But most of all, when Somer closes her eyes, she imagines the moment she will hold her baby for the first time. She keeps Asha’s photo in her pocket and looks at it often. That one photo vaporized her doubts and made everything come to life. She lay awake at night, picturing her daughter’s sweet face.
Shilpi Somaya GowdaThe civil servant looks back at the file and says flatly, as if reading, “No children?” and then, looking directly up at Somer, “No babies?”
Her cheeks flush with familiar shame in this country where fertility is so celebrated, where every woman has a child on each hip. She shakes her head. After a couple more exchanges with Krishnan, the civil servant tells them to come back in the morning for an update on their case. K
rishnan takes her arm and leads her out of the building.
“What was that about?” she says once they are outside.
“Nothing,” he says. “Indian bureaucracy. Everything is like this here.”
He flags a taxi
“What do you mean ‘like this’? What happened back there? They kept us waiting an hour, that guy clearly hadn’t even read our file, and then he barely even talks to me!”
“That’s because you’re—”
“I’m what?” she snaps at him.
“Look, things work differently here. I know how to handle this, just trust me. You can’t come here with your American ideas—”
“I didn’t come here with anything.”
She slams the taxicab door and feels the whole car reverberate.
Now, her mother lifts Kavita’s head up out of her lap and holds her face, hot with tears, in her cool hands. “I am glad it is you who is going,” her mother whispers.
Kavita looks up at her with shock.
“I won’t worry about you, Kavita. You have strength. Fortitude. Shakti. Bombay will bring you hardship. But you, beti, have the strength to endure it.”
And through her mother’s words and her hands, Kavita feels it—shakti, the sacred feminine force that flows from the Divine Mother to all those who have come after her.
It has been an assault on her senses: smells that suddenly overpower her, and heat she can taste, thick as dust on her tongue. Not only does she feel powerless in the face of Indian bureaucracy, but as further punishment, the torrential downpours also keep them trapped inside Krishnan’s parents’ flat.
Shilpi Somaya GowdaEveryone has been overjoyed with the birth of their first son, bringing celebratory sweets, new clothes for the baby, fennel tea to bolster her milk supply. They have showered on her all the traditional gifts, as if this is her first baby, their first child. What about the other times I’ve carried a baby in my womb, given birth, held my child in my arms?
But no one acknowledges this, not even Jasu. Only Kavita has an aching cavity in her heart for what she’s lost. She sees the pride in Jasu’s eyes as he holds his son and forces herself to smile while saying a silent prayer for this child. She hopes she can give him the life he deserves. She prays she will be a good mother to her son, prays she has enough maternal love left in her heart for him, prays it didn’t die along with her daughters.
It seems as if everything she’s cared about over the past twenty-five years has disintegrated, oblivious to the time and energy she has invested. She can call herself a physician but can’t take the same pride in this she used to. She is not really a wife at the moment, not much of a mother. Somewhere along the way, Somer realizes, she has lost herself.
Shilpi Somaya GowdaShe goes through the same motions as every other day, but something has shifted. It feels as if someone has picked up her world and tilted it off its axis. Everything familiar to her is slipping away. Kris and Asha not only don’t need her, but they also can’t seem to tolerate her in their lives any longer, betraying her to make their plans.
Shilpi Somaya GowdaShe nods, turning the silver bangle around on her wrist.
“She came from some village north of here, a few hours away. She traveled all the way to the city just to…”
She trails off, feeling a lump grow in her throat.
“…to take you to that orphanage?” Sanjay finishes for her.
Asha nods.
“And she gave me this.”
She slides the bangle back on her wrist.
“They gave you everything they had to give,” Sanjay says. He reaches across the table for her hand. “So how do you feel, now that you know?”
Asha gazes out the window.
“I used to write these letters, when I was a little girl,” she says. “Letters to my mother, telling her what I was learning in school, who my friends were, the books I liked. I must have been about seven when I wrote the first one. I asked my dad to mail it, and I remember he got a really sad look in his eyes and he said,
‘I’m sorry, Asha, I don’t know where she is.’”
She turns back to face Sanjay.
“Then, as I got older, the letters changed. Instead of telling her about my life, I started asking all these questions. Was her hair curly? Did she like crossword puzzles? Why didn’t she keep me?”
Asha shakes her head.
“So many questions."
“And now, I know,” she continues. “I know where I came from, and I know I was loved. I know I’m a hell of a lot better off now than I would have been otherwise.”
She shrugs.
“And that’s enough for me. Some answers, I’ll just have to figure out on my own.”
She takes a deep breath.
“You know, I have her eyes.” Asha smiles, hers glistening now. She rests the back of her head on the booth.
“I wish there was some way to let them know I’m okay, without…intruding on their life.
You know,” she says softly, “what I’ve learned is that everything’s more complicated than it seems. I’m so glad I came here, got to know my family, learn about where I come from. India is an incredible country. There are parts of it that I love, that really feel like home. But at the same time, there are things here that just make me want to turn away, you know?”
She looks to Somer.
“Does that sound awful?”
“No, honey.” She touches Asha’s cheek with the back of her hand. “I think I understand,” Somer says, and she means it.
This country has given her Krishnan and Asha, the most important people in her life. But when she has fought against the power of its influence, it has also been the root of her greatest turmoil.
It has been more than twenty years since she lost her two daughters here, the one who was never given a name or a life, and her precious Usha. With thoughts of Usha comes the physical ache in her heart. There has not been a day since Usha’s birth that Kavita has not thought of her, mourned her loss, and prayed for the hollow feelings of grief to melt away. But God has not listened. Or else he has not yet forgiven her. Because the heartache has endured.
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