father kept pointing out. Shyamal took us to the tennis courts where he played three times a week, where he could quickly show us around and show us off. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, he woke up at six o’clock to go play. I met his coach, who has worked with him for the last ten years. There was a nice bit of irony here: I grew up obsessed with sports and grew distant from my father because he and I couldn’t bond over it. He moves to India and spends a decade trying to become Pete Sampras.
We got back in the car as instructed with little idea what would be on the day’s agenda. Shyamal had it all carefully planned, but we had difficulty convincing him to reveal his plans more than five minutes in advance.
We pulled over on a shady residential street, and a familiar face jumped into the backseat with me and Wesley: my cousin Susmita. I didn’t know she would be here and I hadn’t seen her in roughly twenty years. She is married to Shyamal’s nephew, Somnath, and the two live in Connecticut with their two children, both of whom were attending the University of Connecticut.
Susmita and Somnath had an arranged marriage in 1992, although their relationship is a healthy one, the ideal for what my parents’ was supposed to be. Trisha and Ron, their well-adjusted children who grew up in the United States, come to India regularly.
So to recap: Shyamal, my father, has an older brother, Sudhirendra. Sudhirendra’s son, Somnath (Shyamal’s nephew), married Susmita. (There are lots of names that start with S in my family.) Don’t worry, I couldn’t yet follow the branches of this family tree, either. I had always assumed that my father was Somnath’s uncle in the colloquial sense, just a family friend.
“I can’t even—that same face!” Susmita said, greeting me.
It turned out she happened to be in town for the summer because Somnath’s father was in poor health. There was a contrast here right from the start: My father told me he had been sick, although I didn’t know with what, when I told him I was coming to India. I hadn’t known he was sick. And even if I had, what would I have done? When Somnath and Susmita found out about Somnath’s father, Susmita made immediate plans to come to India. I could not imagine rearranging my life to look after Shyamal.
Shyamal and Susmita took Wesley and me to the shop of a local tailor. Before our arrival in India, Shyamal had bought Wesley a cherry-red lehenga and a turquoise sari to wear to Manvi’s wedding. He had Susmita pick them out because he didn’t trust his own fashion sense. They had made arrangements to get Wesley fitted—in the clothes she hadn’t ordered!—in case alterations were needed before the wedding.
Over and over again, Shyamal said to us, “You cannot imagine what the wedding in Bengaluru will be. HUUUUUUUUUGE!”
I sat in the lobby of the tiny store as poor Wesley went to the back to disrobe and be poked and prodded and tugged at by strangers speaking in a language she didn’t understand. She said they handed her a small, well-worn scrap of fabric and gestured for her to put it on as they measured her mostly naked torso. The process was, in her words, sticky and unpleasant.
Afterward, we went to the mall, and Shyamal made it clear that he intended on spoiling us. He bought me a black pyjama for the wedding and then took us to a jewelry store. He asked Wesley to pick out a pair of earrings and matching necklace.
It reminded me of when I was really young and we lived in the two-bedroom apartment in Randolph. My father had a spoiling tendency then too. Sometimes Shyamal would go out for errands. Maybe my mother sent him or he needed to pick something up, or maybe he just needed to get out of the house. Occasionally he’d take me, and whenever he did, I’d run right to the section of the store where they had computer games. I was a huge fan of science fiction, and I still am today. I’d spend hours in the aisles staring at the screenshots from games on the back of the case, dreaming of being able to play them at home. In particular, I’d look for Star Wars and Star Trek games and ask Shyamal to buy them for me. He’d say no. But I was ten. I