“Pavan, Vladimir, and maybe three or four others will leave with me if I ask them to,” Shobha said clearly. “I will sign your noncompetitive agreement and not take them or anyone else with me, but I need to first know what you can do for me.”
“Six weeks with benefits,” Carol said, her tone resembling that of a schoolmarm. “Shobha, this is standard.”
“Shove standard, Carol,” Shobha said and turned her attention to Mitchell. “Well?”
“Six months with all benefits,” Mitchell said without flinching. “Plus all the bonuses you would receive if you stayed.”
“Mitchell,” Carol cried out. “We haven't discussed this—”
“I cleared this with Eric,” Mitchell said without even glancing at the perky HR director, and once he said the CEO's name, Carol didn't protest.
“All right then. Let's get the agreement in place and I'll go have lunch. Then I can be back and sign anything you want me to,” Shobha said, standing up. “I had a hell of a time working with you, Mitchell.”
“You need me as a reference, I'll be available anytime,” Mitchell said, standing up as well. He offered Shobha a hand and she shook it. “This is not the end of your career.”
“I know,” Shobha said, even though she didn't quite believe it. Her compensation package would keep her out of financial trouble for a while, but would there be a job at the end of this ordeal? What if no one else hired her?
“So who are you going to be working for?” Mitchell asked.
“I'll send you an e-mail,” Shobha said and walked out of Mount Doom.
“To the best engineer I have ever known.” Pavan raised his glass of sake. “Hail to the mistress of code.”
Everyone at the table raised their glasses as well.
“I'm going to miss you very much,” Anne said, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Who am I going to go to the mall with during work hours?”
“I'm sure you'll find someone,” Shobha said, pleasantly surprised. She'd made friends here, friends she didn't even know about. More than fifteen people had showed up at Leo's short-notice invitation, from all over the company.
“And she always filled out the right forms for mailing shit out, which you other guys never do,” Damien the mailroom guy said, lifting a piece of teriyaki.
“Thanks, Damien,” Shobha said as she folded her right hand into a fist and rested her mouth against it. She felt blubbery. Tears would fall soon. How bloody embarrassing.
“So what's next?” Vladimir asked. He was wearing a dark green polo shirt with Gap chinos, and Shobha felt a spark of interest flare inside her. He was still here, still interested, and she wasn't his boss anymore.
“I think I'll take a couple of months off,” Shobha said, deciding what to do as she spoke. “Or I'll panic and start looking for another job tomorrow.”
“If we all had Stanford professors as husbands we would wait a couple of months or so, too,” Leo said with a grin. “So what does he think about your unemployed status?”
Oh God, Shobha realized, she hadn't even bothered to call Girish to tell him. It didn't even cross her mind. With most marriages on occasions like this, people called their spouses immediately, for support, to let them know that they would be a paycheck short at the end of the month. But Girish and she had had separate bank accounts all through their marriage. They had one joint account, which they used to pay the mortgage and for household expenses, but besides that neither depended on each other financially. Shobha didn't even know how much money Girish made anymore. In the beginning Saroj kept her up to date from information wheedled out of Girish's grandmother, but that was five years ago.
“He's fine with it,” Shobha lied.
“What are you doing after lunch?” Vladimir, who was sitting next to her, whispered in her ear.
Shobha could feel the moisture of his breath on her ear and cheek. He smelled of sake and something else … adultery? Yes, that was what he smelled of. If she wasn't so sure that Girish had an extramarital affair, she would've tried to resist, but now, professionallyand personally, she had no reason to refuse the hunk from Ukraine.
“Ah … I'm not sure,” Shobha said as she licked her lips and turned to face Vladimir. “I was wondering …”
“Hey, Shobha,” someone called out. “Speech, Shobha, speech.”
“Yeah,” everyone said, and soon spoons were being beaten on the table.
The moment was lost and Shobha jerked out of her trance. She smiled at everyone and stood up to say a few words.
No one was happy with her.
Even the good doctor was disappointed that Devi wasn't talking yet.
When Devi's friend Hilary had a baby she went through something similar. Hilary's daughter Laurie was fifteen months old when Hilary started to panic. All of Laurie's friends at day care were saying “Mummy” and “Daddy” and whatnot, while Laurie was still saying “coo” and “coo.” Hilary was very disappointed that Laurie wasn't talking yet.
“Maybe she hasn't thought of anything really good to say,” Devi suggested when Hilary was stressed out of her mind trying to determine why Laurie was behind in the speaking department.
Devi felt a little like Laurie. She didn't have anything to say, but her family, her friends, her doctor, everyone was unhappy with her because she couldn't just open her mouth and start letting those words fall out.
On their way home from the doctor's office, Vasu (who was Devi's chaperone for this appointment) and Devi stopped by Safe-way to shop for dinner. Ever since Avi and Saroj stopped snapping at each other, Saroj was nagging to cook and Devi finally gave in.
Their sudden reconciliation felt a little weird, though they were still tempering it with steady arguments. Never having seen them so lovey-dovey, Devi wasn't sure if it was healthy to see her parents get so mushy. But it warmed her heart.
Saroj was set on making a wonderful for-Avi dinner. She was starting out with her famous aloo grenades with her equally famous yogurt and tamarind sauce. She had clearly told Devi that she didn't need any funny things in her food, which she wanted cooked just the way Avi liked it.
Saroj truly believed that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.
Devi opened a plastic bag and started filling it with crisp-looking green beans. She put the bag on the weighing machine and when the needle swayed to 2 LB, Devi tied the top of the bag and threw it into the shopping cart.
“Why do we have to buy organic milk only?” Vasu muttered as she looked through the milk area for Saroj's favorite, Horizon milk.
Vasu pulled out two of the red milk cartons and put them inside the cart.
“You are off kitchen duty today?” Vasu asked, and when Devi nodded sourly, she smiled. “Bored?”
Devi didn't respond but picked up a carton of plain yogurt, organic again, and put it inside the cart.
Yes, she was bored. She hadn't cooked in two days and she was bored stiff. Did her parents have to make up? And why did making up mean that she couldn't cook whatever the hell she wanted anymore? But it was hard for Devi to argue with her mother, who was obviously delighted with the idea of pleasing her husband. How old-fashioned, Devi thought irritably.
Now that she wasn't cooking she was forced to think about the future. She had been happy with her lunch-dinner routine, breakfast being a simple, cereal affair in the Veturi household. Until Girish brought it up that night he had to watch that stupid Spanish movie on the Independent Film Channel, Devi hadn't thought about the future.
After Shobha and Vasu had left for a walk, Girish had pounced on her as if she were fresh meat and he a starved flesh-eating carnivore.
“So, how long is this going to go on?” he'd asked bluntly.
Devi feigned ignorance and raised her eyebrows in query.
“This silent treatment,” Girish said in irritation. “Did you think that if you didn't talk no one would have to know about the baby?”
He was sad, Devi could see that. She wanted to comfort him but he was Shobha's hus
band.
“You should've told me about the baby,” Girish said wearily. “You should've at least let me know. Now what am I supposed to do?”
Devi got up, ready to leave. She didn't have to sit here and listen to Girish. Who the hell did he think he was anyway?
“Devi, you have to let me know,” Girish pleaded, but she just shook her head. “You can't just shake your head. I need to know. I need you to tell me.”
Devi closed her eyes and let out a sigh. She raised her hands in defeat and let them drop.
“And what about the rest of your life?” he questioned, standing up as she had. Facing her, looking down to meet her eye to eye.
Devi averted her glance and walked past him.
“How long, Devi, are you going to stay at Daddy's house and pretend the real world doesn't exist?” he demanded.
Devi increased her pace to reach her bedroom before Girish could say anything else, before she had to hear anything else. But she wasn't quick enough.
“You didn't die, Devi, like your baby did. Have the guts now to live,” she heard him say right before she closed her door behind her. But she could still hear his voice loud and clear.
He hadn't come for dinner for two nights since then. Shobha didn't even bother to make an excuse, just said that she didn't know why Girish didn't want to come. It was a relief, Devi admitted, to not have him there, scrutinizing her lack of speech, lack of a planned future.
Saroj was humming as she carefully plucked out coriander from her herb pot when Vasu and Devi came into the kitchen, carrying four paper bags filled with groceries.
“Oh good,” Saroj said, a lightness to her tone and face that hadn't been there for a long time. “Avi's bringing Vikram along for dinner. Megha is in Sacramento visiting her sister, so Avi thought it would be nice for Vikram to have some company.”
Devi was relieved that Megha Auntie, the gossipy old hag, wasn't coming along to ask her how she was doing and assure her that everything would be okay if she let her parents take care of her. How would everything be okay? She wasn't talking and she had no future. There was nothing ahead and what was behind her she couldn't use for anything.
What would she do when this was over? When would this be over? And what was the “this” that needed to be over? She was in limbo and she didn't know how to extricate herself from her present situation so that she could start living her real life. The real life she'd known died when she tried to kill herself in that bathtub all those eons ago. She had to start a new real life and she had no idea how to.
“So, I thought we'll make bread aloo first with the chutney and then we'll make green beans with coconut, some rasam with plain pappu. What do you think, Mummy? A good Andhra dinner?”
“Yes,” Vasu said.
“You want to help me mash these potatoes, Devi?”
Devi nodded eagerly. She'd do anything, anything at all to stop thinking about the future.
Girish was in his office when Shobha came home. She knocked on the door and leaned on the door frame.
“Hi,” she said and he nodded, not looking up from the computer screen.
“I quit my job,” Shobha announced.
That got his attention and he turned to look at her.
“Well… technically they made me quit,” she added.
“Bummer,” Girish said.
“I'm thinking of taking a couple of months off, vegetate, enjoy life before I start looking again,” she told him as she walked into the office and sat down with a flop on the armchair by Girish's study table. This was his room; all things here belonged completely to Girish. He'd had these chairs, tables, rugs, bookshelves, everything before they were married.
“Okay,” Girish said.
“You look depressed,” Shobha said. She had been noticing it for a while now.
“I am depressed,” Girish agreed.
“What happened?”
“Nothing and everything.”
“Ah, the enigmatic Girish,” Shobha said and blew out some air. “Happiness is a very strange and elusive emotion, don't you agree?”
“Being unhappy is not being depressed,” Girish pointed out.
Shobha laughed. “But it is. If you are not happy, then you are unhappy and then you are depressed. That's why half the country is popping Prozac, Girish, because they are not happy, because they are depressed.”
“You think I need Prozac?” Girish asked.
“Maybe … maybe what you need—” Shobha clamped her mouth shut midsentence as she realized what she was about to say.
“Maybe I need what?” Girish asked.
“Another wife. Maybe you need another wife,” Shobha picked up her courage and told him.
If he was shocked, it didn't show. It didn't bother Shobha that he wasn't even surprised at her assessment. They had been married for a long time and badly for most ofthat time. This was an inevitable analysis. Good God, how had she let this happen to herself? She was supposed to have found a soul mate and all the trappings that went with it.
Girish was not her soul mate. They'd not managed to even become friends. They looked picture perfect and probably they had been slightly in love in the very beginning even though their tastes differed so much and they were so different. But they couldn't break the ice that had to be broken in arranged marriages. They couldn't step out of their shells and start accepting each other.
Gautami, one of Shobha's now ex-colleagues, had told her how hard it had been for her to get used to her husband. Gautami married the arranged way and came to the Bay Area from India. She couldn't get used to living with her husband, being with him, having sex with him. Everything was impossible, insurmountable. She kept going away to visit an older cousin and his family in Boston. It was on one of those trips she realized that she'd rather be anyplace than with her husband. It knocked the air out of her and she decided to stop running away and deal with her marriage right away. So she went back home, stopped visiting relatives in the various states of the U.S., and worked on her marriage.
When Shobha heard that story she realized that she'd never had that epiphany. She never woke up one moment and decided to fix her marriage. She had been trying to fix it on and off ever since she got married but after she found out she couldn't have children, there just didn't seem to be a point.
“Maybe I'm not the marrying type,” Girish said.
“I know I'm not,” Shobha said bitterly. “How did we both end up getting married to each other?”
Girish shrugged. “My grandmother met Saroj.”
“What a twist of fate? Right?”
“Right. What's going on, Shobha?” Girish asked.
“There's this Ukrainian software programmer in my … well, ex-office. He's very sexy,” Shobha said and smiled to herself. “I've wanted to have sex with him ever since I hired him, but I was afraid that I'd get into trouble with HR in the company.”
“You weren't afraid you'd get into trouble with me?” Girish asked.
“No,” Shobha replied honestly. “But I was curious what you'd think and say, if you'd find out that is.”
Girish rocked on his office chair and grinned.
“At this point you should be asking me if I did sleep with this Ukrainian,” Shobha reminded him, grinning back.
“Yes, I should,” Girish said looking her in the eye, the grin gone. “But I won't.”
“Because you may have to answer a similar question that I may pose?”
“Yes.” He didn't lie.
Even though she'd guessed he had an extramarital affair, hearing him say it was shocking, and Shobha didn't have the courage to press the issue any further.
“I got an e-mail yesterday from John Waters,” Girish said, changing the topic completely.
“Your classmate from Oxford? Balding guy, pretty black wife?”
“Yes,” Girish nodded. “There's an opening there for a quantum mechanics position and they will offer it to me, if I say I'll accept.”
“And?” This wasn't the fir
st time he was getting an offer to work elsewhere, in another country.
“I think I'll take it,” Girish said, looking at Shobha. “I think I need to.”
Shobha nodded as she swallowed, the bile rising in her throat. Was it over? That easy?
“So, I get to keep the house, huh?” Shobha asked.
Girish laughed sadly and said, “If you want it.”
“No thanks. I can't afford it. I don't have a job, remember?” She was close to being hysterical. There was a high pitch to her voice.
“Then we'll get rid of it, split the profit if there is any,” Girish said.
“I'll call the real estate agent and have him put the house on the market,” Shobha replied. “But I don't think there will be any profit, not with the economy going the way it is.”
“That's okay, too.”
“When do you leave?”
“Soon. Fall.”
“So what's the procedure now? Lawyers … what?” Shobha asked, her heart heavy but her mind was starting to feel free, open, loose.
“I think we can just use a mediator because we … Are we going to fight over things?” Girish asked.
“No, though I'm taking all the carpets, no matter who bought them,” Shobha announced, trying to lighten the mood.
“And I'll keep all the books,” Girish said in the same spirit.
“Fair enough. But not the records. I take most of those. Anything else?”
Girish thought about it for a moment and shrugged. “I can't think of anything I'd want to go to war over. How about you?”
“No, nothing,” Shobha agreed and then stood up. “I'm really sorry that it didn't work out.”
“Me, too,” Girish said, standing up as well.
They hugged tightly and then Shobha stepped away from him. “I think I'm going to stay with my parents for a while.”
“Okay. I'll call your dad next week or so and talk to him,” Girish said.
“Good, by then they'll all hate you because I'll put all the blame on you,” Shobha said, but she was smiling. For once, she wasn't angry, just relieved.
“I… say good-bye to Devi for me,” Girish said and he licked his lips. “I … I… just tell her I'm leaving, going to Oxford.”
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