And Laughter Fell From the Sky (17 page)

Her parents had immediately procured the boy’s e-mail address and had begun corresponding with him and his parents. Over the past week they had even talked to them a few times over the phone and arranged for the horoscope evaluation. Rasika had thus far refused to have anything to do with him, which was why her father had invited her to join him this morning. Even though she knew her father’s goal was to persuade her to meet this guy, she had nevertheless accompanied Appa out here.

They had reached her father’s ball. Instead of considering his next shot, he led her to a bench, and they sat down. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Appa came out with, “You are a good girl, Rasika. You have been living at home. You have not wanted to date. We are glad”—Appa’s shoulder twitched—“
very
glad to have raised such an obedient daughter.”

Rasika’s face burned.

“Since you have been raised outside of India, I know it is difficult for you to understand why we want to get you married in this way. You see, in India there are almost no divorces. Why is that? There is something about the Indian marriage system that works. We do not just rely on the inclinations of youngsters. We look for someone of a similar background, someone from a good family. Then we match the horoscopes. In that way, we get God involved. God knows better than anyone, is it not?”

Rasika nodded. She didn’t like to think too much about God, because what she had been doing was obviously not in line with what God wanted. At least, not the God her parents believed in. After she was safely married, she could think about God all she wanted.

“What are your objections to meeting Yuvan?” Appa asked. Before she could answer, he continued, “Is it just that he lives in India? You must keep an open mind. You may like him. No one is asking you to live in India. After all, he is saying he is eager to come here. Your mother is very anxious to see your marriage take place. I was really astonished at how well the horoscopes matched. Why don’t you at least agree to speak to him over the phone?”

She wanted to believe her father, and to move on with her life. She didn’t want to keep living at home as a single woman and being tempted by every random male. She’d never think of actually marrying someone like Benito—a gym trainer who’d never graduated from college—even if he were Indian. So what was she playing at? What was she waiting for?

“I am wondering”—Appa’s voice became ragged, and he cleared his throat—“if you might have someone you are already interested in.”

Rasika bit her lip and glanced at her father. “What do you mean?”

“Balu Uncle called the other day.”

Subhash’s father. Rasika’s heart gave a sick leap.

“We were talking about this and that, and I mentioned the latest batch of photos we received. He said, you know, these girls raised in the U.S., they want to find someone of their own. I told him, Rasika is not like that. And then he told me that he thought you were interested in”—her father’s cheek twitched—“Abhay.”

“No, Appa.” She let out her breath.

“Subhash says he has seen you with Abhay, here and there.”

“It was just an accident, Appa. I wasn’t really with him. We just happened to be in the same place at the same time.” She had repeated this so many times, she was starting to believe it herself.

“Abhay is a good boy, I am sure.” Appa blinked rapidly. “But I cannot accept, and my mother will not accept. You know, Rasika, his family is of a different caste. We are Brahmins. They are not.”

“Appa, I don’t even know why you’re talking about this. He’s not my type at all. Caste has nothing to do with it.”

“Of course, caste does not matter when it comes to job opportunities, and socializing.” Her father seemed not to have heard her. “I am not so backward.”

“Appa, I’m not interested in Abhay. He’s just a boy, Pramod’s friend.”

Her father continued, still oblivious to what she had said. “But when it comes to marriage, we cannot allow. When you have children, the blood will be mixed. That is not our way.”

“I don’t understand why we even still follow the caste system, Appa. Brahmins are supposed to be priests, and we’re not priests.” Rasika used to ask these questions as a child, and she’d never received a satisfactory answer.

“It is not just a question of profession.” Appa clasped his hands tightly, yet they were still shaking. “Nowadays science has discovered genes. In olden days, no one knew about genes, so we had the caste system. Brahmins are the highest caste for that reason.”

“What are you saying? You really believe Brahmins are genetically superior?”

“The story says Brahmins are created from the face of God. The other castes are from other, lower body parts. The Kshatriyas are from the arms, Vaishyas from the thighs, and Shudras from the feet.” Appa seemed calmer now, pointing to each body part as he mentioned it. “Of course, everyone has equal opportunity now in India. In fact, the government bends over for the backward castes. They have so many reserved seats at the best colleges for the tribals and lower castes. Sometimes smart Brahmins cannot even get into those colleges.”

“I don’t want to hear about all that again, Appa. Anyway, not all Indians care about caste the way you do. And what about subcaste? Why is that important?”

“You see, India is a very diverse country.” Appa slung one knee over the other. Rasika realized she was in for a long lecture. “In America, we are friends with Indians from all over. We are even friends with people from Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Nepal. We see them all as part of the same general culture. But you must understand that everyone’s traditions are different. We are Tamilians. We want to hold on to our culture.” Appa held up a hand and folded a finger down with each point. “We speak Tamil at home. Not all Indians insist on their mother tongue as we do. We have not taken up Western habits like drinking and meat eating. We believe in marrying within the subcaste because that is our tradition. It is tradition all over India, but so many people are becoming Westernized these days, dating and having love marriages. That is why there are so many divorces now. You see, even among our own friends, Shanti Auntie and Raghu Uncle have gotten divorced, after forty years of marriage.” He lowered his hands to his lap.

“But they had an arranged marriage,” Rasika said.

“The point is, they have become Westernized. In our family, we believe in holding on to our traditions for the sake of family stability. . . .”

Rasika stopped listening to the lecture. On the hill below them, a young couple in matching lime green jackets stood discussing the course. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and the faint tok of a golf ball being hit sounded from the distance. Rasika didn’t belong to the country club anymore, though she had enjoyed the club thoroughly as a child. She’d loved swimming in the bright turquoise pool, lying on her back with her ears underwater and looking up at the sky; jumping off the diving board again and again; crunching into onion rings and slurping up slushees. As a teenager she had sworn off onion rings and had enjoyed showing off her body in a swimsuit as revealing as her mother would allow her to wear, which wasn’t saying much, since she had not been allowed a bikini.

She could imagine joining a club such as this one after she got married. She and her husband would perhaps play golf together, or tennis. She wasn’t terrible at tennis, plus she liked wearing tennis skirts. They would have friends, other club members, and they’d all eat dinner together sometimes at the club restaurant with their children.

As her father droned on, she realized it was too hard to fight against her parents. She couldn’t let her father think she’d throw herself away on someone like Abhay. Anyway, everyone—her relatives, her parents’ friends—would be very impressed with her if she married a guy from India. It might not be so bad. She had cousins in India who were as sophisticated as she wanted. Maybe this guy would be similar.

Her father put out a trembling hand and rested it on her knee. “You may like Yuvan. You will never know until you try.”

“OK,” she agreed. “Maybe I can call him tonight.”

Appa’s forehead was damp with sweat, maybe from the exertion of trying to convince her. He patted her knee. “Your mother will be very pleased.”

Rasika talked with Yuvan, she e-mailed with him, and when she couldn’t really find anything to object to about him, when things seemed inevitably to point to her marriage with him, she agreed to go to India to meet him. He seemed like a polite, cultured young man. He was soft-spoken yet not shy. It’s true they didn’t speak for long on the phone, but after all it was international long-distance. It’s true they didn’t spend hours chatting on the computer. Still, he seemed everything she had hoped for in a husband.

Her mother, frantic with excitement, insisted that Rasika buy a few silk saris at the Cleveland sari shop, and get some outfits stitched by a local Indian seamstress. Amma suggested that, in addition to salvar kameez outfits, Rasika order a pants set, which was apparently a new fashion: flared pants with a hip-length top and scarf, done up in a dark purple silk with decorative silver borders. “You will be meeting the boy as soon as you arrive,” Amma pointed out. “We won’t have time to shop before you meet.” Rasika went along with everything, even allowing her mother to choose a bright red, heavily embroidered salvar set as one of the outfits.

Amma spent days shopping for gifts for Yuvan and his family, even though the engagement wasn’t final. Rasika helped her pick out some nice knit polo shirts for Yuvan and his younger brothers. Appa consulted with several friends and read innumerable articles before purchasing one of the new iPhones for Yuvan, which allowed the user to connect to the Internet from the phone itself. “Everything is available in India now,” Appa noted. “But we want to bring him something from the U.S.”

Appa had also arranged, just in case, for Rasika to meet a few other eligible bachelors whose horoscopes had been fairly good matches. Her parents were determined to get her married on this trip—to Yuvan or to someone else.

Amma was busy calling all of their relatives in the United States and India, telling them about the planned wedding. She talked to her mother and sister in Bangalore and her sister in Durham, North Carolina; as well as Appa’s mother, brothers, and sister, all in Bangalore. Amma had already found out, from the astrologer, the best dates and times for a wedding between Rasika and Yuvan, and she spent a lot of time on the phone discussing wedding halls and cooks for hire. “It will have to be a small wedding,” Amma apologized. “Just our relatives and friends. Maybe a hundred people. We can’t get a big wedding hall on such short notice. And if by chance you choose another man, we may have to move the date. But don’t worry. We’ll get it done on this trip.” Amma made the whole thing sound like a surgical procedure that had to be done before Rasika’s health failed.

Rasika went through her days in a fog. She removed her summer clothing from her closets and dresser. Yuvan would be staying with her in this room until they found a house. She recoiled at the idea of a strange man invading her beautiful room. As she sat on the carpet in front of her bookshelf, packing away her Beanie Babies in a paper grocery sack, she tried to remind herself that the man would not be strange, he would be her husband. She slid the Bollywood stars collage down the side of the sack, and carried the whole thing down to the basement.

“If all else fails, there is still Subhash,” Amma said one Saturday as they were driving home from the mall. “They will be coming to India for the wedding.”

The trees on either side of the wide roadway had lost most of their leaves by now, and the bare brown branches rose against a dull white sky. Rasika tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Amma, I can’t marry Subhash. You haven’t had the horoscopes matched.”

“We sent them to the astrologer last week. It’s not a very good match, but it would be a last resort only.”

“I won’t marry him.” She veered into their development, realized she was driving a little too fast, and jammed on the brake.

“Then you had better make up your mind to accept Yuvan,” Amma retorted, bracing herself with a hand on the dashboard.

The next day, Sunday morning, Rasika showed up at Jill’s place unannounced.

“So you’re actually going through with this wedding,” Jill said. She was on the sofa in a white robe and bare feet, toweling dry her wet dark hair. She had always been beautiful—tall, high cheekbones, and effortlessly thin (she never exercised, as far as Rasika could tell)—but she was casual about her beauty, unlike Rasika, who spent hours putting together outfits, tweezing her eyebrows, and applying makeup. If Jill wore so much as lipstick, you knew she was going somewhere special.

Jill’s apartment held a few comfortable pieces of expensive furniture: a tan Italian leather sofa and armchair and two solid maple end tables, set on an expanse of off-white carpet. The other furniture—the bookshelves, the entertainment center, the floor lamps—had been taken by Jared when he moved out.

“Are you happy?” Jill tossed her towel onto the carpet, ran her fingers through her damp hair, stretching her legs over the sofa cushions.

“I think so.” Rasika was in the leather armchair, holding a steaming cup of coffee. She had been feeling so sleepy recently and relied on coffee just to keep herself functioning.

“What’s he like? Was it love at first sight?”

“I haven’t met him yet. I don’t know.”

Jill threw her legs onto the floor and strode to the bedroom, from which she emerged with a wide-toothed comb. She sat down again and began untangling her hair. “I’m never going to get married. I’ll never live with another guy, either. They take you for granted when you’re around all the time. Jared turned into a baby once he moved in. I had to nag him to pay his share of the rent and utilities. And you think he’d ever bother to make a meal for the two of us? I was like the mommy who was supposed to take care of everything for him, clean up after him, pay his bills.”