'I can't believe you never told me about this Mom' Phelan rubs his forehead. 'All these years!'
'Oh hello! It wasn't necessary' Mrs. Clara shrugs. 'It my personal matter'
'Mom! I'm your son! And you told Pud-Ja' he tilts his head.
'I like her, the girl's a sweetie. And, I told her because I was her love-and-marriage counselor'
Phelan goes still. 'What?'
'God! I have a doofus as a son. She is madly in love with you! And wants to marry you!' she exclaims, staring at him. 'Are you not in your right mind to see that?'
'You know about us?' Phelan's eyes widen after a long pause.
'God, what do you think I am? I have radars!' Mrs. Clara laughs victoriously.
Phelan stretches out his arms, thinking, and his gaze shifts to the open notepad on the coffee table. He picks it up.
'What's this? It's not your handwriting. Not Henry's either' he peers into it. Realization draws upon his handsome face. It is the same handwriting. The one in the chit placed atop the pink Tupperware box on the swing. 'Pud-Ja's'
'Oh, you found that too now! I'm certainly messing things up today'
'Mom' Phelan looks at her gravely. 'Speak'
In short, she tells him. He goes very still again, staring that the sheet of paper. 'I didn't know about this either'
'She didn't want me to tell you' Mrs. Clara leans back, crossing her legs. 'Give us girls some space, for heaven's sake!'
'Mom' Phelan gets up. 'I really need some space to think'
'Yea' she leans forward and thumps his back. 'Think all you want. But. You leave that girl and I'll kick your ass!'
***
'Hello' Phelan says, looking around at the make-up room of the hall he has just entered. It's filled with costumes and makeup kits all over the counter, a wide mirror with bulbs emitting soft yellow lights along its perimeter.
Pooja whirls around on the plastic stool she has been lounging on, startled.
'Phelan?' she looks nonplussed. 'What are you doing here??
But Phelan has already stopped in his tracks. He beholds the sight of her dance costume. How complicated this thing looks, he wonders. It is bright purple with red edges covered with what? Golden thread work? It's similar to that never-ending thing she wears, sari or whatever, but looks even more intricate. There's something like a red Japanese fan attached to the leg cloth. And my God! the shiny stones and pearls jewellery....it's literally everywhere, on the head, nose, ears, hands, waist...she has worn that nice-smelling jasmine on her head. Again. And then he catches sight of her radiating face.
'What the....' he begins, raising his hands. 'Why have you painted your face like that?'
'I knew you would say this. This is how it is done for Bharatha...for my dance form' she explains, visibly glad to see him.
'Are you really Pud-Jaa?' he asks, looking rather dazed.
'Whattt?!' she splutters, clearly affronted.
'Prove it'
'Ufff. Just get lost' She turns around, irritated, to pick up a red bottle on the granite counter.
'Okay. It's you'
'Huh?'
'No girl ever tells me to leave. Except you. You are...special'
Pooja glares at him in disbelief, shakes her head and dips a brush into the bottle, and proceeds to paint the tip of her fingers. 'Go away'
'What's that pinkie-pink liquid?' Phelan leans in interestedly.
Pooja frowns. 'It's Alta...not pinko-pink'
'Pinkie-pink' he corrects her.
'Whatever!' She says without looking at him. 'It's to highlight the hand gestures to the audience'
'Your dance is gonna be interesting right? I'm on a full stomach and can fall asleep quite easily today'
'The program is only for Indians. You can't get a seat' she says knowledgeably, drawings tiny dots around the big red circle at the center of her palm with an earbud.
'Oh, I can. I'll just charm the lady who is selling the passes at the counter' he says, looking at Pooja working. 'She already seemed to be floored. That's how I came here, by the way'
Pooja decidedly ignores the statement. She draws little dots around the large pink circle on her feet.
Phelan walks up to her, kneels down, and gently slips his hand under her foot. Pooja jerks involuntarily at this, immediately breaking into goosebumps.
'What are you doing?' She asks, sounding breathless.
'Putting this pinkie-pink'
'It's alta'
'Whatever....I'm doing this only because I really hope you are Pud-Jaa' He looks up at her earnestly.
Pooja clucks her tongue. 'You don't have to do this'
'But I want to. And do you want to break that armrest?' He asks mildly, grinning.
Only then Pooja realizes how hard she has been clutching the armrest that her knuckles have gone white. She extracts her hand back.
She picks up her gejje. He tries to take it.
'Don't touch them wearing shoes' she says sternly, holding it away from him.
'Fine' He gets up, removes them, and extends his hand.
'Wash your hands!'
'My god, you are worse than a school teacher' he shakes his head, and walks to the small washbasin at the corner.
She gasps lightly at this remark. 'I didn't make the rules' she snaps.
He comes back, and kneels down again. He lifts her foot and places it on his knee. Pooja tries her best to appear calm. All she wants to do is run her fingers through his hair as he bends down, and tries to tie the gejje around her ankles. And what's worse, she can't think clearly when he is so close.
Phelan can't tie it, despite multiple attempts.
'You can't do it' she smiles gently and ties it herself. He gets up.
They fall silent again.
'Did you have lunch?' she asks arbitrarily, just to break the awkward silence.
Phelan looks up at her. 'Yep. Enchiladas'
'What's that?' she chuckles.
'It's like a tortilla wrap, with beef filling' he tells her dismissively.
Her beautiful makeup-laden face goes pale. Phelan doesn't miss noticing it. She abruptly closes the Alta bottle and puts the brush back into the pale pink make-up box.
'What happened?'
'Nothing happened' she is too quick to answer, tossing the earbuds into the dustbin below the counter.
Phelan looks at her questioningly.
'We worship cows' she answers in a tight voice. 'Obviously, it felt dreadful when you said that'
The light fades off his eyes too. 'What exactly are you trying to convey?' he asks tersely.
'Nothing' she says, blinking back sudden tears.
She remembers.
Oh please, marriage and happiness don't go together.
I have to tell him. Pooja, come on, she thinks. Just say it.
'Listen, Phelan. We are different. In everything' she looks at an invisible point in space. 'I like you. I accept it. But that's it. You abhor marriages. And I don't like to pursue anything that doesn't end in a marriage'
Absolute silence.
'It won't work out. In any way' she finishes, trying to keep her voice steady.
Phelan just stares at her with an incomprehensible expression. Pooja turns around to hide her swelled-up eyes. 'You should leave. I have to get on stage in fifteen minutes'
Long pause again.
'Okay, then' he gets up formally. 'I just came to give you this' he places a soft royal blue velvet pouch with golden strings on the make-up table. 'Call me after you read this'
With that, he turns around to leave.
'Won't you stay to watch my dance?' she manages to ask.
'Don't you know? It's only for Indians'
Pooja turns around and opens her mouth to say something but Phelan has already walked out of the door, not looking back. She picks up the pouch when a lady with a walkie-talkie enters, holding a writing pad. 'Pooja, backstage. You are next'
'Coming' she says and stuffs it into her handbag.
***
Hello diary,
It's been two days since the stage show is over. I have been packing and Saru just doesn't leave me alone. I was too tired the night after the show that I don't remember coming to bed even.
Yesterday, we went out to the Maker's Market on Santana Row Street. I remembered that rose-pressed handmade paper that I had seen that day. I asked for it, but the shop lady said the last piece got sold four days back.
I will miss that street. It has this amazing aura.
I will miss you, San Jose. You gave me the feeling of love, though it seems to be nothing now. Still.
And that night, Saru brought her pillow to sleep in my room and have some gossip about India before I leave.
Finally, I'm free now. I'm opening that pouch that Phelan gave me. God, I'm nervous.
***
Pooja slaps her diary shut and picks up the pouch when Dhruva appears in her room.
'Hey' she smiles at him, putting it back. 'How was your date yesterday? You both had a long drive planned alva?' she remembers.
'It's over' he sounds enigmatic.
'Hmm?'
'Bella and me' he states. 'It's over'
'What?' She asks, internally relieved but maintaining a serious face. 'What are you saying?'
'She said she realized that she likes Phelan, breaking up with him was a mistake' his voice is cracked. '...and she wants to correct it'
Pooja feels her brain turning into ice trying to sink in the news. She takes a minute to process it.
'What?' she says faintly but Dhruva hasn't heard. 'So...are they back...together?' She asks a moment later.
'Don't know. Don't give a damn' he says quickly and then realizes something. 'Wait, are you two together? Phelan and you?'
'Huh? Uh, no, no' Pooja looks stone-faced. 'We're not'
They dated, she remembers slowly. Bella and Phelan dated. Before we met. He said he didn't love her, but who knows? He may haven't realized it. That's the reason he spoke to me on the first day. To make her regret. It has happened now. Properly. Everything is going to match perfectly. That's why he hasn't called me. It makes perfect sense now. They will be together and maybe have children who will call me Pud-Ja the next time I come here. I was just a distraction. A change from the usual. Thank God, I didn't text him or anything. He might be with her right now. What an insult it would have been! In front of that witch.
Basically, I was in an alternate universe for an entire month. This was bound to happen.
'I think Saru is calling me' she says and practically runs out of the room, sucking her lips and clenching the handrails of the staircase.
Mrs. Saroja hugs her as soon as she enters the kitchen.
'Pooja! I had come upstairs and I heard you both talking!' Mrs. Saroja is not able to stop gleaming. 'Bella is gone! Yappa, Thank God! He finally put some buddhi into this boy! Here take this burfi. We have to celebrate!'
Pooja manages to smile and take the burfi and hug her aunt back.
'I'm so happy. Thank God! I should not forget my harake. Pooja, anyhow I'm coming to India in August for that Babu's wedding function. That time I'll give kadubu haara to Dodda Ganapati! All my sorrows are over. The curse has lost its effect; because of my prayers, imagine! Eat, eat. It's Kaju burfi, your favourite. Take one more. Box is on the counter'
************************************
Picture credit : Cook with Kushi
Kaju burfi. A dessert loaded with cashews, sugar, and lots of goodness. Said to have been created by the Mughal emperor Jahangir.
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