Dipti’s glistening eyes looked up at him. She looked like a scared child who wanted to believe everything being told to her. Then she put her head down and said, “It just doesn’t feel right to go.”
Neel exhaled slowly. “For me, it doesn’t feel right to stay.” He turned and went down the stairs. We heard the front door close behind him and then the driver starting up the Fiat.
It wasn’t clear where they left things, but it was clear that they were hitting a breaking point. Dipti noticed us staring at her and retreated to her room like a wounded animal. Mom closed the door to give her some privacy as we all made our way quietly downstairs.
A few hours later, my mother, Indira Mami, and I were in the living room and heard a car pull into the driveway. Neel still had not returned, and my father had gone out to look for him. We had all steered clear of the upstairs to give Dipti some space. A moment later, one of our servants brought Dipti’s father into the room. A young man trailed behind him, hands clasped in front of him, head and shoulders hanging low, as if he were trying to make himself invisible. Raj Uncle approached my mother first.
“These are hard times for us all.” His tone was apologetic and almost deferential.
My mother seemed confused. “Yes, Sahib. The children are in a lot of pain.”
Even though Neel had lost his own child, my mother couldn’t help but still think of him as her child.
“Can we offer you chai and nasta?” my mother said, out of habit.
He held up his hands and politely shook his head. “That’s very kind, but I’m just here to collect Dipti.”
I looked up at the second floor, where I could now see Dipti peering into the living room from the railing on the bridge that spanned the middle of the second floor. Her face looked ashen, and I was sure she’d spent the better part of the morning crying.
“Collect her?” my mother asked.
Raj Uncle nodded his head ruefully. “She just needs some time.”
“Neel is not even home. Does he know?” my mother said, realizing what was happening.
Raj Uncle looked at Dipti and shrugged his shoulders, clearly not knowing the answer to the question or what had transpired between Dipti and Neel this morning. I now understood why he looked so apologetic. He was doing something that went against custom because once Dipti married into our family, she was supposed to do what was expected as part of that new family. Taking her away from Neel without his permission violated that marriage tenet. But the pleas of his only daughter must have been so strong that he was willing to go against tradition.
Raj Uncle leaned closer to my mother and said in a soft voice that Dipti would not be able to hear, “She is upset now, but she will move past this.”
He was trying to save face in front of my family and assure us that eventually Dipti would fall back into her traditional marriage role. After the new sides of her I had seen during my time in India, I wasn’t so sure. While she respected tradition, she wasn’t going to let it dictate her life. The way she had stood up to the priest about Uma’s funeral made that clear. I kept hoping Neel would walk through the door and convince her to stay, but there was no sign of him.
“Please have a seat until Neel comes home, and then we can talk about this,” my mother suggested while gesturing to the sofa. “Come. We’ll have some chai and nasta.” She caught our servant Gautam’s eye and signaled for him to bring Raj Uncle some water and make some tea. It was as if she understood Dipti leaving Lakshmi without Neel would have a lasting impact on them and was determined to avoid it.
“Papa, I’m ready to go,” Dipti called down from upstairs.
Raj Uncle looked helplessly between her and my mother. His internal struggle between what the culture expected of him and what his only daughter needed from him was etched on his face.
“Varshabhen, it will have to be another time,” he said to my mother.
He motioned for the servant who had been standing behind him like a statue to go upstairs and collect Dipti’s things. The lanky young man kept his head down as he mounted the stairs in his bare feet and came back with both of the suitcases that Dipti had brought on this trip. Dipti followed him and made her way toward the door.
“Dipti, beta, have we done something to make you feel unwelcome?” my mother said. “This is a lot of effort for one day, no? Your flights are just after midnight tomorrow, so no sense in moving the luggage, hah?”
She looked up and held my mother’s gaze. “I’m not going back to Chicago tomorrow,” she said simply.