The Sari Shop Widow (6 page)

“Oh yes, I know all about business demands,” he said, rolling his eyes.

With another agreeable nod Anjali subsided into silence. All this time Rishi Shah had merely sat in his corner, not having said a single word, but she could feel the discomfort emanating from him. With his exclusive clothes, his fancy accent, and his cool reserve, he looked out of place in their small, suburban home with its well-worn furniture, the lingering odors of spicy food, and its ten-year-old carpeting and paint.

But if he didn’t want to be here, why had he bothered to accompany her uncle?

Thankfully her father arrived with a glass of soda for Shah, who accepted it with a word of thanks. The awkward silence was broken by her father and uncle starting a conversation. She made a convenient escape to the kitchen to help her mother.

Usha turned a troubled gaze toward her. “Not only does he come with enough clothes for an entire year, he brings a guest in the bargain,” she whispered.

“Hmm,” agreed Anjali. They both watched the milk in the pan come to a rolling boil while another pan brewed the strong tea with its aromatic mixture of spices. “Who is he? I mean, what’s he to Jeevan-kaka other than a business partner?”

Shrugging, Usha stirred the milk with a long-handled spoon. “How should I know? I just met him. Did you notice how fair he is?”

“And the eyes—they’re a rare shade of gray.” Those eyes were amazing. Anjali brought out cups and saucers and placed them on a tray. “And Jeevan-kaka treats him like family, not a business associate.”

“I noticed that. I hope that young man is not as difficult as your uncle, or I’ll have two big problems on my hands.” Usha strained the tea into three cups and poured the
masala
milk into another.

“Since he’s planning to stay with us, which room does he get?” Theirs wasn’t a big house and guests always created a bit of a problem.

“Nilesh’s room. Where else can I put him?”

Anjali stared at her mother. “What about Nilesh?”

“I’ll have to ask him to move to the basement, on the sofa bed.”

“But that’s not fair to Nilesh,” protested Anjali. “You should at least ask him first.” Nilesh’s room was next to hers. That meant some stranger was going to be sleeping in the bed some ten feet away from her—separated by a wall, of course. But the thought was unsettling.

In the living room, her father, Jeevan-kaka, and Shah were deep in conversation about the store. Her eyes went to Rishi Shah. He was explaining something to the two men. He was very articulate. Where was he educated? England? Some upscale English school in India?

Jeevan-kaka lifted his cup and sniffed suspiciously. Then after a single cautious sip he closed his eyes tight and grimaced. “Uh-oh! Usha, did you put sugar in this? I am a diabetic now. I cannot take sugar.”

“I’m sorry, Jeevan-bhai,” murmured Usha. “I had no idea you were diabetic. Should I make another cup without sugar?”

Jeevan shook his head. “I will finish this, but next time, remember, no sugar in anything.”

Anjali stared wide-eyed at her uncle. This was unexpected. The old Jeevan would have had a minor fit if he was given something that didn’t meet his stringent requirements. Her mother, too, was looking strangely at him. The man had changed. Maybe her dad was right. Perhaps Jeevan wasn’t as rigid as he used to be. Was age catching up with him?

But in the next moment the supposition was tossed out. “Usha. I hope you did not put coconut in my lunch,” he said.

Usha bit her lower lip. “Oh dear, I sprinkled it over the
khaman
,” she said, referring to the little square steamed cakes made of ground chickpeas, green chili peppers, and ginger, and then garnished with roasted mustard seeds, grated coconut, and fresh coriander.

“Tsk-tsk,” clucked her uncle. “Coconut is giving me intestinal problems lately.”

“I’ll make sure to brush the coconut off your
khaman
,” assured Usha. It seemed to ease Jeevan’s concerns for the moment.

Once the drinks were finished, the talk turned purely to business. In that respect, the old Jeevan-kaka was still the same. He ate, slept, breathed, and dreamed business. He owned a cloth mill, a chain of food stores, clothing shops, a dairy farm, and his latest acquisition, a hotel in Ahmedabad.

“So, let us discuss your store problem now. What exactly is wrong?” Jeevan finished the last of his milk, then settled back in the chair with his hands clasped over his middle. He looked like a rural judge about to hear a case and hand down a verdict.

And a verdict it would be, Anjali reflected. He loved analyzing business data and diagnosing problems. Troubleshooting was his forte. She wasn’t sure how the other, younger guy fit into all of this. Was he going to bulldoze into their store like her uncle surely would, and dictate to them?

She turned her attention to the conversation. Her father explained the situation in great detail to the two men.

Jeevan-kaka gestured toward Shah. “Rishi is a genius in solving business problems. He has an MBA from Oxford University and he specializes in saving failing businesses. He goes to different parts of Asia and Europe for doing this type of consulting work. He knows everything.”

Mohan turned to Shah with what bordered on surprised delight. “That is impressive, Rishi. We should consider ourselves lucky to have your advice.”

“Extremely lucky,” chirped Jeevan-kaka. “For outsiders he charges big consulting fees, but for family it is free.” He looked pleased with himself.

So Rishi Shah was offering them free business advice? Why? But then, he was probably going to stay with them for a long time, so it wasn’t really free advice. They’d be giving him room and board in return. But God knew what his going rate was.

What surprised Anjali was her mother’s expression. Despite her earlier resentment, she too was smiling a bit. It was probably the word
free
that did it. “How did you and Jeevan-bhai hook up with each other, Mr. Shah?”

Shah cracked the first real smile of the day. His gray eyes lost their iciness and thawed somewhat. “Jeevan-kaka has known me all my life. I’m fortunate to be his partner, Mrs. Kapadia. He has taught me most everything I know.”

Mohan laughed. “Rishi, we’re quite informal around here. Don’t call us Mr. and Mrs. Kapadia. And there’s no need to address me as sir, either.”

“Uncle Mohan and Auntie Usha will do fine, if it’s okay with you,” added Usha.

Finishing the last of his soda, Shah nodded. “Uncle and Auntie, then.” He rose to his feet. “I’d like to freshen up a bit if it’s all right with you folks. Maybe we can see the store after that?” He glanced questioningly at Jeevan, and got a nod from the older man.

Anjali’s father jumped to his feet to help Shah carry the suitcases upstairs and get the two guests settled. “Jeevan-bhai, you will take the guest room and Rishi can have Nilesh’s room.”

“But I’d hate to impose, Uncle,” said Shah in a mild protest. “I’ll be happy to sleep on your settee.”

“Oh, no,
beta
, Nilesh can sleep in the basement,” insisted her father.

Anjali glanced at the men’s backs as they went up the stairs, then turned to her mother. “You and Dad just gave away Nilesh’s room to a stranger. Poor Nilesh is at school at the moment and doesn’t even have a chance to say anything about it.”

“That’s the Indian way, Anju. We always honor a guest in our home.” Usha brushed off Anjali’s concerns. “I’m sure Nilesh won’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Anjali bent down to pick up the empty cups. This was typical Indian hospitality and no matter what her thoughts on the subject, no one was going to pay any attention to her. Her brother would be relegated to the basement.

She washed the cups and glanced at her mother. “Mom, did you notice how the Shah guy said Jeevan-kaka’s known him all his life but he avoided saying how they became a team?”

“He’s very clever, isn’t he, like a politician? But he seems like a nice, well-mannered young man.” Usha inclined her head upward. “Let’s give the men a few minutes to get settled. Then we better get ready to take them to the store. Jeevan-bhai’s dying to see it, I’m sure.”

“You go ahead, Mom. I’ll be up in a little bit.” Anjali needed a moment to catch her breath. All of a sudden the house felt crowded. She wasn’t likely to have much solitude for some time to come.

After several minutes of brooding she headed upstairs to her room to get changed. She couldn’t wait to get out of the shapeless
salwar-kameez
and into a pair of slacks and a shirt. If Jeevan-kaka had a problem with her American wardrobe, so be it. And if he was going to be a long-term guest, he’d have to get used to seeing her in her usual clothes.

In the hallway outside her room, she came across Rishi Shah as he stepped out of Nilesh’s room, looking a lot less travel-weary. His wide shoulders seemed to take up the width of the hallway. “I beg your pardon, Miss Kapadia,” he murmured and stood aside to let her pass.

Anjali noticed his crisp white linen shirt and elegant dove gray trousers. His nearly black hair was neatly combed and his face looked freshly shaved. She got a whiff of his aftershave. It was masculine and pleasant.

She quickly stepped into her room and shut the door.
Miss Kapadia?
The last time someone had called her that, she was an undergrad. And the man who’d used that handle was an old man who wore a bow tie and tweeds.

So, how long did Rishi Shah plan to stay with them?

Chapter 4

A
njali prepared herself for the ride to the store. They piled into her father’s van, which was generally used for hauling merchandise and such to and from the store, but when they had company, it served as a passenger vehicle.

Jeevan sat in the front, next to his brother, while Anjali, her mother, and Shah got into the backseat, with her mother sandwiched between Shah and herself. Shah’s long legs looked crowded in the small space.

It was typical New Jersey weather in late spring—hovering on hot and just turning humid. The earlier cloud cover had parted, giving way to sunshine. Despite the air-conditioning going full blast, the cramped ten-minute ride felt sticky and long.

She was also seething about her uncle’s remark. “Anju, what kind of clothes are you wearing?” he’d asked. “Why did you change from
salwar-kameez
to pants?”

“This is typical American attire, Jeevan-kaka,” she’d replied. “Most women my age wear clothes like these.” All she had on was a simple navy silk shirt and ecru slacks. What was wrong with that? After her brusque response she’d braced herself for a scathing comeback from her uncle.

Instead Jeevan had stunned them all once again when he’d laughed and patted her head. “Young lady, you have become very naughty lately or what?”

She’d let that one go with a smile.

Jeevan had some comments about how much the neighborhood had changed since his last visit. “Oh, how many
Desi
restaurants do you have here, Mohan? This is so
pukka
Mumbai and Ahmedabad.” His eyes went wide at the number of clothing stores that had sprung up within the last couple of years. “So many sari shops!”

“That’s precisely our problem, Jeevan-bhai,” Usha said to him. “Excessive competition.”

Shah was quietly surveying the neighborhood, his eyes hidden behind super-dark sunglasses. Anjali was curious to know how he viewed this ethnic landscape that looked like a piece of India transplanted into the United States. How did it compare with the
Desi
neighborhoods in London and other cities?

They parked behind the store as usual. While the rest of them went toward the back door, Anjali noticed Shah stayed by the van. Ignoring the door held open by her father, he crossed the parking lot instead, and sauntered up to the sidewalk. Then he stood with his hands in his trouser pockets to study Silk & Sapphires’ storefront, or at least that’s what it looked like from the angle of his head. From his posture she could tell he was looking critically at the display, the store sign, just about everything.

He didn’t look impressed.

Well, she wouldn’t let that bother her. She couldn’t put stock in what some stranger who had arrived in New Jersey less than two hours ago thought about her boutique.

Jeevan-kaka, after waiting impatiently at the door for Shah, gave up and crossed the street to join him. Anjali and her parents went inside the store and left the two men to their devices.

Immediately Anjali crossed the length of the store and gravitated toward the glass panel in the front door to observe the men outside. The two of them started to gesture and talk. Shah had to bend his head low to be on a level with her uncle’s.

She couldn’t hear a word of their conversation, but she could imagine what it was. They were probably analyzing her store bit by bit and wondering how they could transform it, or worse, make it theirs. Her uncle acquired businesses at about the same frequency he bought underwear.

The thought sent a mild tremor of alarm through her. She’d have to find some way to keep what was hers.

Her father interrupted her thoughts. “Can you unlock the front door, Anju? They can come inside that way instead of walking all the way to the back.”

“Sure, Dad.” She unlocked the front door and watched her father head directly to the back office, probably to pull out the financial reports for his brother’s review.

Then she got busy tidying up the shop. Hastily she stowed away the empty sari carton she had left behind the previous night. She picked up the odds and ends she and her parents had inadvertently left here and there and shoved all the items into the appropriate drawers behind the cash register.

It was a good thing today was Monday and the store was officially closed. At least they didn’t have to worry about customers in addition to giving Jeevan-kaka and Shah the grand tour. From all indications her uncle’s inspection was already getting off to a bad start. She glanced out the window again and found the two men still standing in the same spot, deep in discussion.

Her mother came up behind her, took a peek outside, and shook her head. “I don’t know what those two are doing out there. Let’s make sure everything is neat before they come in.”