Incense and Sensibility (The Rajes #3) - Sonali Dev Page 0,5
messing with the nervous system. You emerged more refreshed and energized after a meditative retreat if you didn’t drink or eat meat; and India had never had a student who didn’t wholeheartedly agree, even if they’d started out trying to prove her wrong.
Inside her suite, she pulled off the turquoise shrug she’d worn over her white yoga pants and tank and put the kettle on in the kitchenette. Then, she retrieved her phone from her nightstand and let herself out onto the balcony. The coolness of the slate floor soaked into her bare feet. The resort was built on terraces tucked into a hill slope rising from the ocean and the briny sea breeze caught speed at this height and pummeled harder. Her hair caught every bit of salt in the air, making the short cropped strands stiff and heavy against her fingers as she tried to push them back in place.
Her thick, straight, jet-black hair was a gift of her Thai genes, and she was grateful to her birth parents for it, whoever they were. When India was younger she would search her own facial features in the mirror to piece together what they looked like, and wondered where they lived, and if they ever missed her. She did it only rarely. Not often enough to feel like she was betraying her mother, but just enough to bring awareness to the people who’d brought her into the world.
At sixteen India had finally asked her mother if she had any records that told India something, anything. But keeping true to her nature, Tara Dashwood had saved none of the paperwork. It didn’t matter. India loved her mother more than words could describe. A mother who drowned her children in love, who drowned anyone and anything that crossed her path in love, was hard to not love. Growing up, India remembered not a word of criticism, nor a harsh experience of any sort. Her childhood had been suffused with the sweet scent of incense, the soothing sounds of chanting, and the warmth of being wrapped up in hugs and unconditional acceptance.
If a serious illness ever befell India or her two siblings (an eventuality Tara never foresaw, because: yoga!), they’d have no idea if it was genetic predisposition. Because Tara had adopted children from three countries with an equal disregard for parental history for all three.
The kettle whistled and India poured herself a cup of hot water and took it back to the balcony, and finally checked her cell phone. Her mother used technology as little as possible, but as expected, there were missed calls and a string of texts from India’s sister, China. Their brother, Siddhartha, hadn’t checked in, but that wasn’t surprising either. He was off photographing birds-of-paradise in Papua New Guinea, and as Sid loved to say, a cell signal and birds worth photographing didn’t go together.
Instead of reading through her texts, India called China. Wi-Fi calling meant international calls wouldn’t bankrupt her. These retreats did make more money in a week than a month’s worth of classes at their studio in Palo Alto, but she needed every cent to pay the mountainous debt from recent renovations to her family’s studio.
“India!” China always answered calls with your name, as though you had to be reminded that caller ID existed.
“China!” India said, mirroring her tone, and couldn’t hold back the smile that split her face. “All well? Is the studio still standing?”
China was the one who had goaded India into doing the retreats, because India had never shown any interest in leaving the studio. She loved Palo Alto, loved the studio and their apartment above it that she shared with Tara and China. What was the reason to ever leave? But they’d recently had to renovate the studio because parts of the structure had become hazardous, and renovations in Palo Alto basically cost more than a small Greek island. The reason India knew this was because Sid had checked the prices and suggested they buy the island instead of renovating.
“Actually, the studio’s crumbled to the ground. It refused to stay standing without you holding it up on your tiny but mighty shoulders.” China enjoyed teasing India, but between how little China cared about anything but her work (which was not teaching yoga or taking care of the family incense business, thank you very much) and the fact that their mother hadn’t been her usual energetic self recently and had been forgetting little things like turning off the stove and locking