like you, Esha,” he replied.
“Oh, Johnny,” I sighed.
“Who’s Johnny?” a high-pitched voice bellowed in my ears.
“Esha, did you hear that?” Johnny asked as he turned his head in every direction.
“Ignore it, babe,” I answered as I held on tightly to his arm, refusing to lift my head off his strong, welcoming shoulder.
“Okay, let’s just enjoy this beautiful day.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “let’s enjoy this day. I’m happy wherever you are, babe.”
“Babe? Who is babe?” the mysterious voice appeared again.
“Stop it! Who is that?” I questioned as I lifted my head. When I looked again, Johnny was gone. “Johnny? Johnny? Where’d you go? Johnny!”
“Esha Puah!” screamed the mysterious voice just as I felt a sharp pain pierce my arm.
“OUCH!” I yelled as I sat up, grabbing my stinging arm. I rubbed my eyes and realized I was still in bed. I dropped my shoulders as reality settled in. I was in India, not in B.C. with Johnny. It was just a dream. I looked down at my arm and saw a bright red mark. Someone had pinched me.
“Sorry, Esha Puah, but you were talking funny.”
“Puah?” I repeated quickly. Curious to know who would address me as their aunt, I looked in the direction of the voice.
Standing before me was a skinny little boy. He had on blue trousers with a matching blue shirt and black sandals that were a bit tattered at the edges. He could not have been more than six or seven years old, yet the manner in which he stood, with his back straight, smiling widely with hands firmly on his hips, gave him an air of maturity. Also, his pointy blue turban added a few extra inches to his height.
“Esha Puah!” the boy said, breaking my concentration.
“Huh . . . what?” I struggled.
“Why are you so quiet? And who is Johnny and Babe?” the wide-eyed boy asked.
“What? Johnny? Here? Wait, wait, forget that. First, who are you? And why are you in my bedroom?” I was slightly embarrassed that I had been talking about Johnny in my sleep.
“Me? Ha! I am Bhagat, your nephew!” he exclaimed as he jumped onto the bed and threw his arms around me.
“What is it with your family and hugs?” I complained under my breath.
“What, Esha Puah?” the boy asked.
“Uh, nothing. So we’re, uh, family? That’s cool,” I muttered as I pulled him away and sat him up on the bed. “So wait a minute, who taught you English?”
“Everyone in school knows English.” He giggled as if I had said something silly. “I’m so happy I have a puah! I could not sleep last night, but you came so late!” the boy shouted.
“Yeah, about that, why do you keep calling me puah?”
“My daddy is your brother,” the boy replied with an even larger smile.
“You’re Ekant’s son?”
“Yes! My name is Bhagat Singh, like the proud warrior! I’m going to be like him when I grow up!”
“That’s interesting,” I said, pretending I knew who or what he was talking about. “Okay, Bhagat, how about you go downstairs while I wash up, and I’ll see you a bit later?”
“Okay, Esha Puah. I’ll tell Mummy you are awake.” He jumped off the bed and bolted out the door.
I got out of bed and walked over to the mirror to brush my hair. Ekant has a son. The thought kept running through my mind. I was feeling more and more out of place in this house now. I couldn’t believe that this whole family had existed all these years, and I didn’t even know them. Bhagat was my nephew, Jas was my sister-in-law, and I hadn’t even met Ekant, a man who saw my father as his own. And what about Dhadhi, my grandmother? She was my father’s mother, and I was seeing her for the first time. It made me uncomfortable to think about how I might appear to them. They seemed to be quite excited thus far, but the question was, how did they really feel?
I just hope we can do this final rite thing quickly so that I can go home, I thought as I made for the washroom.
Getting dressed took longer than I had anticipated. I struggled to find a suitable outfit. I had packed a couple of tank tops, figuring it would be hot, but my mother was adamant that I stick to something more conservative and not “show my skin,” as she phrased it. However, the heat proved to be unbearable. I finally settled on a white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans that had torn patches at the knees. I also settled for flip-flops instead of runners, as the idea of wearing socks made me feel even hotter. Studying my hair, I concluded that it was an absolute frizz-ball, which had to be tied back. I wondered if they had any suitable salons in the area.
Jas already had breakfast waiting for me by the time I made it downstairs. Sunlight poured in from the many windows, but no breeze accompanied it. Instead, fans were placed in each room to combat the humidity. Bhagat could be seen through the screen door playing in the courtyard with two other little boys.
“Dear, what happened to your pants? Come here, quickly, I will fix it!” Dhadhi exclaimed as she entered the room.
“What? Where?” I asked, examining my pants from every angle possible.
“Your jean is ripped!” she cried out. She had made her way to the sofa and was patting the cushion next to her, motioning for me to join her. “Come here, let me fix it. I will sew it up.”
“Sew it? What . . . oh!” I finally realized that she was referring to the tears at the knees. “Dhadhi, they’re supposed to be like this. Don’t worry, they’re fine.”
“Fine? What fine? Come here. Your knees are showing,” she persisted.
“No, Dhadhi, I did this myself!” I said in a raised voice, since she clearly wasn’t getting the point. “I did this, they’re fine. It’s the style of the jeans.”
“Style? And you did this? Crazy children these days. You are ruining your pants. When you decide to fix it, come find me. I am going out to the courtyard to rest,” she answered as she made her way outside.
“Okay, see you later,” I said, relieved that she was leaving. I didn’t exactly enjoy having to justify my choice in style to an old Indian woman who’d probably never worn a pair of jeans her whole life.
“Esha, come eat,” Jas said, appearing from the kitchen. I nodded and joined her at the table as a slim, boyish looking servant placed two platefuls of parotas, yogurt and two cups of tea before us. In daylight, I was now able to see her clearly. Again she had on a plain green salwar-kameez, her hair tied back in a bun and no trace of make-up on her face. She was adorned with only a pair of gold hoop earrings.
Jas’s simplicity, however, did not take away from her beauty. She had a creamy complexion, large, round and surprisingly green eyes and
