Just Looking for Happiness
Usually Saroj enjoyed the afternoon rummy parties she and her friends had been having for the past twenty years. But not this afternoon. Everyone knew what Devi had done, and they were talking ceaselessly about suicide and how many people they knew who had attempted or committed suicide.
Usually Renuka Chopra and Saroj got along like rice and pickle, but this day Saroj wanted to strangle her with the pallu of her blue-and-yellow sari.
“My brother's best friend in college hung himself from the ceiling fan in his hostel room.” Renuka offered her suicide story dramatically. “His tongue was sticking out, not nice and clean like they show in the movies. It was horrible. Poor Brijesh, he didn't sleep properly for years after that. So, Saroj, I know what you are going through. But remember, she is alive.”
Did she look like she needed consoling? Saroj wondered as she smiled unconvincingly.
“Why don't we start the game?” she suggested before someone else could start telling her suicide story.
“Ah, can we wait another five minutes?” Meera Reddy, their hostess, asked and then grinned. “I thought I would surprise all of you. We are having a special guest today. Guess who?”
“Madhuri Dixit,” Karuna Rao offered immediately.
“Just because she married some guy in LA doesn't mean she shows up in the Bay Area to play cards with us,” Kala Shetty muttered. “So, Meera, kaun aa raha hai}”
Meera smiled smugly. “Not Madhuri, but someone closer to our times. Amrita Saxena.”
“Of Kala Gulab and Love in London?” Renuka asked, her eyes shining brightly.
“The same,” Meera said gleefully. “She married husband number three five years ago. He's some Gujrati business fellow, and he knows Sri. We met them at a party last week. They just moved to Atherton and I asked her if she had time for a rummy game. She jumped at the idea. Bored it seems. They were in New Jersey and she had lots of friends there, so she's looking for new friends. I thought we could help her.”
All the women agreed that it was fabulous even though they were jealous that they had never invited someone as posh as Indian movie star Amrita Saxena to their house for a rummy game.
Saroj couldn't help but feel excited. She had seen Amrita Saxena dance around trees with her favorite movie actors before she left India. Amrita Saxena was part of her teenage years, part of the life she'd left behind in her homeland.
“Arrey, we should ask her how it was to act with Vikram Anand,” Karuna said brightly.
“And Shashi Kapoor,” Saroj piped in.
“And Raj Kumar,” Renuka said dreamily. “He would talk in that deep voice and I would start getting goose bumps in the most unlikely places.”
“Chee, Renuka,” Meera said with an embarrassed smile. “How you talk.”
“What? You don't have a big thing for apna Amitabh?” Kala teased. “Honestly, are there any real men in the business besides Amitabh?”
“Oh, I like Aamir Khan,” Saroj said in defense of the new generation of stars, and the conversation went from suicide to Bollywood in no time.
Meera and Karuna were new to the group, but Saroj had known Renuka and Kala for more than two decades now. They had followed their husbands and their husbands’ dreams to the United States. Kala's and Renuka's husbands had opened a software company together. They'd sold the company during the software boom in the early 1990s and had recently started a business in India.
Saroj was immediately envious. She'd insisted Avi join Kala's and Renuka's husbands but he'd refused, saying that he simply didn't have the energy to start yet another business.
“But we could move to India then,” Saroj had said in despair.
“But I don't want to move to India and I know nothing about semiconductors, Saroj. I'm not interested in what they're doing,” Avi told her.
Saroj was further baffled when Renuka and Kala refused to move full time to India.
“Arrey, visiting is okay, but I can't live there. My mother-in-law will drive me crazy,” Kala said to Saroj. “You haven't been to India for a long time or you wouldn't want to move back there, either. I like to visit, but California is home.”
In the beginning Kala and Renuka had joined her in bitching and moaning about how hard their husbands worked and how difficult it was to raise their children alone in a strange country. They got together at least once a week and brought a piece of India into their lives. They would order Hindi movies on video from India and have marathon movie sessions.
Saroj realized that Kala and Renuka were the women she was closest to, yet she couldn't tell them anything about how things were with Avi, how Devi's silence was gnawing at her, and how she was worried about Shobha and Girish, who didn't seem to be happy at all.
“I met your Girish the other day,” Kala said as if on cue. “We were at the Stanford shopping mall and he was there, too, buying some chicken or something at the butcher. Didn't remember me and when I told him who I was, he just smiled, was very polite and then left. I don't think he remembered me. Total absentminded professor, your son-in-law.”
Saroj laughed. In the beginning they envied Saroj for snagging such a catch for Shobha but now they sympathized with her for having such an unfriendly son-in-law.
Kala's daughter, Puja, had married an American man. Kala hadn't minded at all, though Saroj couldn't understand why. Nice Indian girls didn't go around marrying American men. It just wasn't right. Mark was a lot friendlier to Kala than Girish was to her. Her daughter had an arranged marriage to a nice Indian boy and they both were at each other's throats all the time, while Kala's daughter married some white boy and… well, everyone had their own karma to contend with.
“How about Devi?” Meera asked. Are you going to start looking for a boy now?”
Saroj shrugged and said, “Maybe.”
Everyone was too polite to point out that looking for a boy for Devi would be a futile attempt. No decent family would be interested in an arrangement now that Devi's latest escapade had hit the gossip charts of the Bay Area Indian community.
“Why don't we just start playing?” Karuna suggested, trying to break the awkward silence that filled the room.
And then as the first set of cards was being dealt, Amrita Saxena showed up.
“I got lost,” she said sheepishly. “Everything is so different from New Jersey, a lot of adjusting for me.”
Amrita Saxena spoke with a polished semi-American accent. It was not adjusting the way Indians said it, it was adjusting where the t and d came out with American flourish. Saroj had lived in the United States for more than three decades now and still spoke with a pukka Indian accent.
Saroj disliked Amrita Saxena instantly.
Karuna, Meera, and Renuka seemed unperturbed by the accent and were starstruck, as if they had just met a goddess but Saroj knew that Kala would agree with her that Amrita Saxena was a fraud.
“And Shashi Kapoor, what was he like?” Meera asked with excitement.
The card game as such was not really being played.
“He's such a doll,” Amrita replied, and Kala rolled her eyes. “An amazing man, very devoted to Jennifer when she was alive, never strayed even though there was a lot of temptation.”
The other three were so enthralled with Amrita and her stories of the Hindi film industry that Kala and Saroj had to nudge everyone to drop a card or pick one up.
“Really?” Karuna said. “You mean … women threw themselves on him?”
“It happened all the time, but he's a gentleman,” Amrita said. “When I made Hum Turn Sath Sath with him, I was going through such a bad period. I was divorcing Rakesh—”
“Rakesh Bajaj?” Renuka asked to confirm.
“Yes.” Amrita sighed. “He was my first true love, but… a girl learns everything is not written in stone.”
“Marriage is not written in stone?” Kala asked impertinently.
“Rakesh used to slap me around,” Amrita explained, a small tremor in her voice. But t
hen she was an accomplished actress and knew how to deliver her lines, Saroj thought without feeling any compassion.
“It was a long time ago but I can still remember the fear and pain.” She sighed dramatically and Saroj wanted to stomp her feet on the ground. She had read the gossip magazines and many of the reporters thought the reason for the divorce was not Rakesh Bajaj's abusive ways but Amrita Saxena's affair with the director of her hit film Jamuna, Pradeep Shankar. And the journalists were probably right: Amrita Saxena married Pradeep Shankar just a few months after her divorce from Rakesh.
These movie stars lived such debauched lives, Saroj thought in disgust as the excitement of meeting a live actress faded swiftly under Amrita's false accent and melodramatic tales.
“And then why did you divorce Pradeep Shankar?” Saroj asked and saw Meera shake her head and mouth a hush.
Amrita looked straight at Saroj and smiled sadly. “When we got married we loved each other so much. It didn't matter to me that he had that limp. Polio. He was always ashamed about it. But for me, he was my god. And I loved him, but I couldn't compete with the passion he had for his work. I even quit acting for two years after we were married, but he was never there, always working, always gone. Can you imagine what that was like?”
For an instant Saroj wondered if Amrita knew the truth about Avi's bad working hours and the emptiness of her marriage. Was Amrita baiting her?
Amrita licked her lips and set the cards she was holding down on the table. “He was in love with the camera more than he was with any woman, definitely not me. I couldn't compete and how long was I supposed to play the extra in the movie of his life?” She paused after delivering that electric line and then rose from her chair. “Excuse me,” she said and then asked Meera directions to a bathroom.
Kala sighed dramatically as soon as Amrita was out of earshot. “Extra in the movie of his life? Kya acting. My God, the woman never left the movies.”
And what is all this about he was my god. All bakwas,” Saroj said.
“Oh come on, Kala, Saroj,” Meera said angrily. “What is wrong with the two of you? She's a nice woman.”
“Yes,” Karuna said, “and imagine being hit by her husband. I feel so sorry for her.”
“Hitting, nothing. She was doing it with that director while she was married to her first husband,” Saroj retorted.
“And how do you know that?” Renuka asked, annoyed. “Come on, Saroj, she is the genuine article.”
Kala and Saroj shrugged and put the cards they were holding on the table.
“No more rummy, han}” Saroj asked as she stood up. “I'll go see if the bathroom is available.”
The door to Meera's guest bathroom was open and Amrita Saxena was standing in front of the mirror applying lipstick.
“Ek minute, okay,” Amrita said, her mouth wide in a big O. She tore a piece of toilet paper and put it between her lips. She dropped the paper with shape of her lips in red on them inside the toilet and smiled at Saroj.
“Have to keep up appearances, right?” she said and then her smile folded. “You don't like me, I can see.”
Saroj was baffled and had no idea how to respond.
“I can see,” Amrita Saxena repeated and sighed. “I know it's hard for Indian women to understand why I divorced two men and am married for the third time. You think I liked divorcing?”
Saroj shook her head. “Look, I don't even know you. I am sorry if I came across—”
“I can see very clearly how you look at me,” Amrita Saxena continued as if Saroj hadn't spoken. “I loved Pradeep. He was my savior. After Rakesh, he was the man I wanted to be with, and I was married to him for four years. I stuck it out for as long as I could, you know.”
Saroj nodded. “I am sure you had your reasons.”
“But he just didn't have any time for me. I quit acting but that didn't change anything and when I started acting again he was so insecure,” Amrita Saxena said in frustration.
Saroj wanted to tell her that she wasn't interested in listening to this, that she didn't care one way or the other for her reasons. She would still dislike her. Women who didn't make their marriages work always had good excuses. Her mother most definitely did.
“And he ignored me all the time. When we finally realized that something was wrong, nothing was left in our marriage,” Amrita Saxena said angrily. “So I left him because after four years, there was no love, no need, no nothing. Not even sex. And then years later, I met Johar. He's a good man and he waited for me. I didn't want to marry him, I didn't want to marry again, but he wore me down. We were together for almost six years before I agreed to marry him.”
Saroj sighed. “Look, I am really sorry that I gave you the impression I didn't like you. I liked your movies a lot when I was in India. I think you are a fabulous actress and a wonderful dancer.”
Amrita Saxena laughed shortly. “I'm just too defensive, right?”
Saroj smiled and felt some reluctant sympathy for Amrita Saxena. “I think I would be the same. My mother divorced my father when I was five years old. I never forgave her for that.” She hadn't meant to tell this stranger something so personal but Amrita Saxena had gone out of her way to explain why she divorced two men and Saroj felt compelled to tell her about her prejudices.
“Why did your parents get divorced?” she asked.
Saroj shrugged and then shook her head. She didn't want to delve into that subject. Vasu said it was because they never could get along, that he was abusive, but Saroj couldn't remember anything anymore. She did remember the fights, the yelling and screaming, but didn't all couples fight? And did all couples who fought get divorced? And did all divorced women take up with married men?
“Sometimes there is just no other option,” Amrita Saxena said and squeezed Saroj's shoulder in sympathy. “Divorcing Rakesh was easy, he was abusive, but Pradeep, that was hard. I just had to realize that I couldn't continue to be in a loveless marriage anymore. We stopped communicating and I just want to be happy. You know?”
Driving home from the failed rummy game, Saroj brooded over what Amrita Saxena told her. Amrita Saxena said she just wanted to be happy and she had had to divorce twice to find that happiness. Saroj wanted to ignore the similarities between Amrita Saxena's marriage to Pradeep Shankar and her own marriage, but they were too obvious, almost like a make-believe story written for her benefit.
Was that the only way for her to be happy? Saroj wondered. Would she have to let go of Avi and her marriage to find happiness?
If Devi hadn't attempted suicide, Shobha would have bitched and moaned to her parents instead of Girish about going to their house for dinner every night. But it was a tacit understanding among the members of the Veturi household that everyone was going to be present for every dinner.
Even Girish managed to switch his classes around and show up. He also made it a point to come on Saturdays and Sundays in the afternoon for lunch as well, and then stayed until dinner.
“How long do you think we have to do this?” Shobha asked as Girish drove down 280, cursing the Sunday drivers.
“Go to your parents’ place?”
“Hmm.”
“We go until we have to go.”
Shobha sighed elaborately. “I can't stand going there anymore. I mean, yesterday Mama went on and on about that movie actress she met. Jesus, how long do we have to do this? I don't mind going once in a while but going this often …”
“I don't know.” Girish honked as a Mazda Miata recklessly changed lanes and caused him to brake. “You son of a bitch, who gave you a driver's license?”
“Why is it that you don't get mad, ever, but if you're driving, you can hardly keep calm?” Shobha asked pointedly. This was not the first time Girish had sacrificed a conversation with her to yell at or honk at an errant driver.
“Hey, it isn't my fault they all drive like they had a lobotomy … you idiot…” Girish swerved the car to prevent from slamming into a blue Mustang that had come out of nowhere.
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“This is the reason we can never have a conversation while you drive,” Shobha muttered.
“Conversation? I thought you were just bitching about going to your parents’ place,” Girish said.
“And you just love visiting your parents, don't you? That's why we see them, oh, once every two years, maybe,” Shobha yelled at him. “Forget it, I don't want to talk to you anymore.”
“I thought you wanted to have a conversation,” Girish said. He was obviously goading her, trying to piss her off, and Shobha didn't want him to succeed.
“Yes, I did, but since you're so busy talking to yourself and yelling at other drivers, who by the way can't hear you, I'm letting it go,” Shobha said. “Good God, Girish, you make me so angry.”
“Everything makes you angry,” Girish pointed out and then started to hum softly as he drove right in front of the blue Mustang that had cut him off a few minutes ago and stepped on the brake.
After the Devi incident, Shobha wanted more than anything else not to end up in her sister's situation. She didn't want to sit in her bathtub and slice her wrists off because there was nothing left to live for. She wanted to fix her marriage, but unlike the software programsshe dealt with at work, her marriage required a lot more than lines of code to fix.
In the past few days Girish had become even more distant, if that was possible. They spent no time together. They were always at her parents’ house or at work. The worst of it was that Shobha liked it and it looked like so did Girish. It was easy to deal with their marriage when they were never alone with each other. They usually drove separately from their respective jobs to her parents’ house on weekdays. On weekends they sometimes drove together; other times Girish got a ride back with Devi or Avi while Shobha left early in her own car.
“Girish,” Shobha said as he parked his car in her parents’ driveway. “Why don't we take a vacation?”
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