IGNORING TAHIR’S BOASTS of parallel parking excellence, I drove to the Performing Arts Center in Costa Mesa. After all, this was Orange County. Parking was not an issue. Thousands of acres of orange groves had been paved to make way for parking lots.
Mom and Dad were already in their seats, along with their “friends” Aunt Dimple and Uncle Pradeep.
Honestly, did my parents have any social acquaintances that were not blood-related?
Aunt Dimple started waving as soon as we entered the auditorium and kept it up until we were seated.
It was so totally embarrassing.
There were two empty seats between my aunt and a white guy wearing a T-shirt with the words “I” and “Yoga” separated by a big red heart. Tahir ushered me ahead of him and into the seat next to my aunt.
I had a list of things I’d rather do than watch classical Indian dance, like get my cavities filled without those pesky shots of Novocain or go for a dip in the Great Salt Lake immediately after a Brazilian bikini wax.
Aunt Dimple kept craning her head to stare at Tahir and me. My mom shot Tahir a warm smile and me a pinched one. My dad was deep in conversation with my uncle Pradeep. I heard the words “HMO” and “referendum” and tuned out.
Bored with what was happening on my left, I turned to my right in time to hear the yoga lover comment to Tahir, “India is such a beautiful and spiritual place. There’s this mind-blowing mystical energy, this awesome sense of peace.”
“If you ignore all the Hindus and Muslims killing each other,” I said.
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” The guy smiled and left.
Tahir shot me a disapproving look. I shrugged, whipped out my cell phone, and began playing games.
By half past eight, the concert still had not started.
Indian standard time.
I don’t know whether it was genetics or what, but Indian people were never on time. I’d grown up watching my mom purposely tell all her Indian guests the party started at seven, just so they’d get there at eight—the actual time.
I looked up from the screen to see that Tahir was still staring at me. “What?”
“The show is about to start,” he whispered.
“Get a clue.” Nevertheless, I put my phone away.
Searching for something else to do, I called the Goddess Within and decided to check out Tahir’s aura.
Pulse-pounding red.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting. A black aura with horns maybe?
Definitely not scarlet passion, heat, desire…
The responding lurch in my body was immediate and powerful, and I forced myself to turn away.
I didn’t throw myself at men. I walked over them. Unlike some women—
“Hi, Tahir!”
Nadia stood in the aisle, smiling brightly.
Oozing fake chirpiness, she sat down in the empty seat next to him. “I’m so glad I got a ticket!”
“It’s Kathak, not U2,” I pointed out. “And someone is sitting there.”
Nadia glared at me, then at the yoga guy, who stopped in the aisle and stared confusedly at his seat.
“Hi,” he said in a pleasant voice.
“I’m taking your seat,” Nadia snapped. She handed him a ticket. “You can have mine.”
He took the ticket and folded his hands over it. “Namaste.”
Nadia scowled at his retreating back. “Hare Krishna Hippie Freak.”
I couldn’t keep the disgust from my voice. “God, you’re so rude.”
Nadia leaned forward. “And you aren’t?”
“Ladies.” Tahir pushed us back. “The show is starting.”
With a final glare at each other we settled into our seats.
“You should be careful,” Aunt Dimple whispered in my ear. “I think Nadia is interested in Tahir. Of course,” she added, “we’d be happy if either of you ended up with him. He will be quite a good addition to the family.”
Wondering what sort of mental defect made me choose to live at home, I slid down into my seat.
The curtains parted.
It was halfway through the show, and I had no clue what was happening on stage.
My Malevolent Meter was also still.
Great, and just when I was looking for a break.
I suppose I could sum up the performance as a lot of intricate hand movements, a lot of heavy ankle bells, and a lot of black eyeliner. Even the solo male dancer had on eyeliner. It made his eye movements appear really exaggerated, which I think was the point.
I knew that the performance tonight revolved around the god Krishna and his soul mate Radha, but that was all. It was too dark to look at my Playbill.
Krishna’s mother, obviously hearing rumors of what had happened to the baby Moses over on the next continent, hid her infant son with a childless couple, a goatherd and his wife. Krishna grew up frolicking along the banks of the river with comely fetching gopis or milkmaids. By this time milkmaids and cowherds alike had figured out that Krishna was a god and the human incarnate of Vishnu, the preserver of Hinduism. All the gopis were in love with him, but the one who caught his eye was married, and her name was Radha.
Not to sound blasphemous, but frolicking along the banks of the river with a beautiful married woman might have been okay for Krishna, but around here extramarital affairs get pretty messy. Radha’s husband would have lost half his goat herd in California’s divorce court.
Around me the audience suddenly held their collective breath. Okay, something was happening.
I really needed to figure out what the big deal was.
I turned to Tahir and saw him wiping at the corner of his eye.
The dude was crying!
I turned back to the stage. I didn’t want Tahir to know I had seen him.
Was I an insensitive person? I flashed back to the scene in Pretty Woman when Richard Gere took Julia Roberts to the opera. By the end of the performance she’s crying, and he’s utterly moved by her tears. In her place, I would have fallen asleep, and Richard would have dumped my sorry ass back on the street corner where he’d found me.
I sneaked another peek at Tahir. His eyes were still bright.
Okay, so Krishna and Radha were the ultimate symbol of love.
And yet…
In today’s time even if true love managed to exist, nagging over money, substandard sex, psychotic sugar-addicted children, vexing in-laws, and work stress would beat it down. Otherwise, why would we have our Dr. Phils and our Judge Judys?
I mean, come on!
The auditorium lights flickered on.
Intermission. Thank God!
I was dying of thirst.
Now, if only I knew how to manifest myself a Cherry Coke…