Fatherlooked as though he could use some of that famous Indian beer. Vivek had saidhe would be in a conference in Guatemala all week, and would be off both phoneand email. But Barbara had long lovey-dovey conversations with two other men,one man named Steve and another named Keith. The rest of us strained to hearevery interesting word. "I miss you!" she said to both. She also kepttalking with us about Vivek, and about the places they'd visited together. Shehad pictures to prove it, too. It was all very confusing.
This was the best play I'd watched in a long time. It was even better than theday my cousin ran away with a Telugu Christian girl. My aunt had come howlingthrough the door, though I noticed that she made it to the plushest sofa beforefalling in a faint. Father said that if it had been his child, the door wouldhave been forever shut in his face. Aunt promptly revived and said "You'llknow when it is your child!" How my aunt would rejoice if she knew ofBarbara!
On day five of her visit, the family awoke to the awful sound of Barbara'sretching. The bathroom door was shut, the water was running, but far louder wasthe sound of Barbara crying and throwing up at the same time. Mother and grandmotherexchanged ominous glances. Barbara came out and her face was red. "I don'tknow why", she said, "I feel queasy in the mornings now." If shehad seen as many Indian movies as I'd seen, she'd know why. Mother was standingas if turned to stone. Was she supposed to react with the compassion reservedfor pregnant women? With the criticism reserved for pregnant unmarried women?With the fear reserved for pregnant unmarried foreign women who could embroilone's son in a paternity suit? Mother, who navigated familiar flows of marriedlife with the skill of a champion oarsman, now seemed completely taken off hermoorings. She seemed to hope that if she didn't react it might all disappearlike a bad dream. I made a mental note to not leave home at all for the nextweek.Whatever my parents would say to Vivek when they finally got a-hold of himwould be too interesting to miss. But they never got a chance. The day Barbarawas to leave, we got a terse email from Vivek. "Sorry, still stuck inGuatemala . Just wanted to mention, another friend of mine, Sameera Sheikh,needs a place to stay. She'll fly in from Hyderabad tomorrow at 10am . Sorryfor the trouble."
So there we were, father and I, with a board saying "Sameera". Atlast a pretty young woman in salwar-khameez saw the board, gave the smallest ofsmiles, and walked quietly towards us. When she did 'Namaste' to father, Ithought I saw his eyes mist up. She took my hand in the friendliest way andsaid "Hello, Vyjayanthi, I've heard so much about you." I fell in lovewith her. In the car father was unusually friendly. She and Vivek had been inthe same group of friends in Ohio University. She now worked as a ChildPsychologist.
She didn't seem to be too bad at family psychology either. She took out a shawlfor grandmother, a saree for mother and Hyderabadi bangles for me." Justsome small things. I have to meet a professor at Madurai University and it's sonice of you to let me stay" she said. Everyone cheered up. Evengrandmother smiled. At lunch she said "This is so nice. When I makesambar, it comes out like chole, and my chole tastes just like sambar".Mother was smiling. "Oh just watch for 2 days, you'll pick it up."Grandmother had never allowed a muslim to enter the kitchen.
But mother seemed to have taken charge, and decided she would bring in who evershe felt was worthy. Sameera circumspectly stayed out of the puja room, but onthe third day, was stunned to see father inviting her in and telling her whichidols had come to him from his father. "God is one" he said. Sameeranodded sagely.