Amulya Malladi - The Mango Season

“Well, envy no more. I’m losing it all,” I said, a little flabbergasted that the nonchalant Nate was after all not all that nonchalant. How we had all misjudged him.

“No, you’re not.” Nate sighed. “They’ll never let go of you. Nanna loves you, he loves us both, I know that, but I know that he has this… this special relationship with you.”

I didn’t deny it. I had always known that Nanna and I had a closer bond. Maybe because I was the firstborn, maybe because I was a daughter, maybe because I was Priya.

“And how about Ma?”

“Ma will surprise you,” Nate said, and smiled. “She may nag, she may be a real pain in the ass, but when the chips are down, she’ll be there for both of us. No question about it.”

“I wish I was that confident,” I said. “She slapped me… twice in two days now.”

“That’s her way of showing love,” Nate said, and we both burst out laughing.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Nick earlier?” Nate asked. “You’ve been together for…”

“Three years and living together for two of them,” I supplied. “I didn’t want to tell anyone here. Frankly, I was scared what your reaction would be. An American, a foreigner! I… just didn’t want to say anything to anyone about him.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s nice, a good guy. An accountant, how is that for stable and steady?” I said, and Nate grinned. “Accountant Nick! He is… he plays racquetball; it’s like squash. You’d like him. He hates Madonna, loves Julia Roberts, thinks Salma Hayek is sexy and would like to sleep with Halle Berry. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, at least I think so. He’s stubborn, hates long lines, does this crazy thing when he has the hiccups. Drives me nuts.”

“What does he do?” Nate asked.

“He drinks three sips of water from a tall glass and after each sip he holds the glass up and looks at the bottom of the glass. Apparently it stops the hiccups.”

“And does it?”

“That’s the weird part, it does,” I said smiling. “I miss him. He wanted to come. Said it would be a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? moment. I told him it would be more a Guess Who’s Getting Lynched? moment.”

“It would definitely have been interesting,” Nate said, getting up from the bench. “You’ve got to believe, Priya, that love conquers all. You should’ve brought him along. Let the old people deal with it head-on.”

“Oh, this is scary enough. That would’ve been worse and I don’t need to be scared any more.”

I got up and looked at the bench longingly. I would’ve been content to sit there all night with Nate, but it was time to go.

There was still no sign of my father when I got back. Thatha and Ammamma had already gone to sleep; their bedroom lights were turned off and their door was halfway closed.

Ma and Sowmya were lying on straw mats in the hall talking. When I came and sat beside Sowmya, Ma turned away.

“I’ll go and sleep up on the terrace,” I told Sowmya, and she asked me to wait a second.

“Akka, I will go up with Priya. Is that okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” Ma muttered and got up. “I will sleep in the veranda bedroom then and wait for Ashwin to get back. Where has he gone? All your fault, Priya.”

I watched her walk out of the living room with detachment. I knew she was angry but now she was ready to blame me for global warming and war as well. I couldn’t take her seriously when she was so excessive.

“Jayant and Lata went home?” I asked.

“Sleeping in the dining room bedroom,” Sowmya said, and we rolled up the mats, gathered the pillows, and got ready for bed.

It was a beautiful warm night, despite the mosquitoes being out in the millions. We lit a mosquito coil close to our mats and lay down facing each other, our cheeks pillowed against our folded hands.

“Where did you go?” Sowmya asked.

“Nate took me to meet his girlfriend and then we sat at Tankbund,” I told her.

“Is she nice-looking?”

“Yes, very cute. But North Indian,” I said. “Ma will hate her.”

“Abba, your Ma will hate anyone Nate marries, even if it is a girl she picks out herself,” Sowmya said.

“I wonder where Nanna went.” I sighed.

Sowmya sat up and looked at me. “I need your advice on something.”

“What?” I sat up, too.

“I want to talk to Vinay… all alone. How can we do it?”

“Why?”

“They said they would make a proposal. They need to look through the horoscopes or something before they-”

“When did this happen?” I asked.

“They called right after you left,” Sowmya said in exasperation. “Things have never come this far before so Nanna is very happy, ready to give anything to get rid of me. But… I want to talk to him and if he is not to my liking, I don’t want to marry him.”

I stared at her and blinked. “What?”

“What do you mean, what? Just because I am thirty years old doesn’t mean I will marry any man who comes my way. He is nice. He seems like a good person, but I want to talk to him,” she said, strong determination in her voice. “What do you think?”

“I think you definitely should talk to the man before you-”

“I have his phone number. I need for you to call him and set up a meeting for tomorrow,” Sowmya said, talking over me, as if she had it all planned. “We can meet at Minerva. And you will have to come along. I need you for support.”

I sat up and blew out some air. “If they find out…”

“You are already in trouble, this won’t make things any worse for you,” she said with unfailing logic. “So will you call him?”

“Sure,” I said. “First thing tomorrow morning.”

“Good. It is a Sunday so he will be at home,” Sowmya said, smiling. “I am going to change my life, Priya. I am going to change it. I am not just going to sit down and let them do what they want… I am going to decide what I want to do.”

I was amazed. This was not the Sowmya I knew. But the Sowmya I knew was seven years in the past. This Sowmya had had experiences and epiphanies I didn’t even know about. This Sowmya was a revelation.

“What happened?”

“You,” she said sincerely. “You are like me, Priya. We come from the same background, same place, but you have a different life. I want to have a different life, too. I don’t mean I want to marry an American or anything, I just want to do the things I want to do.”

“Like?”

“Work. I got a job offer to be an assistant at this doctor’s office. She is a friend of mine and she needs help. Nanna said there was no way I could do it, but now, I think I will,” she said, her face lighting up with the new life she was dreaming up. “And I want to stop wearing saris. I want to only wear salwar kameez. This sari is so uncomfortable. And I want to go to America to see your house and see that country.”

“You are very welcome to visit,” I said, enjoying this new Sowmya.

“So you will call him, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Perugannam (Curd Rice)

2 cups cooked rice

1 ½-2 cups thick curd (yogurt)

½ cup milk

salt to taste

½ cup fried peanuts

1 tablespoon finely chopped coriander leaves

Ingredients for the Seasoning

1 teaspoon oil

½ teaspoon mustard seeds

½ teaspoon Bengal gram (yellow dal)

½ teaspoon split black gram (black dal)

1 dry red chile, broken into bits

1 green chile, finely chopped

1-inch piece of ginger, finely chopped

5 curry leaves