He taught us the tricks of kite cutting—releasing the string as fast as the spool would allow when two strings were tangled, or pulling it in quickly. As he showed us his skills, I saw kite after kite spiral downward from the sky and into the arms of children running along the streets collecting the fallen soldiers.
Jayesh brought Tushar a yellow kite to launch into the air, so all three of us now had warriors in the sky.
I saw Tushar’s kite, so I stealthily steered mine in his direction.
“What is this? You try to cut your teacher’s kite?” His eyes shone as he said the words.
Our strings were now intertwined high above the building. “You taught me well.”
I tried to cut his kite using the release method he’d taught me earlier, but he guided his kite to the safety of higher air. He then looped his string back and was in prime position to cut mine. I tugged on my string, frantically trying to move my kite away from the danger zone. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him glance at me and then ease up on his string, allowing my kite to cut his. We watched his yellow kite swirl headfirst back toward earth.
“Got it!” I shouted.
“You have learned well,” he said.
We both ignored the fact that he had let me win.
I noticed Carrie staring at us, a question in her eyes.
37
After a traditional dinner of undhiyu, Carrie and I took a ricksha back to Lakshmi. Box-lantern kites lit the night sky, soft glowing steps leading to the heavens. Fireworks crackled around us, and sparks fell on the road as we swerved through the streets. The air was heavier than usual, thick with the scents of incense and burnt paper. Street vendors added the aromas of fresh roasted peanuts and sugary fried jelabi to the mix. Scraps of fallen kites littered the road like confetti, fluttering around with the light airiness of snowflakes as cars and rickshas cruised past.
When we arrived back at Lakshmi, my relatives were still on the roof. Two lines of neon-pink string stretched upward. Bharat was still flying kites despite the darkness. Carrie and I joined my family on the roof and rehashed stories of our day at Tushar’s. Virag Mama was impressed Carrie had caught on to kite cutting so quickly and ended up with twelve kite war victories on her first attempt.
Exhausted, we retreated to our room after half an hour of small talk with the family. As soon as I flicked on the dim yellow light overhead and closed the door to our small bedroom, Carrie turned to me.
“Now I know why you wanted to stay here!” she said.
“It’s not what you think.”
Carrie kicked off her house champals and sat on the bed. “When you told me your relatives freaked out because you were friends with a boy from a lower caste, you didn’t mention that you were friends in the Indian-mom sense.”
I dropped onto the mattress and folded my legs under me. “Nothing has happened. Really. Can you imagine? I’d be going from a guy like Alex who my parents didn’t approve of to someone all of my relatives wouldn’t approve of.”
“From where I’m sitting your parents have wanted nothing more than for you to marry an Indian guy, and it seems like there’s one who’s interested in you—who you actually like—so what’s the problem?”
“The damn caste system.” I shook my head. “Tushar’s family is from a lower working-level caste—farmers, animal herders, et cetera. People from his caste work for my family, not date them. It would be taboo. For both of us.”
“You don’t believe in any of that stuff. Or about doing what Indian society expects. You were living with a white guy a few months ago.”
“I know. I think it’s bullshit. People are people. But my relatives believe in that. And more importantly, so does Tushar. He’s never left India and doesn’t want to. He has to play by these rules. It’s not like someone’s going to pat him on the back because he was able to ‘date up.’ His family would be worried about jeopardizing their working relationship with my family and about their reputation in the community.” I sighed, the frustration clear in my own ears. “It’s too complicated.”
“Does it have to be?” she said simply.
I pondered her question. “If I were only thinking about myself, then no. But if I’m thinking about Tushar, his family, my family, et cetera, then yes. And here, I need to be. It’s a collectivist culture for a reason, and I can’t waltz in and spread my American individualist attitude around without thinking about the repercussions.”
“That’s an interesting way of thinking about it. Guess I’ve never had to think about anything other than an American individualist attitude, but I suppose I will add that to my growing list of things to reflect on.” She looked lost in thought before adding, “I’m really glad I came out here.”