Chapter 12

Kamal. Gingee, 1988

From afar, Kamal adored his daughter. He was working six days a week and it just wasn’t practical to fly down and back in the space of a day and a half – and it was expensive, of course. And as for Caroline visiting him with the baby, or even coming up and their renting a home nearby so they could live together for that year – they simply decided to save the money. It was so convenient, her living with the Iyengars. She had two built-in babysitters as well as a companion in Sundari, and could continue to work on her thesis.

Then, at Christmas, at Caroline’s insistence, Kamal finally came home. Asha was six months old.

At Madras airport he saw her right away, behind the wall of dark Indians waving their signs behind the barrier. Caroline stood aloof, beyond the fray, just as she was in that sacred place where he held her in his mind. She wore sparkling white cotton trousers and a long, soft blouse batiked in various shades of blue. Her blonde hair, cut short now, was like a sleek, polished cap framing a tanned face, glinting in the midday sunlight; she held one hand as a visor above her eyes as she scanned the line of passengers pushing their rusty brown trolleys out of the airport building. At the moment of recognition her face lit up, as at the sudden emergence of the sun from behind a cloud; her hand shot upwards, waving furiously. She ran forward and into his arms.

When they separated again Caroline took his hand and led him to a waiting taxi.

‘You didn’t bring her?’ Kamal said, peering into the back window of the taxi. He felt a twinge of disappointment. Time was so short; their minutes together were precious. She should have brought Asha.

‘Oh, no, I left her with Janiki,’ said Caroline. ‘It’s a three-hour drive in this hot sun; it would just have been a hassle. You know, with nursing and all that.’

‘So you had to leave her for six hours? Is that all right? I mean – doesn’t she have to be fed?’

Caroline hesitated. She had not yet told him about the feeding arrangement. She’d have to confess; better to do it now.

‘Kamal – my milk dried up. It happens often with first-time mothers, you know. But thank goodness Sundari had so much and so she has been feeding her. She gave birth two months ago and she still has so much milk – it’s practically pouring out! Enough for three babies.’

Kamal’s face fell. ‘So you haven’t been feeding her at all?’

‘Oh, sure!’ said Caroline. ‘Sundari expresses the milk sometimes and puts it into a bottle, so I can feed her. You can too – you’ll love it!’

She squeezed his hand and he squeezed hers back.

‘Kamal – you’re the father of the most beautiful little girl in the world and you don’t know it! I can’t wait for you to meet her!’

The drive home was interminable. But then they were there, the taxi bouncing slowly down the unpaved street to the big white house at the end, meandering around the potholes. Children swarmed around the car – for motor vehicles were rarities in this village – running backwards before it or skipping along beside it, slapping its bonnet, grinning in through the open window, calling out to Caroline and Kamal. One little boy in ragged blue shorts threw himself across the bonnet and sprawled there waving; another hooked his elbow in through the open window; two others jumped onto the back bumper and clung to the hind parts of the car like stick insects glued to a window.

Kamal, with wise prescience, had brought several packets of wrapped sweets. He opened one with his teeth and held it out of the window, emptying the lemon and orange sweets onto the dusty road. Immediately the children dropped away from the car and fell on them, scrambling on the ground and grappling frantically. Kamal looked out of the rear window, then turned to Caroline.

‘Some things never change!’ he said.

‘And some things do,’ she replied. ‘Look in front of you!’

Kamal turned around. They had arrived at the Iyengar home; the taxi halted. Janiki, who had either heard the commotion or the hum of the car or been warned of their coming through the swifter-than-light grapevine, stood in front of the door, a broad smile on her lips and a bundle of Asha in her arms. Sundari came out behind her, wiping her hands on a towel and smiling broadly.

A tiny hand waved clumsily above the bundle. Two small legs hung below it. The rest of Asha was concealed by a thin cotton cloth, but now Janiki changed the position of her arms and held the baby upright in the crook of her arms, one hand bracing her, so that the cloth dropped away from the little bare chest and the child sat as in a comfortable chair, facing her father.

Kamal stared, suddenly silent. Slowly he left the car, not bothering to close the door, and crossed the short stretch of sand to approach his daughter, coming to a stop immediately in front of Sundari. He wanted to speak, to reach for the child, but the words caught in his throat and his arms felt crippled – he could not move them. Even his breath stopped, it seemed, and his mouth was dry, and his ears had lost their hearing for all the world was silent around him, and even his thoughts had raced headlong into a wall and ceased. But then his eyes were suddenly involuntarily moist, his arms moving upwards to receive the child who in the same moment Janiki was holding out towards him. He took Asha as if he had held her a thousand times before, clasped her to his chest and covered her with his crossed forearms and moved away, walking towards the fence and away from the others so that no one could see his face – or his tears.

Caroline had tried her best. She had bought a plastic Christmas tree and decorations in Madras. She had arranged cotton wool around the base of the tree for snow, and hung the cheap plastic baubles in glaring red and gold along its branches, and draped long strips of glittering tinsel around it, all in an attempt to reproduce the spirit of Christmas as she remembered it. It didn’t work. Not even the fat candle glowing on its polished brass stand could make her believe it was truly Christmas.

‘Look at this angel,’ she said, handing him a tinny white thing that had fallen from one of the branches. ‘Isn’t she unbelievably tacky? But I couldn’t find anything else. And believe me, I really scoured the stores. I guess Christmas isn’t a big thing here.’

‘It isn’t,’ Kamal said. He looked down at Asha, who was wearing a bright red dress, which set off perfectly the jet black of her hair and her sparkling eyes, now fixed on the bright angel. Kamal, as he had done so often, marvelled at the perfect little features.

‘Christmas is something we read about in books. I’m sorry.’

‘Well, could we at least sing some carols?’

‘I’m not so good at carols,’ Kamal admitted. ‘Remember, I never even heard “Jingle Bells” till I got to America. So I don’t know if… Hey, what’s the matter? Caro, Caro, why’re you crying?’

Caroline wiped away a tear with her bare forearm. ‘It’s nothing, I guess. Well, no. It’s just that… it’s just that… that…’

Kamal gently laid Asha on her blanket on the floor, and leaned towards his wife. Her face was turned away from him, and huge tears rolled down her cheeks. He placed his hand on her chin and gently turned her face up towards him.

‘Tell me. Please tell me what’s bothering you. You know you can tell me everything. Here.’

He gave her a clean square of cloth, one of several they used for Asha to burp on, and wiped her cheeks with it. ‘Can’t you tell me what’s the matter?’

‘I… I suppose it’s just Christmas,’ Caroline admitted. ‘A bit of homesickness. Nostalgia and all that. I feel so… so sentimental… I sort of miss my parents and stuff. And snow. And church. Santa Claus. All that soppy stuff. Family stuff, I guess. And Christmas dinner. The turkey! Oh, Kamal, what I wouldn’t give for a turkey! And apple pie. When… when I was a kid I used to be in the church choir and we used to walk around town singing carols and collecting for charity. I had this muff and a coat with a furry bonnet and it was all so warm and snuggly and I would so love to offer all of that to Asha and I can’t – she’ll never know Christmas! She’ll grow up without snow and Santa! And Thanksgiving. I adore Thanksgiving, everyone around the table and Mom basting the turkey! And fall – the golden leaves! And oh, Kamal, it’s just so damned hot here! All year round! And all my friends and everything. I miss them. The time difference makes it impossible to even call them to wish them a merry Christmas. And presents – books! I had to leave all my favourite books behind and I miss them so. And music. I should have brought my violin. Why didn’t I think of that? And…’

But she couldn’t speak any more because her face was buried in Kamal’s warm shoulder. Kamal patted her back and held her close. She let the sobs come and they broke from her in stifled, breathless gulps. Finally she moved so that her lips were free and she could speak.

‘I want to go home! I want to go home, Kamal, I can’t stand it here a day longer. I haven’t done any work on my thesis since Asha was born. Sundari and Janiki are angels, looking after Asha so well. I’m a terrible mother, Kamal. Sometimes I can’t even stand to see Asha. Sometimes I wish she’d never been born. I shouldn’t be telling you this. I hate myself. Sometimes I even hate you, but you’re all I have. I wrote to Mom and Dad and they didn’t write back! I don’t have anybody but you… and… and Asha. I’m so alone here! Asha doesn’t even like me very much, she prefers Sundari and Janiki. I don’t know how to love her. I’m such a bad mother and I’m so ashamed to admit it. I thought it would all be perfect but it isn’t!’

Kamal held her all the time, rubbing her back.

‘I can’t even finish my thesis!’ Caroline wailed. She spoke on and on, repeating herself, sometimes breaking down and crying, sometimes falling silent for a length of time only to start again. She was bored, she was restless, she was a bad mother, she couldn’t write her thesis, she missed Thanksgiving, she missed her friends, she missed her family.

When it was over Kamal spoke.

‘Caro, Caro, what have I done to you? I shouldn’t have brought you here. I shouldn’t have left you here all by yourself. I can’t bear to see you unhappy. Listen – it doesn’t have to be for ever. I don’t really mind where I live. It doesn’t have to be India. It was you who wanted to come here. It was you who had work to do here. I tell you what. We’ll go back. Back to America, get a job there. Just try to be patient. Let me work out my contract. Can you hang on that long? Just one more Christmas, and the following summer we’ll go back. Asha will be two. You’ll make it up with your parents; they’ll adore Asha. And even if they still don’t like me it doesn’t matter. I don’t have to visit them. You can spend every Christmas with them. I don’t mind – Christmas means nothing to me, you see, so I won’t feel left out. Anything you want. I can work anywhere. You can do what you want to do. You can go to work. We’ll find a way.’

‘But – what about Asha? She loves Sundari so much! And Janiki!’

‘She’ll learn to love us, her parents,’ Kamal said. ‘It’ll happen, just you wait and see. I know you’ve had a hard time as a mother but that’s normal at first and I bet it changes over the next year. You just have to make a tiny bit more effort, win her over, make sure she knows that you are Mom. If you go to work in America I’ll look after her so you can work, or study, do anything, or we’ll find another solution. Whatever you want.’

‘Oh, Kamal.’ Caroline’s voice broke, because she was laughing. ‘What did I ever do to deserve someone like you? I swear, I’m the luckiest girl in the whole world. My girlfriends should be green with envy. I’m sorry I broke down, truly. I’m so lucky. So very lucky. I think we must be the happiest family in the world.’

‘Even if things aren’t so perfect right now. But they will be, I promise. We’ll make them perfect.’

‘As long as we love each other, Kamal, everything is perfect.’

‘Then let’s hold onto this perfect moment. If we can just remember how it is now, nothing can ever go wrong.’ He chuckled. ‘Even if the Christmas tree is, well, to put it tactfully, best Indian quality.’

Caroline laughed with him. ‘And even if you can’t sing “Silent Night” with me and my family.’

‘And even if I’ve got to leave you again, the day after tomorrow. But now at least I know her.’

They both gazed in silent wonder at Asha, who had fallen asleep on her blanket. In the steady light of the candle’s flame her skin glowed softly golden. Long black lashes touched her cheek. Her chest rose and sank to the rhythm of her breathing.

‘She’s so, so, so…’ Caroline whispered, and paused, searching for the right word.

‘Sssh,’ said Kamal, and placed a finger on her lips. ‘I know.’