by Anubha Mehta
On the way to Gautam’s house, I rolled down the window to let in Toronto’s surprisingly cold April air. The streets were sparkling clean, and the roadside evergreens were swaying under a spotless blue sky. There was not a single person on the street. Where were the people? In India, there was not an inch of uninhabited space. Here, the cars were fast and the traffic so organized. Everyone stopped at red lights and obeyed the lords of the road: the pedestrians. We inhaled the sterile crispness and braced ourselves for what lay ahead.
We landed in Gautam’s small townhouse in the suburbs. It was a neatly organized block of closely-built housing units. They were identical except for small differences in the potted plants on their porches and the colour of their front doors.
We entered his house and were assaulted with the smell of stale curry and synthetic air freshener. He proudly showed us each scantily furnished tiny room and then the balcony overlooking the highway. “With a lot of immigrants coming to Toronto in this recent years, the value of my house has really gone up, you know.”
And with that singular statement, we were successfully filed in the category of “new immigrants.”
He piled our small suitcases in the corner of a large bedroom. They were the only evidence of our previous life. I tucked Diya in for the night and then joined Veer and Gautam in the dining room.
Veer was anxious to get started the next morning, and search for an office space before looking for a house. Gautam assured him that he had already lined up some showings for tomorrow. Veer had not smiled since we had arrived. His enthusiasm about this trip was a past memory. He was talking in monosyllables, and his facial muscles were tense.
My eyes were heavy with exhaustion. I took my leave and went to lie down next to Diya. But sleep was the last thing that visited me. Veer came in and lay down quietly beside me without switching on the light. I held his hand in the dark. It was cold. Veer’s hands were never cold. He patted my palm, and then turned his back on me.
I could not sleep. I was hot and thirsty. After tossing and turning in the cramped new bed between Veer and Diya, I finally got up to get a drink of water. I went down the stairs and walked toward what I thought was the kitchen. But I took a wrong turn and found myself in a room with couches.
I could hear the muffled voice of a man speaking to someone. As I came into hearing range, I realized that Gautam was on the phone. I did not want to disturb him so I tiptoed around looking for the kitchen. It was dark and I could still hear Gautam speaking to someone.
“Ya, yaar … listen … I will bring them to you in the morning. No, no, they don’t know that you are my friend. Remember, our deal is that I get a twenty-five percent cut from the sale. Ha ha … yes, we will cover our cut with the hike in price.… No, no, how will they know? They just came from India. You know the family is very rich and they trust me….”
I had reached the kitchen. I took a glass from the cabinet and then opened the fridge to look for a jug of water. There was none. So I turned on the tap and filled the glass to the brim. I heard a sound behind me. I turned to see Gautam in his pyjamas. His lips were stretched in the pretence of a smile. “You should have called me, I would have brought water for you.”
“No, no, it is no trouble really.”
“Oh, so Veer did not come down with you?”
I could have sworn that he exhaled a breath of relief. He tried to avoid looking into my eyes. Did he suspect that I had overheard him? Even if he did, my overhearing him somehow did not bother him as much as the prospect of Veer’s overhearing him.
He came toward me and reached for my glass, brushing his hairy hand across mine very deliberately. And then he grabbed my wrist with his other hand. Startled, I looked up. His eyes red and watery and his smile had turned into a leer. His breath smelled. Repulsed, I immediately pulled myself away and ran upstairs without looking back. I could still hear him whistling when I reached the safety of our bed. I was shaking, but I calmed myself eventually by placing my hand over a sleeping Diya. And this was our first night in Canada.
***
The next morning, we all were disoriented and jet-lagged. I wanted to tell Veer everything about last night, but when I saw his face I knew that he was as eager to move out of this house as I was. If I told Veer about Gautam, I also knew he would instantly break all ties with the only person in this new land that could possibly or supposedly help us. So, I decided that this information would have to wait for now.
Diya cried constantly, asking for her room, her toys, and for Sheila. She wanted everything that we did not have. I was terribly homesick too. I missed my parents, the peacocks, and Anita. I prayed that the deep emptiness I felt would gradually wean away.
Veer had left with Gautam right after breakfast to look for office spaces, but didn’t return with him in the evening.
“Where is Veer?” I asked and headed to make some tea.
Gautam followed me into the kitchen. “I left Veer with the property dealer to finish up the paperwork.”
I had more questions for Gautam but I did not want to be trapped in the kitchen again. Diya was holding my finger tightly. I think she sensed my tension. Before he could come closer, I changed my mind about tea and went straight up to our room. I locked the door and waited for Veer.
The next few hours dragged. I read to Diya, fed her some crackers that I had saved from the plane, and then put her to bed. I did not risk going down to the kitchen again. The watch on the mantle showed that it was ten at night. Where was Veer? I would have to go down to look. I could no longer stay cooped up in the room. So I slipped silently down the stairs and out the main door onto the street . Gautam did not hear me because of the TV in the other room.
A few speckled stars shone from behind passing clouds. I could smell sweet roast on charcoal. Maybe someone was barbequing in their backyard nearby. I did not know where Veer was or who to call. Was he not worried about leaving us alone in this new place? He had not spoken to me since we had arrived.
Wrapped up in my brooding, I did not notice Veer’s shadow moving up the path until he was almost next to me. I could not see his face. It was dark. I opened my lips to say something about how worried I was, but just then the moon fell at an angle on his face, and I saw what I least expected. He was smiling. It was an expression he had not had since our last happy time together, in another land, and now only a distant memory. My heart beat faster.
“What is it?” I asked.
He was silent.
“Tell me.” I pulled his arm.
“Well…” he hesitated.
“Well what?” I asked.
“I have just bought our office, and a new car. Maya, this is the beginning of our new life here. I will take you and Diya for a spin in it soon.”
I knew then that we would be staying here for some time. This would be our new home, for better or for worse. Veer explained how much it had all cost and how much we were left with to survive on until the business picked up. I briefly thought of telling him about Gautam, but once again I decided against it. Even though I was not listening to Veer’s words, I heard him. I knew that we would never look at money the same way as we had in the past. Money would buy us a life, safety, a reason to stay on—things that we had taken for granted in India. I now understood why everyone counted their pennies in the West.
And today, we had joined them.
21.
WHEN WE RETURNED, Gautam was waiting at the dining room table with a glossy binder, alphabetically-organized, showing houses for sale in the Greater Toronto area. He was beaming with excitement, and I knew then that he had already received his commission from his crooked friend for selling Veer the office space. Now he was looking forward to his next kill: finding us an overpriced house. He had our names printed on the listing sheets. There were no secrets from him. He knew our bank balance and our potential capacity to secure the remaining difference from India. H
e was our guarantor and our point of reference in this new city. He spent the next few hours calculating how much the deposit on our home would be. He knew exactly the kind of house we could afford. Gradually we found ourselves surrendering to his counsel on every matter from the choice of neighbourhood to the kind of house he thought we should buy.
The next day, we drove with Gautam to look at houses in the neighbourhood. There was a house on the next street that had just come up for sale. Gautam told us that this was one of the most sought-after areas, so if we were lucky to find something for sale, we should buy it without question.
We entered a broad street lined with open drains and mature trees. The houses were made of faded bricks and aluminium siding. They were all built in the same style, and Gautam explained that these were post-war construction, subsidized by the government for war widows.
We parked in the broad driveway of one of the older looking homes and followed him through the main door, into a dark room. He fumbled for the light switch but could not find one. So he opened his bag and pulled out a torch, which I was certain that he kept for such occasions. It was a very cold, dim, and damp house with a pungent smell. There were bamboo blinds covered with green mildew. The worn wooden floor creaked with loose planks, and the broken buffet table was strewn with flaking speckles of paint. There were sparks coming from the next room with open wires.
“Look Mama, it has so many legs … one, two, four, six … so many ….” I immediately picked up Diya in my arms before she could touch the centipede that scuttled by.
“Who lived here?” I asked Gautam.
He answered that the previous owner had been a war widow who passed away recently, leaving no children behind. She had lived alone. I walked out of the house.
Once in the car, Gautam asked, “Ahem … so, would you like me to draw the paperwork for this house?”
“But it’s in shambles!” I blurted.
“It is a good neighbourhood, and we can get it fixed for a little more cost.”
“But Gautam Uncle, the house has water damage….”
Gautam interrupted: “To get a house in this neighbourhood is very lucky. I don’t think you should think twice. I am telling you….”
We were both quiet. And he eventually started the car and drove us to the second house he had earmarked for us. It took a long while to get there as we had to drive across the city, first on the highway and then through some inner winding streets.
“This is another good area, going up in price due to the money coming in from Chinese immigrants.”
The houses were so closely built that their owners could probably hear each other talk through the walls. We passed a crowded strip plaza with large dragon lanterns. There were all kinds of cars cramped closely together, fighting for every inch of the tight parking space. The noise and bustle of the place reminded me of a market in India, not in Canada.
We entered a driveway that smelled like a roadside Chinese restaurant. The door was opened by a older Chinese man with grey hair and spectacles. He did not respond to our greeting; instead, he turned his head inside and shouted in a singsong language, possibly Mandarin. Then a younger version of him came to the door to meet us. Gautam handed the young man his business card, and we were ushered inside. The deep-fried smell that had greeted us grew more pungent as we walked down the hallway and entered the living room. It was cluttered and strewn with toys, cushions, diapers, and plastic bags with things spilling out on the floor. There were three children sitting close to each other, their eyes glued to a Chinese channel on the television. There was an older woman pouring oil in a decanter at the corner table, and there was a very pale and thin younger woman feeding a toddler a bowl of noodles on his high chair. All these people were crowded into the main living room together. We followed Gautam from one overcrowded and dingy room to another.
I found this way of looking for houses very strange. I was glad to be out of there.
“Well, what do you think?” Gautam asked as we got into the car.
This time neither Veer nor I replied.
Instead, Veer said, “Let us take you for dinner, Gautam Uncle, for all your hospitality and help. Which is the most expensive restaurant here?”
“No, no. Why eat out when we can have fresh Indian cooking at home?” Gautam said, looking pointedly at me.
Veer tried again. “Maya must be tired too, and Indian food takes a long time to cook from scratch. So how about it?”
“No, it is not too late. We will be home in thirty minutes and then Maya can start right away.” I gestured discreetly to Veer to keep quiet. The fuss was not worth it.
“Sure, Gautam Uncle. Whatever you want.”
I was a bad cook. But for some reason I was not supposed to be a bad cook since I was a woman from India. Why did he not understand that we did not cook? At Veer’s home, we had cooks!
I hesitantly asked Gautam to show me where the ingredients were stored.
It was as if he had been waiting to get me into the kitchen. He brushed against me as he reached for one of the upper cabinet doors. Then he pushed past me several times, each time leaning some part of his body against mine, each time with a different excuse about an ingredient.
Just before leaving the kitchen, he said unashamedly, “Oho, dear Maya, my advice to you is to buy the house that I have shown you—the one in the next lane. You can cook for me every evening like this! Ha, ha, ha.”
I shuddered and fought the urge to hit him on his face and then march into the living room and tell Veer, no matter the consequences. Yes, Veer would be livid, and then we would have to walk out. Of course, I would be blamed by Veer’s mother for everything, including seducing this repulsive man. Was I prepared for all this drama at this time? But Gautam was getting bolder, and I would have to be cautious. The sooner we left his house, the safer it would be for Diya and me.
I struggled for a few hours in the kitchen while Veer played with Diya. Finally, I was able to serve a simple meal of yellow lentils, okra, and rice. My poor cooking skills were a blessing in disguise. The look on Gautam’s face as he sat there chewing suggested that I would not be requested to cook again.
While I put the dishes away, Veer stood in the kitchen by me. I was grateful to God for this. As Gautam entered the kitchen, Veer said to him, “Gautam Uncle, we would like to see a few more houses before deciding which is the one.”
“Yes, of course, dear son Veer. Yes, of course. Whatever you want,” he replied in an oily voice, almost bowing with sleaziness.
After washing the utensils, mopping the kitchen floors, and tucking Diya into bed right next to us, both Veer and I lay awake. He did not speak, nor did I, but we were connected in the same thought. After a few restless hours, we picked up Diya, strapped her in the car seat, and reversed out of Gautam’s driveway. The sky was opening up slowly to reveal a ripe pink belly. But it was still too early for dawn. Armed with just a map of Toronto’s suburbs, and with no knowledge of which direction to take, we set out.
22.
THE ROADS TOWARD THE EAST looked easy to follow, broad, and clean. As we left the city behind, the spaces between one house and another started growing. Weak morning rays sneaked from the sky to gently kiss the highway, and soon we could see without the help of the street lights. Veer took a random exit, and we were suddenly in a beautiful enclave with colossal houses, high domed roofs, towering gates, sprawling, manicured gardens, and trees tall enough to spread their branches over the entire breadth of the road.
We both gasped. What flamboyance, what affluence. And then I thought, maybe this is what people thought about us in Delhi.
We had almost reached the lake.
At the end of the street there was one lone house standing apart from the exuberance of the rest. It was a corner house with a sign that was hidden with overgrown dandelions; it read, “Open House.” We picked up a sleeping Diya and stepped
out of the car.
The small wooden gate creaked at the hinges as we rang the doorbell. Nothing stirred. So we rang again. We heard a latch on the other side, and then the door was flung open by a plump, olive-skinned man with a big nose over a square and friendly face.
“Hello, we were just passing and saw your sign for the open house.” Veer extended his hand.
“Oh, that was two days ago. I think the agent forgot to take the sign off.”
“Who is it, Mario?” said a woman’s sharp voice from inside.
The man turned his head. “Don’t worry, Mama. I am looking after this.” And then to us he added, “Come in. I can show you around.”
Veer hesitated. We knew that we should not go in without Gautam’s counsel, but this was our only chance, the chance that we were waiting for. If we liked this house we could move out of Gautam’s immediately.
“Veer, let’s see,” I nudged.
The man introduced himself as Mario Biasatti, and led us into the house. Once my eyes became used to the dark room, I spotted a small bent figure in the corner. She had a colourful scarf on her head and the same prominent nose as Mario. She stopped her knitting momentarily and looked straight at us. Her cheeks had deep wrinkles that looked like gashes and her fingers were bent inwardly as if they had no bones inside them.
“This is my mother, Mama Biasatti,” said Mario.
“Hello.” We dipped our heads in respect.
She did not greet us back. Instead, she looked at Mario and said something sharply in what must have been Italian. Her bowed fingers left the knitting needles and waved at Mario. Her voice rose. It was obvious that we were not welcome.
Veer whispered, “Let’s go!”
We turned around to leave, but Mario stopped us. “Let me show you our home. It’s a very magnificent house.”
We were a little perplexed by what was going on. We were certain that we were not welcome by Mama, but her son seemed eager to sell the house, probably against her wishes.