When Hari Met His Saali (16 page)

‘
Hai
, I am not crazy to wear jeans in Nagpur! What will people say?’ She was so predictable, Simi’s mother.

‘See, then you can wear jeans in America. Everybody wears jeans in America, even a
khusat buddhi
like you!’ Simi excitedly walked to her cupboard and opened it.

‘I am not an old hag, thank you!’ her mother cried.

When Simi was little her mother would dress her up like a doll. Simi would love it but now, now that she was a grown woman, she sometimes dressed her mom up like a doll. Of course all this happened with the curtains drawn shut, the lights dimmed and in the middle of the night. Her mother had tried the same with Tia when she was little, but Tia was a spoilsport and a crybaby. Tia had never … never worn something picked out by someone else.

Simi showed her mother the pair of brand new jeans she had picked up that day. She urged her to try them and after some cajoling her mother looked at them.

‘Mom, this is Benetton!’ Simi said, proudly stressing that the jeans were
imported.

‘Imported,
hai
?’ Her mother was getting excited at the prospect of trying out the jeans. But the price tag, which Simi had forgotten to rip out, attracted her attention.

‘Two thousand eight hundred rupees? For jeans?’ Her mother almost had a heart attack and Simi immediately ripped off the price tag.

‘Mom, they were on sale. Seventy percent off!’ Simi lied. ‘Please try them,
na
!’ Simi nudged her mother a little more.

Mrs. Galhotra looked around to make sure the room was secure and then pushed Simi out of the bedroom, shut the door and then locked it from the inside.

Somehow, she got into the jeans.

‘They’re a little tight at the waist,’she called out as she unlocked the door. When Simi entered she saw a funny sight. Her mother was wearing the jeans up over her stomach instead of around her waist. They were possibly even higher than her stomach. Simi adjusted them, pulling them down further. Her mother turned to look into the mirror.

‘Can they alter jeans, Sim?’ her mother asked curiously.

‘Yes they can, and if I get them altered, are you going to wear them?’ Simi asked laughingly.

‘
Hai
… What’s wrong with you, what will people say?’ Her mother frowned at the idea.

Simi hugged her mom.

‘Mom, people
ko maro goli.
You look so sweet in these! Now we are going to try some lipsticks!’

By the time they finally got into bed Simi had spent an hour making her mother try out a bunch of different clothes and lipsticks. Mrs. Galhotra put Simi’s head on her lap.

This position — a daughter’s head on her sitting mother’s lap — is a must-do grand tradition that has been performed by Indian mothers and their girls throughout the history.

Simi felt like she should say something heavy-handed and philosophical, such as “the peace one can find in your mother’s lap cannot be found even at the most beautiful place in the world”.But instead of saying anything, she simply enjoyed it.

‘You know Sim, these days when you put your head on my lap I feel like goodbyes are coming soon for you too,’ her mother stated simply. Simi tried to bring her head up to protest, but her mother gently held her down.

‘Mom, please stop with this nonsense talk, OK? I am never leaving you or going anywhere … after this U.S. trip, OK?’ Simi said loudly from her position on her mother’s lap.

‘That’s not what I mean, silly. I never ask you, but I must now. What do you think about your life,
bete
? I mean, what do you want to do?’ Her mother probably had suppressed this conversation inside her for a long time.

‘What do you mean what I want to do, Mom?’ Simi sat up and her mother let her.

‘No, what do you want from life,
beta
? I ask only so that I can help you and prepare you for that.’ Mrs. Galhotra was looking straight into Simi’s eyes. She wanted straight answers.

‘I don’t know, Mom. Do I have to know and answer you … like right now?’ Simi was feeling cornered. She knew she didn’t have a satisfactory answer for her mother.

‘Do you want to settle down in America? Like Tia? I am fine with that if you want to. If not that, shouldn’t we start looking for a suitable boy for you here in Nagpur?’

‘Mom, getting married doesn’t mean getting what you want in life and to be honest, I haven’t thought about what I want from life, OK? But seeing that it is such a big concern to you and that you keep bringing it up, I will think about it and report back to you. Give me some time though. And no, I am never going to leave you and if you don’t want me to, I won’t even go to the U.S.!’ Simi announced, taking her blanket and storming out.

Of course, the not going to the U.S. part was not true. Her excitement betrayed that little declration.

The next day went by quickly with Simi running around and packing for her trip. Sharmila and Namit helped her pack and weigh her baggage. There was some confusion about the weight allowance for her check-in luggage and because the information on the Internet was contradictory. Namit called
his cousin who worked at Nagpur airport to clarify it. It turned out that the airlines had reduced their luggage allowances again.

After some repacking was done and adjustments were made the job was done. But at the last minute Simi’s mother appeared insisting that Simi wear a sari at Tia’s engagement ceremony. It was the same sari her mother had worn during her own engagement ceremony. Sharmila and Namit looked at Simi. They knew that what Simi really wanted to wear was the KP dress buried somewhere in one of the two large suitcases. Nonetheless, Simi packed the sari and planned to decide what to wear on the day of the event.

To Sharmila and Namit’s — as well as Simi’s — astonishment and feeble attempts to discourage it, Mrs. Galhotra put a red
tika
on each of the suitcases and tied the handles with a cheap silver ribbons, ‘so that no one else will take your luggage!’ as she put it.

An hour later, Simi’s
Mausi
and
Mausaji
arrived in their car. A small
puja
was done for Simi’s safe travels; a big red
tika
was put on her forehead and after some hugging and crying — with all the women saying to each other ‘don’t make me cry,’ and ‘I am not crying, these are tears of joy,’ and ‘hush now, hush, hush,’ — everyone was ready to go to the airport.

A caravan of three cars left for the airport.
Mausaji’s
car had Mrs. Galhotra’s luggage in it as well, because she was going to stay with them for next month or so. Mind you, Simi’s
Mausi’s
house was only three blocks away from her own house. Simi didn’t like the idea that her mother would stay with her
Mausi
and
Mausaji
while she was gone.

She always had suspicions about her
Mausaji.
He was one big lecherous creep. At least that was the running joke between herself and Tia all through their teenage years. He would ask them the most uncomfortable questions. Although this could have just been two sisters casting some man in their lives as a villain and having fun at his expense, it remained that Simi was going to be worried about her mother.

There was more hugging and tearful goodbyes at the airport. Even Namit cried. Simi surprisingly held her own and didn’t cry at all. This could have been because she was overwhelmed by the journey ahead.

After taking her seat on the plane, Simi texted Tia to let her know that she had boarded. She had already emailed her the itinerary and contemplated writing a funny text and sending it to Hari as well, but she couldn’t come up with anything funny that was relevant. He had not replied to her earlier text anyway. So she switched off her mobile and fastened her seatbelt. Simi closed her eyes and said a short prayer. It was going to be a long journey.
You see Simi had booked the cheapest flight available and had three, no four, stopovers before she would land at LAX in Los Angeles.

Simi’s itinerary: Nagpur to Mumbai
->1 hr. 25 mins

Eight-hour stopover at Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport, Mumbai

Mumbai to Doha
->3 hrs. 22 mins

Six-hour
refueling and flight change stopover at Doha International Airport, Qatar

Doha to New York
->13 hrs. 53 mins

Four hours
for Customs & Immigration clearance, layover of
two hours
and flight change at John F. Kennedy International Airport

New York to Phoenix
->4 hrs. 30 mins

Two-hour
stopover at PHX, Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport, Arizona

Phoenix to Los Angeles
->53 mins

By the time she would land in Los Angeles, Simi would wonder if saving that little amount of money had been worth it. It would take her 39 hours to reach Los Angeles from Nagpur. On top of that, as luck would have it, when she had checked her luggage in at Nagpur she bumped into, of all the people, Mrs. Shah — the elderly Gujarati aunty whom Simi had vehemently discouraged from going to America for her anniversary.

Although Simi didn’t recognize her at first, Mrs. Shah had recognized her immediately — and had overheard Simi talking about her trip to America with the check-in girl — so Simi had no choice but to wish her a safe journey when she learned that her client was indeed going to Disneyland. It was embarrassing for Simi, as if she was caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. She remembered advising Mrs. Shah to opt for a local destination, even giving her personal opinion that she herself was not interested in going to America. And now here she was with luggage tags and a boarding pass in her hands.

Simi had that kind of luck. She tended to see, hear and bump into people at the worst time. Itwas as if she saw what the universe protected everyone else from seeing at the least favorable time.For example, once when she was eating
panipuri
(also known as
gol-gappas
or
puchkas
) with her friends, only Simi noticed the guy who was making the snacks was picking his nose with the same hand he was serving them with. No one else saw it. And nobody wanted to hear about it when Simi tried to tell them. People didn’t worry about kitchen hygiene when they dined out in India. It was an unsaid rule: It’s safe to consume as long as you didn’t see how it was made. It’s called street
food for a reason. It goes without saying that Simi have had much difficulty eating
panipuri
ever since that day.

Then there was the time that she had tried on numerous pairs of sandals before finally deciding on a pair only to find out after coming home that the
shopwallah
had packed two different sizes in the box. What was even worse was that the
shopwallah
refused to take them back. She was convinced the he had
chipkaod
her with his irregular stock. But what had really got her goat was that the exact same thing happened again but with another
shoeshopwallah.
Since it had happened in two different shoe shops, and she was the common recipient of the same injustice, she was convinced she was cursed.

Another time, when she was in an upscale restaurant with her friends, the girls from the group had gone to the ladies room one by one with no problem at all. But when Simi went, there was a lady in the adjoining loo suffering from the worst bout of diarrhea. Simi totally lost her appetite. There were many incidents like that — too many for one human being to handle.

So it came as no surprise to Simi that of all the people to be travelling from Mumbai to Doha, Mrs. Shah would be seated next to her.

Although midair her luck seemed to turn and Mrs. Shah proved to be a fun person, mostly because she had brought along enough home-cooked food for a train journey with her six children.

‘Half of my marriage went into being pregnant, delivering babies and raising them,’ she told Simi. ‘We stopped after we had our sixth one, our son, Bhomesh.’

After eating her food Simi wasn’t really interested in the fact that Mrs. Shah had five daughters first and didn’t stop trying until she had a son. There was an argument there, and if Tia were there in place of Simi, Mrs. Shah would have heard no end of it. But Simi couldn’t care less.

I’m going to America!

Same time — Back in the La-La Land of Tia

Things were up in the air. The air between Tia and Hari was thick as a brick wall. There had been no phone calls or text exchanges between the two since the mega fuck-up at Chitthi’s place. Hari was at the office briefing Chitthi and his staff about his Hyderabad meetings. Chitthi was going to process the legal paperwork and courier it to the Reddy brothers.

‘Should I even ask? How are you doing?’ Chitthi asked after the staff had left the room. Hari knew he was talking about Tia.

‘Not good at all, man. I fucked up bad this time,’ Hari said genuinely. Chitthi laughed out loud.

‘Boss, just say sorry with a puppy face and then keep quiet. She’ll give you a big lecture on something, most likely on everything under the sun, just listen and nod your head,’ Chitthi advised, shaking his head as if to say ‘these kids!’

‘That’s it?’ Hari couldn’t comprehend that victory was in accepting defeat and bowing down.

‘Yeah man. That’s all it takes. In the beginning it’ll be hard for you to accept that you’re at fault every time, no matter who
really was
at fault, but then like all husbands since the beginning of the time have come to know, you’ll learn that it is the best way,’ Chitthi said, with the authority of a seasoned husband.

Hari nodded in agreement.

‘But here’s the kicker. The secret. Today when you are with her kick her to the curb a little more, not literally, but behavior-wise. Give her a little more stress before you give her some sugar. Twist that knot one last time and then untie it.’ Chitthi was sharing this wisdom with enthusiasm and was ready to draw it out for Hari if needed.

‘What do you mean?’ Hari was perplexed.

‘Show her that you know you are a jerk by acting like one for a brief moment before you swoop in and apologize and take her breath away. It’s the push and pull principle … like a rubber band, you see?’ Chitthi said, demonstrating with a rubber band he had fished out of his pocket. This worried Hari. Who carries a random rubber band in their pockets and why?