First Love, Take Two

That evening, I’d managed to pull myself together long enough to get to mandir in time for the weekly Sunday program. I wasn’t so into religion that I conducted classes or dances or performed in plays or anything of that nature. Heck, I didn’t even care to set up for things, and cooking? My reputation as the only woman around who couldn’t cook rice preceded me. That, along with my history of having dated Daniel, clung to me wherever I went, so the judgmental looks continued.

It was daunting. Draining. But leaving the community wasn’t a simple thing to do. It meant cutting ties with a lot of people, family even. It meant not being invited to gatherings and feeling more awkward than usual at festivities. There was no separation of religion and culture here. Community was either all in or not at all.

I couldn’t break my mom’s heart that way. My parents loved this place. They felt this was their entire connection to being Indian. When my fois had seen me and Daniel six years ago, holding hands and kissing in a park, they had swerved into vicious-beast mode. Not to “protect my name,” but to tear my parents down. They were, in the nicest words possible, the most heinous aunts imaginable. Papa’s sisters were nothing short of witches, if not, well, a much stronger word that rhymed with “witch.”

My fois would be here tonight, since they were as devout as they were hypocritical. No wonder they were so close with Liya’s assaulter. Frankly, I hoped they all got what was due to them.

I slipped off my shoes at the main entrance and walked across cold marble floors.

There were plenty of things I enjoyed here. Seeing friends, detaching from everything going on outside of these doors, meditation, seeing my parents and their friends, the rise of my mom’s auntie squad, appreciating shimmering décor, festivities, and food. Mandir was like life, a mix of joy and hardships.

As I searched the room for Mummie, I spotted one of my aunts.

My body turned rigid and fraught at the sight of Kanti Foi in the distance, merrily greeting people and chatting with the younger girls. She taught Gujarati class and dance class and led the girls in plays. She also worked seven days a week. Where did she find the time to gossip?

Part of me wanted to be polite, to show that she had no effect on me. A larger part wanted to drag her onto a stage and play a PowerPoint presentation of all the horrendous things she’d done. There were so many. The presentation could take hours.

It would begin with how she tried to turn Mummie into a servant in India when my parents had first married. Papa was still in college then and away for most of the day while Mummie had succumbed to a life of servitude, of cleaning and cooking for the rest of the family, taking her meal last if there were leftovers, and starving if it meant making sure that I’d eaten when I was a small child.

The presentation would chronicle how bitter Kanti Foi was toward my dad, dragging his name through the mud when he was nothing but sweet and kind and wanted to be a positive aspect in the community. In fact, his favorite saying was “Don’t focus on negativity, but instead be a positive force.”

Then we’d move on to how terribly the fois treated my mother, inciting eruption-worthy levels of anger in my dad. They always spoke badly of Mummie behind her back, twisting her words and actions. In order to be friends with Mummie, an auntie had to have a strong backbone to take the lashing. Which was why my mom had a small but mighty squad, whom I was eternally thankful for.

Of course, the presentation wouldn’t end there. Because when Kanti Foi had seen me with Daniel, she didn’t take me aside and lecture me on how improper it was for a girl to date an American, or to date at all, as was the custom in my family. She didn’t talk to my parents to intervene in order to “save my reputation.” Nah. That wasn’t how Foi played her game. She went straight to the gossip mill. Whatever naive admiration I’d had for my aunt had been shredded the day I walked into mandir and was hit by an agonizing, blaring abundance of hate, racism, and gossip.

I’d never felt more helpless because I’d made things worse by standing up to my fois in a culture where respect for elders was prime. I went from being a “slut” to being a disobedient disgrace.

Liya had been my rock. Reema was my buffer. Sana was my calm. And somehow Brandy hadn’t forsaken me and her grandparents hadn’t abandoned me. They didn’t know the entire truth, and I didn’t deserve them.

My cousin twirled in her new outfit, the princess of the mandir. She had it all: beauty, brains, friends, respect, and an unsullied reputation. She was being pursued by a nice guy, a dentist at that. He walked up beside her and smiled, his hand brushing her lower back in an imperceptible yet forbidden touch, considering where we were. She flirted and tapped his chest.

If having had physical intimacy with Daniel made me a “slut,” then well, I supposed we had two sluts in our family. But she was Kanti Foi’s daughter. She was untouchable. I wouldn’t wish upon anyone what Foi had put us through, but well, I was also sort of petty. It took everything in me not to lash out at Foi and expose her daughter. Eye for an eye.

Yeah. Pettiness wasn’t becoming. Anger wasn’t kind. But accountability was needed.

Ahead, Mummie chatted away with an auntie. Mummie stood out in a vibrant red-and-green salwar kameez that brought out the amber hues in her eyes. She was one of the few older women who rarely wore a sari. Everyone in the auntie legion around us wore nice silks and chiffons in the wraparound style, while my mom was decked out in loose trousers and a long top. Like mother, like daughter. Pants to the end.

Upon closer look, the auntie who giggled and chatted with Mummie was Yuvan’s mom. I didn’t know how to address her. “Auntie” seemed too informal and “future Mummie” seemed too personal.

All I felt around her was confusion about proper etiquette. I should feel some sort of excitement seeing her. A desire to know her better, to appease her, to figure out living arrangements and her expectations of me as a daughter-in-law, to discuss engagement details. After all, she would become a permanent and influential fixture in my life.

“Preeti,” someone called.

I swung around and almost knocked over Yuvan. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry.”

He held his hands up and laughed. “It’s okay. No harm done.”

A few people watched our exchange. So nosy. There was no such thing as dating privately in this community, it seemed. Which was why I had to be fully, one hundred percent sure about Yuvan before we went public. Until then, we kept a casual distance.

He crossed his arms, stretching the fabric of a shimmering dark green kurta. The color enhanced the rich hues of dark brown skin and eyes, a nice contrast to the jet black of his newly cut hair.

Yuvan was several inches taller than me at just under six feet. He was handsome and all that, but there weren’t any tingles. No funny, delightful sensations. No hitching of breath or wobbling of knees. However, he was a logical choice. A doctor, adored by my parents, respected by the community, patient, kind, energetic, well-spoken. He was basically a walking accumulation of attractive biodata.

“Where are you in a hurry to? We haven’t talked since Reema’s reception,” he said.

“Has it been a week already? So much work. I was actually trying to get to my mom. I missed last week’s family dinner, so I haven’t seen her since the reception, either.”

He checked over my shoulder. “My mom’s talking with her. I’ll go with you.”

“Sure,” I said as he walked with me.

“Beta,” Mummie said when she saw me. She hugged me from the side and pressed her cheek against mine. Never had I felt so squishy.

“Preeti, beta, how are you?” Yuvan’s mother asked.

I touched her feet, or rather let my fingers hover at the tops of her feet as a gesture. I rose before she had a chance to touch me.

“You don’t have to do that,” she insisted. But we both knew that I did. Mummie hadn’t raised a rude child.

“Hello,” Yuvan said, touching Mummie’s feet in respect as she raised him by the shoulders and smiled at him.

Mummie looked up at him with adoring eyes, like a proud mom. “You look so nice.”

“Thank you,” he said with a grin. “You two look lovely, as always.”

His mom playfully hit his arm. “Oh, stop that.”

“What? I’m being honest.” He laughed as Mummie teased his mother about being too hard on him.

“Did you come straight from work?” his mother asked me, a tinge of disapproval in her eyes.

“Studying. Lost track of time,” I replied.

“Oh, no matter. What’s important is that you’re here.”

What she meant to say was that what was important was how she observed my worship habits. Heaven forbid her son marry a woman who had no clue about anything without a prayer calendar and a how-to book for Hindu dummies.

“I’ve something for you,” she said excitedly and handed me a bag.

I looked to Yuvan for a clue. He shrugged, seemingly as surprised as I was by her gift.

“So nice of you,” I told her.

Within it was a box. A…prayer box, engraved and decorated with silver carvings of elephants and peacocks. Complete with beaded necklace, pictures of idols, a mat, and everything else one needed to be today’s virtuous and devout girl even on the go.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

She touched the top. “You can take this anywhere so you can observe prayers no matter where you are. It’s important to have a regular prayer schedule.”

“Thank you?” I replied. I didn’t know how to take this. Seriously? Because it was a fancy box with exquisite contents. Offended? Because she hadn’t gotten the clue by now that I wasn’t very religious. Pressured? Because she expected me to get my religious act together.

“How generous,” Mummie commented.

“We must keep up proper worship, hah?” she told Mummie. “Otherwise, what are we living for? But I have no doubt that you trained her well.”

Mummie smiled that tight-lipped smile. Oh, boy. If Yuvan’s mother only knew. Mummie had taught me well. I brushed off her comment, and hopefully Mummie did as well. I didn’t need a mother-in-law coming at my mom every time I did something that was subpar. My observance level wasn’t a reflection on how well Mummie had raised me.

Yuvan’s mother lowered her voice and tsked. “Can you believe the rumors about Mukeshbhai?”

“I can,” I replied firmly, annoyed to hear the name of the elder who had sexually assaulted Liya and berated me for having dated Daniel.

She startled and stared at me. “You’re friends with Liya, hah?”

“I’m best friends with Liya, actually.”

“Such bad company, no?” She frowned.

“You don’t even know her.”

She waved a hand. “So much gossip about her from so many. She has a deplorable reputation, beta. I don’t think my son should be around her company.”

Then maybe he should marry someone else.

Yuvan sighed. “We discussed this. You can’t say things like that, Ma.”

“Oh? Am I supposed to keep my mouth shut about everything?” she rebuked in an eerily calm manner.

“Liya has gone through something terrible. We can’t judge her and dislike her without ever having met her. We talked about this.” He turned to me and apologized.

“You know that I’m never leaving Liya, don’t you?” I asked him, but I looked at his mother. There was no wiggle room or gray area when it came to anyone’s stance on Liya’s assailant. Liya was my ride-or-die chick, and I would raze cultural etiquette to the ground over her.

Yuvan touched my elbow and I froze. It lasted all of two seconds but sent shivers down my back. I clenched my teeth and counted to ten to fight off the overwhelming anger triggered by nonconsensual touch.

“I know. Sorry,” he said, looking to my arm.

“I’m working on it,” I muttered.

He frowned despite knowing, despite my profuse apologies over something I couldn’t always control. He didn’t understand touch aversion. He didn’t understand why I had such a harsh reaction when it didn’t stem from trauma. It was just my brain.

It sounded illogical. That a simple touch or brush or handshake made me want to scream and punch someone in the throat. Absolutely abnormal.

He cocked his head to the side and led me away from our mothers.

“Is your mom serious?” I asked quietly once we were far enough from others.

“She’s trying to understand the entire situation.”

“Is she, though? Because to me it sounds like she heard a bunch of gossip and defamed Liya’s character right along with the rest of them.”

He clenched his jaw. No guy liked having his mother called out, but this was something we had to get straight. “Ma’s not perfect.”

“It’s harmful and hurtful. We need to side with Liya and protect her and hold her attacker accountable. He can’t walk around like nothing’s wrong while she’s banished.”

His mouth twitched with a smile. “I love how you defend your friends.”

“If I didn’t, then I’d be no friend, would I? But it’s more about doing the right thing. You don’t have to be friends with Liya, but you shouldn’t let destructive comments slide.”

“No. I get you. I’ll keep talking to Ma. She really doesn’t mean to be that critical.” He leaned back and looked me over. “You look very nice in this color.”

“Oh. Thanks. Are you flirting with me?” I quirked a brow. Flirting wasn’t strange, but lacking the tingles associated with it was.

“That’s allowed, right?” He came closer and muttered, “It’s not that soon?”

“You’d better stop. We’re at mandir and people are already looking at us.” There were several inquisitive looks being thrown our way, some plain nosy but some very hopeful. I guessed more people than I’d thought considered us a good match.

“People know we’re dating.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Don’t worry. Let them talk.”

I looked around pointedly. “Gossip incubators.”

“I don’t let it bother me.”

“You must’ve never been the center of a scandal, then.”

His smile faltered as someone rang the bells. He knew exactly what I meant. “It’s almost time to start. I have a meeting afterward and then I’m helping the younger guys in the group I’m leading. Filling in for…Mukesh Uncle’s absence.”

“Don’t call him Uncle. He doesn’t deserve that respect.”

“Can we talk afterward? I’ll be done maybe around ten?”

The thing was, I wasn’t interested in talking it over. There was nothing to say on the matter of gossip or Mukesh. Why should there be? The elder had hurt me, too. And once I was home, there was a certain ex who waited for answers. My brain couldn’t handle it all. The carefully built compartments of my life were beginning to crack.