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“I’M FEELING VERY tired so I don’t think I will be able to make it.” Naina was lounging on her couch on Sunday morning holding the phone close to her ear.
“Oh c’mon,” Amaya said, her exasperation coming through over the phone. “This is the third time you’ve said that. Listen, I know I was probably a little hard on you the day we did brunch, but you were asking a lot of questions and I guess I snapped a little.”
Naina did not respond, not in the mood to get into it.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I know, I really know you want the best for me and I love you.” Amaya laughed; a tinny laugh that sounded deliberate. “And I know you’re a little bit quirky, but I still love you.”
“I love you too, darling. Very much.”
“Then you know how much it means to me that you and Jai get along and are friends. Why are you avoiding seeing Jai? He told me he invited you to a lecture the other day, but you said no.”
“Well, I’m not interested in living vicariously. I want to live my own life and only my own life.”
“Gosh, Mom, you really know how to make a mountain out of a molehill. Listen, I’m sorry I said that. Your inquisitiveness was bothering me and I was just wondering. Now that’s not so wrong, is it? To ask a question if something is on your mind. And even if you were living vicariously through me or someone else, what’s the big deal? We all live vicariously in some way or another. Books, movies, soap operas, the entire TV, for Pete’s sake . . . aren’t they all just ways to live vicariously?”
“But do you really think I’m living vicariously through you, Amaya?”
“I think you have a very active imagination and can live vicariously through anyone. But it’s irrelevant. You, and everyone for that matter, have the right to live vicariously . . . Please do come out with us this evening. Please.”
“You still didn’t answer my question. Do you think I’m living vicariously through you?”
“No, I don’t know . . . no . . . no. Can we please just forget I said that? Just toss it out of your mind . . . Please come out with us to Chailicious in the evening. They have all kinds of masala chais. You will love it. Even for an hour. You know how much yours and Jai’s friendship means to me. C’mon, please . . .”
Naina eventually agreed, moved by a strange mix of motivations, both equally powerful, both in conflict with each other, yet urging her to do the same thing. There was the gooey gush of love she felt for her daughter, the desire to hear her tinkling laughter, to hear her voice sound bright and sparkling, not disappointed and pleading.
And then there was the other feeling that charged every cell in her body, made her weak in the knees, and made her starry-eyed and full of dreams like a young girl at the start of a Bollywood romance. It had been nearly six weeks since she had seen Jai. Nearly six weeks of living with a hole in her heart, a hunger in her body, and a thirst in her soul.
That time had stretched and elongated itself, making it seem so interminable that she felt like she would live in this suspended, aching state forever.
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NAINA AND JAI started meeting alone again, typically once or twice a month, and generally on Monday afternoons because Naina had the day off, and Jai finished teaching by noon. Amaya generally worked late that day. The first couple of times Jai initiated their meetings, but then Naina started to invite him out.
Even though she found Jai to be a great storyteller, he was someone who did not reveal much about his inner life. But he did tell her he grew up in a fiery, undisciplined home and was an impulsive, punk rock-loving wild child in high school. The trend continued at Amherst, but abruptly ended at the end of his senior year in college when Amanda, his waif-like hippie girlfriend with the moody brilliance of Sylvia Plath, suddenly died. After Amanda’s death, he plummeted into anguish, barely graduating from college. Then, he resolved to finally grow up.
He said Amaya was one of the kindest, smartest, and most stable girls he had ever met. He was so impressed when he had learned she worked with those struggling with substance abuse—now that took courage and steadfastness. Naina had done a great job in raising a terrific daughter. When he said things like that, Naina smiled, nodded, and said nothing except thank you.
Now, the lure of Jai felt like a looming force that was much larger and mightier than her. Like an imperial power, this force kept trying to take over her mind and make her think and do as it directed. Which meant betraying the crumbling old country of herself—the honorable mother and woman. The collapsing nation of feminine ideals that was still determined to stay alive and relevant.
Despite the conflict, the two factions were not quite yet at war since Naina had not fully felt, touched, and smelled the truth about Jai as it slowly gathered form and shape, and climbed up toward the surface of her consciousness.
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BY DECEMBER, THE holiday season was in full swing, and it buoyed Naina’s spirits. Restaurants were shimmering with lights; stores were filled with enticing discounts; tourists with maps jabbered in foreign languages; and the staff at the coffee shop near Red Circle were dressed in Santa hats and antlers. The coffee shop also had a new item that Naina found hard to resist—a pumpkin spice and mocha latte. She first had it sugar free, but it tasted awful. After that, she had it with loads of Splenda.
It was a very busy time, and Naina kept herself as occupied as possible, shunning thoughts of her own quandary. She had to make sure that Red Circle’s holiday party went off smoothly, which was a gargantuan task in itself. This year was their biggest—they had eighty people attending, double the number of the previous year. Also, her new-agey friend Mara’s first book, The Creative Goddess Within, had just been released, its cover gleaming with colorful images of Ix Chel, the Mayan goddess of creativity, magic, and sexuality; Minerva, the Roman goddess of music, poetry, and crafts; and Durga, the Hindu goddess of the feminine creative force. There were lots of launch parties for the book and Naina made sure she attended as many as she could. She was very fond of Mara, who—like her book—was a bit hokey but extremely comforting and entertaining. And then there were endless art world holiday parties that kept her engrossed and up late for more nights than she could handle. Also, Alannah announced that she was trying online dating as a Christmas present to herself, and Naina perked up, keen to follow her dating adventures.
It was also a bit easier for her to avoid obsessing about Jai since, for most of this time, he was away in Argentina where he had to attend a conference and be a guest lecturer at the University of Palermo. However, he managed to take time off as he was able to conduct his classes remotely for a bit. He sent Naina short emails once or twice a week, sharing his experiences in Buenos Aires. He described eating a spicy choripan (chorizo sandwich) in the bustling, cobblestone street-filled neighborhood of San Telmo; discovering an amazing gramophone player in the antiques market; and dancing, to his embarrassment, in a street tango performance in Plaza Dorrego. She would love Buenos Aires, he wrote. The city’s vibrancy and joie de vivre reminded him of her own.
Every time, she received an email from him, she was thrilled, but she couldn’t help wishing he had said more—but more of exactly what she did not know.
The highest point of the season for Naina was Red Circle’s exhibit of paintings by Egyptian artist Anat Hawass. Hawass was the first artist she had lobbied hard for Susan to show, and not only had the art been exhibited, but it also received rave reviews—only the second time the gallery had received such accolades.
Anat Hawass made expressive and lyrical paintings inspired by Arabic calligraphy. Geometric orange flowers flew through cerulean space in one work; a beehive overflowed with fluttering pink and purple bees in another; and turquoise-and-marigold leaves floated upward, as if they were about to meet the sky in the most riveting of paintings. Time Out New York wrote the work “created a poetic dialogue between text and form,” hailing Hawass as an artist to watch out for. Art News called the paintings “fresh and mesmerizing.”
Susan had been so pleased that she had said she wanted to promote Naina. But in light of the gallery’s budget, they needed to hit their next fundraising target first.
Before Jai left for South America, Naina wanted to invite him to view the paintings; she was almost certain he would love them, especially since he had fancied his birthday present of the bee-flecked tie and guessed Naina had chosen it. A Monday afternoon when Susan was out would be perfect. But she wasn’t able to make it happen.
She planned to ask Amaya to come and see the work when the gallery was open so her daughter could see, for herself, the wonder in viewers’ eyes as well as Susan’s increased regard of her. Of course, while Jai was still in town, she told her daughter not to bring him with her before the gallery closed at six, a request Amaya said she was baffled by since Naina and Jai were now friends.
Naina smiled to herself as she read and re-read the brief Time Out article in her office, still filled with disbelief.
She could hardly wait for Amaya to see the exhibition’s reviews and had made sure she had good photocopies. Naturally, she wanted to her daughter to be proud of her, but she also wanted her to see her mother did not need “to live vicariously.” Even at her age, she could accomplish things on her own.
The young had such arrogance, as if they were the only ones who had meaningful, interesting lives. Assuming that older people were dying to live through them. The idea infuriated her.
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FOR CHRISTMAS, NAINA went to San Francisco to spend time with Karan who, she found, was becoming even more conservative as he got older. He hung out with mostly other Indian men in finance and some preppy American men and spent his free time on weekends playing tennis or baseball, dressed in khaki shorts and Polo shirts. She revealed little of her life to him but did his laundry and cooked for him. She was also careful to pack some of her older, less fashionable attire, wearing clothes he had seen her in before.
One night, at dinner, Karan kept talking about his father, how Harish had taught him everything in life, from baseball to a strong work ethic, and how he was still his hero.
“If I can be half the man that Dad was, I think I’ll die happy,” Karan said as he sat at the dining table, eating the chicken curry Naina had prepared.
Naina observed the way he slouched at the table, his thin, unblemished face looking so innocent, his light brown eyes filled with tears he wasn’t shedding, and she felt awash with maternal love. She got up from her chair and hugged him. “Oh, beta, it will be all right. Even though he’s not physically present, you know that he loves you very very much wherever he is.”
“Yes, Mom.” He hugged her in turn and pulled away from the embrace. “I know I’ll be all right, but it’s you I worry about. It’s just not right, it’s just not fair, that you have been left alone so young . . . Without Dad to take care of you.”
Naina lowered her head and kept quiet at the pity dousing those words. But that only made Karan more vocal in his outpouring.
“Gosh, I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it is for you. You must be so lonely. I want you to know, I really want you to know that both me and Amaya are always there for you, no matter what. We never want you to feel alone. Anytime you want to give up that job of yours you can, you know that.”
She pressed her lips together. Why did he always have to say that?
“You know, Mom, I’m doing pretty good money-wise now, so you have nothing to worry about . . . Not that you did before . . . I just want you to be okay.”
“Beta, I’ll be fine,” she said firmly, moving away from him and clearing the dishes from the table. “I miss him, but life has to carry on. I have wonderful memories to live with.”
“Why don’t you go to Jersey more often? You have so many friends there . . .”
Naina knew any explanation she offered would push her down into a deeper hole. Instead, she turned on the tap in the kitchen sink and washed the pots and pans.
The next night, as they sat on the couch, the Golden Gate Bridge glimmering out of the window, the conversation turned to Amaya.
Karan frowned. “What’s Amaya up to? This guy she’s dating is like eleven years or something older than her. That’s way too much of an age difference. And she tells me you totally approve. What’s going on?”
“Eleven years is not too much. Jai is a fabulous guy. He’s educated, he’s talented . . . Do you know he can play the piano? . . . Well-read, treats her well. She’s lucky to have him. What’s a few years here and there?”
“The guy will be dead by the time she’s like sixty-five,” Karan said, his voice dripping with condescension.
“Really? Your dad was only four years older than me and he died when I was fifty.”
Karan sat hunched over in silence, and Naina immediately regretted her words.