WOULD BE KIND.
AND YOU WON’T BELIEVE THIS, BUT LATA IS PREGNANT AGAIN. THATHA WANTS A PUREBLOODED BRAHMIN GRANDSON AND ANAND’S SON, IF HE HAS ONE, WON’T CUT IT. NEELIMA ISN’T A TELUGU BRAHMIN, YOU SEE, JUST A MAHARASHTRIAN ONE. THIS FEELS LIKE A BAD TELUGU MOVIE; ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE THERE IN DIFFERENT SHADES OF GRAY: THE INTRACTABLE MOTHER-IN-LAW, THE VILE SISTER-IN-LAWS, THE SPINELESS HUSBAND, THE PATRIARCHAL FATHER-IN-LAW, AND, OF COURSE, THE POOR DAUGHTER-IN-LAW FROM THE OTHER CASTE.
I’M NOT GETTING ALONG WITH MA EITHER. I’M TRYING HARD AND FAILING. FOR ONCE I WANTED US TO BE FRIENDS AND I THOUGHT THAT NOW THAT I’M OLDER, WE WOULD BE FRIENDS. NOT HAPPENING FOR US. AND IT HURTS. I HAD THIS FANTASY OF US GETTING ALONG ONCE I GOT BACK. BUT TIME HAS HAD ABSOLUTELY NO EFFECT ON OUR RELATIONSHIP.
NATE HAS GONE HIKING WITH FRIENDS AND I’M STUCK HERE WITH THE RELATIVES FROM HELL. I WANT SO MUCH FOR THEM TO BE DIFFERENT, MORE ACCEPTING, LESS JUDGMENTAL, LESS RACIST, MORE TOLERANT. I WANT THEM TO ACCEPT YOU. BUT THE MORE I SEE, THE MORE I REALIZE THAT IT ISN’T GOING TO HAPPEN.
HOW AM I GOING TO TELL THEM, NICK? HOW ON EARTH AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL THEM ABOUT YOU? IT’S GOING TO BREAK MY HEART TO BREAK THEIRS. BUT I LOVE YOU AND I CAN’T DREDGE UP AN OUNCE OF GUILT . . . AND THAT MAKES ME FEEL GUILTY. I’M SUPPOSED TO FEEL GUILT, RIGHT?
ANYWAY, GOT TO GO. THE MAN AT THE FRONT DESK IS LOOKING AT HIS WATCH AND THEN AT ME . . . SUBTLE AS A CHAINSAW. I’LL COME BY AGAIN AND CHECK EMAIL.
AND, I AM NOT GOING TO MARRY SOME INDIAN BOY!! HOW CAN YOU THINK THAT, EVEN IRRATIONALLY?
AND I’M COMING HOME AS SOON AS I CAN.
PRIYA
Swimming in Peanut Oil and Apologies
Ma all but dragged me out to the back yard after lunch. “You might be here just for a few days but you will behave yourself,” she said, gripping my arm tightly.
I jerked her hand off and rubbed the small bruises her fingers left behind. “I will say what I feel like saying. If you don’t like it, I can pack up and leave.” That was not what I really wanted to say, but I was angry and furious at being treated like a five-year-old. I was a twenty-seven-year-old woman; I was not a child. When would they learn that? And then again, when would I learn to act my age? Why did I have to go off the deep end over matters that did not concern me? I knew that; I knew that it didn’t really matter what Thatha or Ammamma thought about black people or white. Yet I couldn’t help myself and couldn’t regret what I said. Somehow I felt justified in taking umbrage at what they had said because I was right . But that didn’t change the fact that I had behaved badly and hurt my grandfather, my aunt, my grandmother, and my mother. Now if only I could find some beggars on the street to kick, I could call it a day.
“Are you threatening me?” Ma demanded, and I just gave her a “yeah sure” look but didn’t say anything.
“Are you?” she asked again, her eyes boring into mine.
I didn’t look away. Sometimes it was better to face the demons than ignore them. All that was left now was to purse my lips in a pout to look like a recalcitrant adolescent. Just the image I was trying not to portray. How could I convince them to trust my judgment in men if I was pouting like a child?
“All the sacrifices we made for you,” Ma said in disgust. “And this is how you repay us?”
I raised one eyebrow negligently and the little guilt I was feeling took a nosedive. “Ma, put a sock on the sacrifice routine,” I said with belligerence, all my vows of being the perfect daughter for the two week trip vanishing completely. This “you owe us” line was not one I liked, not one I believed in. I hadn’t put a petition to my parents asking them to give birth to me. It was their choice and since they made that choice I couldn’t owe them.
My mother’s eyes raged at me and she was about to say something when Sowmya came into the back yard with the dirty dishes in a
AND YOU WON’T BELIEVE THIS, BUT LATA IS PREGNANT AGAIN. THATHA WANTS A PUREBLOODED BRAHMIN GRANDSON AND ANAND’S SON, IF HE HAS ONE, WON’T CUT IT. NEELIMA ISN’T A TELUGU BRAHMIN, YOU SEE, JUST A MAHARASHTRIAN ONE. THIS FEELS LIKE A BAD TELUGU MOVIE; ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE THERE IN DIFFERENT SHADES OF GRAY: THE INTRACTABLE MOTHER-IN-LAW, THE VILE SISTER-IN-LAWS, THE SPINELESS HUSBAND, THE PATRIARCHAL FATHER-IN-LAW, AND, OF COURSE, THE POOR DAUGHTER-IN-LAW FROM THE OTHER CASTE.
I’M NOT GETTING ALONG WITH MA EITHER. I’M TRYING HARD AND FAILING. FOR ONCE I WANTED US TO BE FRIENDS AND I THOUGHT THAT NOW THAT I’M OLDER, WE WOULD BE FRIENDS. NOT HAPPENING FOR US. AND IT HURTS. I HAD THIS FANTASY OF US GETTING ALONG ONCE I GOT BACK. BUT TIME HAS HAD ABSOLUTELY NO EFFECT ON OUR RELATIONSHIP.
NATE HAS GONE HIKING WITH FRIENDS AND I’M STUCK HERE WITH THE RELATIVES FROM HELL. I WANT SO MUCH FOR THEM TO BE DIFFERENT, MORE ACCEPTING, LESS JUDGMENTAL, LESS RACIST, MORE TOLERANT. I WANT THEM TO ACCEPT YOU. BUT THE MORE I SEE, THE MORE I REALIZE THAT IT ISN’T GOING TO HAPPEN.
HOW AM I GOING TO TELL THEM, NICK? HOW ON EARTH AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL THEM ABOUT YOU? IT’S GOING TO BREAK MY HEART TO BREAK THEIRS. BUT I LOVE YOU AND I CAN’T DREDGE UP AN OUNCE OF GUILT . . . AND THAT MAKES ME FEEL GUILTY. I’M SUPPOSED TO FEEL GUILT, RIGHT?
ANYWAY, GOT TO GO. THE MAN AT THE FRONT DESK IS LOOKING AT HIS WATCH AND THEN AT ME . . . SUBTLE AS A CHAINSAW. I’LL COME BY AGAIN AND CHECK EMAIL.
AND, I AM NOT GOING TO MARRY SOME INDIAN BOY!! HOW CAN YOU THINK THAT, EVEN IRRATIONALLY?
AND I’M COMING HOME AS SOON AS I CAN.
PRIYA
Swimming in Peanut Oil and Apologies
Ma all but dragged me out to the back yard after lunch. “You might be here just for a few days but you will behave yourself,” she said, gripping my arm tightly.
I jerked her hand off and rubbed the small bruises her fingers left behind. “I will say what I feel like saying. If you don’t like it, I can pack up and leave.” That was not what I really wanted to say, but I was angry and furious at being treated like a five-year-old. I was a twenty-seven-year-old woman; I was not a child. When would they learn that? And then again, when would I learn to act my age? Why did I have to go off the deep end over matters that did not concern me? I knew that; I knew that it didn’t really matter what Thatha or Ammamma thought about black people or white. Yet I couldn’t help myself and couldn’t regret what I said. Somehow I felt justified in taking umbrage at what they had said because I was right . But that didn’t change the fact that I had behaved badly and hurt my grandfather, my aunt, my grandmother, and my mother. Now if only I could find some beggars on the street to kick, I could call it a day.
“Are you threatening me?” Ma demanded, and I just gave her a “yeah sure” look but didn’t say anything.
“Are you?” she asked again, her eyes boring into mine.
I didn’t look away. Sometimes it was better to face the demons than ignore them. All that was left now was to purse my lips in a pout to look like a recalcitrant adolescent. Just the image I was trying not to portray. How could I convince them to trust my judgment in men if I was pouting like a child?
“All the sacrifices we made for you,” Ma said in disgust. “And this is how you repay us?”
I raised one eyebrow negligently and the little guilt I was feeling took a nosedive. “Ma, put a sock on the sacrifice routine,” I said with belligerence, all my vows of being the perfect daughter for the two week trip vanishing completely. This “you owe us” line was not one I liked, not one I believed in. I hadn’t put a petition to my parents asking them to give birth to me. It was their choice and since they made that choice I couldn’t owe them.
My mother’s eyes raged at me and she was about to say something when Sowmya came into the back yard with the dirty dishes in a
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