Sowmya got up and went into the hall to answer it. It was for my father.
Nanna came back, a 1,000-watt smile on his face. “They said yes,” he said, beaming at me, and I felt as if a basketful of raw mangoes fell on top of my head.
You Can’t Make Mango Pickle with Tomatoes
Everyone was very excited for the remainder of the dinner, making wedding plans and discussing how everything would have to be done fast-fast. Sowmya, Lata, and I sat somberly looking at each other. I had never expected it, but Lata and I were suddenly on the same side, while Nanna had joined the evil one on the dark side.
“They want to take the tamboolalu in the next two days and we can set the marriage date for . . .” Nanna said, looking at me, gauging my reaction.
“Ah, Priya can get more holiday,” Ma said, overjoyed that finally all her efforts were coming to fruition. “What, Priya, your American boss won’t give extra holiday for your own wedding?”
“Now all we need is for Vinay to say yes to Sowmya,” Ammamma said, the loose skin around her jaw jumping around like Jell-O. “A double wedding . . . ah . . . a double wedding.”
Ma leaned over to me and whispered, “They want a double wedding so that they can reduce cost, but we won’t have any of it, okay. Big wedding for my daughter,” she said and then smiled. She kissed me on the forehead, pleased, I think, more with herself than with me. “Big wedding,” she said, flushed, the happiness vibrating through her nauseating me with its consequences.
The blood roared in my ears; I could hear what everyone was saying but I couldn’t quite comprehend anything. The boy said yes? Why on earth would he do that? Didn’t I try my best to put him off?
“At that new reception hall,” Jayant was saying, “where that actress . . . What’s her name, Lata?”
“We have to shop for saris,” Ammamma was saying. “Can’t go to Madras, not enough time . . . Chandana Brothers will have to do”
“I have all the jewelry ready,” Ma was saying. “Everything is ready . . . ”
“Priya Ma,” Nanna’s voice reached my ear and something snapped inside me. This man loved me and he was entitled to the truth.
“I can’t marry Adarsh,” I said as the last hands were being washed in silver and steel plates. “Or anyone else you want me to marry,” I spoke over Ma’s tirade of objections and curses. “I came to India at this time to tell you all that I’m in love with an American and I plan to marry him. We’re engaged.” I showed them the winking diamond on my finger, which I put back on after the pelli-chupulu .
Silence fell in the room and then suddenly conversation rose like the small buzz of a mosquito raging into a zillion buzzing mosquitoes.
Nanna stood up unsteadily. “You hurt me, Priya Ma,” he said and walked out of the dining room, the hall, and, finally, Thatha’s house with the creak of Thatha’s noisy gate and the small roar of his Fiat.
And with those simple words, Nanna broke my heart as well. The tears I had been holding back raced down my cheeks. Nate had been right; telling Nanna was very hard. It was harder to see Thatha sit rigidly, his expression unfathomable. I had opened all the doors to hell for my father and grandfather. That was the way they probably looked at what I am sure they saw as the ultimate defection.
“American?” Ma was dumbfounded. “American?” she repeated. She had already said that a few times, as if questioning it several times would change it.
I started to help Sowmya clear up the dining table while Ammamma just kept making sounds and Jayant sat quietly sipping water from a steel glass.
I knew that this was the lull before the storm. This was the quiet after which nothing would be the same again. It had been done and now I was scared that they would stop loving me. They would tell me to go away, like family did in movies, and never set foot in their house again.
I stood at the doorway between the kitchen and the dining area, while Sowmya and Lata rinsed the dishes, whispering to each other.
“Just because you are wearing some ring, doesn’t mean you are engaged,” Ma said, her voice strained and thin. “This boy . . . Adarsh is perfect. You