I grinned. “There are over one point three billion people in this country. Space is scarce.” I held the door open for her to slide into the back seat with me.
Carrie felt the seat around her. “No seat belts?”
I shook my head and laughed. Carrie’s expression during the drive was priceless. She gripped the edge of the seat as we swerved around animals and lorries. She flinched with every blast of a horn, and there were many. Her renegade driving style on the 405 was tame in comparison to this. After a few days, she would tune out that sound like everyone else did. As nervous as she seemed about her surroundings, I knew she’d ultimately be glad to have seen India, and I could not have been more delighted to have her sitting next to me.
Her relief was evident as we pulled into the driveway of Lakshmi. The bungalow was calm and inviting, providing a respite from the commotion she had seen on the streets between the airport and home.
Upon our entrance, a pair of guest champals waited by the door. Indira Mami must have left them out for Carrie. She slipped into the house shoes, familiar with the routine of removing her shoes before entering my apartment in Los Angeles.
I tried to rush through introductions with the other family members, but Indira Mami insisted that Carrie have something to eat or drink before sleeping.
“The food on those flights is so terrible. You must be quite hungry,” Indira Mami said, bringing out a plate of khari biscuits and a hot pot of chai. Before setting them down, she looked at the traditional Indian snacks and hesitated. “We also have bread and butter if you prefer some toast. Or juice? Would you like orange juice?” Carrie was the first white person to ever set foot in Lakshmi, and Indira Mami seemed unsure of how to act around her.
I sat next to Carrie. “This is fine, Indira Mami. She’ll like this.”
Indira Mami and Mom joined us at the large dining table. Both poured some tea from the teacup into the saucer to cool it more quickly. Then they slurped from the saucer. Carrie looked relieved to see me drinking directly from the teacup and followed suit.
By the time we got upstairs, the servants had pulled another cot into the room I was sleeping in, and the two beds filled the space. I had to crawl over Carrie’s bed to get to mine, but that small room was as close to privacy as we were going to get in this country. Carrie sank onto the bed. If the hard density of the mattress jolted her, she didn’t show it. She stretched her long, pale legs and closed her eyes. I sat across from her.
Without opening her eyes, Carrie said, “Jared asked why you quit.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That I didn’t know.” She rolled onto her side to face me and opened her eyes. “You going to tell me what this midlife crisis is all about?”
I remained silent. Not sure what to say.
“Does it stem from the fact that Alex moved on?”
I felt as if a heavy rock had been placed on my chest. On some level I knew I had thrown myself into life in India to distract from my broken personal life, but that was not the only reason. My time in India had forced me to face emotions that I had buried very deep inside me for a long time. How could I explain to Carrie what it felt like to be an Indian person at a white law firm? To be an Indian person anywhere in America?
“Thanks for coming out here,” I said, deflecting.
She held my gaze, not letting me have a pass.
“You know the way you felt coming out of the airport today? Everyone staring at you because you look different?” I sighed before saying, “I’ve felt like that most days of my life. Around the clock. Without a break. And especially at that firm.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. It was obvious that she was white and I was Indian, but we’d never talked about that during our friendship. I had always avoided talking about race and ethnicity with white Americans, whether it was colleagues, boyfriends, teachers, or friends. I knew it made them uncomfortable, and I had been conditioned to make white people feel comfortable. Assimilation required that above all else, and I had done everything possible to assimilate.
“I didn’t realize you felt different there,” she said softly. “I’ve always thought of us as the same.”
I managed a half smile. “I know. But we never were. I had to be that reliable Indian workhorse. I had to be the highest biller in our class to prove that I deserved to be there. I had to bite my tongue when Jared said and did things I disagreed with. Speaking up was a luxury I’ve never had.”
“I disagree with Jared all the time,” she said. “He handles it well. As well as can be for a power-hungry narcissist.”