When Dimple Met Rishi
Page 63
“Dis . . . disappointment?” Mamma said, leaning forward in her chair. “Hai Ram, Dimple, I am not disappointed in you.”
Dimple felt a tear drip down her cheek and wiped it away roughly. “Yeah, right. You wish I were more like Seema didi . Quietly get married to someone you choose, quietly have a baby, accept my path without a fight. Right? You’d love that.”
“I would love that no more than I love this.” Mamma took a deep breath and adjusted her peacock blue sari. “Dimple, you are my beti. The only thing I want is your happiness. Bas. Aur kuch nahin. ”
The tears were falling more quickly now. “But you sent me to Insomnia Con to fall in love with Rishi Patel. You want me to get married young and have kids, and I’m giving you none of that. Instead, you have this headstrong child who’s determined to be alone. . . .” Dimple began to cry, her breath hitching, her nose plugged.
“Oof oh, Dimple . . .” Mamma came and sat next to her on the bed, putting her arm around her. “I am not so old. I understand; aaj kal eighteen is very young for shaadi , for marriage. I want you to have a happy home one day.” She squeezed Dimple. “But only when you are ready. Beti , I am not disappointed. I am sad for what I see in your eyes, in your silence. Very deep sorrow. Tum usse pyaar karti ho, na? ”
You love him, don’t you?
Those words were the key to the floodgates Dimple had kept tightly shut for the past month. She turned, and burying her face in Mamma’s neck like she hadn’t since she was in elementary school, Dimple wept.
She wept for the moments that she and Rishi would never have. She wept for the love that had just blossomed and would never ripen. She wept for how mean she’d been, the names she’d called him. She wept for her hardheadedness, and for a world that couldn’t just let her be both, a woman in love and a woman with a career, without flares of guilt and self-doubt seeping in and wreaking havoc. No one she knew had balanced both. There was either work or love. Wanting both felt like a huge ask; it felt like wishing for hot ice cream or a bitter sugar cube. And so she’d pushed Rishi away. She’d broken his heart and decimated her own.
“I do love him, Mamma,” Dimple said when she was able to catch her breath. She sat up straighter and wiped her eyes with Mamma’s pallu— the loose end of her sari. “But there’s no way to make it work without one of us sacrificing something big. And you know how it is. It’s usually the woman who ends up sacrificing. And I can’t do that. I won’t.”
Mamma sighed and rubbed her back. “You’re right, Dimple. Usually it’s the woman who sacrifices. But, beti , looking at your unhappiness. . . . I wonder, aren’t you sacrificing now? Either Rishi or career, this is the way you see it. But to me it seems cutting off either is like cutting off a part of yourself. Hmm?” Mamma kissed the side of her head. “Whatever you do, Dimple, I am your mother. I will always support you. I am always proud of you. Okay?” She handed the haldi doodh over.
Dimple looked at Mamma through watery eyes, and saw nothing but love and patience in her smile. Something hard and painful in her chest loosened. Taking the milk, she whispered, “Okay.”
Rishi stood in the driveway with his parents and Ashish. He had only a small duffel bag with him; the rest he’d worry about later. He couldn’t help but draw a parallel to the day he’d left for Insomnia Con. The thought pulled forth unbidden memories of Dimple—her sparkling, watchful eyes, her frown with the crease between her brows, her curly, wild hair. He struggled to push them away.
He smiled at Pappa, and Pappa smiled back. There was no hint of tension. They’d worked it out. Somehow, two divergent points of view hadn’t resulted in yelling and screaming and hurt feelings. Somehow, they’d been able to sit and talk about it.
And Rishi had come to understand Pappa’s point of view. He hadn’t asked Rishi to give up comics from a sense of arrogance or pride or feeling ashamed of his oldest son’s artistic proclivities. Pappa was just a deeply practical man, which Rishi could appreciate.
Pappa had taken a while to convince, but once he got it, he got it. He realized asking Rishi to commit to an engineering program was like asking him to live in a nicely decorated cage for the rest of his life. And when Rishi had sent in his late application to the art program and withdrawn from MIT ’s engineering track, Pappa had actually clapped him on the shoulder, smiled, and said, “I used to paint when I was your age. Sometimes I dream in watercolor. You’re brave in a way I could never be, Rishi.”
• • •
In the driveway, Ma had already performed the puja with the silver tray, just as she’d done before his trip to Insomnia Con. Now she grabbed his arm and looked up at him, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Call us soon, beta. ”
“I will, Ma.” He hugged her tightly, feeling a heaviness in his throat. This was really it. He would see them only rarely for the next four years. This wasn’t his primary residence anymore. He reached down and touched her feet, and then Pappa’s, asking for their blessings.
As soon as he was done, Ashish grabbed him in a bear hug and clapped him on the back. The phone in his back pocket jangled. Rishi pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “Celia?”
Ashish nodded, blushing a healthy pink. He and Celia had gotten more serious over the past month. Ashish had made several trips up to San Francisco to spend time with her. Pappa and Ma were letting it slide for now, but he’d heard them discuss having Celia over for dinner one day soon.
“Bhaiyya,” Ashish began, itching his jaw. “Are you sure?”
They’d touched on this conversation so many times over the past month, and every time, Rishi had put a stop to it. Rishi sighed. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He looked at Pappa and Ma, too, although they were pretending they had nothing to do with this conversation. “Dimple made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with me. She said I was too afraid to live life, to take risks.”
“Lekin, beta . . . , ” Ma started.
Rishi held up a hand. “We’ve talked about this. Did she have some good points? Maybe.” He shrugged. “Did she always encourage me to be my true self? Sure. But ultimately, she called me a coward.” He looked around at them. “A coward .”
Pappa and Ma sighed, but Ashish grabbed the back of his own neck and huffed. “Look, I think that’s totally idiotic.” He glanced at their parents. “I’m sorry, Pappa, Ma. I know you guys don’t want me butting in and upsetting him.” He turned back to Rishi. “But Dimple wanted you to be your true self , Rishi. She saw who you really were and she pushed you to be that person. I saw how she looked at you. She loves you. She may have had a temporary freak-out, but she loves you.
“I told you what Celia said—Dimple hasn’t seemed the same for the last month. Like she’s in this depression or shock or something. And we all know”—he gestured at Pappa and Ma—“that you’ve been the same way. You’ve only been half here. You’re like a freaking ghost, barely eating, barely sleeping. You guys both love each other. You need to stop being so freaking stubborn and go tell her how you feel.”
Rishi silently stared at his little brother and then at his parents. Something in his chest hitched, a seedling of doubt that was rapidly beginning to grow into a proper tree. “Ma, Pappa? Do you think this too?”
Ma looked uncomfortable, and Pappa shrugged. “Rishi, it is your decision. But . . .”
“But you seem so unhappy, beta ,” Ma finished softly. “So unhappy.”
Rishi thought he’d been making the healthy choice, not pining after her. Well, not visibly pining. Trying to move forward. Get past all the heartbreak. But they’d still noticed. They’d seen how miserable he was. How truly miserable. It was a battle he’d raged internally every single day, trying to forget the woman who so obviously had forgotten him. When Ashish told him what Celia said, he hadn’t paid attention. They were obviously just trying to make him feel better.
But what if it was actually true? What if Dimple really did still love him? What if maybe she’d only said those things in anger and regretted them? Maybe she’d seen to the core of his soul and truly liked what she’d seen.
Dimple felt a tear drip down her cheek and wiped it away roughly. “Yeah, right. You wish I were more like Seema didi . Quietly get married to someone you choose, quietly have a baby, accept my path without a fight. Right? You’d love that.”
“I would love that no more than I love this.” Mamma took a deep breath and adjusted her peacock blue sari. “Dimple, you are my beti. The only thing I want is your happiness. Bas. Aur kuch nahin. ”
The tears were falling more quickly now. “But you sent me to Insomnia Con to fall in love with Rishi Patel. You want me to get married young and have kids, and I’m giving you none of that. Instead, you have this headstrong child who’s determined to be alone. . . .” Dimple began to cry, her breath hitching, her nose plugged.
“Oof oh, Dimple . . .” Mamma came and sat next to her on the bed, putting her arm around her. “I am not so old. I understand; aaj kal eighteen is very young for shaadi , for marriage. I want you to have a happy home one day.” She squeezed Dimple. “But only when you are ready. Beti , I am not disappointed. I am sad for what I see in your eyes, in your silence. Very deep sorrow. Tum usse pyaar karti ho, na? ”
You love him, don’t you?
Those words were the key to the floodgates Dimple had kept tightly shut for the past month. She turned, and burying her face in Mamma’s neck like she hadn’t since she was in elementary school, Dimple wept.
She wept for the moments that she and Rishi would never have. She wept for the love that had just blossomed and would never ripen. She wept for how mean she’d been, the names she’d called him. She wept for her hardheadedness, and for a world that couldn’t just let her be both, a woman in love and a woman with a career, without flares of guilt and self-doubt seeping in and wreaking havoc. No one she knew had balanced both. There was either work or love. Wanting both felt like a huge ask; it felt like wishing for hot ice cream or a bitter sugar cube. And so she’d pushed Rishi away. She’d broken his heart and decimated her own.
“I do love him, Mamma,” Dimple said when she was able to catch her breath. She sat up straighter and wiped her eyes with Mamma’s pallu— the loose end of her sari. “But there’s no way to make it work without one of us sacrificing something big. And you know how it is. It’s usually the woman who ends up sacrificing. And I can’t do that. I won’t.”
Mamma sighed and rubbed her back. “You’re right, Dimple. Usually it’s the woman who sacrifices. But, beti , looking at your unhappiness. . . . I wonder, aren’t you sacrificing now? Either Rishi or career, this is the way you see it. But to me it seems cutting off either is like cutting off a part of yourself. Hmm?” Mamma kissed the side of her head. “Whatever you do, Dimple, I am your mother. I will always support you. I am always proud of you. Okay?” She handed the haldi doodh over.
Dimple looked at Mamma through watery eyes, and saw nothing but love and patience in her smile. Something hard and painful in her chest loosened. Taking the milk, she whispered, “Okay.”
Rishi stood in the driveway with his parents and Ashish. He had only a small duffel bag with him; the rest he’d worry about later. He couldn’t help but draw a parallel to the day he’d left for Insomnia Con. The thought pulled forth unbidden memories of Dimple—her sparkling, watchful eyes, her frown with the crease between her brows, her curly, wild hair. He struggled to push them away.
He smiled at Pappa, and Pappa smiled back. There was no hint of tension. They’d worked it out. Somehow, two divergent points of view hadn’t resulted in yelling and screaming and hurt feelings. Somehow, they’d been able to sit and talk about it.
And Rishi had come to understand Pappa’s point of view. He hadn’t asked Rishi to give up comics from a sense of arrogance or pride or feeling ashamed of his oldest son’s artistic proclivities. Pappa was just a deeply practical man, which Rishi could appreciate.
Pappa had taken a while to convince, but once he got it, he got it. He realized asking Rishi to commit to an engineering program was like asking him to live in a nicely decorated cage for the rest of his life. And when Rishi had sent in his late application to the art program and withdrawn from MIT ’s engineering track, Pappa had actually clapped him on the shoulder, smiled, and said, “I used to paint when I was your age. Sometimes I dream in watercolor. You’re brave in a way I could never be, Rishi.”
• • •
In the driveway, Ma had already performed the puja with the silver tray, just as she’d done before his trip to Insomnia Con. Now she grabbed his arm and looked up at him, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Call us soon, beta. ”
“I will, Ma.” He hugged her tightly, feeling a heaviness in his throat. This was really it. He would see them only rarely for the next four years. This wasn’t his primary residence anymore. He reached down and touched her feet, and then Pappa’s, asking for their blessings.
As soon as he was done, Ashish grabbed him in a bear hug and clapped him on the back. The phone in his back pocket jangled. Rishi pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “Celia?”
Ashish nodded, blushing a healthy pink. He and Celia had gotten more serious over the past month. Ashish had made several trips up to San Francisco to spend time with her. Pappa and Ma were letting it slide for now, but he’d heard them discuss having Celia over for dinner one day soon.
“Bhaiyya,” Ashish began, itching his jaw. “Are you sure?”
They’d touched on this conversation so many times over the past month, and every time, Rishi had put a stop to it. Rishi sighed. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He looked at Pappa and Ma, too, although they were pretending they had nothing to do with this conversation. “Dimple made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with me. She said I was too afraid to live life, to take risks.”
“Lekin, beta . . . , ” Ma started.
Rishi held up a hand. “We’ve talked about this. Did she have some good points? Maybe.” He shrugged. “Did she always encourage me to be my true self? Sure. But ultimately, she called me a coward.” He looked around at them. “A coward .”
Pappa and Ma sighed, but Ashish grabbed the back of his own neck and huffed. “Look, I think that’s totally idiotic.” He glanced at their parents. “I’m sorry, Pappa, Ma. I know you guys don’t want me butting in and upsetting him.” He turned back to Rishi. “But Dimple wanted you to be your true self , Rishi. She saw who you really were and she pushed you to be that person. I saw how she looked at you. She loves you. She may have had a temporary freak-out, but she loves you.
“I told you what Celia said—Dimple hasn’t seemed the same for the last month. Like she’s in this depression or shock or something. And we all know”—he gestured at Pappa and Ma—“that you’ve been the same way. You’ve only been half here. You’re like a freaking ghost, barely eating, barely sleeping. You guys both love each other. You need to stop being so freaking stubborn and go tell her how you feel.”
Rishi silently stared at his little brother and then at his parents. Something in his chest hitched, a seedling of doubt that was rapidly beginning to grow into a proper tree. “Ma, Pappa? Do you think this too?”
Ma looked uncomfortable, and Pappa shrugged. “Rishi, it is your decision. But . . .”
“But you seem so unhappy, beta ,” Ma finished softly. “So unhappy.”
Rishi thought he’d been making the healthy choice, not pining after her. Well, not visibly pining. Trying to move forward. Get past all the heartbreak. But they’d still noticed. They’d seen how miserable he was. How truly miserable. It was a battle he’d raged internally every single day, trying to forget the woman who so obviously had forgotten him. When Ashish told him what Celia said, he hadn’t paid attention. They were obviously just trying to make him feel better.
But what if it was actually true? What if Dimple really did still love him? What if maybe she’d only said those things in anger and regretted them? Maybe she’d seen to the core of his soul and truly liked what she’d seen.
