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January 2007

Uncle Mayur and Auntie Sheela arrive one week after New Year’s day. Dad is in a jovial mood and picks them up at the Dulles International Airport. When they are home, Mom hugs Sheela. She has to appear cordial. She says, “How are you?” to Uncle Mayur. “It must have been a long flight. Should I make some tea?”

They agree to have tea. Indians never say “no” to a cup of tea. Dad is all smiles and keeps looking at his brother as if they haven’t seen each other in years. Although they visited us a couple of years ago.

Our house has three bedrooms. When Krishna is home, we share one bedroom. Mom and Dad have the master bedroom, and Lakshmi has the third one. Now I have to give my bedroom to the guest couple and go to the basement. A situation I am not looking forward to.

Uncle Mayur says they saw all the monuments and museums in Washington, D.C. during their last visit. This time they’ve come during winter to “experience” the snow, not just to see it accumulate but to stand outside with their arms stretched and looking up at the sky to let the snow drop on their face and into their mouth.

“We’ve seen images of blizzards on TV, but want to see how it is in person,” Uncle Mayur says.

“Believe me, it’s no fun,” says Dad. “It’s good to stare at from inside the house. But, boy, you try going outside in the snow, the roads are treacherous, and going to work is hazardous.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Once I went to get the newspaper from the driveway and slipped. I couldn’t control myself, just kept sliding. My glasses bent out of shape, and I looked like a fool. Luckily I was not injured.”

“Huh,” Uncle Mayur says, trying to suppress a smile as Dad looks at him.

“It’s not funny,” Dad says. “You have to experience it to believe it.”

Uncle Mayur doesn’t say anything.

******

It’s been three weeks since their arrival, and it hasn’t snowed. We wonder if they may have to return without witnessing a snowstorm. Dad goes to work at the university as usual. Lakshmi and I have school. Poor Mom has to entertain them by taking them to Giant for grocery shopping or to the Fair Oaks Mall (Visitors always have to buy stuff to take back with them) —and then cook for everyone. Mom does not bring takeout food from Bombay Café as Dad suggested earlier.

Mom is getting tired, I can tell, but tries not to show it. 

Upon Dad’s arrival from the university, the brothers have a cocktail hour without fail, mostly scotch on the rocks, as Mom cooks and Auntie Sheela stands, and watches. Sometimes we share Indian snacks they brought with them – Chiwada and Bakar Wadi. Mom and Sheela have red wine. But if Sheela says “no” to a drink, for whatever reason, then Mom feels obliged to forgo it.

I think it’s just a show on Auntie Sheela’s part, fake modesty if you ask me. Why don’t you admit that you like to drink? Why say, “Oh! I’ll pass” or “Give me only half a glass.” I know you are not afraid of your husband or anyone else in India.

*******

Every time I visit Dan at his house for our band practice; I see his dad’s photos in military uniform. He looks so impressive and dignified. I wonder what military life is like. Upon hearing that Uncle Mayur is interested in visiting the Pentagon I want to join him. Mom talks to Vicky who talks to her husband and a visit to the Pentagon is arranged. Normally there is a long wait but because of Dan’s dad, we get lucky. Dad takes a day off from his teaching and I skip school too.

Dad had driven past the Pentagon whenever he took us to the Ronald Reagan airport to receive visiting guests. The Pentagon building looked large from the outside, but to see it up close I was impressed by the enormous size. Close to three thousand people work inside the building. There is even a restaurant and a mall inside. The five sides and five floors of the building indeed present a massive and grand symbol of American military power. I am humbled when we visit the Hall of Heroes and look at the photos of the men who had received the highest military honor, the Medal of Honor, for their bravery in a war.

The visit to the Pentagon leaves me with a feeling of the importance of service to your country. A thought crosses my mind if I would be able to join the military. I am sure Dad would not agree.

*****

One Saturday, Dad takes our guests to the Udvar Hazy Air and Space Museum, a trip he has made with almost every visitor. Uncle Mayur and Aunt Sheela missed it on their last visit. All their time then was spent going to museums in D.C.

“They have the French Concord and the Enola Gay that was used to drop the atomic bomb on Hiroshima,” Dad says excitedly. 

I have homework to do, so I didn’t go. It is late afternoon when I hear voices upstairs and many footsteps as if several people are pacing the floor. I am interested to know what’s going on. I take a break from homework and come up from the basement and notice everyone has returned, and besides, there are Megan and Evan, our next-door neighbors.

“So, Dr. V, you must be glad to have your brother with you,” Evan is saying to Dad. Evan always wears shorts. Even in the dead of winter, he may have a fleece hoody or a winter jacket, but it’s always shorts instead of jeans or long workout pants. Today, however, he is wearing jeans, a checked sports shirt, and loafers without socks. I guess Megan must have said something.

“Yes. Mayur and his family arrived here a couple of weeks ago.”

“I tell you,” Evan says, turning to Uncle Mayur, “your brother’s a perfect gentleman. Very nice neighbors, very peaceful.”

Uncle Mayur doesn’t know how to respond. He nods and keeps quiet.

“Mayor, is that how you say it, your name?” Evan continues addressing Uncle Mayur.

“No, Sir. It’s pronounced M A A Y O O R.”

“My apologies. You don’t have to call me Sir. I’m Evan. What do you do, Maayer?”

“I have a business connected with commercial air-conditioning. We have contracts with major companies in Mumbai.”

I notice Uncle Mayur avoids calling him by his first name. Mom is in the kitchen preparing tea. Megan is talking with Auntie Sheela.

“Isn’t that a beautiful sari? Do you wear saris all the time?”

I don’t think Auntie Sheela is wearing a unique sari. It is just a run-of-the-mill, everyday sari. But what would Megan know? Auntie Sheela says no, she tells Megan she sometimes wears a Salwar Kameez.

“Well, I guess a sari will keep you warm in winter. I want to wear one, one of these days, Perhaps Sharaada will loan me one of hers. Isn’t that so, Sharaada?”

She has elongated my mom’s name. Mom looks up and says, “Oh, sure. One of these days. I have some very colorful ones. They’ll look good on you with your fair complexion.”

“Oh, you’re sooo sweet,” Megan says, slightly touching Mom’s shoulder with her fingertips.

Mom has finished preparing tea and brings it to the family room where the men are sitting. She notices me standing quietly.

“Oh. Arjun. I didn’t see you come in. We saw our neighbors when we came back from the museum and invited them in for tea. It’s so nice of them to accept.”

I join the men. When Evan looks at me, I go and shake his hand and say “Hi, Evan. How are you?”

Uncle Mayur looks at me with eyes raised as if I have done something wrong. How can a high school kid address a grown man by his first name? Perhaps he is expecting me to call Evan, “Uncle Evan.”

Mom keeps the tray with the tea and cookies on the coffee table. Dad asks Evan if he would prefer scotch instead.

“Oh, no, no,” Evan replies. “I’m fine with tea. Thanks, Sharaada.”

For a while, there is silence. Then Evan asks Dad if he was following the Wizards or the Nationals.

“Following what?” Dad asks.

“Our Basketball and Baseball teams,” Evan replies.

I notice it is an awkward moment for Dad. I have to intervene.

“The baseball spring training will start in a month,” I say to change the subject.

“Ajun. How’s the future Bryce Harper? I heard a lot about your game,” Evan says turning to me.

He always misses the “r” in my name.

“Thanks, Evan. Guess I lucked out.”

“No, it’s no luck. One needs real talent to hit a ball like that and under pressure.”

“Thanks, Evan.”

Evan turns to Dad and continues. “So, how would you like your boy to be a great baseball player, Dr. V? He’s got what it takes.”

I am glad someone appreciates what I’ve done. Dad responds, just as I expect from him.

“Noo. I am trying to convince him to be an engineer.” Dad gives his standard response.

Uncle Mayur is listening in silence, not finding anything of common interest to talk about with Evan. I have seen him in heated discussions with other Indian friends who visit us, but this is different. The ladies, especially Mom and Megan, are having a great time in the kitchen. I can tell by their loud laughter. They are probably talking about the terrible sales during the Christmas season and any new stores opening up in the neighborhood. Evan and I talk at length about the prospects of the Wizards making it into the playoffs and John Wall’s numbers. Evan is a fan of the Gonzaga Bulldogs. So, we talked a bit about college basketball. Dad seems glad I’ve saved him from having an uncomfortable afternoon.

After an hour Evan and Megan announce they will leave.

“Enjoy your stay here Mayor and Sheeela. So glad to meet you both. Hope you get to see the snow,” they say. 

Evan gives a light hug to Mom. Megan hugs Mom hesitates to hug Auntie Sheela, but then reaches over and hugs her anyway. Dad waves his hands at them and says, “Goodnight.” Uncle Mayur stands behind him, smiling.

*****

It’s the fourth week since the arrival of Uncle Mayur and Auntie Sheela. There is no snow in the forecast. Finally, on a Friday, as Dad and Uncle Mayur are enjoying their daily cocktails while watching the nightly news, Amelia, the girlish weather person on NBC, appears to issue a storm warning. 

“This time it’s for real, folks. Expect to get six inches or more of snow over the next two days.”

“These guys are never right,” Dad says. “We’ll see. Fortunately, it’s a weekend, so I don’t have to go to work.”

“What about Arjun? Does he have any activities in school?” Uncle Mayur wants to know.

“He doesn’t have school on weekends, as you know. But Virginia schools get very panicky about snow. You’ll see, if it happens, they will shut down everything, no school activities.”

“I’ll go to Giant and pick up a few things, in case we can’t get out of the house,” Mom says. She has heard the talk of snow.

This time Amelia is right. The snow flurries start at ten that night. Both Uncle Mayur and Auntie Sheela stand at the front windows looking out. They have pulled the blinds up and are watching the snow come down. Snowflakes shine in the light from the pole lamp on the front lawn.

“It’s like God sprinkling white powder from the sky,” they say.

They want to go out and feel the falling snow, but Dad convinces them to stay indoors. He recommends they go out on our deck for a while instead. They take photos of themselves covered with snow.

By morning all the roads in our neighborhood have a thick coating of white snow. Trees are covered in white, too. It’s a picture-perfect scene.

“Well, we got our money’s worth.” It’s Auntie Sheela.

Dad turns on the TV. All channels are covering the big event and giving the latest updates on road conditions. We wait until late afternoon to venture out through the garage. The snow has tapered off. Dad and I go out in our snow boots, winter coats, hats, and gloves. Lakshmi joins a bit later. We see a pile of up to a foot of snow from the garage door to the street. We don’t have a snowblower like some of our neighbors. So, we have to shovel. Uncle Mayur says he wants to help. We recommend he stay inside. We don’t want him to get injured and incur medical expenses. He reluctantly agrees.

When we came inside after clearing the snow, it had turned dark. Dad lights up the fireplace. Mom makes hot chocolate for everyone.

“Viju Dada,” Uncle Mayur starts to say something to Dad in a soft voice. His tone implies that what he wants to talk about is serious business.

It’s customary in India to add the “Dada” after a name to signify “big brother.” “Viju” is a short version of “Vijay.”

“I’ve meant to talk to you about something,” he continues.

Dad is busy tending to the wood in the fireplace. He turns and asks, “What is it Mayur? What do you have in your mind?” He goes to sit beside his brother. 

“Well. It’s about Lakshmi.” Uncle Mayur is serious. “She’s growing up into a pretty young lady.”

“Yes. Thank you. Go on.”

“Are you looking for a suitable boy for her?”

“Not really. You know how it is here in America. Besides she has two more years of college before she graduates.”

Uncle Mayur reaches for his scotch and takes a gulp.

“Well, I know a Joshi family from Delhi. My business partners. Pure Maharashtrian Brahmins. Very nice, respected family. Very well-to-do. Own a three-bedroom flat and a car with a chauffeur.”

“I’m listening.”

I am sitting on the sofa close to them, watching TV. I turn down the volume, knowing something serious is going on. I look towards the kitchen. Mom is busy preparing dinner, and I finally see Auntie Sheela cutting vegetables. Fortunately, Lakshmi is upstairs taking a shower or something. I don’t want her to listen to this matchmaking conversation. I don’t know how she would react.

“The Joshi’s have a son. He’s a doctor. Currently an intern at a hospital in Philadelphia.”

Dad’s eyes light up.

“A doctor?”

“Yes. I’ve seen his photo. Looks tall and pleasant. I hear he already owns an Audi.”

I wonder why Uncle Mayur mentioned what car this young man owns and that too when he is an intern. Is it to show his family’s riches?

“What’s his name?”

I’m listening to this talk. It sounds weird to me. Here in America, young people meet, date, fall in love, decide to get married, and then inform their parents. This matchmaking sounds convoluted to me.

“Aakash,” Uncle Mayur continues. “Aakash means sky. The sky’s the limit to his potential. Get it? He’ll be a perfect match.”

“What do you suggest?” Dad can’t hide his excitement.

“Tell you what. There’s no rush. These things take time.”

“Go on,” Dad says again.

“I can give you his contact information in Philadelphia. Maybe Lakshmi and Aakash can get together and see if there is a “Click.” Uncle Mayur says it with a wink of his left eye.

I am listening. “A click?” What’s that supposed to mean? Some magical signal that says two people are compatible? I don’t understand.

“Then,” Uncle Mayur continues. He is earnest. “If everything works out, you can come to India, visit the Joshi family, and see if you like them. I’ll make all the arrangements.”

“I don’t know.” Dad sounds as though he has doubts. “I want Lakshmi to finish college first. Let me talk to Lakshmi’s mom and see what she has to say. A doctor, huh?”

“Hey. Of course, you should wait till she finishes college. It wouldn’t hurt to get started; you know. Unless you have someone else in mind, here.”

“No. We don’t.”

“Well, then, try it. If it works, it’s well and good, if not, we’ll look somewhere else. I have a lot of connections.”

Sure, I think. Is anyone thinking about talking with Lakshmi?

Mom announces that dinner will be ready in ten minutes. I go to the kitchen to see if she needs help setting up.

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