“Years of practice traveling light,” Smita said. She looked around nervously. “Security is going to catch you. If not now, then on your way out.”
Mohan clucked dismissively. “Don’t worry about me,” he said.
They moved away from the main doors. She took in his tousled hair, the shirt that clung to his body due to the humidity. “Thank you for everything, Mohan,” she said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
He stared at her wordlessly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “So?” he said at last. “I guess this is it.”
The other passengers rushed past the two of them as they stood gazing at each other. The last time she’d left Mumbai, twenty years before—with Sushil accompanying her family to the airport—Smita couldn’t wait to get away. This time, she held herself still, as if her body were a clay pot filled to the brim with grief. One false move, and all her emotions would spill over.
Mohan looked at his watch. “You should go,” he said. “There’s usually a long line at security and immigration.”
She took his hand in hers. “You’ll write? You’ll keep me informed about how things proceed with Abru’s paperwork?”
“Yup.”
“And . . . and you promise not to be too sad? For my sake?”
“I’ll be fine,” Mohan said, and smiled that new, cynical smile. “Once I’m back at work, I won’t even have a chance to miss you.”
“Good,” Smita said, pretending to believe him. “Good.”
She kissed his cheek. “Bye, my Mohan. I’ll miss you.”
He touched the spot where she’d kissed him. “Bye. Be safe. Phone me when you’re at the gate. I’ll be waiting in here or outside. Just in case your flight is delayed.”
“Mohan, it’s getting late. It’s going to take you forever to get back home. You should leave now. Please.”
He frowned. “Don’t be silly, yaar. I’ll wait until your flight takes off.”
“But that makes no sense . . .”
“Smita.” He put his finger to her lips. “It’s an Indian tradition. Now, go.”
“Bye. Love you.”
“Bye.”
Smita phoned Mohan as soon as she was settled in the lounge. The phone rang and rang, but Mohan didn’t pick up. Had he changed his mind and left? She hung up, resolving to try again after she went to the restroom. She still had plenty of time before her flight. But just as she was about to place the phone in her handbag, it rang. “Sorry, yaar,” Mohan said. “They kicked me out. I’m standing outside with what seems like half of Mumbai. And it’s so bloody noisy, I couldn’t hear the phone.”
She hated the thought of Mohan standing in the thick crowd behind the barricades. “My flight doesn’t take off for another two hours. What’s the use of you waiting? Everything went smoothly.”
“Smita, in my family, we always wait until someone’s plane takes off. What if there’s a delay or something?”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay. I can tell I’m not going to win this one.”
They talked for another ten minutes, and then Smita said, “Hey, I want to go use the restroom. I’ll call you from the plane before takeoff, okay?”
“Okay,” he said. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Smita found a seat across from a family of four when she returned to the lounge. She smiled at the harried-looking mother, who seemed responsible for the two young children, a boy and a girl, while her husband walked around the room, stretching and yawning languidly. The woman smiled back at her self-consciously. “My first time to Am’rica,” she said in heavily accented English.
“Beautiful children,” Smita said. “How old are they?”
“He is five. She is two.”
Smita nodded, then shut her eyes, the events of the day finally catching up with her. Earlier, she and Mohan had taken Abru to Hanging Gardens, where the girl had been transfixed by the roadside antics of a dancing bear. Then, they’d returned to Zarine’s apartment to drop off the child. The older woman had made her disappointment and disapproval crystal clear, barely speaking to Smita. “Bon voyage,” she’d said stiffly when Smita and Mohan were leaving for the airport.
Smita decided to get a cup of coffee. She turned to the woman across from her and motioned to her suitcase. “Can you watch this for me?” she said. “I’m just going to go get something to drink.” Even as she asked, she was aware of how she’d never make this request of a stranger in post-9/11 America. She had a hunch that Indians had not yet embraced the culture of distrust and fear that had permeated every aspect of civil life in America.