HELL–HEAVEN – Jhumpa Lahiri in Berlin, where I was born and where my father

had finished his training in microbiology before

Pranab Chakraborty wasn't technically my father's accepting a position as a researcher at Mass
younger brother. He was a fellow Bengali from General, and before Berlin my mother and father
Calcutta who had washed up on the barren shores had lived in India, where they were strangers to
of my parents' social life in the early seventies, each other, and where their marriage had been
when they lived in a rented apartment in Central arranged. Central Square is the first place I can
Square and could number their acquaintances on recall living, and in my memories of our
one hand. But I had no real uncles in America, apartment, in a dark brown shingled house on
and so I was taught to call him Pranab Kaku. Ashburton Place, Pranab Kaku is always there.
Accordingly, he called my father Shyamal Da, According to the story he liked to recall often, my
always addressing him in the polite form, and he mother invited him to accompany us back to our
called my mother Boudi, which is how Bengalis apartment that very afternoon and prepared tea
are supposed to address an older brother's wife, for the two of them; then, after learning that he
instead of using her first name, Aparna. After had not had a proper Bengali meal in more than
Pranab Kaku was befriended by my parents, he three months, she served him the leftover curried
confessed that on the day we met him he had mackerel and rice that we had eaten for dinner the
followed my mother and me for the better part of night before. He remained into the evening for a
an afternoon around the streets of Cambridge, second dinner after my father got home, and after
where she and I tended to roam after I got out of that he showed up for dinner almost every night,
school. He had trailed behind us along occupying the fourth chair at our square Formica
Massachusetts Avenue and in and out of the kitchen table and becoming a part of our family in
Harvard Co-op, where my mother liked to look at practice as well as in name.
discounted housewares. He wandered with us into He was from a wealthy family in Calcutta and had
Harvard Yard, where my mother often sat on the never had to do so much as pour himself a glass
grass on pleasant days and watched the stream of of water before moving to America, to study
students and professors filing busily along the engineering at MIT. Life as a graduate student in
paths, until, finally, as we were climbing the steps Boston was a cruel shock, and in his first month
to the Widener Library so that I could use the he lost nearly twenty pounds. He had arrived in
bathroom, he tapped my mother on the shoulder January, in the middle of a snowstorm, and at the
and inquired, in English, if she might be a Bengali. end of a week he had packed his bags and gone to
The answer to his question was clear, given that Logan, prepared to abandon the opportunity he'd
my mother was wearing the red and white bangles worked toward all his life, only to change his mind
unique to Bengali married women, and a common at the last minute. He was living on Trowbridge
Tangail sari, and had a thick stem of vermilion Street in the home of a divorced woman with two
powder in the center parting of her hair, and the young children who were always screaming and
full round face and large dark eyes that are so crying. He rented a room in the attic and was
typical of Bengali women. He noticed the two or permitted to use the kitchen only at specified
three safety pins she wore fastened to the thin times of the day and instructed always to wipe
gold bangles that were behind the red and white down the stove with Windex and a sponge. My
ones, which she would use to replace a missing parents agreed that it was a terrible situation, and
hook on a blouse or to draw a string through a if they'd had a bedroom to spare they would have
petticoat at a moment's notice, a practice he offered it to him. Instead, they welcomed him to
associated strictly with his mother and sisters and our meals and opened up our apartment to him at
aunts in Calcutta. Moreover, Pranab Kaku had any time, and soon it was there he went between
overheard my mother speaking to me in Bengali, classes and on his days off, always leaving behind
telling me that I couldn't buy an issue of Archie at some vestige of himself: a nearly finished pack of
the Coop. But back then, he also confessed, he cigarettes, a newspaper, a piece of mail he had not
was so new to America that he took nothing for bothered to open, a sweater he had taken off and
granted and doubted even the obvious. forgotten in the course of his stay.
My parents and I had lived in Central Square for I remember vividly the sound of his exuberant
three years prior to that day; before that, we lived laughter and the sight of his lanky body slouched
or sprawled on the dull, mismatched furniture that optical illusion in which he appeared to be
had come with our apartment. He had a striking severing his own thumb with enormous struggle
face, with a high forehead and a thick mustache, and strength and taught me to memorize
and overgrown, untamed hair that my mother said multiplication tables well before I had to learn
made him look like the American hippies who them in school. His hobby was photography. He
were everywhere in those days. His long legs owned an expensive camera that required thought
jiggled rapidly up and down wherever he sat, and before you pressed the shutter, and I quickly
his elegant hands trembled when he held a became his favourite subject, round-faced, missing
cigarette between his fingers, tapping the ashes teeth, my thick bangs in need of a trim. They are
into a teacup that my mother began to set aside still the pictures of myself I like best, for they
for this exclusive purpose. Though he was a convey that confidence of youth I no longer
scientist by training, there was nothing rigid or possess, especially in front of a camera. I
predictable or orderly about him. He always remember having to run back and forth in
seemed to be starving, walking through the door Harvard Yard as he stood with the camera, trying
and announcing that he hadn't had lunch, and to capture me in motion, or posing on the steps of
then he would eat ravenously, reaching behind my university buildings and on the street and against
mother to steal cutlets as she was frying them, the trunks of trees. There is only one photograph
before she had a chance to set them properly on a in which my mother appears; she is holding me as
plate with red onion salad. In private, my parents I sit straddling her lap, her head tilted toward me,
remarked that he was a brilliant student, a star at her hands pressed to my ears as if to prevent me
Jadavpur who had come to MIT with an from hearing something. In that picture, Pranab
impressive assistantship, but Pranab Kaku was Kaku's shadow, his two arms raised at angles to
cavalier about his classes, skipping them with hold the camera to his face, hovers in the corner
frequency. “These Americans are learning of the frame, his darkened, featureless shape
equations I knew at Usha's age,” he would superimposed on one side of my mother's body.
complain. He was stunned that my second-grade It was always the three of us. I was always there
teacher didn't assign any homework and that at when he visited. It would have been inappropriate
the age of seven I hadn't yet been taught for my mother to receive him in the apartment
square roots or the concept of pi. alone; this was something that went without
He appeared without warning, never phoning saying.
beforehand but simply knocking on the door the They had in common all the things she and my
way people did in Calcutta and calling out father did not: a love of music, film, leftist politics,
“Boudi!” as he waited for my mother to let him in. poetry. They were from the same neighborhood
Before we met him, I would return from school in North Calcutta, their family homes within
and find my mother with her purse in her lap and walking distance, the facades familiar to them
her trench coat on, desperate to escape the once the exact locations were described. They
apartment where she had spent the day alone. But knew the same shops, the same bus and tram
now I would find her in the kitchen, rolling out routes, the same holes-in-the-wall for the best
dough for luchis, which she normally made only jelabis and moghlai parathas.
on Sundays for my father and me, or putting up My father, on the other hand, came from a suburb
new curtains she'd bought at Woolworth's. I did twenty miles outside Calcutta, an area that my
not know, back then, that Pranab Kaku's visits mother considered the wilderness, and even in her
were what my mother looked forward to all day, bleakest hours of homesickness she was grateful
that she changed into a new sari and combed her that my father had at least spared her a life in the
hair in anticipation of his arrival, and that she stern house of her in-laws, where she would have
planned, days in advance, the snacks she would had to keep her head covered with the end of her
serve him with such nonchalance. That she lived sari at all times and use an outhouse that was
for the moment she heard him call out “Boudi!” nothing but a raised platform with a hole, and
from the porch and that she was in a foul humor where, in the rooms, there was not a single
on the days he didn't materialize. painting hanging on the walls. Within a few weeks,
It must have pleased her that I looked forward to Pranab Kaku had brought his reel-to-reel over to
his visits as well. He showed me card tricks and an our apartment, and he played for my mother
medley after medley of songs from the Hindi the highway. He would take us to India Tea and
films of their youth. They were cheerful songs of Spices in Watertown, and one time he drove us all
courtship, which transformed the quiet life in our the way to New Hampshire to look at the
apartment and transported my mother back to the mountains. As the weather grew hotter, we started
world she'd left behind in order to marry my going, once or twice a week, to Walden Pond. My
father. She and Pranab Kaku would try to recall mother always prepared a picnic of hard-boiled
which scene in which movie the songs were from, eggs and cucumber sandwiches and talked fondly
who the actors were and what they were wearing. about the winter picnics of her youth, grand
My mother would describe Raj Kapoor and expeditions with fifty of her relatives, all taking
Nargis singing under umbrellas in the rain, or Dev the train into the West Bengal countryside. Pranab
Anand strumming a guitar on the beach in Goa. Kaku listened to these stories with interest,
She and Pranab Kaku would argue passionately absorbing the vanishing details of her past. He did
about these matters, raising their voices in playful not turn a deaf ear to her nostalgia, like my father,
combat, confronting each other in a way she and or listen uncomprehending, like me. At Walden
my father never did. Pond, Pranab Kaku would coax my mother
Because he played the part of a younger brother, through the woods, and lead her down the steep
she felt free to call him Pranab, whereas she never slope to the water's edge. She would unpack the
called my father by his first name. My father was picnic things and sit and watch us as we swam.
thirty-seven then, nine years older than my His chest was matted with thick dark hair, all the
mother. Pranab Kaku was twenty-five. My father way to his waist. He was an odd sight, with his
was a lover of silence and solitude. He had pole-thin legs and a small, flaccid belly, like an
married my mother to placate his parents; they otherwise svelte woman who has had a baby and
were willing to accept his desertion as long as he not bothered to tone her abdomen. “You're
had a wife. He was wedded to his work, his making me fat, Boudi,” he would complain after
research, and he existed in a shell that neither my gorging himself on my mother's cooking. He
mother nor I could penetrate. Conversation was a swam noisily, clumsily, his head always above the
chore for him; it required an effort he preferred to water; he didn't know how to blow bubbles or
expend at the lab. He disliked excess in anything, hold his breath, as I had learned in swimming
voiced no cravings or needs apart from the frugal class. Wherever we went, any stranger would have
elements of his daily routine: cereal and tea in the naturally assumed that Pranab Kaku was my
mornings, a cup of tea after he got home, and two father, that my mother was his wife.
different vegetable dishes every night with dinner. It is clear to me now that my mother was in love
He did not eat with the reckless appetite of with him. He wooed her as no other man had,
Pranab Kaku. My father had a survivor's with the innocent affection of a brother-in-law. In
mentality. From time to time, he liked to remark, my mind, he was just a family member, a cross
in mixed company and often with no relevant between an uncle and a much older brother, for in
provocation, that starving Russians under Stalin certain respects my parents sheltered and cared
had resorted to eating the glue off the back of for him in much the same way they cared for me.
their wallpaper. One might think that he would He was respectful of my father, always seeking his
have felt slightly jealous, or at the very least advice about making a life in the West, about
suspicious, about the regularity of Pranab Kaku's setting up a bank account and getting a job, and
visits and the effect they had on my mother's deferring to his opinions about Kissinger and
behavior and mood. But my guess is that my Watergate. Occasionally, my mother would tease
father was grateful to Pranab Kaku for the him about women, asking about female Indian
companionship he provided, freed from the sense students at MIT or showing him pictures of her
of responsibility he must have felt for forcing her younger cousins in India. “What do you think of
to leave India, and relieved, perhaps, to see her her?” she would ask. “Isn't she pretty?” She knew
happy for a change. that she could never have Pranab Kaku for
In the summer, Pranab Kaku bought a navy-blue herself, and I suppose it was her attempt to keep
Volkswagen Beetle and began to take my mother him in the family. But, most important, in the
and me for drives through Boston and beginning he was totally dependent on her,
Cambridge, and soon outside the city, flying down needing her for those months in a way my father
never did in the whole history of their marriage. other's mouth, causing my parents to look down
He brought to my mother the first and, I suspect, at their plates and wait for the moment to pass. At
the only pure happiness she ever felt. I don't think larger gatherings, they kissed and held hands in
even my birth made her as happy. I was evidence front of everyone, and when they were out of
of her marriage to my father, an assumed earshot my mother would talk to the other
consequence of the life she had been raised to Bengali women. “He used to be so different. I
lead. But Pranab Kaku was different. He was the don't understand how a person can change so
one totally unanticipated pleasure in her life. suddenly. It's just hell–heaven, the difference,”
In the fall of 1974, Pranab Kaku met a student at she would say, always using the English words for
Radcliffe named Deborah, an American, and she her self-concocted, backward metaphor.
began to accompany him to our house. I called The more my mother began to resent Deborah's
Deborah by her first name, as my parents did, but visits, the more I began to anticipate them. I fell in
Pranab Kaku taught her to call my father Shyamal love with Deborah, the way young girls often fall
Da and my mother Boudi, something with which in love with women who are not their mothers. I
Deborah gladly complied. Before they came to loved her serene gray eyes, the ponchos and
dinner for the first time, I asked my mother, as denim wrap skirts and sandals she wore, her
she was straightening up the living room, if I straight hair that she let me manipulate into all
ought to address her as Deborah Kakima, turning sorts of silly styles. I longed for her casual
her into an aunt as I had turned Pranab into an appearance; my mother insisted whenever there
uncle. “What's the point?” my mother said, was a gathering that I wear one of my ankle-
looking back at me sharply. “In a few weeks, the length, faintly Victorian dresses, which she
fun will be over and she’ll leave him.” And yet referred to as maxis, and have party hair, which
Deborah remained by his side, attending the meant taking a strand from either side of my head
weekend parties that Pranab Kaku and my parents and joining them with a barrette at the back. At
were becoming more involved with, gatherings parties, Deborah would, eventually, politely slip
that were exclusively Bengali with the exception away, much to the relief of the Bengali women
of her. Deborah was very tall, taller than both my with whom she was expected to carry on a
parents and nearly as tall as Pranab Kaku. She conversation, and she would play with me. I was
wore her long brass-colored hair center-parted, as older than all my parents' friends' children, but
my mother did, but it was gathered into a low with Deborah I had a companion. She knew all
ponytail instead of a braid, or it spilled messily about the books I read, about Pippi Longstocking
over her shoulders and down her back in a way and Anne of Green Gables. She gave me the sorts
that my mother considered indecent. She wore of gifts my parents had neither the money nor the
small silver spectacles and not a trace of makeup, inspiration to buy: a large book of Grimm's Fairy
and she studied philosophy. I found her utterly Tales with watercolor illustrations on thick, silken
beautiful, but according to my mother she had pages, wooden puppets with hair fashioned from
spots on her face, and her hips were too small. yarn. She told me about her family, three older
For a while, Pranab Kaku still showed up once a sisters and two brothers, the youngest of whom
week for dinner on his own, mostly asking my was closer to my age than to hers. Once, after
mother what she thought of Deborah. He sought visiting her parents, she brought back three Nancy
her approval, telling her that Deborah was the Drews, her name written in a girlish hand at the
daughter of professors at Boston College, that her top of the first page, and an old toy she'd had, a
father published poetry, and that both her parents small paper theatre set with interchangeable
had PhDs. When he wasn't around, my mother backdrops, the exterior of a castle and a ballroom
complained about Deborah's visits, about having and an open field. Deborah and I spoke freely in
to make the food less spicy, even though Deborah English, a language in which, by that age, I
said she liked spicy food, and feeling embarrassed expressed myself more easily than Bengali, which
to put a fried fish head in the dal. Pranab Kaku I was required to speak at home. Sometimes she
taught Deborah to say khub bhalo and aacha and asked me how to say this or that in Bengali; once,
to pick up certain foods with her fingers instead she asked me what asobbho meant. I hesitated, then
of with a fork. Sometimes they ended up feeding told her it was what my mother called me if I had
each other, allowing their fingers to linger in each done something extremely naughty, and
Deborah's face clouded. I felt protective of her, told his parents all about us, and at one point my
aware that she was unwanted, that she was parents had received a letter from them,
resented, aware of the nasty things people said. expressing appreciation for taking such good care
Outings in the Volkswagen now involved the four of their son and for giving him a proper home in
of us, Deborah in the front, her hand over Pranab America. “It needn't be long,” Pranab Kaku said.
Kaku's while it rested on the gearshift, my mother “Just a few lines. They'll accept it more easily if it
and I in the back. Soon, my mother began coming comes from you.” My father thought neither ill
up with reasons to excuse herself, headaches and nor well of Deborah, never commenting or
incipient colds, and so I became part of a new criticizing as my mother did, but he assured
triangle. To my surprise, my mother allowed me Pranab Kaku that a letter of endorsement would
to go with them, to the Museum of Fine Arts and be on its way to Calcutta by the end of the week.
the Public Garden and the Aquarium. She was My mother nodded her assent, but the following
waiting for the affair to end, for Deborah to break day I saw the teacup Pranab Kaku had used all
Pranab Kaku's heart and for him to return to us, this time as an ashtray in the kitchen garbage can,
scarred and penitent. I saw no sign of their in pieces, and three Band-Aids taped to my
relationship foundering. Their open affection for mother's hand.
each other, their easily expressed happiness, was a Pranab Kaku's parents were horrified by the
new and romantic thing to me. Having me in the thought of their only son marrying an American
backseat allowed Pranab Kaku and Deborah to woman, and a few weeks later our telephone rang
practice for the future, to try on the idea of a in the middle of the night: it was Mr. Chakraborty
family of their own. Countless photographs were telling my father that they could not possibly bless
taken of me and Deborah, of me sitting on such a marriage, that it was out of the question,
Deborah's lap, holding her hand, kissing her on that if Pranab Kaku dared to marry Deborah he
the cheek. We exchanged what I believed were would no longer acknowledge him as a son. Then
secret smiles, and in those moments I felt that she his wife got on the phone, asking to speak to my
understood me better than anyone else in the mother and attacked her as if they were intimate,
world. Anyone would have said that Deborah blaming my mother for allowing the affair to
would make an excellent mother one day. But my develop. She said that they had already chosen a
mother refused to acknowledge such a thing. I did wife for him in Calcutta, that he'd left for America
not know at the time that my mother allowed me with the understanding that he'd go back after he
to go off with Pranab Kaku and Deborah because had finished his studies and marry this girl. They
she was pregnant for the fifth time since my birth had bought the neighboring flat in their building
and was so sick and exhausted and fearful of for Pranab and his betrothed, and it was sitting
losing another baby that she slept most of the day. empty, waiting for his return. “We thought we
After ten weeks, she miscarried once again and could trust you, and yet you have betrayed us so
was advised by her doctor to stop trying. deeply,” his mother said, taking out her anger on a
By summer, there was a diamond on Deborah's stranger in a way she could not with her son. “Is
left hand, something my mother had never been this what happens to people in America?” For
given. Because his own family lived so far away, Pranab Kaku's sake, my mother defended the
Pranab Kaku came to the house alone one day, to engagement, telling his mother that Deborah was
ask for my parents' blessing before giving her the a polite girl from a decent family. Pranab Kaku's
ring. He showed us the box, opening it and taking parents pleaded with mine to talk him out of it,
out the diamond nestled inside. “I want to see but my father refused, deciding that it was not
how it looks on someone,” he said, urging my their place to get embroiled. “We are not his
mother to try it on, but she refused. I was the one parents,” he told my mother. “We can tell him
who stuck out my hand, feeling the weight of the they don't approve but nothing more.” And so my
ring suspended at the base of my finger. Then he parents told Pranab Kaku nothing about how his
asked for a second thing: he wanted my parents to parents had berated them and blamed them, and
write to his parents, saying that they had met threatened to disown Pranab Kaku, only that they
Deborah and that they thought highly of her. He had refused to give him their blessing. In the face
was nervous, naturally, about telling his family that of this refusal, Pranab Kaku shrugged. “I don't
he intended to marry an American girl. He had care. Not everyone can be as open-minded as
you,” he told my parents. “Your blessing is with Deborah's parents and grandparents and her
blessing enough.” many siblings, and neither my mother nor my
After the engagement, Pranab Kaku and Deborah father got up to make a toast. My mother did not
began drifting out of our lives. They moved in appreciate the fact that Deborah had made sure
together, to an apartment in Boston, in the South that my parents, who did not eat beef, were given
End, a part of the city my parents considered fish instead of filet mignon like everyone else. She
unsafe. We moved as well, to a house in Natick. kept speaking in Bengali, complaining about the
Though my parents had bought the house, they formality of the proceedings, and the fact that
occupied it as if they were still tenants, touching Pranab Kaku, wearing a tuxedo, barely said a
up scuff marks with leftover paint and reluctant to word to us because he was too busy leaning over
put holes in the walls, and every afternoon when the shoulders of his new American in-laws as he
the sun shone through the living-room window circled the table. As usual, my father said nothing
my mother closed the blinds so that our new in response to my mother's commentary, quietly
furniture would not fade. A few weeks before the and methodically working though his meal, his
wedding, my parents invited Pranab Kaku to the fork and knife occasionally squeaking against the
house alone, and my mother prepared a special surface of the china, because he was accustomed
meal to mark the end of his bachelorhood. It to eating with his hands. He cleared his plate and
would be the only Bengali aspect of the wedding; then my mother's, for she had pronounced the
the rest of it would be strictly American, with a food inedible, and then he announced that he had
cake and a minister and Deborah in a long white overeaten and had a stomach-ache. The only time
dress and veil. There is a photograph of the my mother forced a smile was when Deborah
dinner, taken by my father, the only picture, to my appeared behind her chair, kissing her on the
knowledge, in which my mother and Pranab Kaku cheek and asking if we were enjoying ourselves.
appear together. The picture is slightly blurry; I When the dancing started, my parents remained at
remember Pranab Kaku explaining to my father the table, drinking tea, and after two or three
how to work the camera, and so he is captured songs they decided that it was time for us to go
looking up from the kitchen table and the home, my mother shooting me looks to that
elaborate array of food my mother had prepared effect across the room, where I was dancing in a
in his honor, his mouth open, his long arm circle with Pranab Kaku and Deborah and the
outstretched and his finger pointing, instructing other children at the wedding. I wanted to stay,
my father how to read the light meter or some and when, reluctantly, I walked over to where my
such thing. My mother stands beside him, one parents sat, Deborah followed me. “Boudi, let
hand placed on top of his head in a gesture of Usha stay. She's having such a good time,” she
blessing, the first and last time she was to touch said to my mother. “Lots of people will be
him in her life. “She will leave him,” my mother heading back your way, someone can drop her off
told her friends afterward. “He is throwing his life in a little while.” But my mother said no, I had
away.” had plenty of fun already and forced me to put on
The wedding was at a church in Ipswich, with a my coat over my long puff-sleeved dress. As we
reception at a country club. It was going to be a drove home from the wedding I told my mother,
small ceremony, which my parents took to mean for the first but not the last time in my life, that I
one or two hundred people as opposed to three or hated her.
four hundred. My mother was shocked that fewer The following year, we received a birth
than thirty people had been invited, and she was announcement from the Chakrabortys, a picture
more perplexed than honored that, of all the of twin girls, which my mother did not paste into
Bengalis Pranab Kaku knew by then, we were the an album or display on the refrigerator door. The
only ones on the list. At the wedding we sat, like girls were named Srabani and Sabitri but were
the other guests, first on the hard wooden pews of called Bonny and Sara. Apart from a thank-you
the church and then at a long table that had been card for our wedding gift, it was their only
set up for lunch. Though we were the closest communication; we were not invited to the new
thing Pranab Kaku had to a family that day, we house in Marblehead, bought after Pranab Kaku
were not included in the group photographs that got a high-paying job at Stone & Webster. For a
were taken on the grounds of the country club, while, my parents and their friends continued to
invite the Chakrabortys to gatherings, but because that I was to let no boy touch me, and then she
they never came, or left after staying only an hour, asked if I knew how a woman became pregnant. I
the invitations stopped. Their absences were told her what I had been taught in science, about
attributed, by my parents and their circle, to the sperm fertilizing the egg, and then she asked if
Deborah, and it was universally agreed that she I knew how, exactly, that happened. I saw the
had stripped Pranab Kaku not only of his origins terror in her eyes and so, though I knew that
but of his independence. She was the enemy, he aspect of procreation as well, I lied, and told her it
was her prey, and their example was invoked as a hadn't been explained to us.
warning, and as vindication, that mixed marriages I began keeping other secrets from her, evading
were a doomed enterprise. Occasionally, they her with the aid of my friends. I told her I was
surprised everyone, appearing at a pujo for a few sleeping over at a friend's when really I went to
hours with their two identical little girls who parties, drinking beer and allowing boys to kiss me
barely looked Bengali and spoke only English and and fondle my breasts and press their erections
were being raised so differently from me and most against my hip as we lay groping on a sofa or the
of the other children. They were not taken to backseat of a car. I began to pity my mother; the
Calcutta every summer, they did not have parents older I got, the more I saw what a desolate life she
who were clinging to another way of life and led. She had never worked, and during the day she
exhorting their children to do the same. Because watched soap operas to pass the time. Her only
of Deborah, they were exempt from all that, and job, every day, was to clean and cook for my
for this reason I envied them. “Usha, look at you, father and me. We rarely went to restaurants, my
all grown up and so pretty,” Deborah would say father always pointing out, even in cheap ones,
whenever she saw me, rekindling, if only for a how expensive they were compared with eating at
minute, our bond of years before. She had cut off home. When my mother complained to him about
her beautiful long hair by then, and had a bob. “I how much she hated life in the suburbs and how
bet you'll be old enough to babysit soon,” she lonely she felt, he said nothing to placate her. “If
would say. “I'll call you—the girls would love you are so unhappy, go back to Calcutta,” he
that.” But she never did. would offer, making it clear that their separation
I began to grow out of my girlhood, entering would not affect him one way or the other. I
middle school and developing crushes on the began to take my cues from my father in dealing
American boys in my class. The crushes amounted with her, isolating her doubly. When she screamed
to nothing; in spite of Deborah's compliments, I at me for talking too long on the telephone, or for
was always overlooked at that age. But my mother staying too long in my room, I learned to scream
must have picked up on something, for she back, telling her that she was pathetic, that she
forbade me to attend the dances that were held knew nothing about me, and it was clear to us
the last Friday of every month in the school both that I had stopped needing her, definitively
cafeteria, and it was an unspoken law that I was and abruptly, just as Pranab Kaku had.
not allowed to date. “Don't think you'll get away Then, the year before I went off to college, my
with marrying an American, the way Pranab Kaku parents and I were invited to the Chakrabortys'
did,” she would say from time to time. I was home for Thanksgiving. We were not the only
thirteen, the thought of marriage irrelevant to my guests from my parents' old Cambridge crowd; it
life. Still, her words upset me, and I felt her grip turned out that Pranab Kaku and Deborah
on me tighten. She would fly into a rage when I wanted to have a sort of reunion of all the people
told her I wanted to start wearing a bra, or if I they had been friendly with back then. Normally,
wanted to go to Harvard Square with a friend. In my parents did not celebrate Thanksgiving; the
the middle of our arguments, she often conjured ritual of a large sit-down dinner and the foods that
Deborah as her antithesis, the sort of woman she one was supposed to eat was lost on them. They
refused to be. “If she were your mother, she treated it as if it were Memorial Day or Veterans
would let you do whatever you wanted, because Day—just another holiday in the American year.
she wouldn't care. Is that what you want, Usha, a But we drove out to Marblehead, to an impressive
mother who doesn't care?” When I began stone-faced house with a semicircular gravel
menstruating, the summer before I started ninth driveway clogged with cars. The house was a short
grade, my mother gave me a speech, telling me walk from the ocean; on our way, we had driven
by the harbour overlooking the cold, glittering receive,” he began. My parents were seated next
Atlantic, and when we stepped out of the car we to each other, and I was stunned to see that they
were greeted by the sound of gulls and waves. complied, that my father's brown fingers lightly
Most of the living-room furniture had been clasped my mother's pale ones. I noticed Matty
moved to the basement and extra tables joined to seated on the other side of the room and saw him
the main one to form a giant U. They were glancing at me as his father spoke. After the
covered with tablecloths, set with white plates and chorus of Amens, Gene raised his glass and said,
silverware, and had centrepieces of gourds. I was “Forgive me, but I never thought I'd have the
struck by the toys and dolls that were everywhere, opportunity to say this: Here's to Thanksgiving
dogs that shed long yellow hairs on everything, all with the Indians.” Only a few people laughed at
the photographs of Bonny and Sara and Deborah the joke.
decorating the walls, still more plastering the Then Pranab Kaku stood up and thanked
refrigerator door. Food was being prepared when everyone for coming. He was relaxed from
we arrived, something my mother always frowned alcohol, his once wiry body beginning to thicken.
upon, the kitchen a chaos of people and smells He started to talk sentimentally about his early
and enormous dirtied bowls. days in Cambridge, and then suddenly he
Deborah's family, whom we remembered dimly recounted the story of meeting me and my mother
from the wedding, was there, her parents and her for the first time, telling the guests about how he
brothers and sisters and their husbands and wives had followed us that afternoon. The people who
and boyfriends and babies. Her sisters were in did not know us laughed, amused by the
their thirties, but, like Deborah, they could have description of the encounter, and by Pranab
been mistaken for college students, wearing jeans Kaku's desperation. He walked around the room
and clogs and fisherman sweaters, and her brother to where my mother was sitting and draped a
Matty, with whom I had danced in a circle at the lanky arm around her shoulder, forcing her, for a
wedding, was now a freshman at Amherst, with brief moment, to stand up. “This woman,” he
wide-set green eyes and wispy brown hair and a declared, pulling her close to his side, “this
complexion that reddened easily. As soon as I saw woman hosted my first real Thanksgiving in
Deborah's siblings, joking with one another as America. It might have been an afternoon in May,
they chopped and stirred things in the kitchen, I but that first meal at Boudi's table was
was furious with my mother for making a scene Thanksgiving to me. If it weren't for that meal, I
before we left the house and forcing me to wear a would have gone back to Calcutta.” My mother
shalwar kameez. I knew they assumed, from my looked away, embarrassed. She was thirty-eight,
clothing, that I had more in common with the already going gray, and she looked closer to my
other Bengalis than with them. But Deborah father's age than to Pranab Kaku's; regardless of
insisted on including me, setting me to work his waistline, he retained his handsome, carefree
peeling apples with Matty, and out of my parents' looks. Pranab Kaku went back to his place at the
sight I was given beer to drink. When the meal head of the table, next to Deborah, and
was ready, we were told where to sit, in an concluded, “And if that had been the case I'd have
alternating boy-girl formation that made the never met you, my darling,” and he kissed her on
Bengalis uncomfortable. Bottles of wine were the mouth in front of everyone, to much
lined up on the table. Two turkeys were brought applause, as if it were their wedding day all over
out, one stuffed with sausage and one without. My again.
mouth watered at the food, but I knew that After the turkey, smaller forks were distributed
afterward, on our way home, my mother would and orders were taken for three different kinds of
complain that it was all tasteless and bland. pie, written on small pads by Deborah's sisters, as
“Impossible,” my mother said, shaking her hand if they were waitresses. After dessert, the dogs
over the top of her glass when someone tried to needed to go out, and Pranab Kaku volunteered
pour her a little wine. to take them. “How about a walk on the beach?”
Deborah's father, Gene, got up to say grace, and he suggested, and Deborah's side of the family
asked everyone at the table to join hands. He agreed that that was an excellent idea. None of the
bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Dear Lord, Bengalis wanted to go, preferring to sit with their
we thank you today for the food we are about to tea and cluster together, at last, at one end of the
room, speaking freely after the forced chitchat more pie as the leftovers were put away and the
with the Americans during the meal. Matty came living room slowly put back in order. Of course, it
over and sat in the chair beside me that was now was Matty who drove me home, and sitting in my
empty, encouraging me to join the walk. When I parents' driveway I kissed him, at once thrilled
hesitated, pointing to my inappropriate clothes and terrified that my mother might walk onto the
and shoes but also aware of my mother's silent lawn in her nightgown and discover us. I gave
fury at the sight of us together, he said, “I'm sure Matty my phone number, and for a few weeks I
Deb can lend you something.” So I went upstairs, thought of him constantly, and hoped foolishly
where Deborah gave me a pair of her jeans and a that he would call.
thick sweater and some sneakers, so that I looked In the end, my mother was right, and fourteen
like her and her sisters. years after that Thanksgiving, after twenty-three
She sat on the edge of her bed, watching me years of marriage, Pranab Kaku and Deborah got
change, as if we were girlfriends, and she asked if I divorced. It was he who had strayed, falling in
had a boyfriend. When I told her no, she said, love with a married Bengali woman, destroying
"Matty thinks you're cute." two families in the process. The other woman was
“He told you?” someone my parents knew, though not very well.
“No, but I can tell.” Deborah was in her forties by then, Bonny and
As I walked back downstairs, emboldened by this Sara away at college. In her shock and grief, it was
information, in the jeans I'd had to roll up and in my mother whom Deborah turned to, calling and
which I felt finally like myself, I noticed my weeping into the phone. Somehow, through all
mother lift her eyes from her teacup and stare at the years, she had continued to regard us as quasi
me, but she said nothing, and off I went, with in-laws, sending flowers when my grandparents
Pranab Kaku and his dogs and his in-laws, along a died and giving me a compact edition of the
road and then down some steep wooden steps to O.E.D. as a college-graduation present. “You
the water. Deborah and one of her sisters stayed knew him so well. How could he do something
behind, to begin the cleanup and see to the needs like this?” Deborah asked my mother. And then,
of those who remained. Initially, we all walked “Did you know anything about it?” My mother
together, in a single row across the sand, but then answered truthfully that she did not. Their hearts
I noticed Matty hanging back, and so the two of had been broken by the same man, only my
us trailed behind, the distance between us and the mother's had long ago mended, and in an odd
others increasing. We began flirting, talking of way, as my parents approached their old age, she
things I no longer remember, and eventually we and my father had grown fond of each other, out
wandered into a rocky inlet and Matty fished a of habit if nothing else. I believe my absence from
joint out of his pocket. the house, once I left for college, had something
We turned our backs to the wind and smoked it, to do with this, because over the years, when I
our cold fingers touching in the process, our lips visited, I noticed a warmth between my parents
pressed to the same damp section of the rolling that had not been there before, a quiet teasing, a
paper. At first I didn't feel any effect, but then, solidarity, a concern when one of them fell ill. My
listening to him talk about the band he was in, I mother and I had also made peace; she had
was aware that his voice sounded miles away, and accepted the fact that I was not only her daughter
that I had the urge to laugh, even though what he but a child of America as well. Slowly, she
was saying was not terribly funny. It felt as if we accepted that I dated one American man, and
were apart from the group for hours, but when we then another, and then yet another, that I slept
wandered back to the sand we could still see with them, and even that I lived with one though
them, walking out onto a promontory to watch we were not married. She welcomed my
the sun set. boyfriends into our home and when things didn't
It was dark by the time we all headed back to the work out she told me I would find someone
house, and I dreaded seeing my parents while I better. After years of being idle, she decided,
was still high. But when we got there Deborah when she turned fifty, to get a degree in library
told me that my parents, feeling tired, had left, science at a nearby university.
agreeing to let someone drive me home later. A On the phone, Deborah admitted something that
fire had been lit and I was told to relax and have surprised my mother: that all these years she had
felt hopelessly shut out of a part of Pranab Kaku's can of lighter fluid and a box of kitchen matches
life. “I was so horribly jealous of you back then, and stepped outside, into our chilly backyard,
for knowing him, understanding him in a way I which was full of leaves needing to be raked. Over
never could. He turned his back on his family, on her sari she was wearing a knee-length lilac trench
all of you, really, but I still felt threatened. I could coat, and to any neighbor she must have looked as
never get over that.” She told my mother that she though she'd simply stepped out for some fresh
had tried, for years, to get Pranab Kaku to air. She opened up the coat and removed the tip
reconcile with his parents, and that she had also from the can of lighter fluid and doused herself,
encouraged him to maintain ties with other then buttoned and belted the coat. She walked
Bengalis, but he had resisted. It had been over to the garbage barrel behind our house and
Deborah's idea to invite us to their Thanksgiving; disposed of the fluid, then returned to the middle
ironically, the other woman had been there, too. of the yard with the box of matches in her coat
“I hope you don't blame me for taking him away pocket. For nearly an hour she stood there,
from your lives, Boudi. I always worried that you looking at our house, trying to work up the
did.” courage to strike a match. It was not I who saved
My mother assured Deborah that she blamed her her, or my father, but our next-door neighbor,
for nothing. She confessed nothing to Deborah Mrs. Holcomb, with whom my mother had never
about her own jealousy of decades before, only been particularly friendly. She came out to rake
that she was sorry for what had happened, that it the leaves in her yard, calling out to my mother
was a sad and terrible thing for their family. She and remarking how beautiful the sunset was. “I
did not tell Deborah that a few weeks after Pranab see you've been admiring it for a while now,” she
Kaku's wedding, while I was at a Girl Scout said. My mother agreed, and then she went back
meeting and my father was at work, she had gone into the house. By the time my father and I came
through the house, gathering up all the safety pins home in the early evening, she was in the kitchen
that lurked in drawers and tins, and adding them boiling rice for our dinner, as if it were any other
to the few fastened to her bracelets. When she'd day.
found enough, she pinned them to her sari one by My mother told Deborah none of this. It was to
one, attaching the front piece to the layer of me that she confessed, after my own heart was
material underneath, so that no one would be able broken by a man I'd hoped to marry.
to pull the garment off her body. Then she took a
To: Whom it may concern.

This is to affirm that there are vacant seats left in the M.A (English) program in our college in this

session, i.e. 2017-18.