Rebel Hard
Page 46
Nayna wasn’t so sure, but she didn’t interrupt her grandmother.
“My boy has always been obstinate and perhaps a little judgmental,” Aji said. “You, Madhuri, didn’t help by running off. Why did you ever do such a silly thing? You know if you’d brought the boy home, you’d have eventually talked your father into a proper marriage!”
Madhuri winced. “I was young and stupid,” she said, propping her chin in her hands. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”
Funnily enough, that was such a Madhuri thing to say that it made perfect sense.
Reaching for the snacks she’d ignored until now, Nayna picked up a samosa that had gone cold. Half-wrapping it in a paper napkin, she handed it up to Raj, who’d perched himself on the arm of the sofa beside her. It put one of his powerful thighs temptingly close, but Nayna behaved herself.
“Eat,” she said. “You must be starving.” Neither one of them had eaten anything through the entire talk with Sandesh Patel’s family.
He accepted her offer, then watched as she took a samosa for herself before eating. The two of them filled their stomachs in silence for a while before Raj said, “So, who do you think will come out the winner?”
“I’m not taking any bets.” Madhuri held up her hands, palms out. “I have never seen Ma get this mad. Never.”
Nayna nodded. “Our mother doesn’t get mad,” she told Raj. “She gets disappointed or sad or maybe a little bit annoyed, but she doesn’t get angry. And she doesn’t yell at our father. Ever.”
A loud clanging sound reached them just then.
“You go,” Madhuri hissed at Raj.
Nayna started to argue, but Raj brushed his knuckles over her cheek, then bravely—and cautiously—went through the kitchen door to find out what was going on.
33
Shilpa Sharma Is Not Joking
Raj returned with the news that her mother had apparently thrown the lid of a metal trash can at her father. “It looked like it hit the fence and not him,” he said. “Your father seems to be trying to calm her down.” A pause. “It’s not working. Last I saw, she was grabbing peaches from under your tree to throw at him.”
Nayna gave him a bhajia to eat while Madhuri, now that she knew the coast was clear, snuck into the kitchen to reheat the chai, and they all had cups of that while they waited. And waited. And waited.
“It doesn’t matter what happens, Ninu,” Madhuri said at one point, a mulish tone to her voice. “You’re going to be at my wedding. If they say you can’t be, I’ll say I’m not getting married.”
Eyes burning, Nayna hugged her big sister.
Aji was smiling widely when they separated. “Shall I bring my boyfriend to your wedding?”
Madhuri almost dropped the teacup she’d picked back up. “Aji!”
Nayna giggled as Aji settled in and regaled her flabbergasted eldest grandchild with stories about her beloved Mr. Hohepa.
“We go for midnight walks some days,” she told Madhuri, a twinkle in her eyes. “A good thing about getting old is not sleeping so much.”
Nayna thought Aji’s eyebrow waggle nearly slew Madhuri on the spot.
Raj, meanwhile, was focusing strictly on the seina Nayna had passed him, as if it was a gourmet delight that required his utter and unflinching attention. Poor Raj. He’d gone looking for a traditional wife and found a drama of Bollywood proportions. But he was still here. Still standing by Nayna’s side.
Her parents pushed through the kitchen door while she was fighting the urge to hug Raj. Nayna saw a smile on her mother’s face, a somewhat befuddled, dazed look on her father’s.
“We will help you move out, beta,” her mother said to Nayna, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Did you already find a place? Tell us all about it.”
Feeling a strange kinship with her dumbstruck father, Nayna did.
“Good,” Shilpa Sharma said after telling Nayna not to buy towels because Shilpa had tons of brand-new spares. “You’re close enough to help with the wedding preparations. I know Sandesh thinks he’s got everything organized, but there are a thousand things that go into a good wedding. And my Madhuri, she’s going to want a big, fancy wedding aren’t you?”
“I’ve always wanted one of those ice sculptures,” Madhuri confessed. “Like maybe a giant swan with its wings out. Oh, and gold foil used in the wings so they sparkle.”
“Oooh.” Shilpa’s eyes widened. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those at an Indian wedding—not even Pinky Mehra had one. And how about that cake you showed me on that Insta thingie? The five-layer one with the roses and the lights and the waterfall?”
“Oh, Ma!” Madhuri all but melted off the sofa “I would die if I had that cake! Should I message the baker? Maybe she can fit me in!”
* * *
The next Saturday and Nayna still had no idea what had happened.
The one thing she did know was that she was standing in her brand-new apartment, boxes around her. Raj was outside with her father and a couple of guys from his crew, doing some work on the deck while her mother and Madhuri bustled about in the kitchen, making some ginger tea for them.
Their grandmother had a slight cold and had requested it—and strangely enough, Madhuri, who was a terrible cook, made incredible ginger chai, beginning with freshly crushed ginger and lots of full-fat milk. The pot was Shilpa’s, one of a spare set her mother had given to Nayna. Along with cutlery, glasses, plates, even a rice cooker.
Nayna looked at her best friend, who was carefully unwrapping Nayna’s knickknacks. Ísa sat on an old but funky red sofa that Nayna had found online and that Raj had driven forty minutes out of town to pick up for her.
“I did it,” Nayna said. “I really did it. I moved out.”
“Your father is acting very weird,” Ísa whispered after craning her neck around to make sure no one would overhear her, ponytailed red hair swinging against the blue of her top. “Not angry weird. Weird weird.”
“I think he’s in continued shock from my mother’s first ever show of temper.” To be honest, Nayna hadn’t quite processed that herself. “I just…”
Sinking down into the sofa beside Ísa, she whispered, “I never thought she’d fight for me like that.” And suddenly her voice trembled, tears closing up her throat. “I always thought I would only be loved if I was perfect. That I had to be perfect.”
Her friend put her arm around her and hugged her close. “You silly goose.” Ísa’s own eyes were wet. “My mother is a fire-breathing dragon with a calculator for a heart, and she crisped someone who was trying to cause trouble for me. Your mother is an actual human. Of course she fought for you.”
Nayna snuffled, laughing through her tears before quickly wiping her eyes dry on the tails of her checked green shirt so that her mother and grandmother wouldn’t worry when they returned to the room. “I just… I saw how she was with Madhuri. She was so sad, but she never went against my father.”
“Well, it seems like she learned from her mistake,” Ísa said. “I’m proud of her. What she did, it meant going against what she’s believed her whole life.”
Nayna nodded and leaned up against Ísa again. “She was born on a farm in a rural part of Fiji, did I ever tell you that? Only twenty-one when she married my father, and her parents took her out of school at age sixteen so she could help out on the farm more. My aji used to tell me how shy and sweet she was, how my father had to go with her everywhere for a while until she became used to the hustle and bustle of the city.”
“My boy has always been obstinate and perhaps a little judgmental,” Aji said. “You, Madhuri, didn’t help by running off. Why did you ever do such a silly thing? You know if you’d brought the boy home, you’d have eventually talked your father into a proper marriage!”
Madhuri winced. “I was young and stupid,” she said, propping her chin in her hands. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”
Funnily enough, that was such a Madhuri thing to say that it made perfect sense.
Reaching for the snacks she’d ignored until now, Nayna picked up a samosa that had gone cold. Half-wrapping it in a paper napkin, she handed it up to Raj, who’d perched himself on the arm of the sofa beside her. It put one of his powerful thighs temptingly close, but Nayna behaved herself.
“Eat,” she said. “You must be starving.” Neither one of them had eaten anything through the entire talk with Sandesh Patel’s family.
He accepted her offer, then watched as she took a samosa for herself before eating. The two of them filled their stomachs in silence for a while before Raj said, “So, who do you think will come out the winner?”
“I’m not taking any bets.” Madhuri held up her hands, palms out. “I have never seen Ma get this mad. Never.”
Nayna nodded. “Our mother doesn’t get mad,” she told Raj. “She gets disappointed or sad or maybe a little bit annoyed, but she doesn’t get angry. And she doesn’t yell at our father. Ever.”
A loud clanging sound reached them just then.
“You go,” Madhuri hissed at Raj.
Nayna started to argue, but Raj brushed his knuckles over her cheek, then bravely—and cautiously—went through the kitchen door to find out what was going on.
33
Shilpa Sharma Is Not Joking
Raj returned with the news that her mother had apparently thrown the lid of a metal trash can at her father. “It looked like it hit the fence and not him,” he said. “Your father seems to be trying to calm her down.” A pause. “It’s not working. Last I saw, she was grabbing peaches from under your tree to throw at him.”
Nayna gave him a bhajia to eat while Madhuri, now that she knew the coast was clear, snuck into the kitchen to reheat the chai, and they all had cups of that while they waited. And waited. And waited.
“It doesn’t matter what happens, Ninu,” Madhuri said at one point, a mulish tone to her voice. “You’re going to be at my wedding. If they say you can’t be, I’ll say I’m not getting married.”
Eyes burning, Nayna hugged her big sister.
Aji was smiling widely when they separated. “Shall I bring my boyfriend to your wedding?”
Madhuri almost dropped the teacup she’d picked back up. “Aji!”
Nayna giggled as Aji settled in and regaled her flabbergasted eldest grandchild with stories about her beloved Mr. Hohepa.
“We go for midnight walks some days,” she told Madhuri, a twinkle in her eyes. “A good thing about getting old is not sleeping so much.”
Nayna thought Aji’s eyebrow waggle nearly slew Madhuri on the spot.
Raj, meanwhile, was focusing strictly on the seina Nayna had passed him, as if it was a gourmet delight that required his utter and unflinching attention. Poor Raj. He’d gone looking for a traditional wife and found a drama of Bollywood proportions. But he was still here. Still standing by Nayna’s side.
Her parents pushed through the kitchen door while she was fighting the urge to hug Raj. Nayna saw a smile on her mother’s face, a somewhat befuddled, dazed look on her father’s.
“We will help you move out, beta,” her mother said to Nayna, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Did you already find a place? Tell us all about it.”
Feeling a strange kinship with her dumbstruck father, Nayna did.
“Good,” Shilpa Sharma said after telling Nayna not to buy towels because Shilpa had tons of brand-new spares. “You’re close enough to help with the wedding preparations. I know Sandesh thinks he’s got everything organized, but there are a thousand things that go into a good wedding. And my Madhuri, she’s going to want a big, fancy wedding aren’t you?”
“I’ve always wanted one of those ice sculptures,” Madhuri confessed. “Like maybe a giant swan with its wings out. Oh, and gold foil used in the wings so they sparkle.”
“Oooh.” Shilpa’s eyes widened. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those at an Indian wedding—not even Pinky Mehra had one. And how about that cake you showed me on that Insta thingie? The five-layer one with the roses and the lights and the waterfall?”
“Oh, Ma!” Madhuri all but melted off the sofa “I would die if I had that cake! Should I message the baker? Maybe she can fit me in!”
* * *
The next Saturday and Nayna still had no idea what had happened.
The one thing she did know was that she was standing in her brand-new apartment, boxes around her. Raj was outside with her father and a couple of guys from his crew, doing some work on the deck while her mother and Madhuri bustled about in the kitchen, making some ginger tea for them.
Their grandmother had a slight cold and had requested it—and strangely enough, Madhuri, who was a terrible cook, made incredible ginger chai, beginning with freshly crushed ginger and lots of full-fat milk. The pot was Shilpa’s, one of a spare set her mother had given to Nayna. Along with cutlery, glasses, plates, even a rice cooker.
Nayna looked at her best friend, who was carefully unwrapping Nayna’s knickknacks. Ísa sat on an old but funky red sofa that Nayna had found online and that Raj had driven forty minutes out of town to pick up for her.
“I did it,” Nayna said. “I really did it. I moved out.”
“Your father is acting very weird,” Ísa whispered after craning her neck around to make sure no one would overhear her, ponytailed red hair swinging against the blue of her top. “Not angry weird. Weird weird.”
“I think he’s in continued shock from my mother’s first ever show of temper.” To be honest, Nayna hadn’t quite processed that herself. “I just…”
Sinking down into the sofa beside Ísa, she whispered, “I never thought she’d fight for me like that.” And suddenly her voice trembled, tears closing up her throat. “I always thought I would only be loved if I was perfect. That I had to be perfect.”
Her friend put her arm around her and hugged her close. “You silly goose.” Ísa’s own eyes were wet. “My mother is a fire-breathing dragon with a calculator for a heart, and she crisped someone who was trying to cause trouble for me. Your mother is an actual human. Of course she fought for you.”
Nayna snuffled, laughing through her tears before quickly wiping her eyes dry on the tails of her checked green shirt so that her mother and grandmother wouldn’t worry when they returned to the room. “I just… I saw how she was with Madhuri. She was so sad, but she never went against my father.”
“Well, it seems like she learned from her mistake,” Ísa said. “I’m proud of her. What she did, it meant going against what she’s believed her whole life.”
Nayna nodded and leaned up against Ísa again. “She was born on a farm in a rural part of Fiji, did I ever tell you that? Only twenty-one when she married my father, and her parents took her out of school at age sixteen so she could help out on the farm more. My aji used to tell me how shy and sweet she was, how my father had to go with her everywhere for a while until she became used to the hustle and bustle of the city.”
