“You have shamed us,” Ammamma added her two cents. “An American? At least Anand married an Indian . . . but you have just ruined our good name. It is not too late, Priya. Forget this American, Nicku-Bicku, and marry that Sarma boy. Good boys like him don’t come around all the time.”
I waited for Thatha to say something but he was not saying a word. He was sitting as rigidly as he had before, looking into space. I wished he would say something, anything. The two people who I had been most afraid of hurting were hurt and they were the two who were saying the least; in fact, they had said nothing.
“When are you planning to marry this Nicku person?” Ma asked.
“Sometime this year,” I said. “I know you don’t approve—”
“Approve?” Ma charged at me. “You don’t care if we approve. You don’t care if our names are dragged through the mud. You are a selfish girl, Priya, only caring about yourself. We should never have let you go to America without marriage. Your father and I were too soft and you have taken advantage of us.”
It was not like that hadn’t crossed my mind and because it had, guilt, which was already lying heavily on me, increased in weight.
Several of my classmates from engineering school in India had married “boys” in the United States, while I and a few others had not. Our parents had not insisted that marriage be a criterion for leaving their home. They could have made it an issue but they hadn’t. They had trusted me to take care of myself, to not fall in love with some foreigner, and I had betrayed their trust. That was what Ma had said when she had talked about Anand marrying Neelima, “What can we do when someone takes your trust and throws it away?” And I had done exactly that.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” I cried out. “Ma, these things happen. I’m sorry that you don’t approve, that you feel I’ve betrayed you, but this is my life and I have to live my life, you can’t live it for me. I have to be happy and I can’t let you be happy for me. And for me to be happy, I need to marry Nick. It’s that simple.”
“Nothing is that simple,” Thatha finally spoke. “You think your marriage to a foreigner is going to be all roses?”
I shook my head. “All relationships have problems. That’s a fact of life.”
“But this relationship will have more problems than most,” Thatha said assuredly. “You obviously will not have any support from your family. I don’t know about his family but I am sure they are not completely happy about this. How can they be?”
“But they are, Thatha,” I said. “They are. Nick’s family loves me. They accept me and don’t notice that I’m Indian.”
“Then they are being dishonest,” Thatha said confidently. He couldn’t fathom that a world existed where people didn’t notice skin color and differentiate on its basis.
“They will never accept you completely,” Thatha declared. “And what will you be left with then? A marriage to a man who your family, your world, doesn’t accept and his family accepts you, but reluctantly. I promise you that if you get married to this American, your marriage will end in divorce.”
I was shocked at his cruelty. It was cruel to tell me that my impending marriage had no chance of survival. It was cruel to tell me that he would abandon me if I married Nick. It was cruel and unkind and he hit all the marks he wanted to strike with his words.
“Then it will be a risk I must take,” I said bravely and got up. “Do you want me to leave your house now?”
“Priya!” Ma exclaimed.
Thatha shook his head. “No. You are still my granddaughter.”
I nodded.
“It will never work, Priya. You cannot make mango pickle with tomatoes,” he warned. “You cannot mesh two cultures without making a mess of it. I say this because I love you. Forget about this American. They are not our people. They will never understand us. Marry Adarsh. He is a good boy and it will make your family happy.”
I shook my head.
“No, no . . .” Thatha said with a tight smile. “Don’t make any rash decisions. Take your time to think about it. We don’t have to say anything to Sarma-garu until tomorrow afternoon.”