Rasika grasped the program and scanned the lines. “This was a very traditional wedding—or at least as traditional as my mother could make it. But the meaning is really so modern, isn’t it? Abhay, we should get someone to write this out in calligraphy, in Sanskrit and English, and have it framed.”
“Go for it. You’re better than I am at decorating.” He put an arm around her waist and strolled to the next table, where Chris Haldorson and his mother were seated.
“What a beautiful wedding,” Mrs. Haldorson said. Tears were shining in her eyes. “Your mother must be just beside herself.”
Chris gave him a bear hug. “I’m so happy for you, Adios!”
“Adios?” Rasika furrowed her brow at Abhay.
“It’s a long story,” Abhay said.
Chris shook hands with Rasika. “Watch out for this guy.” He nudged Abhay, then sat down and began mopping up some tamarind sauce with the last portion of his samosa. “Hey, this food is great.”
“It must be hard without your dad.” Abhay set a hand on Chris’s shoulder.
“It was his time.” Chris grasped his mother’s hand with his free hand. “So now it’s just me and Mom in the house.”
Mrs. Haldorson dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “You’ll find someone of your own soon, just like Adios here,” she said. “You’ll have a place of your own.”
“Mom, I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll have me.” He shrugged at Abhay. “I’m being a good Indian son, right?”
Abhay laughed. “Better than me, I’m sure.”
Rasika and Abhay stepped out onto the sunny patio to talk with Seema and Jawad. Abhay waved to Dr. Ben-Aharon, sitting at a patio table gesturing to Abhay’s father, who seemed to be listening intently.
“This is a dramatic outfit.” Rasika fingered the hem of Seema’s purple spaghetti-strap top, worn over a matching slim long skirt with a slit up one leg. “It feels like silk. And the hat is great.”
Seema put a hand up to her purple head wrap. “Jawad bought the whole set for me.” She smiled at Jawad, who said, “I don’t know anything about fabric. I just like how she looks in it.”
Leaves rustled in the breeze. Rasika glistened in the sunlight.
“So I hear you two are moving to Berkeley,” Jawad said.
“We went out last month and found an apartment,” Rasika said. “And I put in applications at about a dozen banks.”
“She’s already had three phone interviews,” Abhay said proudly.
“Where are you going for your honeymoon again?” Seema asked.
“Point Reyes National Seashore,” Rasika said. “It’s near Berkeley, and of course near the ocean. I have to be near water.”
“She claims she’s going to camp with me.” Abhay raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief.
Rasika laughed at him. “I want to save money. My parents have spent so much on the wedding and my medical treatment. I can deal with a few nights of camping.”
Pramod leaned out the door. “Amma says we’re going to do the cake now.”
Guests streamed into the room and toward the cake. Rasika lingered behind. “Something smells lovely.” She lifted her face to the air. “I wonder what that’s from.” She walked away from the doorway, toward the urns of flowers at the edge of the patio, and bent over a stalk of white bell-shaped flowers.
“Come in.” Abhay followed after her and grasped her hand.
“Stay with me a minute.” She pulled him close. “Smell these.”
He bent down and sniffed. “Nice. Come on, everyone’s waiting.”
“I don’t want to go in yet. I don’t want this day to end.”
They stood quietly, facing away from the wedding hall. The air was very warm. Surrounding them was the low hum of insects, changing tone every so often, becoming lower and softer, or higher and louder. Above that hum, birds burbled and chirruped. Tiny insects flitted white in the sunlight, and disappeared into the shade.
“Look up,” Rasika said. They both tipped their heads back and gazed at the maple leaves above them, some dappled in shade, and some glowing pure green in the sunlight.
“Everything is so beautiful.” Rasika sighed. “I just want to hold on to this moment. Can anything ever be this beautiful again?”
“We’ll have lots more wonderful moments.” Abhay slipped an arm around her and pulled her close.
She pressed her palms together and touched her index fingers to her chin. “For all these months I’ve been so focused on getting better and planning the wedding. And now we’re married. What happens next?”
“You mean, you’re worried because there’s nothing more to plan? You just have to step through that door and eat some cake!”
She smiled. “After that, I mean. Part of me wishes I could plan our future the way I planned this wedding.”
“We can’t know what’s in store for us.” Abhay took her hands in his. “We have to proceed anyway, and the path will appear as we go.”
She touched his cheek and smiled. “I always knew you were wise.” She readjusted her gold and pink scarf over her shoulders. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Hand in hand, they walked through the doorway to the rest of their lives.
Acknowledgments
This novel was inspired by The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton. I have always been fascinated and frustrated by the character of Lily Bart in Wharton’s novel. Her situation—the need she felt to fit into her society by marrying the right kind of person—seemed so similar to the situation faced by many Indian-Americans, who feel pressure to enter into an arranged marriage. So, I wanted to explore a Lily-type character who is a modern-day Indian-American woman.
The character of Lawrence Selden in The House of Mirth represents an alternative to Lily’s gilded-cage society. Selden’s world is about art and music and has a bit more freedom in terms of behavior. Yet Selden always seemed too sure of himself, leading me to wonder: did he ever have any doubts about his own choices? I wanted to explore this question by creating a Selden-type character who is seeking his place in the world, who has a vision of what a perfect society would be like, but who is not able to find it.
My friend Sally Kearney was the first person to read a draft of this novel, and her enthusiasm for the story gave me confidence.
My agent, Jenni Ferrari-Adler with Brick House Literary Agents, was able to see the potential of this novel and worked hard to help me realize it. Her guidance and good judgment have been invaluable. Also at Brick House, Sally Wofford-Girand, Melissa Sarver, and Miya Dunets provided valuable feedback and suggestions.
My editor, Maya Ziv, has been tireless with her perceptive questions and suggestions. She has helped me smoothly navigate the journey to a published book. Mary Sasso, Maggie Oberrender, and Jennifer Hart in the HarperCollins marketing department were early, enthusiastic supporters. Emin Mancheril designed an evocative cover, and Shelly Perron did a thorough job copyediting.
I would like to thank my family for their general love and support, as well as for their enthusiasm for this novel and their suggestions: my husband, Mark Winstein; my parents, Vimala and V.V. Sreenivasan; and my brother, Sharad Sreenivasan. My two sons provide lots of fun and help me keep life in perspective.
I have benefited greatly, in my life and my writing, from classes I’ve taken through Landmark Education, and meditation techniques I’ve learned through Swami Nithyananda’s Life Bliss Foundation. I would like to thank both organizations for their contributions to my life.
About the Author
JYOTSNA SREENIVASAN, the daughter of Indian immigrants, was born and raised in Ohio. She earned an M.A. in English literature from the University of Michigan. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous literary magazines, and she has received literature grants from the Washington, DC Commission on the Arts and Humanities. The author of several nonfiction books published by academic presses, and the creator of the online Gender Equality Bookstore, she lives in Moscow, Idaho, with her family. This is her first novel.
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Aruna’s Journeys
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Credits
Cover design by Emin Mancheril
Cover photograph © by Brooke Fasani/Plain Picture
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
AND LAUGHTER FELL FROM THE SKY. Copyright © 2012 by Jyotsna Sreenivasan. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-210576-9
EPub Edition © JUNE 2012 ISBN: 9780062105776
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