As Sweet as Honey

26




We were right. Simon was going to take Meterling and Oscar away. They had already decided to move to London, after Meterling assured him she would not pine for our family on Pi. Simon wanted to get back to work.

“I’d like to return to editing, Meterling. There’s a job at one of the smaller houses, and they’ve been wanting me to join.”

“But won’t you miss writing? The fast-paced traveling?”

“Covering garden shows isn’t exactly fast-paced, and travel pieces are not as much fun as it might seem. I wanted to try my hand in it, that’s all. I want a change.”

“I want you to be happy, Simon. And you have been through an awful lot of change.”

“I am happy—probably happier than I’ve ever been.”

“When do we leave?”

“Why don’t you stay here for a while, while I get us settled? You could spend a little more time with the family, and you could use the help with the baby. The kids will be upset at your going at all.”

“In the villages, the brides spend more time with their parents sometimes than with their husband the first year,” said Meterling.

“Ah, but not us,” said Simon, hugging her.

It was decided. Simon would go on ahead in a couple of weeks, begin his new job, and return for Nalani’s wedding. Meterling and Oscar could have more time with us.

• • •

“Why is it that when we add to the family, the family goes away?” asked Grandmother.

“The world just becomes bigger,” said Meterling. “Imagine how it just used to be villages, then cities and kingdoms, everybody contained.”

I wished they were moving to the USA, but Simon had his family in London, and Oscar had his roots there, too.

“But it’s not impossible. And there are planes,” said Meterling.

“We can visit you in London, and go to the U.S.” added Nalani cheerfully, though she would miss Meterling terribly and everyone knew it.

“There’s your wedding to plan,” said Meterling. “It may be months before I leave, and there will be no question of not attending your wedding, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“You’ll help choose the saris and jewelry?”

“Would I really miss any of it?”

“But Meterling, what of your wedding, what will you do?”

“We’ll just get a registered wedding. Simple and quiet.”


Six weeks after Oscar’s birth, Aunt Meterling and Simon went to the high court building to marry. Mrs. Gupta, in black robes and a wig, was the presiding judge. Rasi could not stop staring at her, and the degrees framed behind her in the office. A black fan was motionless above our heads. We were back in the rainy season, having survived the heat of spring and the lesser heat of summer. As a family, we were all there, and brought garlands for them to wear, and threw rose petals when the marriage was formalized. We ate at a hotel, which was nice, because if I looked down the long table, I could see most of my family. Simon’s parents had come over, too. They stayed at the Tanjore, and seemed a bit overwhelmed. Simon’s mother probably imagined an English bride in a beautiful lace gown with a veil for her only son, not Aunt Meterling, who wore a dark-red sari, not nine yards, just six, but a sari nevertheless. At the table, Aunt Meterling sat with Simon’s mother, and slowly, softly, began to talk with her, but it looked difficult.

Simon seemed to enjoy seeing his parents. He went on walks with his father, trailing a stick in his hand. His father was friendly with all of us. Simon got him to try our coffee, and the hotter foods. His mother stuck with tea. I liked them well enough, although they made me shy. They kept asking what standard was I in, never remembering the answer. His mother had once been an accountant, and his father worked for the family company. In the evenings, they sat with Meterling and Simon and Oscar, as the trees rustled with the breeze, and the perfumed jasmine wafted across the veranda. Simon’s mother held Oscar in her arms, cooing. At first, she seemed afraid of him, but later told Grandmother, “Well, a baby is just a baby.” Still, I noticed that she looked at Oscar, stared at him, really, and her face crisscrossed with vying emotions. I overheard her crying, asking Simon, “But you will have children of your own, won’t you?”

It didn’t make sense to me, this obsession that children had to be born of the mother and father, that adopted children were somehow less. Our family had it, and now it seemed Simon’s family had it, too. Simon’s father seemed to mind less. “I’m a grandfather, and you can’t take that from me,” he said, softly humming, boarding the ferry that would take them back to the airport in India.



In a week, my mother would visit. It had been a year since I had seen her, and I was excited. Now she would get to see how tall I’d grown, and my school projects. Maybe she would come with me to school. She would be able to meet Oscar and Simon, too. Then again, I wondered if she would want to do any of those things. As it turned out, Simon was in England when she came. After the registered wedding, Simon still lived in the guesthouse, and Meterling with us, where the aunties, despite their teasing, were still taking care of Oscar. It seemed a perfectly fine arrangement. But now Simon was scouting their new life abroad, and my mother was to come scout out mine.

We met my mother at the harbor: Nalani, Uncle Darshan, Uncle Thakur (who was on leave from his office), Rasi, Sanjay, and me. I wore a nice frock, which came with shorts attached that my mother had sent to me for my birthday, and my hair was painfully pulled back in two braids. Every now and then, I’d tug at the ribbons to loosen them. From where we stood, we saw the boat dock. Crowded with people waving and shouting to us on land, the small boat was majestic in a way. Soon the passengers descended. There she was! My mother, in a very bright green sari, holding a big purse. Uncle Thakur kept me from running to the door to meet her. At the arrivals building, then, we waited for her to clear customs, and finally my mother swept me up in her arms. She hadn’t forgotten me, as I secretly worried; she knew who I was.

While we waited for her luggage, my mother told us about the flight. She described the meals they had been served, the passengers next to her, and the hard candies the stewardesses brought in trays. Opening her bag, she distributed almond cookies wrapped in beautiful paper from the Italian airport. She described the way the plane rocked through a lightning storm, which was called “turbulence.” All the while, I clung to her, as if I were five years old instead of ten.

We crammed into the Ambassador van Uncle Thakur had hired, and drove home. Outside, green rice paddies flew by, and silvery lakes. Coconut trees rippled their fronds lazily, and my mother pointed out a man climbing up one, using a small piece of rope to help him ascend.

“There is nothing like this in the U.S.,” she said. “All the coconuts are in supermarkets—but at least there are coconuts! But no fresh coconut water. I miss that.”

So Uncle Darshan immediately asked our driver to stop at the next roadside stand, where a woman hacked off the tops of green coconuts, scraped the soft white flesh inside, and handed us each one, with a straw and a scraper. The driver said he didn’t want one, and went off a ways to smoke. Happily, we drank and ate. Once we finished, we handed the nuts back to the vendor, who scowled and smashed them into a pile behind her.

“Everybody wipe your fingers—no stickiness in the car! Okay, now let’s drive fast, because they will all be watching the clock,” said Uncle Darshan as we got back in.

Everyone was waiting on the veranda. Aunt Pa rushed toward the car door as we spilled out, and hugged my mother fiercely.

“Vare-va, look at your hair,” she said, smoothing my mother’s short pixie cut.

My mother grinned, and touched Grandmother’s feet.

“Finally, finally. Why did you take so long to return?” my grandmother said as she held her foreign-gone daughter.

“And look at you, my dear,” said my mother, turning to Aunt Meterling, who was really her niece, to hug her. “Look at you. And look at this darling boy.”

• • •

The entire month she was home, I slept in her bed. My mother cuddled me, but morning usually found us facing out, back to back, deep in our own separate dreams. I asked her what her school was like. She told me the brick walls were covered in green ivy, which made me think of Sleeping Beauty. She was studying astrophysics, and said that her team was building a telescope better than any before. Sometimes, her team worked all through the night, taking naps on couches. She was helping with the lens, creating mathematical formulas to make sure the dimensions were right. She smelled good, like perfume and powder. She gave me extra kisses and hugs from my father, who was hard at work, she said. She let me wear her jewelry, but not her marriage chain (“One day you’ll have one of your own”), and showed me the clothes she’d brought for all of us: T-shirts and jeans, more dresses, and, best of all, sneakers. When I laced up mine, I felt I could run as fast as I wanted to, that anything was possible.

During the day, we went to temple, visited all the relatives and friends nearby and far, went to see silly movies, and, every day, got an ice cream at the beach. My mother laughed a great deal, and with her, both Aunt Pa and Aunt Meterling looked like girls. Or at least, they looked less auntie-like. We played with Oscar, who was fatter now, sturdy, and happy to cry whenever he felt like it. My mother brought him a stuffed tiger, the mascot of my father’s university school, with which he was delighted. She also brought baby clothes and soft rattles, and teething rings. My mother met Ajay, and promised to return for the wedding with my father. She squeezed Nalani’s hand, hardly believing, she said out loud, that Nalani was already marrying.

Late at night, she spoke with Grandmother and Aunt Pa about America, encouraging Auntie and the uncles to move to the States. She said we’d all get a good education. Aunt Pa was not that interested, but Uncle Thakur was. He was eager to see Rasi get an education in the U.S. Aunt Pa wondered if it wasn’t risky to leave a good job for one that didn’t exist.

“Life is an adventure, Parvati!”

“Life also means providing for your children.”

As they began to argue, my mother told Grandmother about my father. He was working on his dissertation, and would be going on job interviews. We would likely settle in New York or New Jersey, she said.

I was not certain of the move. If Rasi and Sanjay moved as well, it would not be so bad. Everyone wanted to go to the U.S., everyone. But what about Pi? What about Madhupur, and the beach? No coconut water—what else would there be none of? Already Meterling was going to London, and Nalani would be going to medical college while Ajay applied for jobs in the U.S. I worried my grandmother would feel lonely, for we would be abandoning her like a sinking ship. Why couldn’t she come too? But Grandmother had no desire to move. She liked Pi, her world, as she had known it from birth. Yes, the house might be quieter with all of us gone, but she would not move in with her daughters. Meterling begged her to come to London, but in the end, Grandmother said if she had to live with anyone, she would take on boarders. The house could be rented, providing an income, and kept open for us when we all visited.