“And a pain,” Jiten mumbled.
“Last Diwali.” Uma explained, “Neha brought a bowl of macaroni and cheese for herself because that’s what she’d wanted on that particular day, and she didn’t care if it was a major holiday.”
“From a box,” Sabina added.
Meena gave a mental high five to Neha. Staying in the apartment, reading the notes, Meena had come to understand that Neha did what she liked. Meena could relate to that. While she wouldn’t have described herself as odd or quirky, she chose her own path on her own terms. She paused. Personality wasn’t genetic. Meena had been raised to follow convention, to be polite, to eat what was served. It wasn’t until she’d had to make her way on her own that Meena had chosen the life she had.
“There were some Indian dishes she liked.” Uma interrupted Meena’s thoughts. “Dal makhani was her favorite.”
“And Sabina auntie’s is the best in Boston,” Sam commented.
“Best in the world,” Jiten added.
Sabina’s face lit up in a bright smile, and there was a hint of bashfulness mixed with pride. It was the first time Meena noticed her beauty. When Sabina’s features—bright black eyes, high cheekbones, thick arched brows, and full red-painted lips—were relaxed, the woman was stunning. Meena fiddled with the zipper on her purse. Sam helped her open it, and she took out her phone. It had been hard to leave her camera back in the apartment, but she’d been invited as a guest.
“Do you mind if I snap some pictures? Everyone looks so great,” Meena asked.
The aunties were dressed in saris, with Sabina in red, Uma in an eggplant color, and Tanvi in bright pink.
“Later.” Sabina waved her off. “Sit and talk with us. This is not work.”
Meena did as told and tried not to put her back up at Sabina’s stern tone. It was her party, her rules.
“How are you settling in?” Jiten asked.
Meena gave a rote reply, then decided she needed to be a better guest. “You have a lovely home.”
“It’s my wife’s main passion.” Jiten patted Sabina’s knee. “Not just our apartment but the Engineer’s House. To preserve its history falls on her shoulders. It was her grandfather who bought this building in 1932.”
“He was part of a contingent of Indians who came here from the 1920s to the late forties,” Sabina said. “Over a hundred of them came to study at MIT right before the fall of the British Raj in India. My grandfather’s uncle was one of the first.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Not many do,” Uma opined. “Even Indians who’ve been born and raised here don’t know about it. Mostly people assume Indians came here in the 1970s.”
“Once the quotas opened up in sixty-five, more Indians began to migrate here,” Vin said. “But before the end of colonialism in India, this group of mostly Gujarati men came here to study. They were in civil work in India, working for the British, but they did not want to go to the UK. They came here instead, knowing that the Raj was coming to an end because of what Gandhi and others were doing. They paid their own way and studied engineering at MIT so they could go back and rebuild India. They aspired to remake the country.”
“It wasn’t easy for them.” Sabina’s face softened. “They were a different kind of foreigner. They had wealth, but because they were not white, they had very little community and faced a lot of discrimination. So my grandfather bought this building, through a trust, and invited his fellow Indians to live here while they were studying. He stayed instead of going back, to oversee a sort of dormitory, make those that came feel a sense of home.”
“Most went back,” Jiten added. “Except five.”