“But you should join this class action lawsuit against Union Carbide.”
“And then what?” I questioned.
“You might get a good settlement.”
“And then?”
Gopi exhaled loudly. “And then . . . you will have money, which will help Amar . . .”
“You think lack of money has stopped us in any way?” I demanded, and Sandeep put a restraining hand over my shoulder.
“I can sue Union Carbide, but I can’t get my baby to walk and be normal,” I said, trying not to yell at Gopi. “No amount of money is going to change that.”
Sarita was on her husband’s side on this one. “But the money will help. You could stay at home with Amar.”
“I don’t want their money,” I said harshly. “What happened, happened. Things happen. I am not going to get into a court trial that could last for god knows how many years, while my son is struggling to live.”
Gopi looked thoughtful. “I just thought it might be worth your while. It will make the finances real smooth. A group of people are suing Union Carbide again, but this time it is in the United States . . . so chances are better.”
Sandeep shook his head. “It’s been over a decade and people are still trying to sue instead of getting on with their lives.”
“Oh, you know what I heard? Remember Bhaskar?” Sarita changed the topic as she always did when discussions went awry. “He was a professor in the English Lit department.” We all nodded as memory slithered in. “Well, he wrote a movie screenplay that Kamal Hassan bought for . . . lots of money.”
The evening drifted away, as we wandered from the topic of the Bhopal gas tragedy to movies to the current political climate to Pakistan.
As we talked about Pakistan, the border dispute, and the Indian army, Sarita took the opportunity to open up the discussion to include an army officer, Prakash.
“Have you met him?” Sarita asked Sandeep.
“Whom?” Gopi questioned.
“Prakash?” Sandeep asked.
“No. Why?”
I closed my eyes. Damn Sarita, couldn’t she for once keep her mouth shut?
“Her ex-husband showed up at her school,” Sarita told Gopi, and I winced. “To apologize! Sometimes I think you should’ve bludgeoned him to death. He is the reason for all this. That man . . .”
“Can we not talk about this?” I implored, and Sarita glared at me.
“Why not? Is it taboo?” she demanded.
“No,” Sandeep said gently. “It just makes Anjali uncomfortable.”
And it did. God, how it did!
I couldn’t sleep that night. Sarita and Gopi hated Prakash and they didn’t even know him. Sandeep maintained his indifference, and I didn’t know how to feel about the man I had once been married to. The man I had lived with for almost a year.
It was so many years ago, yet I seemed to be caught in some time warp where Prakash existed. It was like history repeating itself. Prakash was here again, and once again I wasn’t sure what I felt for him.
TWELVE
ANJALI
I discovered early on in my first marriage that being an army officer’s wife was not just fun and games. It was sometimes very boring and sometimes very stressful. It would have been worthwhile if Prakash behaved more like a normal man instead of a homicidal bull caught in a trap.
I knew how he felt about being married. I had found out on our dismal honeymoon. He had told me that he liked me, but he was not sure marrying me had been such a good idea. I was shocked. This was not what I was supposed to hear on my honeymoon. My army officer husband was not the loving, caring man I had thought he would be. So just like in the Hindi movies where the wife has to work at gaining her husband’s love, I started working at it.
It was the small things. The cardamom chai in the evening when he came back from work, the delicious breakfasts, and the perfect parties—I did everything I could. And finally I think he stopped disliking the idea of marriage. I was an asset and for a while I convinced myself that he even loved me. But in an
“And then what?” I questioned.
“You might get a good settlement.”
“And then?”
Gopi exhaled loudly. “And then . . . you will have money, which will help Amar . . .”
“You think lack of money has stopped us in any way?” I demanded, and Sandeep put a restraining hand over my shoulder.
“I can sue Union Carbide, but I can’t get my baby to walk and be normal,” I said, trying not to yell at Gopi. “No amount of money is going to change that.”
Sarita was on her husband’s side on this one. “But the money will help. You could stay at home with Amar.”
“I don’t want their money,” I said harshly. “What happened, happened. Things happen. I am not going to get into a court trial that could last for god knows how many years, while my son is struggling to live.”
Gopi looked thoughtful. “I just thought it might be worth your while. It will make the finances real smooth. A group of people are suing Union Carbide again, but this time it is in the United States . . . so chances are better.”
Sandeep shook his head. “It’s been over a decade and people are still trying to sue instead of getting on with their lives.”
“Oh, you know what I heard? Remember Bhaskar?” Sarita changed the topic as she always did when discussions went awry. “He was a professor in the English Lit department.” We all nodded as memory slithered in. “Well, he wrote a movie screenplay that Kamal Hassan bought for . . . lots of money.”
The evening drifted away, as we wandered from the topic of the Bhopal gas tragedy to movies to the current political climate to Pakistan.
As we talked about Pakistan, the border dispute, and the Indian army, Sarita took the opportunity to open up the discussion to include an army officer, Prakash.
“Have you met him?” Sarita asked Sandeep.
“Whom?” Gopi questioned.
“Prakash?” Sandeep asked.
“No. Why?”
I closed my eyes. Damn Sarita, couldn’t she for once keep her mouth shut?
“Her ex-husband showed up at her school,” Sarita told Gopi, and I winced. “To apologize! Sometimes I think you should’ve bludgeoned him to death. He is the reason for all this. That man . . .”
“Can we not talk about this?” I implored, and Sarita glared at me.
“Why not? Is it taboo?” she demanded.
“No,” Sandeep said gently. “It just makes Anjali uncomfortable.”
And it did. God, how it did!
I couldn’t sleep that night. Sarita and Gopi hated Prakash and they didn’t even know him. Sandeep maintained his indifference, and I didn’t know how to feel about the man I had once been married to. The man I had lived with for almost a year.
It was so many years ago, yet I seemed to be caught in some time warp where Prakash existed. It was like history repeating itself. Prakash was here again, and once again I wasn’t sure what I felt for him.
TWELVE
ANJALI
I discovered early on in my first marriage that being an army officer’s wife was not just fun and games. It was sometimes very boring and sometimes very stressful. It would have been worthwhile if Prakash behaved more like a normal man instead of a homicidal bull caught in a trap.
I knew how he felt about being married. I had found out on our dismal honeymoon. He had told me that he liked me, but he was not sure marrying me had been such a good idea. I was shocked. This was not what I was supposed to hear on my honeymoon. My army officer husband was not the loving, caring man I had thought he would be. So just like in the Hindi movies where the wife has to work at gaining her husband’s love, I started working at it.
It was the small things. The cardamom chai in the evening when he came back from work, the delicious breakfasts, and the perfect parties—I did everything I could. And finally I think he stopped disliking the idea of marriage. I was an asset and for a while I convinced myself that he even loved me. But in an
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