By Naazish YarKhan
If I gave you my heart today, would you still not want it?
That was the only thought that flitted through Naina’s mind as she gazed out on
the shroud of white that entombed the city even as the snow lit up the night. Around her, a smattering of red, green and gold
lights flickered on balconies and in more than a few windows, a Christmas tree
glistened. Naina’s heart hurt at their inherent promise of love, families spending
time together, the making of memories. She watched as a snow plough braved
the winds, a stab at recreating normal, while a spool of CTA buses inched
towards shiny, hopeful Navy Pier.
If I gave you my heart today, would you still not want it? The question grazed
at the edge of her conscience, yet again. It bothered her how, over the months,
it had impudently grown more insistent for the answer she wanted to hear. Naina
lifted her gaze eastwards and it seemed like she only had to reach out and her
fingertips would graze Lake Michigan - a dream, icy and cracked in so many
places. Cracked like the cocoon of familiarity once woven by her parents,
siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles. India’s smells, sights and sounds; the warmth
borne from the uninhibited mingling amongst friends and neighbors – whether it
was asking for a cup of sugar or sharing news of a grandchild’s birth – all of
it an ever present memory.
Naina still remembered the day she’d discovered she was pregnant. Even before
she’d broken the news to Ravi, she’d rushed to share her happiness with her
family across the continents via Skype. Their unrestrained whoops of joy, the
fountain of questions, the heaps of advice, she knew, was the reaction she most
needed. It would warm her insides, make her feel loved and cared for. Yes, Ravi
would have been happy with the news, but a smile from him would have had to
suffice. She wished those closest to her didn’t have to be oceans apart. But
then, if they lived in America, would they have learned to be as restrained as
Ravi and his family were in their reactions? So polite, emotions invariably
under check. Or was that self-control the American way? She had never imagined
that one could look South Asian on the outside, but be all American on the
inside. What was the name her siblings had given Ravi? An Oreo cookie?
With studying for her USMELE, so she could qualify for a medical residency at a
local hospital, to having morning sickness throughout her pregnancy,
friendships she’d created at the clinic, where she’d worked part-time, stayed
there. What Naina couldn’t understand, however, was why neighborly friendliness
never seemed to go beyond the perfunctory hello’s in the hallway or elevator?
Why didn’t those overtures ever extend to coffee together? And it wasn’t for lack
of trying on her part. Her gifts of freshly baked cookies, samosas or chocolate
bark hadn’t led to any friendships. “Why did introductions to new people, in
India, invariably lead to invitations to tea, dinner, the beginnings of a
life-long relationship. Didn’t both countries have the same 24 hours, the same
busy, demanding days, so what made people in India so open to nurturing
relationships?” she wondered.
“I’ve made fresh aloo paratha’s for dinner,” she nodded in Ravi’s direction. A smile
slipped across her face as she remembered the many times she’d pulled the towel
off his body, the days and nights they’d made love like they couldn’t have
their fill.
Reaching for the remotes, he turned the music off, flicked ESPN on.
“Where was the hug, the kiss on the head? Their first after his two days at the
hospital?” she wanted to ask. Instead, “I was listening,” Naina pressed her
lips together. Then, for the second time, “I’ve made fresh aloo paratha’s for dinner.”
“You go ahead. I’m not hungry,” Ravi drawled, his eyes riveted to the game.
A knot tightened in Naina’s stomach. Why did she do this to herself, she
wondered? Hadn’t he told her since the early days of their marriage that she
wasn’t to wait for him for meals? That, as a resident, there was no telling when he’d be done
at work?
It was a homecoming that couldn’t have been more different than what she
wanted, desperately needed. Her own father had children leaping to greet him on
his return from work. It meant a family gathering to enjoy a hot,
freshly cooked meal and dinner table conversation about how everyone’s day had
gone. Ravi, on the other hand, saw no point in reliving his day if all he
wanted to do was put it behind him. Between Ravi’s medical residency, the NFL, the NBA and
whatever ESPN doled out, Naina couldn’t remember when she and her husband
had last shared a meal that brought them closer. Eating food, in her new home, seemed so
functional that Naina was certain it was robbing her cooking of its flavor.
Ravi eased the baby from Naina, and nestling Manal’s tiny body in his arms, he made
himself comfortable in front of the flat screen TV. That was where he unwound
best.
“I hope you don’t mind if I eat while we talk,” Naina cradled the phone between
her shoulder and her face.
“Not if you don’t mind my baby fussing in the background. The minute I get on
the phone, she gets gassy,” Sheena replied.
“Why don’t you watch the game with me?” Ravi asked.
Naina took another bite of her paratha. That this typically was the nature of their
interaction after days of not having seen each other, and barely two
years into the marriage, grated on her. It poisoned whatever desire she
may have had to snuggle next to her husband and watch a game, especially since
sports just weren’t her thing.
Naina listened to Sheena lament the challenge it was to get a newborn bundled
and ready for a trip to the grocery store, only for the baby to need yet
another diaper change. She empathaized, knowing the feeling only too well,
even as her eyes lingered over Ravi’s face. He was still as handsome as when
they’d first met. He visiting from America, an only child, looking to get
married. She, one of six children, one of the many hopeful’s he was to
interview. They met at dinner, the two of them, her siblings, his cousins.
Amidst the group’s non-stop chatter and the clinking of flatware against china,
his quiet measured manner and ready humor had attracted her. His choice of
water while everyone else chugged beer, his ease despite being mercilessly teased for
taking the “desi” career path dutifully, impressed
her. Unruffled, he could obviously stand his ground, be a rock she could lean
on.
If their babies allowed, what Sheena and Naina would begin as a conversation
about their newborns would evolve into a discussion about the price of diapers
and formula, the nature of love, the emotional costs of relocating. If either
of them had had any time to watch TV or follow the news online that week, then
that invariably become fodder for discussion. The Sandy Hook killings, Obama's re-election, global warming,
international news.
Even after all these months, Ravi was still incredulous that anyone could have
such capacity for conversation as Naina did. “Can you take your call to the
next room?” he rocked a now whimpering baby Manal in his lap.
Naina turned her back to him, reducing her side of the conversation to the
occasional “oh no” and “uh-huh”.
“Do you have to use the phone when I’m trying to watch the game?” Ravi asked,
no sooner than Naina had hung up, her next day’s plans with Sheena shimmering like a fragile ray of sun.
Naina felt anger bubble up from deep within her. “I feel so lonely in your
company,” she wanted to rage. But what use was it? It had been impossible to convey the depth of her loss to someone who lived less than a dozen miles from the home of his youth and childhood. She bit her lip, hating the game, despising the
TV, loathing the shared space they called a marriage. Outside, the snow continued to fall thicker and thicker, burying everthing.
If I gave you my heart
today, would you still not want it? Once again, Naina had her answer. Her eyes
boring into Ravi’s, she pulled the baby out of his arms. Ravi stared, his face contorting with anger, as she stalked out of the room. Silence fell as each recoiled to nurse festering wounds, neither aware they were speaking different languages, seeking love in different tongues, neither recognizing that even
love could be lost in translation.
A long sigh escaped her leaving smudges on the clear glass panel of windows and
Naina clung to little Manal tighter. Padding across the polished hard wood
floors, she nestled into the burgundy leather couch, gingerly placing her feet
onto the coffee table. The warmth from the fireplace tickled her toes and she
let her head drop against the back of the couch. Manal’s innocent and fragile
scent teased her. She had imagined that the baby would give her the sense of
family she so craved since moving to America two years ago. Between a somewhat colicky newborn, sleepless nights and Chicago’s cold, short days that often
kept mother and baby indoors, the ache had only deepened.
Switching the baby to her other arm, she rose to turn the
music up. Perhaps Bruno Mars’ voice could erase the loneliness? Tears pooled
in the corners of her eyes, surprising her. Noticing Ravi emerge from their
bedroom, his hair still wet, a towel wrapped around his waist, she wiped the
back of her hand across her face.
“Are we planning to do anything this evening?” Naina asked at length, even
though she knew the answer. He’d been home barely a couple of hours after being
on call for the past forty-eight hours. There wasn’t going to be room for her
needs. Her Facebook ‘friends’ seemed to hear her thoughts and feelings more
than her husband, she thought wryly. She couldn’t figure out why, then, the
more time she spent online, the more alone it made her feel. Besides her family
overseas, who else was there to open her heart to?
With no answer from Ravi, nor insights forthcoming to any of her questions, Naina
micro-waved the aloo-paratha, added a small bowl of yogurt to her plate and sat
down to eat. Digging into her purse, Naina groped for her cell phone. Sheena
was a new mother too, and an import like herself, albeit from Atlanta. Their
ever increasing sense of isolation had knit the two women closer since they had
first met at a party.
Naina’s interest in raising a family, rather than pursuing a full-time career
as a physician, her easy confidence and gregarious personality, had drawn Ravi
to her as they talked more after that first dinner. They discovered that their
big picture ideals dovetailed – family came first, charity and hard-work were
the foundation they wanted to build life on, and education was key to all their
aspirations. That both of them were pursuing careers in medicine gave them so
much in common.
( To be continued)
