Prologue
Nandini
1989
Nandini, please think before you speak. Please. We need things to go well today. This is our only chance.” Mami fastens another row of safety pins into Nandini’s sari. Even one slip of fabric could mean disaster.
Nandini nods. “I know.”
She does know. She knows her family’s reputation depends on how she behaves today. She knows this is her only chance to fix everything she did last year, everything they’ve tried to forget.
“They’ll be here any minute. I’m going to make sure the chai is ready.” Mami puts the extra safety pins onto the wooden dressing table, next to a bottle of Pond’s talcum powder.
Ever since the incident, Mami was frantic when people came over to their house. Her energy was contagious. Their maid, Kavita, peeled ginger and cut mint leaves at record speed. The man who delivered vegetables scurried in and out of the house with trays of okra and bell peppers. Even the monkeys that roamed the trees outside their bungalow jumped from branch to branch as though they were in a rush.
Mami knocks on the bedroom door. “They’re here. Come out when I call you.”
“I will.” Nandini ignores the warm, tight dread that’s looming over her chest. She can’t let her thoughts race today. She won’t.
Nandini takes one last look into her mother’s chipped dressing-table mirror. Her hair is smoothed down with coconut oil and tied into a low bun. A silk peach sari is draped around her thin frame. Her large, almond-shaped eyes are lined with kohl. Three gold bangles are on each of her wrists. She looks like the type of woman who has nothing to hide.
Beads of sweat erupt on her forehead. Nandini dabs them with a tissue and turns on the ceiling fan. She takes deep breaths, the way her therapist—her therapist nobody except Mami knows about—taught her.
She pictures taking her past, putting it into a box, and shoving it under the bed. Just like that, and it would be out of sight. Gone. But time has shown her that this isn’t possible, that the past isn’t like an old journal she can hide. No, the past has blades and will rip her to shreds if she doesn’t handle it properly.
Nandini sneaks into the kitchen. From here, she can make out her parents’ voices.
“Nandini loves music,” she hears Papa saying.
“That’s nice. And Ranjit wants a doctor, so that’s good,” Ranjit’s mother says, as if her son isn’t sitting right next to her. “But does she cook?”
Nandini presses her bare feet against the smooth, cool stone in the kitchen. Everywhere she looks, there’s food. The counter is covered with tiny steels bowls of roasted peanuts, onions, and cilantro. Biscuits that Papa dips into his tea are arranged on a silver platter. An assortment of chutneys is on the small, wooden side table.
“And has your daughter, uh, learned from everything before?” Ranjit’s dad asks.
They know about what happened, Nandini thinks.
Of course they do. Everyone in this part of India heard about what Nandini did. There were people who made sure of it. Shame coats her in waves, a shame she’d tried hiding from but couldn’t. It lodged itself into her organs and never went away. It became part of her DNA.
“She is ready to move on,” Papa says.
He’s been getting short of breath just by speaking now. His ankles are always swollen, and every time he walks, there seems to be a weight across his shoulders.
“Nandini!” Mami yells.
Nandini takes a deep breath. She is supposed to walk in slowly, with her head down, her facial expression neutral.
Everyone is quiet as Nandini comes into the living room. Black-and-white photos of her grandparents are hanging on the walls, with garlands around them.
“Hi, beta,” Ranjit’s mother says.
Nandini nods. She catches Mami giving her a look of approval. She sits between her parents and gives one-word answers to all the questions from Ranjit’s parents. Yes, she likes cooking. Yes, she would like to have children. No, she has no concerns about moving to America. Of course she will be able to take care of her in-laws.
It takes everything she has to be docile and demure. An hour passes this way.
Just when she thinks that the guests are getting ready to leave, Ranjit clears his throat and speaks for the first time. “Do you think we could sit outside together? Alone?”
Nandini raises her eyebrows in surprise. Is this allowed? She turns toward Mami and Papa.
Mami speaks before Papa can. “I think that’s fine.”
Nandini guides Ranjit to the wooden swing on her parents’ veranda. They sit down, and she’s hyperaware of everything. The small distance between them. His thick mustache. The way the warm breeze spreads his scent of Pears brand soap and talcum powder. His clean feet, with trimmed toenails and a smattering of hair on his big toe.
It has been so long since she’s been this close to a man. The last time, she found herself overcome with a consuming self-hatred. Never again, she told herself then. Never again will I let myself be put through this.
“You’re not like other women I’ve met,” Ranjit finally says.
Nandini faces him. “That’s probably true. Listen, I know you’re looking to get married to someone more tradit—”
“What are you trying to say?”
She looked him deep in the eyes. “I’m difficult. You won’t be able to handle it.”
He chuckles. “I like that you’re difficult.”
Nandini soaks in the lines around his eyes, the kindness of his smile. Is this man accepting her? Why? She isn’t sure about any of that, but she is sure about one thing: there’s something comforting about him, something safe.
An hour later, they go back to the living room and join their parents. There will be no diamond ring like the American movies they’ve watched, no requests for a private date. There are just their parents, enjoying cups of chai. But that is enough. The message is clear. And by moving to America, by uprooting her life and letting go of everything that is familiar to her, she will make sure things will be different for her children. They can have the types of romantic relationships that are based on a true connection, not a need to survive. She pictures her future self hearing about their first dates, and later, their happy, easy marriages. All of that makes this worth it.
Mami and Ranjit’s mom hug while the fathers shake hands. They all walk out of the house together, discussing plans for a small, religious wedding ceremony.
Ranjit turns to smile at her when he’s helping his mom get into a rickshaw.
Maybe the past could be put away after all.