“We can do it afterward, I guess,” I offered.
“Great! I’ll get to see you there, then.”
Great. I was bound to run into Dad and a bunch of nosy people who didn’t approve of me. Oh, well. It was the same old, same old. What was the worst that could happen?
Chapter Six
Liya
Preeti nudged my shoulder as we slipped off our shoes at the mandir entrance. The large room with idols to the left and the kitchen to the right was filled with noise: laughing, chatting, calling out, and clanking pots and pans. Incense, sweets, and perfumes clashed for attention in my nostrils. I remembered when I’d actually enjoyed coming here. But that was so long ago. Another lifetime ago. A time when I was young and innocent and accepted by Indian society. Whatever normalcy and personal peace that I’d obtained over the past few years came from staying away from this place.
The marble floors were ice beneath my bare feet, but at least my wiggling toes shined from a pedicure with a splash of red and silver stripes that made them look like candy canes.
Preeti and I both opted for a comfortable salwaar kameez. She liked them because the long tunic and leggings felt like scrubs, and I liked them because there was no reason to dress garishly for what was ultimately a dance practice.
“Look at you, bindi and bangles and everything,” she said, wagging her brows at the length of my sparkly bangle–covered wrists.
“When in Rome,” I said. “But I want to see how it feels to dance with all this stuff on or if I should take some of it off.”
“I think you’ll like how it feels, professional and all. Hey, I know mandir isn’t your thing, but thanks for coming to worship with me.” She exhaled and slumped as her gaze moved across the crowd.
“Don’t worry about them. They can shove their opinions up their…you know? You didn’t do anything wrong in your entire life.”
“I know, but…”
“Don’t let them get into your inner calm, okay? They are no one, not worth an ounce of your worry. You, my darling, are an intellectual queen, and they are but mindless peasants.”
“I really wish I could be more like you.”
“My outlook took a lot of practice and time, and it’s not always easy but definitely worth the effort. Smile if you’re happy, keep your chin up, cling to us for support, own this place. This is where you come to worship, not to be judged,” I ended with a sneer as soon as Ravi caught my attention. He and his friends turned a little sour at the sight of me.
Although my words were meant to encourage Preeti to the one-hundredth degree, it was easier said than done. As the crowd noticed us in their midst, the two most outcast women in their religious community, it was easy for any newcomer not privy to the latest gossip to see that we were not wholeheartedly welcome here.
Preeti hooked her arm with mine, and we weaved through the masses of sari-clad aunties and kurta pajama-wearing uncles until we spotted Sana and Reema. As protective sisters, we clipped into a circle and maneuvered away from any bickering nosy-bodies.
Our circle grew as Soniya and the rest of the dancers arrived, and we were at a perfect balance in our own world until some auntie pried through our conversation and kindly gave compliments to all of the younger women. Except Preeti.
Her smile instantly turned imitation as she said, “So nice to see you, Preeti.”
Preeti nodded.
“I heard an engagement is on the horizon with a nice young man,” she said. Rich, coming from her. She did not want her son anywhere near Preeti. Not that Preeti had given any thought to her son, but he had been interested in her at one point. Until his meddlesome, gossip-mongering mother swooped in and convinced him that a good Indian boy would never marry a girl touched by another man. “Such a shame, huh? My boy is your age. You would’ve made a good match. Too bad that it didn’t work out.”
Preeti’s cheeks turned red, and I almost thumped the auntie on her mouth.
“Well,” I said, since my dear friend was lost in a stupor, “Preeti is a doctor and your son a what? A business analyst. Oh, no, auntie. That match would be too uneven. A son like yours would probably feel threatened and emasculated to have a wife who makes that much more money than him.”
“Oh!”
Preeti opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. She might’ve tried to smooth over the situation or politely moved on, but I caught her gaze and made googly eyes, and she tried her best not to laugh.
The auntie went around the circle, to Sana, next. “I hear you’re thinking about engagement to a nice boy in India?”
Sana grinned and blushed and looked at her feet like a glowing, virginal bride-to-be. “Perhaps, but I haven’t made a decision.”
The auntie tsked and pouted. “Mustn’t keep a good boy waiting, he won’t wait long. What is there to say no to?”
I wanted to gag but straightened my face when her large, brown eyes landed on me. “And Liya! I haven’t seen you in mandir in ages. So good to see you. I’m glad that you returned to your senses. I almost didn’t recognize that beautiful face of yours.”
“You’re too kind,” I gritted out simply to keep the tension low and away from Preeti, who was in the corner of our group with a downturned face.
“You stress your parents so, living on your own.”
And here we went…
“They worry about your safety. My girls didn’t move out until they were married. It saved their name. We didn’t want rumors to start. And once a girl’s reputation is sullied, no good boy will marry her.”
“I guess that only matters if I want to get married one day.”
“Oh, my! Of course you’ll get married one day. You have to. What’s the purpose of life without a family, a husband and children?”
“Actually, since you’re so inclined to be in our business—”
“It’s so good to see you, auntie,” Reema intervened. “We should find a place to sit before the program starts.”
The auntie was lucky. A sneer rolled off my face just as she nodded and floated away in her green-and-purple sari to meet a group of other older women, more draconian aunties. I caught Dad watching as we sat near the back of the room, passing hundreds of people. Momma waved, and I smiled. I stepped forward to go to her, to hug her, to somehow ease her, but my smile vanished the second she turned away, because Dad shook his head. He silently reprimanded her and me at the same time with the same look.
It never ended. He had his hold, and what could a person do if Momma didn’t want to break that crushing grip? I didn’t care how it made Dad feel if things were to become public, but I did care how Momma would take it. We, unfortunately, still lived in a society eager to alienate victims instead of protecting them.
So I had to let her be.
Another woman caught my eye. It was Jay’s mother, Kokila Shah. I recognized her from the pictures Momma had sent of Jay. She wore a simple sari in white sewn with brown and peach flowers throughout. Her hair was combed back into an elegant bun. She didn’t wear any jewelry. Kokila Auntie had a soft, sweet demeanor that made me regret how I’d handled the entire situation by running out on her.