up in India.”

  “What is wrong with India? You are Indian!”

  “I’m Indian-American. I don’t think I could get along with someone raised in India.”

  “Look at this girl!” Amma raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “You were born in India. You lived there for eight years. Your own parents were raised in India. Don’t you get along with us? Anyway, you will be bringing him back here with you. No one is asking you to live in India.”

  “What about horoscopes? Aren’t you going to check the horoscopes of these guys first?”

  “Once we find some good prospects, then we will check. It will all take time. That is why we must hurry.”

  “I need to go.” Rasika ducked away from her mother’s outstretched arm and fled to her room.

  “You come straight home after that movie!” Amma called. “We must look at the next batch of photos and make some decisions!”

  The dinner with Benito was lovely. He had a cute tortilla press that made round circles out of balls of dough. It would be so handy for making rotis, since whenever Rasika tried to roll rotis they always ended up lopsided, or thick in some spots and paper thin in others. Benito had the sweetest little gas grill on the balcony of his apartment, and he expertly tossed on the beef strips and vegetables he had marinated earlier in the day. He served her a wonderful, fruity sangria.

  Now Rasika was on Benito’s oversize recliner with her arms around him and her eyes closed, allowing him to nuzzle her neck. She could stop things whenever she wanted. She just hadn’t chosen to yet.

  She heard, faintly, her phone melody. Benito pressed closer to her. The phone continued to ring. It stopped and started, over and over again.

  She pushed Benito away gently. “I have to get that.” She wandered into the kitchen, found her purse on the counter, dug out her phone, and opened it.


  “Where are you?” her mother’s voice demanded. “We are sitting here waiting for the princess to come home. They have sent more pictures. There are one or two very good prospects.”

  “I’m out with Jill.” At times like this, she was glad she could speak to her mother in Tamil.

  “Isn’t that movie finished yet?”

  “We just went out to a café. I’ll look at the pictures tomorrow.”

  “You tell Jill this is an emergency. Everyone has been working around the clock for you. Is this how you show your gratitude? It is morning now in India. If you make some decisions, they can book the meetings. The boy might have to travel, too, you know. One is in Delhi. One is in Singapore. Not everyone is sitting there just waiting for you to show up. These boys are well educated and they are not going to last long. If we delay, who knows?”

  “Rasika,” Benito called from the other room. “Come back.”

  “The waitress is here,” Rasika said. “I need to order now.”

  “Why don’t you bring Jill home? I have not seen her in so long. She can look at the pictures too and help you decide.”

  “No. I can’t. We’re too far away.”

  “Where are you, then? How far away could you be?”

  “Jill’s going through a hard time now. You know Jared? The man she’s been living with? He’s left.” That was true, although Jill had wanted him to go. “I’m comforting her.”

  “That is what these American men are like,” Amma said. “Any difficulty arises, and they leave. Poor Jill. She should never have agreed to live with him without marriage. That is why we are looking for an Indian husband for you, Rasika. You say you don’t want a man from India. If he is raised in India he will have the right values. He will not be thinking of divorce when the first thing goes wrong.”

  Benito wandered into the kitchen.

  “You bring Jill here. I will make her some chai. She will feel better.”

  Benito hugged Rasika from behind. “Amma, I’ll be home soon.” She pressed the “off” button while her mother was still talking, then shoved her phone to the bottom of her purse.

  She turned toward Benito, and he gave her a long, slow kiss. “Benny.” She halfheartedly extracted herself from his grip. “I can’t do this. I’m not ready.”

  “Hmm.” He hugged her tighter. “You seem ready to me.”

  “I gotta go.” She pushed at him a little harder. “That was my mom. There’s been an emergency at home.”

  He let her go with a sigh. She picked up her purse and, without looking at him, slipped on her shoes and was out the door before she could change her mind.

  A week later, on a bright and cool Sunday morning in October, Rasika and her father were on the golf course at their country club. As Appa went through his usual routine before teeing off at the first hole, Rasika gazed over the smooth green lawn dipping and rolling, and the wide crisscross plaid patterns made by the lawn mowers. She loved the trees posed around the course, the blue-green and black-green of the spruces displaying their feathery branches, the bright red and yellow of the trees in the distance.

  Appa loved golf. He was completely relaxed and focused on the course. It was like meditation for him. Now he stood behind his ball, ruminating on the shot he was about to take. His hair ruffled in the breeze, and his face was calm.

  Years ago he had tried to get Rasika and Pramod interested, paying for expensive lessons when they were preteens. Pramod declared the whole thing a bore and refused to play. Rasika had tried to please her father by joining him sometimes. The game was not bad, she thought. But her father would get so agitated at her grip, her stance, her choice of golf clubs, that her playing actually seemed to ruin the experience for him.

  So she gave up playing but sometimes just came with him. When she was thirteen or fourteen, she had been thrilled to be allowed to drive the golf cart, bumping and puttering around the course. As she had grown older, she grew to appreciate the beauty of the course itself—the way the trees were placed, the glint of sunshine off the mirror of the water trap in the distance, and the feeling of being insulated from the rest of the noisy, cluttered world in this quiet oasis. She preferred nature like this to the dark and wild park she’d visited with Abhay, where the trees looked like they were trying to climb around on their bare roots.

  “This will be a very good thing for you,” Appa said as they walked to the fairway. “We know the family. They are respectable, well educated. All the sons are in top fields—medicine, computers, business. And your horoscopes have matched very well.”

  He was referring to Yuvan, the most promising of the eligible bachelors. He had not come through the matrimonial agent. He was the son of Rasika’s aunt’s husband’s sister—he was Rasika’s cousin’s cousin. He was quite handsome, even Rasika had to admit, with a mustache, small goatee, and thick hair. She had first seen his photo last Saturday, after her dinner with Benito. His height was adequate, and he had an advanced computer degree. Rasika’s parents were impressed by the fact that he had won a lot of awards in school. His interests were old film songs, watching cricket, traveling, and exercising.

  Her parents had immediately procured the boy’s e-mail address and had begun corresponding with him and his parents. Over the past week they had even talked to them a few times over the phone and arranged for the horoscope evaluation. Rasika had thus far refused to have anything to do with him, which was why her father had invited her to join him this morning. Even though she knew her father’s goal was to persuade her to meet this guy, she had nevertheless accompanied Appa out here.

  They had reached her father’s ball. Instead of considering his next shot, he led her to a bench, and they sat down. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Appa came out with, “You are a good girl, Rasika. You have been living at home. You have not wanted to date. We are glad”—Appa’s shoulder twitched—“very glad to have raised such an obedient daughter.”

  Rasika’s face burned.

  “Since you have been raised outside of India, I know it is difficult for you to understand why we want to get you married in this way. You see, in India there are almost no divorces. Why is that? There is something about the Indian marriage system that works. We do not just rely on the inclinations of youngsters. We look for someone of a similar background, someone from a good family. Then we match the horoscopes. In that way, we get God involved. God knows better than anyone, is it not?”

  Rasika nodded. She didn’t like to think too much about God, because what she had been doing was obviously not in line with what God wanted. At least, not the God her parents believed in. After she was safely married, she could think about God all she wanted.

  “What are your objections to meeting Yuvan?” Appa asked. Before she could answer, he continued, “Is it just that he lives in India? You must keep an open mind. You may like him. No one is asking you to live in India. After all, he is saying he is eager to come here. Your mother is very anxious to see your marriage take place. I was really astonished at how well the horoscopes matched. Why don’t you at least agree to speak to him over the phone?”

  She wanted to believe her father, and to move on with her life. She didn’t want to keep living at home as a single woman and being tempted by every random male. She’d never think of actually marrying someone like Benito—a gym trainer who’d never graduated from college—even if he were Indian. So what was she playing at? What was she waiting for?

  “I am wondering”—Appa’s voice became ragged, and he cleared his throat—“if you might have someone you are already interested in.”

  Rasika bit her lip and glanced at her father. “What do you mean?”

  “Balu Uncle called the other day.”

  Subhash’s father. Rasika’s heart gave a sick leap.

  “We were talking about this and that, and I mentioned the latest batch of photos we received. He said, you know, these girls raised in the U.S., they want to find someone of their own. I told him, Rasika is not like that. And then
he told me that he thought you were interested in”—her father’s cheek twitched—“Abhay.”

  “No, Appa.” She let out her breath.

  “Subhash says he has seen you with Abhay, here and there.”

  “It was just an accident, Appa. I wasn’t really with him. We just happened to be in the same place at the same time.” She had repeated this so many times, she was starting to believe it herself.

  “Abhay is a good boy, I am sure.” Appa blinked rapidly. “But I cannot accept, and my mother will not accept. You know, Rasika, his family is of a different caste. We are Brahmins. They are not.”

  “Appa, I don’t even know why you’re talking about this. He’s not my type at all. Caste has nothing to do with it.”

  “Of course, caste does not matter when it comes to job opportunities, and socializing.” Her father seemed not to have heard her. “I am not so backward.”

  “Appa, I’m not interested in Abhay. He’s just a boy, Pramod’s friend.”

  Her father continued, still oblivious to what she had said. “But when it comes to marriage, we cannot allow. When you have children, the blood will be mixed. That is not our way.”

  “I don’t understand why we even still follow the caste system, Appa. Brahmins are supposed to be priests, and we’re not priests.” Rasika used to ask these questions as a child, and she’d never received a satisfactory answer.

  “It is not just a question of profession.” Appa clasped his hands tightly, yet they were still shaking. “Nowadays science has discovered genes. In olden days, no one knew about genes, so we had the caste system. Brahmins are the highest caste for that reason.”

  “What are you saying? You really believe Brahmins are genetically superior?”

  “The story says Brahmins are created from the face of God. The other castes are from other, lower body parts. The Kshatriyas are from the arms, Vaishyas from the thighs, and Shudras from the feet.” Appa seemed calmer now, pointing to each body part as he mentioned it. “Of course, everyone has equal opportunity now in India. In fact, the government bends over for the backward castes. They have so many reserved seats at the best colleges for the tribals and lower castes. Sometimes smart Brahmins cannot even get into those colleges.”