Gravel crunched underneath my feet as I opened the gate to the driveway. Fluorescent lighting shone through the windows of the living room and parlor area. An unfamiliar black Maruti was parked in the driveway. It was too old and worn to be a relative’s car. Mentally exhausted, I opened the front door with every intention of saying a polite hello, sneaking past the guests, and pulling my mother aside.
I was taken aback upon seeing Tushar in the living room sitting with Mom, Virag Mama, and Indira Mami. Carrie sat on a corner of the sofa looking uncomfortable. The mood was tense.
“Tushar? What are you doing here?” I asked.
His eyes glistened with hope before he shifted his gaze toward his lap. His expression was much softer than when I had seen him earlier. Everyone else was focused on me. Mom’s expression was weary, and her lips were set into a thin line. Virag Mama looked angry. The smell of cardamom and cinnamon from the chai hung in the air.
Mom gestured for me to sit. My instincts told me to back out of the room and pretend that I had never walked in, but obediently, I did as she indicated and sat between my mother and Carrie.
“Do you know why Tushar is here?” Mom asked.
I scanned Tushar’s face for an answer, but he offered nothing. I wondered if his parents had somehow found out about the wine Tushar and I had smuggled into the shop on New Year’s Eve. Perhaps the old lady in the shop had complained about the way I’d been acting earlier. I thought about Tushar’s father being angry with him because of something I had done and felt sick. I slowly shook my head.
“He has come to ask our permission,” Virag Mama said matter-of-factly.
“Ask permission?” I said. “For what?” I could not have sounded more American as the words flew out of my mouth.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Carrie wanted to slap some sense into me.
The tips of Tushar’s ears looked red, like they were burning up. I searched his face. Then I realized what was happening. No, it can’t be. It didn’t make any sense. My father’s words rang in my ears like the repetitious ding-dong of a bell tower chiming twelve o’clock: First you marry, then you date, then you fall in love. First you marry, then you date, then you fall in love. First you marry . . .
Tushar’s face was expectant, and mine softened in response. I didn’t think he was in love with me, but I could see he wanted to be someday, and for him, that was enough. It was probably more than he had expected from the woman he would marry.
For me, this was a far cry from wanting a kiss on New Year’s Eve or even in his shop a couple hours earlier. A marriage proposal came after time spent together and feelings of love had formed. None of that had happened for us. This was a crush! Crushes hardly ever led to marriage in America. With him sitting in my family’s living room, I knew I was not ready for this—not even close. Regardless of whatever feelings I was or wasn’t having for him, I’d never thought he’d be willing to break out of the caste system, and I would never have asked him to. Especially after seeing everything Biren had gone through, I realized how deeply ingrained this culture was in those who were raised here.
I felt helpless as I stared at the room full of people who, in turn, were staring at Tushar and me. I hated being forced to consider this with my relatives sitting there. This tradition that allowed families to be present for what should be a very private and intimate moment in a couple’s life was totally impractical.
A couple? What was I thinking? We could hardly call ourselves that. We had never kissed or displayed any intimacy toward one another. I reminded myself that this was a crush. Could I ever agree to a marriage proposal without having dated? I turned to my right, where my mother remained quiet. I realized this was exactly what she had done when she had agreed to marry my father—except she hadn’t even developed a crush—and now appreciated how terrifying it must have been for her.
Surprisingly, given the forces working against Tushar and me, I did not find myself saying no. It scared me that I was actually thinking about his proposal rather than dismissing it instantly. I stared at Tushar, trying to find some meaning in his eyes, something to show whether he genuinely cared for me so much that it was worth going against society, or whether he was just worried that he might feel that way after I returned home and this was the best way to keep me in the country.
“Tushar, maybe you and I can talk in the other room,” I said.
Indira Mami and Virag Mama immediately tensed at the impropriety of my suggestion.
Mom was used to seeing far more improper things from me, so she didn’t balk. “Let them talk for a few moments,” she said.