Radha worked in the ladies’ section, making clothes for the ladies of America. It was Radha who had first heard about this factory. She came running home one day, her face shiny with excitement. “Didi, Didi, listen!” she said. “There’s a new clothing factory opened in Navnagar. They are paying good-solid wages. I am applying.”
I looked up from where I was sweeping the floor. “Applying for what?” I asked.
She looked at me impatiently. “For a job.”
“Little sister,” I said, “have you gone mad? You know that this is not the work for womenfolk. In our village, has a woman ever held a job outside her home?”
Radha scowled. “So, we should continue to starve? Govind and I work all day in the fields but without rain, what’s the use? And what does that good-for-nothing Arvind do? Lazes around drinking, getting in your way as you sweep and clean.”
“Radha,” I said, “Govind needs you in the kheti, na? Who will help him if you are gone?”
She did not even let me finish. “That kheti is not big enough to support us all. Govind can manage alone. Or, let Arvind put down his bottle and go help. I am tired of being hungry all the time. I work as hard as our brothers, but they eat first. If we ever buy an egg or goat meat, they get it. Why?”
“Chokri, chup! This is how Ma raised us. In honor of her . . .”
“Ma is dead. She lived in a different time. In Mumbai and Delhi, all the women are working. We are young. Why do we have to sit at home like old women? The factory is paying good money. And the work is easy.”
“Our brothers will never allow . . .”
“Who is asking them?” Radha got that angry look on her face, a look I knew from the time she was a baby. “I want to eat an egg every day. Can Govind dig an egg for me from the kheti? If not, who is he to stop me?”
Fear made a knot in my stomach. Govind had a bad temper. Since our father’s death, he was the head of our family.
“Let me talk to him,” I said. “But if he says no . . .”
Radha shook her head impatiently, as if my words were mosquitoes she had to squat away. “If he says no, I’m still applying. I don’t care.”
“Little sister,” I said, raising my voice, “this is our older brother. His word is law.”
“No. Even if Narendra Modi prohibits me, I’m still applying.”
If Radha could have seen all the way to where her stubbornness would take us, maybe she would have buried her desire, and we would have never taken a step out of our village. Because traditions are like eggs—once you break one, it is impossible to put it back inside its shell.
Chapter Fourteen
“I’ll say one thing about this motel,” Smita said with her mouth full. “They sure have a great kitchen.”
Mohan stared at her, an expression on his face she couldn’t read.
“What?” she asked.
“Just that—I like seeing you eat. So many women . . . I don’t know, yaar. They eat like birds or mice in front of men. You don’t have such hang-ups.”
“In my line of work, when there’s food, you eat.” Smita checked her watch and then set her fork down. “Having said that, we should probably get going soon, right?”
“Right.”
They had pulled out of the motel compound and dodged a sudden flock of chickens crossing the street—the old joke made Smita smile—when she thought of something. “You don’t think the front desk guy has been suspicious about the beer bottles you’ve been bringing to your room the last two nights?” she asked.
Mohan’s lips were set in a straight line. “One thing you have to understand about India, Smita,” he said, “is that half of these customs exist just to save face. As long as you don’t rub it in their faces, nobody cares.”
“So, it’s a country of hypocrites.”
He smiled as if he was wise to her. “No. It’s a country that puts a premium on saving face.”
“Just like Meena’s brothers.” Her tone was bitter. “That’s what they were doing, right? Saving their family honor.”
Mohan nodded but didn’t reply. He had come to her room before dinner the evening before with two bottles of beer and a bag of cashews. He had made her splutter with laughter as he told her, in his droll, deadpan fashion, story after story about the pranks he and his friends used to play on their schoolteachers.
Now, he glanced at her. “Everything okay with you?”