“No need to appear so eager. We’ll see them when we see them,” Mr. Jha said.
Ever since Mr. Jha had met Serena and returned from America, he had been avoiding Mr. Chopra. How would he explain Rupak’s MBA and Indian girlfriend while Johnny continued to drive around in his new car and bring home an assortment of young girls every night? Mr. Jha often heard the loud bass coming from Johnny’s car. And he would see other cars parked along the road outside their gates and young boys and girls with cigarettes and strange hats and multicolored hair going in and out of the Chopras’ home. How could Mr. Jha admit that while Johnny was living this life of luxury, paid for by his father, Rupak was busy studying and preparing to have a regular income while dating a woman who looked like a younger version of his own mother?
“We’ve been back for a week and you haven’t even gone to say hello to the neighbors. What happened? I thought you and Mr. Chopra were on your way to becoming best friends,” Mrs. Jha said.
“I have been busy. And tired. This jet lag is getting me down.”
“If you just force yourself to stay awake one day, you will get over it. Why don’t you sit up? Or why don’t we go out for a walk to wake up? Maybe we can even see if the Chopras are home and say hello?” Mrs. Jha said.
You could smell winter in the air, more clearly here in Gurgaon than you ever could in Mayur Palli, and it was Mrs. Jha’s favorite time of year. If she was completely quiet, she was certain she could hear the crackle of burning wood coming from the street where the guards huddled around the flames for warmth at this time of night.
“Or we can even pull the car out and go to the market for some hot gulab jamuns,” Mrs. Jha said.
Mr. Jha turned to look at her, but one of the crystals caught on his ear. He jerked upright, now feeling more awake than he wished to be.
“Stupid crystals,” he said.
What was wrong with his wife? Now she wanted to go out in the cold for dessert? And she wanted to drop in and see the Chopras after she was the one who had been so reluctant about leaving Mayur Palli in the first place? And his son, who Mr. Jha knew for a fact once had a small cutout picture of Pamela Anderson in her red bathing suit that he kept in this bedside drawer, had settled on a plain girl from Delhi. All Mr. Jha wanted to do was sleep.
But, as if the gods were finally listening—although maybe they had been listening for a while because despite everything else going wrong, this morning Mr. Jha’s Mercedes hit an auto-rickshaw on the main road and only the auto-rickshaw got dented while his Mercedes did not even suffer a scratch—the phone rang and Mr. Jha got up from the sofa and went to the dining room to answer.
“Papa,” Rupak said, “I have some bad news. I’m really sorry.”
Rupak had been kicked out of his MBA program. On top of near-failing grades, he had stupidly been caught buying marijuana.
“Marijuana?” Mr. Jha asked his son. Was that the really dangerous one or was that the one that was on the way to being legalized, Mr. Jha wondered.
“Yeah, it’s going to be legal soon anyway. And I was buying such a small amount. And only in order to help myself focus—I study better with marijuana. It’s just that they have this zero-tolerance policy, so I can’t stay here anymore. Look, I promise I’ll come back to India and fix everything. Maybe even see if I can get into IIM to finish my degree. I promise I won’t let you and Ma down. I’m really so sorry,” Rupak said.
Mr. Jha walked with the cordless phone to the cabinet in the dining room and poured himself an Old Monk. Let Mr. Chopra call it swill. Mr. Jha was now the father of an expelled child, a failure, a financial burden who would need money that he, Mr. Jha, could provide. Plenty of money. Mr. Jha could confidently drink whatever he wanted. He dropped three ice cubes into his glass, swirled the dark, sweet rum around, and said, “No, no. Business school is clearly not meant for you. Serena must be very disappointed in you. But don’t worry—you will meet someone else. You are too young to be settling down anyway.”
“No, Dad, please. Papa, I’m so sorry. I can finish the degree in India. I promise. I’ll get a job at a bank. Or maybe consulting. I know how embarrassing this is for you. I’ll fix it—I won’t let you down.”
“Rupak, calm down. You come back to India. You wanted to be a filmmaker, no? Done. I will produce your first film. You focus on that. And don’t weigh that Serena girl down. It’s best you call things off.”
“…Filmmaking? That was a while ago. I don’t want to do that anymore. I promise.”
“You will try to be a filmmaker. If it works, good. If it doesn’t, chalo, we’ll see then.”
Mr. Jha went back to where his wife was sitting and said, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the only way to get over jet lag is by going out for some hot gulab jamuns. I’ll get the car ready. Oh, and Rupak will be back next week.”
“Are you going to come back?” Serena asked on the phone.
“Can we discuss this in person, please?” Rupak said. He pulled out an open shoebox that had been lying under his bed since he had moved to Ithaca. There were pictures—pictures of his life in Mayur Palli, pictures of the life he kept separate from his life here, pictures of a life he now had to return to.
“Rupak, I’m not sure there’s that much to say, right? I mean you have to leave. For buying pot. I’m sorry, I don’t really know how to react to that,” Serena said.
“But you and all your friends smoke pot too,” Rupak said.
“Sure, but we aren’t stupid enough to get arrested for buying it. And we all kind of know what we’re trying to do in life at this point. You have no idea.”
“Okay, but I’ll be in India. You said you wanted to move back,” Rupak said. He looked at a framed picture of himself in his school uniform, leaning back against his father’s cream-colored Fiat, the first car Rupak had ever known. His mother had this picture framed when he was leaving, and one copy of it remained on her bedside table in Delhi and one was with him in Ithaca. How was he going to face his mother? Even though he was supposed to be packing, Rupak took the picture and walked out to the living room to place it on the shelf.