he stood frozen with his hands gripping the headphones. Ten seconds later he was about to slide the headphones off but then a hidden track started. Jaya’s eyebrows rose at the heavy drums, distorted guitar, and screamed lyrics.
And that was all it took. One honest listen to the CD. After a brief pause, he listened to it again, and then a third time.
Yesterday was a day he’d never forget. Not only because his beloved store closed, but also because he converted to Nirvana’s unique Seattle grunge sound. He connected deeply with Nirvana’s music and lyrics. Way more than he ever had with his guitar heros Hendrix and Page.
Jaya’s fingers twitched and his mind reeled as the simultaneous despair, hope, and resistance in Nirvana’s songs won his allegiance.
It occurred to Jaya that he had another reason to dedicate himself to Nirvana.
Millie.
She’d moved back to Caracas not long after she’d started teaching Jaya guitar.
“I’m getting married,” she’d told ten-year-old Jaya with a sparkle in her eye. “You’d like him, Jaya. He’s the lead guitarist in a Nirvana tribute band.”
Jaya’s heart had shattered. It took him months and months to heal. He mourned the loss through his fingers as they worked his guitar strings and transformed his hurt into gloomy melodies. His guitar skills grew as fast as nutgrass. If he couldn’t have Millie, maybe someday another girl would be impressed by his ability to shred.
Jaya pushed the play button and listened to the Nirvana CD a fourth time. The thought of being forsaken by Millie poked and prodded at him as if it was yesterday, not two years ago. He imagined being shoved to the edge of an abyss. He flailed his arms to keep his balance. To keep from plunging into an oblivion of melancholy…
But then a slow smile spread across Jaya’s face as a new idea saved him from the depths of despair. Maybe someday he could start his own Nirvana cover band. Maybe then he would get the girl. It might not be Millie, but maybe someone as amazing as her.
That night Jaya began a scholarly quest. His goal—to become an expert on all things Nirvana. Particularly all things Kurt Cobain. What Jaya ended up discovering in Kurt was the mentor he never knew he’d been searching for. Jaya admired Kurt’s nonconformity, humbleness, and humor. Maybe Kurt wasn’t the best technical guitar player, but he did his own thing and produced massive, insane, primal sounds. Sounds that were way more appealing to Jaya than fancy jazz chords or fast scales. The guy was also an incredible songwriter. Plus he played guitar left-handed, like Jaya.
Jaya decided that Kurt was more than someone to look up to. Kurt was like another older brother. Now he had SRK and Kurt. And Nirvana could be his nirvana. His way to escape and find bliss when his parents were screaming at each other. He made a vow to learn how to play and sing every Nirvana song. He started with Where Did You Sleep Last Night. It seemed like the easiest.
Jaya reached the bottom step and his tummy rumbled again. He headed to the kitchen, but before he got there he heard Sanjay’s hushed voice from the den. Curious, Jaya tiptoed past the kitchen. He peeked in on his father.
Sanjay was facing away. The telephone headset was pressed against his ear.
Jaya strained to hear what his father was whispering. Though he couldn’t decipher the words, Jaya got a whiff of a womanizing conversation. The secret words drifted like the scent of the orange, cinnamon, patchouli, and vetiver root in his father’s John Varvatos cologne.
But then his father’s voice rose a notch. He sounded angry.
Jaya slunk back to the kitchen. He picked up the other telephone and held the receiver to his ear. He heard two voices—Sanjay’s and a woman’s. The woman wasn’t Jayshree.
“Sanjay, I had to tell you. His birthday was yesterday. He turned two,” the woman said in a business-like voice.
“Are you sure he’s mine?” Sanjay asked.
“One hundred percent,” she said, her tone even and steady.
Jaya couldn’t have grasped the telephone any tighter. His hand tingled as it went numb.
“You can’t prove it,” Sanjay shot back.
Jaya caught the tremble of fear in his father’s voice.
“Actually, I can. I can take you to court and get them to order genetic testing,” she replied, calm as still water.
“What do you want? Is it money? Why are you telling me this now?”
Jaya couldn’t listen anymore. He hung up the phone, weaving his fingers into his hair and squeezing his scalp.
Why did I pick it up?
Now he was left with information he didn’t want. As if he didn’t already have enough of that.
He clasped his hands on his head. The urge to run away boiled in his chest. But that scared him more than this new knowledge. Because what would happen to his mother if he weren’t at home?
His appetite was gone. He hustled back to his room, slammed the door, then locked it. He collapsed on his bed and plowed his face into a pillow.
What should I do?
Probably best to ignore what he’d heard. Yes, that was it. He’d never think about it again. He’d never mention it to anyone. Especially not to his mother. Jaya figured it would break her. She was already fractured.
He rolled off his bed and stood quivering. He tried to stop thinking about the possibility that he had a half-brother. He looked at his acoustic. In a slow, hesitant motion he picked it up.
The voltage of his emotions surged and shot out of his fingers onto the strings. He played and sang Where Did You Sleep Last Night—over and over until his fingers were raw.
On the eve of Rasa’s thirteenth birthday, Kalindi called for her. “Sit with me, my lovely essence,” she said with an enticing half-smile.
Rasa sank down onto her knees. Kalindi slid forward so that her knees touched Rasa’s. The room with filled with the smell of ginger incense. The flames of tea candles tossed hazy beams from the windowsill, providing just enough sensuous light—enough that Kalindi felt no urgency to pay the past-due electricity bill to restore the shack’s power.
Kalindi put her hands on Rasa’s shoulders. With her chin lifted she declared, “The first rays of the morning sun tomorrow will shine brighter as you complete your thirteenth year.”
Rasa stared at Kalindi.
Last year Kalindi had forgotten her birthday. Rasa held her breath, waiting to hear what her mother would say next.
Kalindi continued. “I’ve known your destiny from the moment I birthed you. As soon as I saw your green eyes, I knew.”
Stroking Rasa’s hair, Kalindi brought her face close. Her warm breath comforted Rasa, like hot cocoa on a cold night. Kalindi angled her
