Part 36 (1/2)

”Different.

But also very good.”

Ma gazes at the steam rising from the cooling ma.s.s of semolina.

”I wish your pa and I had been able to work less.

Spend more time with Paati and you.

Your paati was a pillar at the center of our household.

I never saw her death coming.

I let her do too much.

I never saw her age.”

”She wouldn't acknowledge her age either,” I say.

”She never enjoyed people fussing over her.

She would have hated it if you'd tried to make her rest.

She wouldn't have wanted it any other way.”

Ma's eyes are tearful but she smiles as if I've given her a gift.

SHARING.

Ma's made so much sojji there's a huge mound left.

I decide to take some to our neighbors downstairs.

Ringing their doorbell -after ignoring them all my life- feels strange.

But Mrs. Subramaniam welcomes me in with nothing but friendliness in her tone.

Mr. Subramaniam says, ”So nice you're here, Veda.”

And Shobana's eyes light up.

In one corner of the room, inside a gla.s.s-fronted cupboard, I see a beautiful old veena, its seven strings glinting as though someone just oiled them.

”Do you play the veena?” I ask Shobana.

”Yes, want to listen?” Shobana unrolls a straw mat, places her veena on the ground, and sits cross-legged in front of it, caressing the strings.

She loves music as I love dance.

”Shobana, perhaps you can practice what you plan to play for the boy's family this weekend,” her mother suggests.

She tells me a nice boy is coming with his family to ”see” Shobana to decide whether she's a good match, in as old-fas.h.i.+oned a way as in Paati's day.

Even Chandra's family, though traditional enough to set up a meeting for her sister with a boy they approve of, will at least give the couple the freedom to meet alone for some time and choose whether to marry.

I glance at Shobana's face.

I don't know her enough to tell if she's upset.

From her veena's strings, she plucks the pensive notes of a sad but hopeful key: Raagam Hamsaanandi.

Listening to the mood of her music s.h.i.+vering in the room, I pray that Shobana's husband will be a good, kind man.

And that he'll share her love of music.

SILENCE.

SOUNDS.

Roshan prances from the cla.s.sroom, the last child to leave.

As I follow him out, I hear Govinda say, ”How are you, Veda? How is everything?”

He looks more beautiful and sounds more caring than ever.

I feel like I've stepped into a strong current of water, pulling me toward him.

I wonder if Govinda was teased about dance, too.