The Mango Season - By Amulya Malladi Page 0,56
than the understanding of a joke or an Indian cliché. I needed so much more. I needed Nick.
“Priya Ma,” Nanna came outside then, obviously at the urging of my mother, “why don’t you offer our guest a cup of chai?”
“Of course,” I said, and looked at Adarsh. The meeting as such was over. Now we’d have to make a decision based on this small conversation. A decision of a lifetime!
“How much sugar would you like?” I asked him.
“I don’t drink tea,” Adarsh replied.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“No thanks, I’m fine,” he said. “It was nice talking to you,” he added.
I smiled at him before walking away.
Even before I entered the kitchen, Ma descended upon me. “So what did he say? What did you say? You didn’t make any pitchi-pitchi remarks, did you?”
“No, Ma, I didn’t make any insane remarks,” I muttered, and sat down on a dining chair instead of going inside the kitchen. My heart was racing at a hundred miles a second. I had gone through with this demeaning ceremony. I, who was already spoken for, had talked to another man who considered himself a potential husband to me. I had insulted Nick, our relationship, myself, and, ultimately, even Adarsh.
“So . . . how did it go?” Sowmya asked.
“Okay,” I said, as tears threatened to fall like little hard pebbles of hail.
“Do you like him?” she asked.
“Of course she likes him,” Ma said. “What’s not to like?”
“Radha,” my father called out from the living room. “They’re leaving. Come here, will you?”
I joined my mother to bid our guests farewell. Adarsh smiled at me, and his parents grinned knowingly at mine when they saw their son smile at who they thought was their future daughter-in-law.
TO: NICHOLAS COLLINS
FROM: PRIYA RAO
SUBJECT: I’M SO SORRY!
NICK, I AM SO SO SO SO SO SORRY!
I TOLD YOU I WOULDN’T GO THROUGH WITH THE BRIDE-SEEING CEREMONY BUT I DID. I SAT THROUGH THE DAMN THING AND EVEN TALKED TO THE HUSBAND-NOT-TO-BE. THIS DOESN’T MEAN ANYTHING. I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND THAT. I COULDN’T BACK OUT. MY PARENTS . . . THATHA, EVERYONE . . . LORD, I’M SORRY.
I’M SO SCARED THAT NOW YOU WON’T LOVE ME ANYMORE AND THAT NOW WHEN I TELL MY PARENTS ABOUT YOU, THEY WON’T LOVE ME ANYMORE. I FEEL VERY LONELY, VERY CONFUSED, AND VERY ANGRY.
I’M REALLY SORRY THAT I COULDN’T FIND A WAY TO EXTRICATE MYSELF FROM THIS. I’M GOING TO TELL THEM ABOUT YOU TONIGHT, RIGHT AFTER DINNER. I PROMISE.
I DO LOVE YOU.
PRIYA
TO: PRIYA RAO
FROM: SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR
SUBJECT: UNDELIVERABLE: I AM SO SORRY!
YOUR MESSAGE
SUBJECT: I’M SO SORRY!
SENT: SATURDAY 14:02:21 -0800
DID NOT REACH THE FOLLOWING RECIPIENT(S):
[email protected] ON SATURDAY
14:02:21 -0800
ERROR: RECIPIENT SERVER NOT RESPONDING.
Number 65 and the Consequences of Confessions and Lies
Sowmya looked into the mirror, the blue-bordered sari that I had worn just that afternoon draped over her shoulder. “Do you think I will look as nice as you did?” she asked.
“You’ll look better,” I said.
“You think he’ll like me the way Adarsh liked you?” she asked, her eyes glittering behind her thick glasses. “Maybe I shouldn’t wear my glasses, huh?”
“Wear them, don’t wear them, it doesn’t matter,” I told her. “And Adarsh does not like me. There’s nothing to like,” I added.
Sowmya put the sari down and picked up the sapphire jewelry I had also worn to parade in front of Adarsh and his parents. “Amma said that she will give these to me when I get married. If this boy likes me, you and I can have a double wedding. What do you think?”
She was trying so hard to make Nick disappear that I couldn’t take offense, but I couldn’t let it slide either. Guilt sat steadily in my throat like the taste of the bitter soft stone of a raw mango; no matter what I ate or drank after biting the soft stone, its taste stayed with me.
“I’m not going to marry Adarsh, Sowmya,” I said quietly.
She sighed and put the jewelry away and turned from the mirror in Ammamma’s room to face me. “You can’t marry a foreigner, Priya,” she told me calmly as she picked up the blue sari again. “You just can’t. They will all disown you. You will have to choose.”
I shrugged. “It’s no contest, Sowmya,” I said with certainty. “I will always pick Nick.”
As soon as I said it, I wondered. If push came to shove, which it would when I told my parents and Thatha about Nick, would I just walk out and fly away to the United States to