by Leena Clover
I opened my mouth to counter her, but Dad stepped in.
“You know what? Ba's right, Meera. This year's a bit different. People are talking about you and who knows what rumors are flowing around. You should be out among the guests and make a point to speak to all of them.”
“There is still a lot of work to do,” Motee Ba warned, glaring at Jeet who was about to slip away. “Sylvie and Becky, you do enough work in the kitchen all the time. I want you to relax this year and just enjoy.”
Motee Ba turned toward Tony and Jeet.
“You are taking care of the tables, chairs etc. and the lights as always.”
Motee Ba turned to Dad.
“You are doing the drinks.”
“How about making some shrikhand so we have at least one homemade dish?” I asked.
“Finally talking sense!” Pappa grumbled and everyone laughed.
We got busy discussing which restaurant to order food from.
The next week just flew by. I had taken 3 days off. The actual Diwali day for us Patels fell on Friday. I had asked a couple of restaurants in Oklahoma City for sample menus. I went to OKC to taste and finalize the order for Saturday. The food came with a couple of servers and plates and silver ware, so a major part was taken care of.
I dragged Becky to a spa day and then we spent Friday evening trying on clothes and primping. The total guest count was close to a hundred so it was going to be one lavish affair.
On Saturday morning, I whisked together homemade Greek yogurt and sugar for the shrikhand. Becky took over the whisk while I chopped nuts and bloomed some saffron in milk to add in to the mix. Sylvie sent over lunch and then it was time to dress up.
The entire house had been covered in fairy lights. Earthen oil lamps were placed along the front porch, filled with oil. A cotton wick was placed in the lamp and lighted. This is the traditional Diya or lamp signifying Diwali and Motee Ba always insists on a bunch of these, no matter how many electric lights or lamps are put up around the house.
The back yard was looking beautiful. Jeet and Tony had worked hard to make it happen. There were lights in trees, and paper lanterns hung from the branches. There was a small hurricane lamp on every table. The far compound wall also had a row of tiny tea lights on it.
Jasmine scented incense sticks were placed at strategic points. Classical Indian music with a soothing sitar and flute added to the festive feel.
Motee Ba came out dressed in a traditional Bandhani tie dye Sari. It was chocolate brown with bright yellow tie dye patterns. She was wearing a gold necklace that came down to her waist. A pearl choker around her throat emphasized her delicate swan like neck.
A ruby pendant sat just below it, strung through a thick gold rope. The crimson dot on her forehead transformed her looks, as did the gold and pearl chandelier ear rings that hung from her ears.
I was speechless. It took me a moment to realize this was the same Bingo playing, hell raising Honey Patel.
“Motee Ba,” I finally found my voice. “You look stunning!”
She blushed and looked uncertain.
“Oh Meera! You know this is what I wear every year for Diwali. Or have you forgotten?”
Dad came out wearing a Nehru jacket and exclaimed.
“Ba! Is that you? You're going to be the most beautiful lady here tonight. I insist you stay by my side all the time.”
“What rubbish! Get someone your own age!” Motee Ba said in mock disgust, but the remark hit home.
Dad looked stricken and his eyes moistened. Motee Ba looked shocked. Just then, Pappa came out tapping his cane.
“Hansa! Where's my shawl?” he roared and the moment was broken.
Pappa was wearing a silk tunic and pajama pants. He had an embroidered silk shawl over his shoulders, which Motee Ba had been holding in her hands all this time.
“Go finish dressing Meera,” Dad ordered. “You're late as usual.”
I sped in and donned the new dress Motee Ba had got for me from Jersey this summer. It was made of very fine turquoise silk, embroidered with silk thread and tiny pearls. The tunic came down to my calves and was slit at the sides up to my hip. There were matching silk pants and a heavily embroidered stole that went with the outfit. I brushed my cheeks lightly with some illuminating powder and put on a slightly darker lipstick than usual.
I slid my feet into gold sandals and sprayed on some Shalimar for the festive occasion.
My dad gifted a bottle of Shalimar perfume to my mother when he got his first paycheck in the States from Pioneer Poly. Named after the famous Shalimar gardens, it is a French perfume that was created in the 1930s. The Emperor Shah Jahan built these gardens for his wife Mumtaz. Their love story has also been immortalized via the Taj Mahal. It has an exotic patchouli scent indicative of the Indian subcontinent. Dad thought it would cheer up my home sick mother.
I stared at the iconic bottle, sniffing at the blue cap, thinking of my mother, marveling over how much Dad still missed her. I have grown up feeling these sad moments on happy occasions, reluctant to share my grief with anyone. This year, I knew I wasn't alone. Now I knew Dad was thinking of my mother too and it gave me strength to carry on.
I slipped on my mom's golden kangan bracelets in each hand and I was ready. There was a knock on the door and Tony walked in.
He was dressed in a cream colored Kurta tunic and white pants and looked different. His eyes darkened as he looked me over.
“Meera. You look beautiful.”
Aunty Reema came in behind Tony.
“Aga Baiiiii!” she squealed, lapsing into her native Marathi tongue.
She hugged me and planted a kiss in my hair.
“Meera. You are all grown up and so beautiful. I can't believe my little girl's all grown up.”
She had tears in her eyes and I teared up too.
Jeet stumbled in at that moment and looked shocked. He looked at Tony as if asking him what was wrong. Tony shrugged.
Jeet rolled his eyes and spat, “If ya'll are done sobbing, come outside. The guests are coming in and Motee Ba wants you out there.”
He fled before I could land a punch.
“Come on, let's go,” Aunty Reema said. “Care to escort us?” she asked Tony.
“Of course!” He placed an arm over both our shoulders and ushered us out to the party.
The catering folks had come in and were setting up their food. One side table was lined with bowls of chips, roasted cashews, crackers and dips, and hot samosa dumplings. There was a huge cheese tray with grapes and strawberries. Dad was mixing drinks, pouring punch and wine. Tony took over from him, and Dad took my arm.
We stood near the entrance to welcome the guests. The Dean walked in with his wife, and so did a few of Dad's professor friends. A few local Indian families arrived, all dressed in traditional Indian clothes. These were mostly tenured professors, with a few married doctoral students.
Sylvie and Jon had come in and were busy chatting with the guests. They knew everyone in town because of the diner. Motee Ba was holding court among her lady friends who were exclaiming over her clothes and jewelry. Pappa was rapidly guzzling Scotch, regaling his octogenarian friends with stories of Africa. One of the men had been a missionary doctor in South America, while one British gentleman had been posted in Lahore in the 1940s. They were trying to outdo each other with exaggerated accounts of their skirmishes with the ‘locals’.
I sniffed Jeet's Coke to make sure it wasn't spiked. Tony brought over a glass of wine, just as Becky rushed in.
“Sorry I’m late,” she apologized. “You won't believe the scrape I got into.”
Then she looked at me again and her eyes popped.
“Meera, you look purty. Oh my! Any guy who doesn't fall for you tonight is a dumb ass."
Dad tapped a glass with a spoon, signaling a speech. He motioned me over.
“Hello everyone and Saal Mubarak. That’s Happy New Year in my native Gujarati. And Happy Diwali, everyone!”
There was
a chorus of ‘Happy Diwali’ from the crowd. Dad held up his hand and continued.
“Thanks for gracing us with your presence for our annual party. Today is special for us. As some of you may know …” He made eye contact with each person in the crowd and I did the same as he had coached me. “My daughter Meera was mistreated by the local police without any proof. She was alleged to be involved in the disappearance of a missing student.”
The crowd was quiet. Everyone was shocked to hear Dad talk about this at the party. But they were also curious.
“I’m happy to say Meera has been cleared of any involvement. Of course, there was never any doubt about it.”
He stared at Stan Miller who had just walked in.
“Meera applied her sharp mind and did plenty of leg work to provide concrete proof of her innocence. Now, we are free to enjoy this party without any worries.”
He raised his glass and cheered.
“To Meera! Drink up and enjoy, folks. There's lots to eat so make sure you sample everything.”
Everyone joined him in the toast. “To Meera!” they said and I felt awkward at the attention. There was a moment of silence and then everyone started clapping.
I signaled the catering staff to start serving dinner, and almost smiled with relief. The sound of a spoon tapping against glass made me look up. People were looking around in interest, expecting another toast.
“You’re not cleared yet!” Stan bellowed from the edge of the lawn.
His eyes were bloodshot and he held a bottle of Scotch in one hand, and a fork in another. He had used it to get everyone’s attention. The bottle was almost empty, and Stan’s slurred tone left me in no doubt about where it had been emptied.
“You may be cleared where the girl is concerned, Meera. But what about my Prue??” Stan let out a sob but controlled himself.
“You’re still a suspect in Prue’s murder!”
A gasp went through the crowd. Pappa was frowning, struggling to get to his feet.
Dad and Tony were beside me in a second. Dad still had the microphone in his hand. His expression had hardened.
“Are you ready to arrest her right now? Do you have any evidence against her? Anyone who can place her at the scene of the crime?” Dad asked in a cold voice.
Everyone looked at Stan.
He stumbled and collapsed on the ground, muttering something.
“This is just an example of the kind of harassment Meera has suffered,” Dad spoke. “But we’re all here to party. So let’s forget all this nastiness for now.”
Sylvie, Jon, and Becky began ushering people toward the food tables. Soon, everyone was having dinner.
My hand shook with fury, and Tony kept a firm arm around my shoulders.
“Keep smiling, Meera!” he said under his breath. “Let’s just get through this party.”
Chapter 35
I zipped up my hoodie and snuggled my hands into the pockets. I was walking to the cafeteria to meet Dad for lunch. Inspite of the stunt Stan pulled, the Diwali party had been a success. We had finally finished the leftovers and I craved something as different from Indian food as possible. The week was almost gone. There was an air of urgency across campus. Most of the extracurricular activities were winding down. Students were getting serious about their grades and their final projects. That meant the library was packed all the time and there was a constant line at the checkout desk.
I ran into Dad just as I was pushing open the door of the Union. I took his arm.
“Hey Dad,” I greeted him.
I got chicken queso burritos for the both of us.
“Will Jyothi fail all her classes now?” I was curious.
“Not sure,” Dad said. “She will certainly get an Incomplete. Depends on what the graduate college says. Maybe they will just dismiss her or cancel her admission.”
I was silent. There had been no new leads this week. We finished our lunch and I came back to my desk.
Sylvie greeted me with a hug as I entered the diner that evening. I pulled on an apron and went into the kitchen. Cooking at the diner for a few hours had become a habit now. Jon and Sylvie were seriously thinking about adding an Indian curry to their Sunday menu and I was trying out different versions.
Becky was flipping some burgers on the grill.
“Where's that Garam Masala spice mix I made for the curry?” I asked Becky.
“Probably in the back corner. You know that rack where all the spices and rubs are kept?” Becky was busy fixing a plate.
I went deeper into the pantry section. It was dark there, and Sylvie liked to keep it that way.
“Spices remain fresher when stored in a dark place,” she always told us.
I reached for a small glass bottle with a blue lid. It had a handmade label and as I tried to read it in the semi darkness, I stumbled over something. My foot caught in a loop and a shelf full of bottles rained over my head.
Becky and Sylvie came running in.
“Meera! Lord, girl, you alright?”
A light came on and we all looked around. There was a pile of jars and bottles around me. A few lids had popped off and herbs and spices had spilled on the floor. The air was fragrant with them and I tried not to breathe too deeply to avoid inhaling the chili pepper which had spilled beside me.
Becky and Sylvie were looking at my foot. It was entangled in a backpack and looked twisted.
“You kids! Why you bringing that thing in here Meera?” Sylvie demanded.
“That's not mine!” I denied earnestly.
We looked at Becky.
“Don't look at me. Not mine either.”
“Hmmph,” Sylvie just grunted and took the offensive backpack outside.
Becky helped me up and we set about cleaning everything.
“Where do you think that came from?” Becky wondered aloud.
Sylvie was sipping coffee, sitting at a back table. She pointed to the coffee jar on the table. My ankle throbbed a little. I sat and poured some coffee and let Sylvie dunk sugar in it. I added cream and took a gulp.
“It's hot!” Sylvie commented, as I felt my throat burn.
Becky couldn't stay quiet.
“What are we waiting for? Let's get to the bottom of this.”
She threw the zip open before anyone could object. I peered in. The backpack was stuffed with three heavy books, some file folders and some grocery store bags filled with who knows what.
Becky pulled out the books first.
“Computer networks, Data Security, Cyber Security,” she rattled the names off.
I spotted another detail.
“They are all library books. From the Pioneer Poly library.”
I should know. I worked with these books eight hours a day.
“Isn't this what you were studying?” Becky asked me.
“Close,” I nodded. “These are all Telecommunications or Information Systems books. Or Electrical engineering.”
Becky stared at me and we both exclaimed, “Electrical Engineering!”
Sylvie looked blank. “What you talking about, girls?”
“Jyothi was also studying Electrical Engineering,” I explained to Sylvie.
“Jyothi. The missing girl? Ohhhh!” Sylvie finally connected the dots. “How can you be sure this is her bag?” she asked.
Becky foraged inside more looking for a purse or ID but came up with nothing. She did however pull out a cell phone. She wielded it like a trophy and looked at me.
“Could that be Jyothi's phone?” I was excited.
“Let's fire it up!”
Sylvie interrupted. “Hold on, girls. That's private property. I can't let you do that. I need to put this in the Lost and Found and put some kinda note on the bulletin board up there.”
I was stumped.
“Sylvie! You know what's riding on this. The girl may be lying in a ditch somewhere for all we know. Or maybe she needs help but can't ask for it.”
I had to make her realize how urgent it was.
; Becky had continued to pull out stuff from the backpack. There were a few Walmart bags with odd things. One contained dirty laundry, and another contained some clothes with store tags on them. They were summer clothes, so they were probably markdowns.
“No identification!” Becky shook her head.
I was missing something.
“I know! Those library books. I can run those tags to see who they are checked out to.”
“Let's do that right now,” I urged Becky.
“Go!” Sylvie waved us off before Becky had a chance to beg off work.
As we hopped into my car, Becky asked, “But isn't it late?”
“Oh no! The library’s open till 10 PM most days. I work daytime hours.”
We entered the library and I greeted the student employee at the desk.
“Can I check something?” I showed him my ID just in case.
“No need for that. I know who you are.”
I quickly scanned a book and drummed my fingers on the table, waiting for the screen to load.
“Jyothi Sudhakaran!” Becky and I crowed jubilantly and high fived each other. I quickly followed with the other two books. They showed the same result.
“What'd I say? Did I call it or what?” Becky gloated.
“Thanks for your help,” I called to the guy at the desk who was engrossed in doing some assignment. He made a peace sign without looking up.
We sped back to the diner, eager to tell Sylvie what we found. I was itching to fire up the cell phone and see what was on it.
The diner was bustling with the dinner crowd and John looked harried. Becky pulled on an apron and I joined her. I nodded affirmatively at Sylvie's questioning glance, confirming that the books had indeed been checked out by our girl.
The crowd thinned out an hour later and I was ready to get some answers. We crowded around the table as I fired on the phone. The screen came alive for a split second before dying down. I tried again. The same thing happened.
“Dead!” I wailed.
“ Figures, if it hasn't been charged in weeks,” Becky said.
“Do you have a charger that might fit this phone?” I asked Sylvie and Jon hopefully.