(38 page)

So end this masquerade right now, run back into
their waiting arms and tell them you can't do it. Slam the door
shut on dreams of learning how to do your own laundry and staying out
late at night and being independent. Trade in vague, ab-stract
notions of freedom for guaranteed love. Come on, throw in the towel.
You always were a quitter anyway, nobody will be too surprised.

God forgive me, I keep walking. I am approaching a
corner and once I turn this corner, my people will disappear from my
view. And if they disappear, they, who are all I know, will I
disappear too? Will I recognize myself, without the old sign-posts?

I look back one last time. And see my dad hurrying
toward me. He has struck gold again. With his sweet, trustworthy face
and quiet dignity, he has charmed the security guards into letting
him accompany me as far as he can. ‘I told them you had a
sprained wrist and needed help with your carryon bag,'

he whispers. ‘They gave me security
clearance.' We share a quick chuckle. The smooth businessman
with the honeyed voice has triumphed once again.

Dad takes my bag from me and puts his other arm
around my shoulder. We stand side by side as I turn around and wave
to the entire family. They wave back frantically. Then we're
around the corner, dad and I.

But not for long. ‘Dad, stay here a minute,'
I say. ‘I have an idea. I'll be back in two minutes,
tops.' Leaving my bag with him, I sprint back to where the rest
of the family is waiting.

Even from this distance, I can sense their
amazement and delight. I feel a little embarrassed at prolonging this
melodrama but I can't help myself. I run faster. ‘What is
it, Thritu? What did you forget?' Freny asks but I head
straight for Mehroo and grab her in a hug. ‘You see how quickly
I came back?' I say, a little out of breath. ‘Just when
you thought you wouldn't see me any more, correct? See how
quickly things can change? Well, that's how it's going to
be.

The two years will fly by and I'll be back
before you can say hello-goodbye. See?' I stand beaming at her,
as if I've just proven some brilliant and complex scientific
experiment.

All of them chuckle. ‘Correct,' says
Jimmy uncle, Mani's husband. He smiles at me appreciatively.
‘Cent per cent correct.'

I catch Jesse's eye. She gives me a
quizzical look but I can tell that even she is pleased. When I take
my leave this time, the mood seems lighter. Now that I've made
this minor miracle happen, other miracles suddenly seem possible.
They let me go this time as if expecting me to return to them over
and over again.

Dad is waiting for me. ‘For a second I
thought you'd changed your mind and I'd have to get on
that plane in your place,' he jokes. He, too, is pleased by my
impulsive sprint halfway across the airport.

But my job is not over. ‘Daddy, listen,'
I say urgently. ‘Don't let the mood at home get too sad,
okay? In fact, tomorrow morning when you all wake up, take everybody
out for a morning drive or something. Just get through the first few
days. After that…'

‘Thrituma, it is my responsibility to take
care of all of them,' he interrupts. ‘Your job is to go
to America with a free and open mind, study hard, shine in your
studies and make a name for yourself. Now promise me, no thoughts of
home at all. I will manage everything at this end.'

We smile at each other.

As we walk toward the boarding lounge, I catch a
glimpse of the two of us reflected in a glass door. We both have
crooked noses and we both walk on our toes. The observation makes me
unreasonably happy. I sneak a glance at my father and will myself to
memorize his face—the wide forehead, the gentle, brown eyes,
the big Parsi nose, the sensual lips. A friend of mine had once
observed that even when dad took Ronnie for a walk, he carried
himself like an admiral in a military parade and watching him
now—straight backed and dignified—I smile to myself…Good
old dad.

The plane is late. ‘Bombay,' dad sighs
and there is a lifetime of love and hate in that one word. But we are
glad about the delay because it gives us a few more minutes together.

Finally, the dreaded announcement. We linger in
the lounge, allowing all the other passengers to board. Dad actually
talks his way into walking me right up to the entrance of the plane.

Then, he takes my hand and simply holds it to his
chest for a minute. I kiss his hand. He has beautiful hands, the
hands of a kindly country doctor. Mine are younger, darker, smaller
versions of his. I tell him that when I miss him, I will gaze at my
hands and know that he is right by my side. He smiles. I know he will
remember that comment, that it will keep him warm on those silent
mornings when he wakes up and realizes that I am gone. I want to say
other warm and comforting things to him but a cold numbness, a hazy
forgetfulness, is settling like mist on my brain. Besides, the
stewardess is boring holes into us with her frosty smile.

It is time to enter the open mouth of the steel
monster. We hug one last time. I slap him on the shoulder. ‘See
you soon,'

I say.

He nods. ‘Look after yourself, sweetheart,'
he whispers. ‘For my sake.'

The cold, synthetic blast of the air-conditioner
hits me immediately. Already, the air smells different—not the
loamy, sweaty smell of India but the affluent, cool scent of what I
imagine America will smell like. I stare out of the small aeroplane
window at the lights of Bombay and begin to sob. My entire family is
still in this building that I can almost touch (I know they will stay
until the plane takes off) and yet they might as well be a million
miles away. I keep looking out the window the whole time because I do
not want the kindly middle-aged Britisher sitting next to me to see
me cry. I suddenly feel terribly young and scared.

The plane is beginning to crawl down the runway.
To distract myself, I lean back in the seat and start to read Jesse's
letter.

It is just as well that I have my seatbelt on. It
is just as well that the plane is taxiing fast and the lights of the
city are beginning to seem as distant as childhood. It is just as
well that the door is shut and there is a tall, sturdy Englishman in
the seat next to me, blocking my way.

It is a marvellous letter—one that holds me
close and yet nudges me away; that sings to me the wonders of flight
as well as the importance of rootedness; that speaks of love and then
defines love as the courage to let go. ‘You will never be far
away because you live on my skin,' Jesse has written and
reading that line, I wish I could fly like dust and settle on her
skin.

The plane gathers speed. I hear the whine of the
engines and clench the arm-rest, preparing myself for the queasy
feeling in my stomach as we take flight. In another second, I will be
one of the sky people I've always dreamed of being. The lights
of the runway are fading into a blur and now, I am rising—rising
like hope, rising like the prayers that are un-doubtedly on the lips
of all the family members I have left on the ground. Bombay is
underneath me, faint as a memory, distant as love.

And then, I am gone.

I
ONCE READ A LINE that said something to
the effect of, ‘Thank God we don't get what we deserve in
life.' While writing the story of my childhood, I have on more
than one occasion appreciated the wisdom of that saying.

I would like to thank all the people who populate
the pages of this book. Each one of you has had an impact on my life
and has given me gifts that I am grateful for. While telling this
story was emotionally painful at times, it has also given me a
re-newed appreciation for the world I grew up in and for the love
that saved me. Even when that love came with strings attached and
conditions, it still made a big difference in my life.

I thank my immediate family—my parents,
uncle, and two aunts—for encouraging me to follow my dreams
even when they were struggling with fulfilling their own. Their
example of selfless love and sacrifice is one that I will spend a
lifetime learning how to emulate. I thank my cousin Gulshan for
teaching this only child what it was to have a sister. I thank Mani
aunty for teaching me to fight with the moon.

I am also grateful to Eustathea Kavouras and Sara
Throop for their encouragement—and Sara's occasional
scoldings—in getting me to finish this memoir.

THRITY UMRIGAR
is the author of the
acclaimed novels
BombayTime, The Space Between Us
, and
If
Today Be Sweet
. She has written for the
Washington Post
and other national newspapers, and con-tributes regularly to the book
pages of the
Boston Globe
. An associate professor of English,
she teaches creative writing, journalism, and literature at Case
Western Reserve University. She lives in Cleveland, ohio.

www.umrigar.com

Visit
www.AuthorTracker.com
for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.