many critical eyes.
Her sister’s admirers were already gathering as the family departed. They goggled at Reet as she eased herself into the rickshaw, then looked disappointed as they drove away, like ticket holders who’d just been told the performance had been canceled.
“Shoo, why don’t you,” Raj said as the rickshaw passed the young men. But his tone was flat and hopeless.
The wiry rickshaw pullers had to stand on the pedals, lugging the Gupta daughters- in- law and their offspring from the southern outskirts of the city to the main shopping center in Gariahat Corner. Beggars crowded around the women as soon as they climbed onto the sidewalk. Raj escaped the outstretched hands and whining voices by ducking into a bookseller. Asha was about to follow him when she saw Ma beckoning furiously from the front of a saree shop. Sighing, Asha turned from the lure of the books and trudged over to her mother and sister. Auntie and the cousins were already trooping inside.
A clerk greeted them, his excitement at welcoming a pair of suburban housewives shaping itself into an expansive grin. “How might I serve you ladies?” he asked, rubbing his palms together.
“Sarees for festival season,” Ma announced. “Silk only, please.”
Ma pushed Asha forward, and the clerk began trying a series of different silks against her skin.
“Stand still, Tuni,” Ma said sternly, once she and Asha were behind the curtain in the small alcove.
Reluctantly Asha obeyed, putting up one arm, then the next so Ma could tuck and fold the long piece of cloth around her. Locked in her one- armed pose while Ma pleated the front of the saree, she was reminded of the card Baba had sent with the picture of a statue standing in New York’s harbor. “I look like the Statue of Liberty, Reet,” Asha called through the curtain. “Isn’t she wearing a saree, too?”
Ma sighed. “I suppose we’ll take the mustard- colored one. It’s the only one that suits your complexion.” She pulled open the curtain.
Asha didn’t bother looking in the mirror; she could tell how she looked by the expressionless faces before her. Reet was smiling, though, so Asha straightened and put up one arm again to hold an imaginary torch.
“Go stand in the Atlantic right now,” her sister ordered, and they laughed.
Auntie ignored this sisterly exchange. “Too bad Tuni got your husband’s dark complexion,” she said, shaking her head in that annoying figure eight. “And she’s all muscle, too, built like a boy. Quite the opposite of you, Sumitra. And our lovely Shona, of course.”
Asha closed her lips tightly. She couldn’t take any more of this “dark” stuff. What did a person’s skin color have to do with
anything?
Especially beauty, of all things. An angry lecture was taking shape in her mind, and she was just about to spew it out when, behind her, the “lovely Shona” began to hum.
“My turn!” Reet said brightly. “Osh, why don’t you goand find Raj? He’ll have to round up some rickshaws soon, won’t he, Ma?”
“Take the parcel with you after the clerk wraps your sa-ree, Tuni,” Ma commanded, taking a gold- embroidered sa-ree and Reet into the curtained alcove.
Auntie nodded and the twins squealed in delight when Ma pulled open the curtains this time.
“She’s perfect,” Auntie said. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
“Shonadi, you look like a film star!” Sita cried.
“Yes, your younger sister is looking quite nice in that one, madam,” the clerk told Ma, handing Asha the bulky parcel that was her new saree. The cousins giggled. Auntie quickly set the clerk straight, but Ma was already pulling open her bag to buy the magic saree.
TEN
M OST OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD WAS RESTING WITH THE CURTAINS closed against the heat. When the rains held back for a day or two, the earth steamed like a panful of rice. Asha was alone on the roof, writing furiously, drops of sweat smearing the words on the page. Jay the Hermit was spying on her
Her sister’s admirers were already gathering as the family departed. They goggled at Reet as she eased herself into the rickshaw, then looked disappointed as they drove away, like ticket holders who’d just been told the performance had been canceled.
“Shoo, why don’t you,” Raj said as the rickshaw passed the young men. But his tone was flat and hopeless.
The wiry rickshaw pullers had to stand on the pedals, lugging the Gupta daughters- in- law and their offspring from the southern outskirts of the city to the main shopping center in Gariahat Corner. Beggars crowded around the women as soon as they climbed onto the sidewalk. Raj escaped the outstretched hands and whining voices by ducking into a bookseller. Asha was about to follow him when she saw Ma beckoning furiously from the front of a saree shop. Sighing, Asha turned from the lure of the books and trudged over to her mother and sister. Auntie and the cousins were already trooping inside.
A clerk greeted them, his excitement at welcoming a pair of suburban housewives shaping itself into an expansive grin. “How might I serve you ladies?” he asked, rubbing his palms together.
“Sarees for festival season,” Ma announced. “Silk only, please.”
Ma pushed Asha forward, and the clerk began trying a series of different silks against her skin.
“Stand still, Tuni,” Ma said sternly, once she and Asha were behind the curtain in the small alcove.
Reluctantly Asha obeyed, putting up one arm, then the next so Ma could tuck and fold the long piece of cloth around her. Locked in her one- armed pose while Ma pleated the front of the saree, she was reminded of the card Baba had sent with the picture of a statue standing in New York’s harbor. “I look like the Statue of Liberty, Reet,” Asha called through the curtain. “Isn’t she wearing a saree, too?”
Ma sighed. “I suppose we’ll take the mustard- colored one. It’s the only one that suits your complexion.” She pulled open the curtain.
Asha didn’t bother looking in the mirror; she could tell how she looked by the expressionless faces before her. Reet was smiling, though, so Asha straightened and put up one arm again to hold an imaginary torch.
“Go stand in the Atlantic right now,” her sister ordered, and they laughed.
Auntie ignored this sisterly exchange. “Too bad Tuni got your husband’s dark complexion,” she said, shaking her head in that annoying figure eight. “And she’s all muscle, too, built like a boy. Quite the opposite of you, Sumitra. And our lovely Shona, of course.”
Asha closed her lips tightly. She couldn’t take any more of this “dark” stuff. What did a person’s skin color have to do with
anything?
Especially beauty, of all things. An angry lecture was taking shape in her mind, and she was just about to spew it out when, behind her, the “lovely Shona” began to hum.
“My turn!” Reet said brightly. “Osh, why don’t you goand find Raj? He’ll have to round up some rickshaws soon, won’t he, Ma?”
“Take the parcel with you after the clerk wraps your sa-ree, Tuni,” Ma commanded, taking a gold- embroidered sa-ree and Reet into the curtained alcove.
Auntie nodded and the twins squealed in delight when Ma pulled open the curtains this time.
“She’s perfect,” Auntie said. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
“Shonadi, you look like a film star!” Sita cried.
“Yes, your younger sister is looking quite nice in that one, madam,” the clerk told Ma, handing Asha the bulky parcel that was her new saree. The cousins giggled. Auntie quickly set the clerk straight, but Ma was already pulling open her bag to buy the magic saree.
TEN
M OST OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD WAS RESTING WITH THE CURTAINS closed against the heat. When the rains held back for a day or two, the earth steamed like a panful of rice. Asha was alone on the roof, writing furiously, drops of sweat smearing the words on the page. Jay the Hermit was spying on her
Similar Books
