Serving Crazy with Curry

by Amulya Malladi

  If only Devi would start speaking, Saroj thought unhappily. This cooking business was great, but the girl had to talk, tell them what happened, so that the wounds could heal. Losing a baby was never easy and in Devi's case it obviously was a huge tragedy, something so massive that it drove her to the edge of her world.

  This was supposed to be her perfect family? Saroj looked from one forlorn face to the other and wondered. This was her family and yet, as she sat, all she really wanted was her husband back. If that part of her life would somehow repair itself, everything else, she believed, would follow suit.

  After the rummy party, Saroj seriously started contemplating happiness and why it was elusive to her. She saw Amrita again, at Kohinoor, the Indian video and DVD store.

  “Picking up one of my movies?” Amrita asked, seeing the DVD Saroj held. It was one of Amrita's old movies, one that her ex-husband Pradeep Shankar directed.

  “Yes, I saw it earlier, but just wanted to refresh my memory,” Saroj said. She thought Amrita would make some reference to their conversation in Meera's guest bathroom, but the actress gushed about how wonderful it was to see her movies again and now available on DVD.

  “It is so clear … unbelievable and now preserved,” Amrita said, excited. “You tell me what you think about the movie, okay? Ciao.”

  Ciao? Indians didn't say ciao, Saroj thought, throwing a disgusted look at Amrita Saxena's slender back as she left the store.

  She didn't want to end up like that stupid actress, divorcing and marrying and divorcing and marrying to find happiness. Happiness was here, she had seen it, felt it, lived it. She just had to get it back, had to reach out and shake Avi out of his stupor. Their marriage had lost all semblance of a relationship. They were like roommates now, barely able to communicate about anything but time schedules. This was the dull, ugly side of marriage that Saroj was always confident she would never see. Just as the silverware she received from Avi's mother after their marriage caught tarnish, their marriage had lost luster as well. She'd been less careful with her marriage than she'd been with the silver plates and cutlery, which still shone.

  But what if beneath the tarnish and the stains of apathy, there was nothing? Saroj felt that it was that subconscious fear that kept both of them from trying to repair their relationship. It had all started to fall apart at some time, and even if she could pinpoint that exact moment, how would it help solve the predicament she was in now?

  After dinner, the kids, as Saroj still thought of them, and Vasu sat down to watch a Hindi movie. Girish made noise about missing some Spanish movie on the Independent Film Channel. The intellectual laatsahab]

  “You can go home and see what you want to see,” Shobha said as she sat cross-legged on the carpet by Vasu's legs. “We're going to watch Sunil Shetty light up the screen.”

  “With wet and half-naked young girls,” Vasu reminded her and then glanced at Girish. “Are you sure you don't want to watch the movie?”

  “You mean there will be nubile girls drenched from head to toe?” Girish asked sarcastically. “I think I'll pass.”

  “And they'll be wearing thin white saris so that you can see their titties,” Shobha said with a broad grin and was immediately admonished by Saroj.

  “What's wrong with the word titties?” Shobha instantly demanded. “It's not a bad word like … say …”

  Devi started giggling softly.

  “Don't even think it,” Saroj cried out, but she was smiling. This was good, she thought happily. This family scene was right. Everything was in place. Wasn't it?

  “Are you sure you don't want to watch nubile half-naked wet girls?” Saroj asked Avi, playfully falling in step with the mood in the house.

  “When I have you, janam, why would I look at anyone else?” he said as he used to a long time ago when she would tease him about him leaving her for another woman.

  Saroj's heart took a small leap, and recognition flared in Avi's eyes as well. Then Avi's expression shuttered again as he carted plates from the dining area to the kitchen sink.

  As the opening credits started to roll with cheesy Hindi movie music in the background, Saroj decided to throw the first dart in the dark.

  “Would you like to go for a walk after we do the dishes?” Saroj asked Avi and felt the same nervousness she had when she talked to him about marrying her all those years ago. But this was harder than that had been. She didn't have anything to lose then. Now everything was at stake.

  “Walk?” Avi asked as if Saroj had spoken in an alien tongue.

  “Yes, like we used to … remember, in Udhampur?” Saroj said as she gnawed on her lower lip, feeling as gauche as a teenager propositioning a boy she had a crush on. “It is nice and warm outside … and I thought… we don't have to …”

  “No, no,” Avi said, sounding just as uncomfortable. “Sure. A walk should be good. We could just walk by the park or something.”

  “Yes,” Saroj said, her heart light.

  •••

  Shobha watched him surreptitiously. He was sitting next to Vasu as if someone had put a gun to his head. He didn't like Hindi movies, the intellectual snob.

  “This is not as bad as I thought it would be,” Girish said, making an exasperated sound as a young Indian woman came onscreen wearing a thin red chiffon sari. And then predictably the skies above her rumbled with false thunder and rain started to fall, soaking her to the skin, displaying all her bodily assets.

  “Oh my, they do leave nothing to imagination these days, don't they?” Vasu said when the actress leaned over in her dance routine. Her breasts were an eyeful.

  “I thought they wore white when they did this rain song-and-dance business,” Shobha complained. “I want white.”

  “I like red,” Girish said. “And I must say that color and sari bring out the best in her.”

  The Hindi actress was singing in the rain now and Shobha was sure that if one looked carefully, one could count her pubic hairs, clearly visible through the thin, wet, red sari.

  “Maybe if I wore that sari and stood under the shower it could do miracles for us,” Shobha snapped at him for no reason except habit.

  “Maybe … maybe not,” Girish said and then turned his attention to Vasu. “In your days women had more class, didn't they, G'ma?”

  Vasu looked from Shobha to Girish and then raised her eyebrows. “Are you asking about women in general or women in the movies?”

  “In the movies,” Girish said after waiting a long moment.

  “It was not the same tits-and-ass show it is now, but I don't compare. There were good movies then and there were bad movies then, same as now,” Vasu said. “Devi loves old black-and-white Hindi movies.”

  “Don't I know it,” Girish said. “We went to San Francisco once when they were having a Guru Dutt film festival and saw Pyaasa and Kagaz Ke Phool. She sobbed all the way back from the city.”

  Devi made a face and shook her head.

  “Yes you did,” Girish said smugly. “Big tears and lots of sobbing and hiccupping.”

  “When was this?” Shobha asked as small hairs stood at attention on the back of her neck.

  “Ah, some time ago,” Girish said negligently.

  “When?”

  “How does it matter?” Girish said and then went back to discussing women in Indian cinema.

  Shobha could feel the blood surge through her. He was so friendly, so much fun, so charming with Vasu and Devi, but as soon as they were alone he turned into a sarcastic devil.

  Maybe she should have slept with Vladimir, maybe she should have slept with a billion other men while she was married to Mr. Sarcasm. Tears of frustration threatened to spill out of her eyes. Her marriage was over, she knew, but each time she re-realized it, it was a blow. And she still didn't know what to do about it. Should she just tell Girish to his face that it was over and turn her back on him?

  She watched her parents go out for a walk and wondered if she and Girish would look like her parents if they stayed mar
ried. Would she have the same fucked-up marriage her parents did? Oh Lord, she didn't want to be her mother. She didn't even want to be her father. She just wanted to be happy. It sounded like such a simple thing to want but it was so elusive. Just happiness! They should make a fucking pill or something.

  “I think I've had as much of this movie as I can take,” Shobha said, standing up. “Maybe I'll go for a walk, too?”

  “And I will join you,” Vasu said, standing up.

  “Then I guess Devi and I'll switch to the Independent Film Channel and enjoy a good Spanish movie,” Girish said, taking charge of the TV remote. “If you like old Hindi movies, you'll love this,” he told Devi.

  For an instant Shobha thought that Devi would come along with them for a walk, but then her little sister smiled at her husband and settled back on the sofa.

  It was a pleasant night. The cool winds from the bay had leveled some of the heat of the day. Shobha could smell her mother's night jasmine and feel the crunch of dew on the grass under her shoes.

  “It's quiet,” Shobha said.

  “It's late,” Vasu said and then took Shobha's hand in hers. “What's wrong?”

  “My marriage is over,” Shobha said and then glared at Vasu. “I can't believe I said that out loud.”

  “It has probably been over for a while,” Vasu said, pity brimming in her eyes.

  Because it annoyed Shobha to see that, she turned away from Vasu and started to walk down the stone path through the garden toward the sidewalk.

  “If I could have children things would've been different,” she said confidently.

  “No,” Vasu said, catching up with her. “And you know it. If you loved each other, not having children wouldn't matter. You would adopt, find another way.”

  “And he's cheated on me,” Shobha said and felt the words slam through her heart.

  “Oh.” Vasu nodded. Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Vasu shrugged. “Have you … have you?”

  “Gone astray?” Shobha finished for Vasu and when she laughed, Shobha sighed. “No I have never cheated on him, but it has crossed my mind, several times.”

  “He looks very serious these days,” Vasu said. “I think he is sad. Maybe he knows it, too, that your marriage is over, and like you is waiting for something to happen.”

  “Nothing's going to happen,” Shobha said as she kicked a wayward pebble on the sidewalk. “Nothing, if we don't make it happen. But I'm scared of divorce, the legal implications of it, the life implications of it.”

  “You should talk to him,” Vasu suggested. “Is this affecting your work?”

  Shobha stopped and turned to face Vasu. “Oh yes. How did you guess? Don't tell me, you're clairvoyant, too.”

  “No, just a grandma,” Vasu said as she touched a hand to Shobha's cheek.

  “When Devi… did that thing, I got delayed in a product launch.

  Nothing to do with her, but it happened and now it's going to happen again,” Shobha said and then shrugged. “But for the first time I'm not obsessing about my job. I'm obsessing about my marriage and divorce.”

  “Do you want to fix things with Girish?”

  “No,” Shobha answered immediately. “God, this is mortifying, isn't it? We've been married five years and I so easily say that I don't want to be happy with him, I just want to be without him.”

  “He's a good man,” Vasu said understanding^.

  “And that does make it harder,” Shobha agreed. “But he isn't all that nice to me. He can be a real asshole.”

  “I am sure you don't do anything to provoke the asshole in him,” Vasu said with some amusement.

  Shobha made a face and then laughed despite herself. “We've not been getting along ever since we got married. And now … now he's having an affair with someone else or he's had an affair with someone else.”

  “Are you sure, Shobha?”

  “I found a pearl earring in his car,” Shobha said and then shook her head. “I'm sure, regardless of the earring, I'm sure and it should break my heart and it does, but not for the reason I thought it would.”

  “Betrayal is difficult to deal with.”

  “He can't betray me, G'ma,” Shobha said softly. “He and I never had that kind of a relationship.”

  Saroj wished she could grab Avi's hand as they walked slowly, silently. They had been walking for more than half an hour now and all they had talked about was Vikram's new grandson, whose pictures they recently saw, and how Avi's old company's stock was faring on the NASDAQ.

  “It should be fall soon,” Avi said looking up at the clear dark sky. It looked like a black sari with sparkles stuck on it.

  “Yes,” Saroj said uneasily. This was her last chance at making it right, at making Avi realize that they needed to get back to their life and their marriage or all would be lost.

  “Did I tell you about my meeting Amrita Saxena again at the video store?” Saroj asked as she wondered how to broach the subject. This was not an easy conversation to have. How could she start? Our marriage is failing and we need to fix it would hardly do.

  “Hmm,” Avi mumbled, obviously not interested.

  “She had so many divorces,” Saroj said and grabbed Avi's hand. He didn't pull away, but neither did he respond by holding her hand in return. His hand just lay in hers, neither foe nor friend.

  “Those movie types always do,” Avi said.

  “She told me that all she was doing was looking for happiness. She just wants to be happy, so she moves from man to man to find it,” Saroj explained. “Isn't that what we all want, Avi, to be happy?”

  Avi nodded.

  “Are you happy?” Saroj asked as her heart thudded against her ribs. She was afraid he would lie and say he was, and she was petrified that he would tell her the truth that he wasn't.

  “I don't know,” Avi said instead. “I don't know what that means anymore, Saroj.”

  Saroj wished he had lied.

  “Weren't we ever happy?” Saroj asked shakily.

  Avi nodded and then turned to her and smiled, a big broad plastic smile. “We are still happy.”

  Saroj laughed with tension. “No, our youngest daughter attempted suicide and won't say a word now. Our older daughter and her husband don't get along at all and they can't have children. My mother is ill. You and I have become roommates. So no, Avi, we are not even close to being happy.”

  “Everyone has problems,” Avi told her. “This isn't some Hindi movie, Saroj. Life is like this.”

  “And all of this would be easy to handle, and we could still find happiness, if you and I, if you and I could just talk, be friends again, lovers again,” Saroj said, putting all her cards on the table.

  Avi stopped walking and turned to face Saroj. “I don't know,” he said honestly and Saroj could hear her heart break.

  “We can make it work,” she said, trying to keep a brave face. She wasn't going to lose him, not now, not after all these years and so much sharing.

  “I feel that Devi had her miscarriage because of us,” Avi said, his face twisting in pain. “I feel that because of what we did, God made her and Shobha pay for it.”

  “What did we do?” Saroj asked.

  Avi shook his head. “It doesn't matter now. You and I… we're fine, Saroj. Things will get better once Devi starts talking and—”

  “What did we do?” Saroj demanded, now angry that he was carrying a terrible guilt she knew nothing about inside him.

  Avi sighed. “Remember after Shobha was born?”

  Saroj nodded, still not sure, and then clarity came to her and she made an annoyed sound. “Avi,” she cried out. “Shobha was three months old and I got pregnant again, what else could we do?”

  Avi sighed again as he removed his hand from her hold. “I knew you would say something like this. That's why—”

  “Something like this? What do you mean by that?” Saroj demanded.

  “You are so bloody practical, Saroj. So righteous. You don't even stop to
think that maybe it was a mistake. That baby you had aborted was a baby, our child, but you didn't even think about it. It was an automatic decision with you, wasn't it?” Avi's eyes were blazing with anger.

  The old Saroj, the one who rehabilitated a wounded soldier, would've cajoled. The new Saroj, bitter after years of negligence, was spitting mad.

  “We made the decision together,” Saroj reminded him. “And in any case, the choice was mine. I would have to carry a baby. I would have to carry a baby while I had a three-month-old to take care of, alone. If you think that God is so stupid as to make our children pay for an inevitable decision of ours, then you should stop believing in this God and start believing in something intelligent.”

  “Lower your voice,” Avi said as a light in a darkened house by the sidewalk came on. “Do you want the entire neighborhood to know?”

  “Know what? That my husband is an idiot? Sure,” Saroj said, turning around to go back home. “Wake up, Avi. Our marriage is in ruins. We have nothing left. If you are going to dig up old dirt and give ridiculous reasons for things that are happening now, then we might as well go our ways. I am not going to hang around bickering all day and night with you. I need a husband, a friend, a companion at this time as I have always. But now I am too old and too tired to put up with your nonsense. So if you want to continue believing in this stupid and vengeful God of yours, then do it someplace else.”

  Saroj started to walk away from him and then paused and turned around. “And in case you are wondering, I know the California laws and I take half of everything you have. Which means, I keep the house. You can live in some small, dingy condo somewhere.”

  She marched down the sidewalk, leaving an openmouthed Avi to stare after her. They fought bitterly and argued passionately, but usually Saroj was neither this eloquent nor this final in what she had to say. She felt rather proud of herself. As if she had won the marathon, even though it took a long time for her to get there.

  She bumped into Shobha and Vasu five minutes from home. “What's wrong?” Shobha asked as she saw Saroj's face flashing anger.

  “I am divorcing your father if he doesn't come to his senses,” Saroj announced.