besides a young Paul Newman and Sean Connery, and Denzel Washington—but no one in real life. I think most Indian women are trained to find only Indian men attractive; maybe it has something to do with centuries of brainwashing.
I was of course flattered that Nick was attracted to me as well, but I didn’t expect him to pursue a relationship. And I really didn’t expect that I, even in my wildest flights of fantasy, would be amenable to dating him. But he was, and I was.
Before I knew how it happened, and before I could think of all the reasons why it was a really bad idea we were dating, we were having dinner together. As if things were not bad enough, we started to have sex and soon we moved in together and after that everything really went to the dogs because we decided to get married. And now I was sweating in my parents’ home, dreading having to tell them about Nick.
To remove the sweat and the two layers of dust that had deposited on my skin after my trip to Monda Market, I took a quick bath, dipping a plastic mug in an aluminum bucket filled with lukewarm water, heated by the sun in the overhead tank. My mother still had not installed showers in the bathrooms. “Save water,” she said.
I put on a yellow cotton salwar kameez to appease Ma and looked at myself in the mirror. My skin had turned dark almost as soon as the Indian sun had kissed me and I knew no amount of sunscreen was going to stop my melanin from coming together to give me the ultra-ultra-tanned look. My hair had also become stringy. It was all the extra chlorine in the water. And my . . .
I winced; I was doing that complaining-about-India thing that all of us America-returned Indians did. I had lived here for twenty years, yet seven years later, the place was a hellhole. Guilt had an ugly taste in my mouth. This is my country, I told myself firmly, and I love my country.
TO: PRIYA RAO
FROM: NICHOLAS COLLINS
SUBJECT: GOOD TRIP?
HOPE YOU HAD A GOOD FLIGHT. SO SORRY I MISSED YOUR CALL. I WAS IN A MEETING AND I TURNED OFF THE CELL PHONE. AND SO SORRY THAT YOUR MOTHER IS GIVING YOU A HARD TIME ABOUT BEING SINGLE. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY EXCEPT THAT YOU ARE NOT SINGLE.
I MISS YOU. THE HOUSE FEELS EMPTY WITHOUT YOU. I SLEPT ON YOUR SIDE OF THE BED LAST NIGHT. I THINK I’M GETTING SAPPY IN MY OLD AGE.
CALL ME AGAIN, THIS TIME I’LL KEEP THE CELL PHONE TURNED ON, HAIL OR SNOW. JIM AND CINDY INVITED US TO GO CAMPING AT MT. SHASTA. WHAT DO YOU THINK? AND THERE WAS A MESSAGE FROM SUDHIR FOR YOU ON THE ANSWERING MACHINE. HE WANTED TO WISH YOU BON VOYAGE.
TAKE CARE, SWEETHEART.
NICK
TO: NICHOLAS COLLINS
FROM: PRIYA RAO
SUBJECT: RE: GOOD TRIP?
I JUST WISH THEY KNEW I WASN’T SINGLE—WITHOUT MY TELLING THEM. ANYWAY, WE’RE GOING TO GO MANGO PICKLE MAKING AT AMMAMMA’S HOUSE AND I THINK I COULD TELL THEM THEN. I WISH YOU WERE HERE. NO, THAT ISN’T TRUE, I WISH I WASN’T HERE.
IT’S STRANGE TO BE IN HYDERABAD AGAIN. I LOOK AT MY MOTHER AND I THINK ABOUT ALL MY AUNTS AND MY GRANDMA AND I HAVE TO WONDER HOW THEY STAY AT HOME ALL DAY, EVERY DAY, WITH NO LIFE BESIDES FAMILY. SUDHIR ALWAYS SAID THAT INDIAN WOMEN (HIS MOM ESPECIALLY, I THINK) ARE DEMENTED BECAUSE THEY STAY HOME DOING NOTHING BUT RAISING THEIR KIDS. I DON’T AGREE WITH THE DEMENTIA PART BUT I MUST SAY THAT LIFE SOUNDS EXTREMELY CLAUSTROPHOBIC.
REGARDLESS, I’M HERE. LOOKING FOR APPROVAL. SOME KIND OF OKAY SIGN FOR MY MARRIAGE PLANS. I NEED THEM TO SAY, “YES, IT’S ALL RIGHT FOR YOU TO MARRY THE MAN YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH.” WHICH IS RIDICULOUS! WHO ELSE SHOULD I MARRY BUT THE MAN I LOVE?
AT LEAST THEY HAVEN’T THROWN ANY “SUITABLE BOYS” MY WAY . . . YET. THEY HAVEN’T EVEN HINTED, WHICH MAKES ME VERY SUSPICIOUS. COMING HERE MADE ME REALIZE THAT I MISSED INDIA, MY FAMILY, EVEN MA. AND I MISSED NATE. HE HAS GROWN UP. HE’S A MAN NOW AND IT SEEMS SO STRANGE TO SEE HIM ACT LIKE ONE.
I MISS YOU. I MISS YOU VERY MUCH.
AND YES, TELL JIM AND CINDY THAT WE’D LOVE TO GO CAMPING. I GUESS ONCE I’M BACK I’LL BE READY FOR A VACATION.
I’LL TRY