When Virag Mama and I entered Dipti’s room, she was lying on a flimsy bed with her eyes closed. An IV kept her hydrated, and two machines beeped steadily—one monitoring Dipti’s heart rate, and the other, the baby’s. Neel kept vigil in a green plastic chair. I crossed the room and put my hand on his shoulder. He bolted upright. His eyes were bloodshot, his face gaunt. His cheeks and chin were scratchy with stubble.
He gave me a fierce hug. Without me asking, Neel answered, “I don’t know. She’s been in and out of consciousness. Mostly out for the past half day or so. She lost a lot of blood.”
“She’s going to be okay. Both of them are.” I tried to sound reassuring but didn’t know if I’d been successful.
“I don’t know, Pree—it’s bad.” As he shook his head, the premature gray hairs that had once made him look distinguished caught the light. In this setting, they made him look old.
“Don’t think about that.” I touched the edge of Dipti’s bed. “Can she hear us?” Her eyeballs twitched underneath her closed eyelids. The movement was unsettling.
“She can’t respond,” Neel said.
I nodded. “What do you need from me? I can sit with her while you get some food or take a walk.”
“The way people drive here . . . there was . . . a truck.” Neel shook his head. “It slammed into the side of our ricksha. Not even an accident. It just kept honking and going against the traffic like all the other cars do but . . . dammit. Those stupid rickshas fold like accordions. If I had switched seats with her . . .” His eyes misted.
The last time I’d seen my brother cry was the day those kids in school had beaten him up when we first immigrated. We’d come a long way from that day, but seeing him so unglued again worried me.
After some persuading, Neel agreed to leave Dipti’s side but only to go find the doctor to discuss the next steps. Not being in charge was killing him. Virag Mama put his arm around Neel’s shoulders and led him out of the room. I sat in the chair Neel had vacated, the plastic still warm.
Dipti’s body was still. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, exposing her expressionless face. The familiar mound protruded from her stomach. I wondered if she could sense the people around her. I had no idea what to say to her. She and I had never been close. I’d never understood how she could be born and raised in America and still cling to dated Indian customs, like eating only after her husband had finished his meal to make sure he had piping hot rotlis. We came from two completely different worldviews. I wouldn’t know what to say if mine was the first face she saw.
Still, I willed her to wake up. The longer she was out, the worse her chances of recovery. And the less likely it was that the baby would survive. I thought back to how I’d felt when Neel first told me about the baby. He could hardly contain himself. I said and did the right things to match his excitement. But while I was happy for him, I was sad for me. Things were changing again. They had started when he met Dipti. The dynamic had shifted from Neel and me being a team to Neel and Dipti, leaving me on my own. With a baby, that divide would only grow deeper, and I’d fall even lower on the priority ladder.
Even though Neel and I had adjusted to America differently—he being able to adopt the right facade in social interactions but keeping Indian traditions at his core, while I internalized the new American customs as I adopted them—we had always remained close. We were the only two people in this world who shared the exact same experiences, and our bond was both resilient and forgiving.
When he met Dipti, I didn’t blame him. It wasn’t his fault that his life was moving forward while mine was standing still. A few years later, I met Alex. I had been a late bloomer, given that my parents had forbidden me from dating all through high school. By the time I got to college, I was still awkward and shy around boys, and my parents still insisted that I focus on my studies until I was ready for marriage. So it wasn’t until I was twenty-eight that I met Alex, my first real boyfriend, and he quickly grew into someone I loved as much as Neel. I began to understand why Neel had to shift priorities when Dipti entered his life.
Now, the thought of losing the baby was devastating. During the past few months I’d accepted the inevitable change that was coming and was happy to be its only foi. Between Neel, Dipti, and me, the baby would have the stable, loving, and financially secure American childhood that Neel and I hadn’t. I could only imagine that losing a child would be close to the way I would feel if something ever happened to Neel. I shuddered at the thought.