A House for Happy Mothers: A Novel (17 page)

Maybe Chitra came from a bigger house, Asha thought, because she didn’t think the house was small. She had seen a program on television about a house like this for surrogate mothers in Mumbai, and in that house all the women slept in the same room. Here, Asha just shared a room with Gangamma. Sure, the room was small, with barely enough space for their beds; still, it was bigger than what she shared in Kaveri’s flat with Kaveri and Puttamma.

“This is a baby business,” Chitra continued, still whispering. “They sell our wombs to make money.”

Asha wanted to ask her to shut up. Ask her why she had agreed to it if it was so terrible. But she didn’t. Partly because it wasn’t in Asha’s nature, and partly because she had thought the very same things Chitra was saying.

Doctor Swati went into the computer room and asked some of the women to come and talk to her, one by one. Asha was one of those who was asked to come in. Chitra was not.

Asha knew why she had been chosen. She was the quiet one, polite.

“Do you think you could be on television?” Doctor Swati asked her.

Asha shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “What if someone sees me? No, no.”

“They will hide your face,” Doctor Swati said. “They will make sure no one will recognize you.”

“But they can recognize my voice,” Asha said. There was no way she was doing this. There was, of course, the fear that someone she knew might recognize her, but beyond that, how could she tell the lies she’d have to? No, no, it was better not to be asked the questions in the first place.

Doctor Swati sighed as if disappointed in Asha.

“This is a big opportunity for Happy Mothers. And not just for the clinic but also for all the women who want to have babies like this, for women like you who want to give this gift and better your life,” Doctor Swati said. “The more couples that come to Happy Mothers, the more we can help women like you. And this program will be shown in England, not here, so there will be no way anyone you know will watch it.”

As much as Asha didn’t want to get involved, she also felt an obligation to help Doctor Swati and Happy Mothers because of all that they had done for her family.

“What if I say the wrong thing?” Asha asked.

“Don’t worry,” Doctor Swati said, now smiling as she laid a hand on Asha’s. “We will go through the possible questions with you beforehand and make sure you say the right thing. In any case, just be honest and tell them the truth.”

“I will ask Pratap this evening,” Asha said.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Doctor Swati said. “Ask Pratap. I’m sure he’ll be fine with it. I’ll talk to him as well.”

Asha nodded and got up.

“And Asha, I looked into that school for Manoj. It’s a very good school, just outside Srirampuram. Very expensive if Manoj lives there, but if he lives at home and goes to school every day, it shouldn’t be that bad. You’ll be able to afford it with the money you get,” Doctor Swati said.

Asha’s face lit up. “Really? That’s such good news. Thanks, Doctor Swati.”

“Of course, it’s very hard to get into the school, you know. It’s where all the smart children go,” Doctor Swati said, then paused before going on. “You’ll need some top recommendations to get Manoj in.”

Asha stared at Doctor Swati. Recommendations? From whom?

“But you shouldn’t worry about that. I can give Manoj a good recommendation. I know the local MP very well. Mr. Rajnish Reddy. And I’m sure Rajnish-
garu
will give a recommendation as well,” she continued. “We’ll take care of you and your son.”

Asha felt her breath catch in her lungs.

“You just think about whether you want to be part of the program,” Doctor Swati said with a broad smile. “Even though they’ll talk to you for half an hour or so, you’ll be on the program for just one or two minutes, not much. And think about it; you’ll be on television and everyone wants that, right?”

Asha touched her swollen belly as she walked out of the computer room, feeling like something heavy had slammed into her and taken her breath away.

She felt disgust rise within her, for Doctor Swati, the parents, herself, the baby . . . everyone.

Chitra was right. This was a bazaar, a marketplace. First she had to sell her womb to get money. Now she had to sell her honesty to get Manoj into a good school.

Asha talked to Pratap about the television show when he came to see her that evening. Mohini sat in her lap on the swing on the veranda, falling asleep because she had missed her afternoon nap. Manoj was reading an English comic book, laughing to himself as he flipped the pages and read what most children his age were unable to read, what she herself was unable to read.

“I know,” Pratap said. “Doctor Swati told me about the program. Do you want to do it?”

Usually, as soon as Pratap and the children came, someone let Asha know. But this time Asha had come looking because it had been twenty minutes past four and no one had said anything. Doctor Swati had been talking to Pratap.

Asha shrugged. “Not really. But I feel that after all they have done for us, we should do this for them. I mean, Kaveri has a flat now. And we will be able to send Manoj to a good school.”

“As long as they hide your face,” Pratap said. “If people find out, our reputation won’t be worth anything. We’ll lose face and we have a daughter to marry off. We have to remember that.”

Asha kissed the sleeping Mohini’s cheek and couldn’t really imagine Mohini as a grown woman, ready to get married.

“Doctor Swati looked into the school for Manoj. She says it’s affordable if he stays with us at home. You should talk to her more and find out how much it will cost exactly,” Asha said. “But Manoj needs recommendations to get in. Doctor Swati said she will give one and also get one from the local MP. But she said I shouldn’t worry about that; I should just think about the TV thing.”

“I see,” Pratap said.

Asha hugged Mohini closer, tighter. “She seems like a nice woman, doesn’t she?”

“Who? Doctor Swati?” Pratap asked, and when Asha nodded, he sighed. “No one is nice without a reason, Asha. I say to hell with the school. Let’s buy a flat . . .”

“Pratap, please, we’ve discussed this,” Asha said.

“OK, OK,” Pratap said. “So school is more important than a place to live. Fine, do the TV thing. Just make sure your face is hidden. And maybe you can hold your nose when you speak? So people won’t recognize your voice.”

Asha frowned. “You want me to hold my nose?”

Pratap grinned, pinched his nose, and said in a nasal tone, “It was a joke, dear wife.”

Asha laughed. Manoj looked up from his comic. “Why are you laughing, Amma?”

“Your father is being silly,” Asha said.

Manoj put down his comic book and came up to his mother. He kissed her on the cheek. “I like to see you laugh. You should do it more.”

Asha’s smile froze as she realized what Manoj was saying to her, that she seldom laughed. Her heart sank. Was she always sad? Was she never laughing or smiling? Asha had always been serious. Careful. Somber. She didn’t laugh much, not loudly. She didn’t express herself. She was the quiet one.

“Well, then, I’ll laugh all the time,” Asha said, hiding her dismay.

“Good,” Manoj said as his father pulled him onto his lap.

“What about me? Do I look nice when I laugh?” Pratap asked.

Manoj shrugged. “Laughing doesn’t make you look bad,” he said, and Asha knew that she would do a hundred television shows, she would do them even if they didn’t cover her face, just to give her boy a chance.

Divya, Doctor Swati’s niece, was helping the three women chosen to participate in the TV program. They would be interviewed by a British person in English. A translator would accompany the interviewer.

Asha’s roommate, Gangamma, was also chosen to participate in the TV program, as was Vinita, a woman who had just become pregnant. She had moved into the surrogate house as soon as she got pregnant because she lived far away from Srirampuram and couldn’t come for regular checkups.

Asha couldn’t help but notice that all three women were the quiet type, not vocal like Keertana or Chitra. They had been chosen, she thought, to say the right things. Doctor Swati didn’t want anyone to say anything that would reflect poorly on her practice.

“Each of you will be interviewed in the TV room,” Divya said. “And tomorrow we will have someone come and paint the room so that all those cracks are gone. They will also walk around the house so they can see that this is a clean building, as is the clinic.”

Nursamma, who had joined them, was very enthusiastic about the British TV crew. “I saw this program about a house like this in Mumbai, was it? Old, dirty building. They didn’t even have a kitchen. The women got food from some hotel or something in a big tiffin box.”

“In that place, they had thirty women,” Divya said. “We would also like Happy Mothers to grow. We have room for at least thirty women in this house, and with this program I think we’ll have more couples coming here.”

Asha didn’t think they could fit thirty women in the house. What, would they put beds in one of the halls?

“So, I’m going to ask you a question as if I am the interviewer, and then you can each answer it,” Divya said. “Ready? OK. Gangamma, you start first. How do you like being at Happy Mothers?”

Gangamma looked at Asha and Vinita, a little confused, and when they nodded with encouragement, she said, “It’s nice.”

Divya then looked at Asha, who mumbled it was nice, as did Vinita.

They went through twenty probable questions. For each question, Divya made them repeat the answer several times until she was satisfied.

“We’re practicing to make sure that you’re very clear in what you say,” Divya said. Asha and the other mothers knew they were practicing to make sure they didn’t say anything Doctor Swati didn’t want them to say.

Vinita pulled Asha aside into the room she shared with another newly pregnant woman, Ratna. Vinita closed the door of her room and looked Asha in the eye.

“My husband will kill me if anyone finds out what I’m doing,” she said. “Ratna told me that these TV people lie and that they will show our faces anyway. My husband’s family will not stand for it.”

Asha didn’t know what to say. This was her fear as well.