Desi Girls: Stories by Indian Women Writers Abroad - Softcover

Mathur, Divya

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1908446447 ISBN 13: 9781908446442

Verlag: Hope Road, 2017

Inhaltsangabe

22 short stories from gifted writers covering a multitude of experiences in the wider world outside India. Coping with the customs and expectations in the countries where they are now living, the mainly female characters in these tales have to choose whether to cling to their Indian culture, discard it completely, or learn how to adjust and compromise.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Divya Mathur is a writer and poet based in London.

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Desi Girls

Stories by Indian Women Writers Abroad

By Divya Mathur

HopeRoad Publishing

Copyright © 2019 Divya Mathur
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-908446-44-2

Contents

Foreword Mohini Kent, 
Editor's Note Divya Mathur, 
Jagruti, Beware! Vayu Naidu, 
Meharchand's Prayer Achala Sharma, 
A Diwali Night Anil Prabha Kumar, 
A Breakable Bridge Anshu Johri, 
Things Are Not Always What They Seem Archana Painuly, 
Unsaid Aruna Sabharwal, 
The Encounter Chaand Chazelle, 
My Better Half Divya Mathur, 
The Table Ila Prasad, 
The Unposted Letter Kadambari Mehra, 
The Swansong Neena Paul, 
The Flight Purnima Varman, 
Virgin Meera Pushpa Saxena, 
Good Morning, Mrs Singh Shail Agrawal, 
Rude Awakening Sneh Thakore, 
Unmourned Sudershen Priyadershini, 
Exit Sudha Om Dhingra, 
Remains Susham Bedi, 
One Cold Winter's Night Toshi Amrita, 
But Salina Had Only Wanted To Get Married ... Usha Raje Saxena, 
Salma Usha Verma, 
The Bolt Zakia Zubairi, 
Author Biographies, 

CHAPTER 1

Jagruti, Beware!

Vayu Naidu

Canterbury, Kent, UK, 2002

Jagruti stood with her back to the door. A stainless-steel spatula was clutched in her left hand and a meat cleaver in her right, and she was staring intently ahead. She stood poised like a Hindu goddess, armed with domestic weapons and practising martial arts. Her arms were raised, ready to slice: it was best to keep out of her reach. But it wasn't a late-summer wasp that had caught Jagruti's attention.

She was staring at the Tamil chart of tropical fruit that was lying on the wide oak kitchen table. She studied the fruit shapes and imagined their flavours as a map of her life. Green pickling mango for who she was, gooseberries and lychees for who she would be, and a cluster of yellow speckled sweet mountain plantains for who she would become. The fruits had nothing to do with her perception of body shape. In fact she was well aware of her attractiveness, and felt more desirable giving herself in small, long-awaited doses.

Jagruti, whose name meant 'awareness, awakening', wondered what stage she was in now. The lilies of her womanhood had bloomed after dangerous journeys of self-discovery. She had been curiously Eurocentric when she was in India, where she had been born and had studied and worked. That had driven her to come to England for 'further studies', as the folks back home would say. Were the further studies a move towards self-exile, or more to do with playing for time? She had decided not to marry the chosen one from what she called the cattle market. How she would shriek with laughter when she told the story of the men she had nicknamed 'a Fine Proposal'.

Her favourite story from among the many Fine Proposals she had received was that of the balding man, who could have been attractive if only he hadn't been scripted by his Business Management course.

It was 1980. He came to Jagruti's family house in Madras, as Chennai was known then. It was a humid day in December. Although the sea breeze would kick in at 3.30 in the afternoon, that year Madras had had a gas leak from the Manali oil refinery. So the air was scented with the sweet smell of the lethal chemical. It seemed like an omen for Jagruti. Her parents were in the study and prayer rooms respectively; her father was writing a letter in English to the Corporation Bank, and her mother was singing in Telegu to the pantheon of Hindu gods.

Jagruti was sulking in her bedroom, dressed tastefully yet casually in a block-printed, vegetable-dyed, indigo silk sari. Then the Proposal arrived, escorted by some of his relatives and some well-meaning older cousins. The Proposal met Jagruti's father and said he wanted to see the 'girl' as soon as possible as he had three other appointments after this one.

Jagruti was furious. '"Girl" indeed,' she fumed to herself. 'This is the late twentieth century, we have Indira Gandhi as Prime Minister – and he's coming to see the "girl"? Is he in a time-warp? Did he time-travel here on a bullock cart? Other appointments, indeed!' Was he telling Father there were other 'girls' from his matrimonial shopping list that he had to see? It felt like prostitution. Bad start.

She walked coolly into the living room – where everyone was seated, as though waiting for a drama to unfold – with the silver tea tray, the fine china and the hot milk. The Proposal watched her walk. She moved like an Air India hostess, the sari palla firmly pinned on her shoulder and sliding its peacock tail onto the coffee table. She looked straight at his bald head.

'Sugar?' she asked politely, continuing to look at his head.

'Yes,' he said. There was a moustache of perspiration clinging to his upper lip, and a mossy undergrowth of stubble was emerging from his round cheeks and cleft chin.

'How much?' she asked, arching the brows on her cool, high forehead.

'Er ... one and er ... OK, just two,' he replied, his breathing getting shorter.

Jagruti stirred two heaps of the thick granulated sugar from the ration shop into his teacup. He couldn't take his eyes off her, and she couldn't take her eyes off his bald head.

By the time she re-entered with the next tray of sweet Mysore pak, chocolate cake and savoury rice moorkus, the Proposal had indicated that he wanted to 'interview the girl separately'. He was led to the room with the TV and Jagruti's paintings from art class hanging on the walls.

Then he began. 'As you know, I'm a gold medallist from Hyderabad and now I'm Director of the chemicals division of Sandoz in California. Just answer me three questions. First ...' he proceeded to count on his fingers '... are you very religious? Second, are you in good health? And third, have you ever gone out in the evening with a man, alone?' The letters J – E – S – U – S! were exploding all across Jagruti's mind. Was this guy for real? Was she supposed to be living in a monastery?

'Yes,' she replied calmly, even though she wanted to pick him up by his armpits and chuck him onto the malaria-infested dung heap by the side of the road.

She loved her parents, she began reasoning, and had talked herself into this meeting. She was willing to accept that they did this in her best interests, but why the hell were they so naïve about guys like this, who felt that being accepted by North America meant that they could run back to India and lasso an Indian girl into marriage so that she could cook and breed for them in the land of the Green Card? Had Mum and Dad not gained a deeper understanding all those years ago during Partition? Weren't these meetings all part of that outdated system? Hadn't they shared the vision of an independent India? Surely they had fallen in love? After all those years of liberal thinking, why were they making her walk into the fire with Egghead over here?

'OK. At least you're honest.' The Proposal shook Jagruti out of her self-absorption. 'I will ask your father if we can have dinner tomorrow. But I've got to go now – it's getting late for my next appointment.' Saying that, he leaped up, unaware of his bulk, and almost skipped into the other room where everyone else was chatting and looking jolly.

Jagruti was still sitting in the TV room gripping the armchair, her knuckles white. Is this guy a masochist? Has he even thought for a moment about what he's getting himself into? she thought, gritting her teeth.

'Yes,' he came back beaming. 'Uncle has agreed. I'll...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Hope Road
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2017
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1908446447
• ISBN 13: 9781908446442
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 328
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: preigu; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; 49078; Deutschland