The Sari Shop Widow (16 page)

“It’s so much easier for us to discuss business in this house. We’re all here…together.” Jeevan-kaka seemed reluctant to see the younger man leave.

Anjali wondered once again about the relationship between those two. Why was her uncle so dependent on Rishi? For a stubborn, independent old man, Jeevan-kaka was like a fretting, clinging child when it came to Rishi.

“I’m not going too far,” replied Rishi, “only a phone call away. We’ll all be spending some eight or ten hours at the store together every day.”

Mohan glanced at Rishi. “Are you uncomfortable here,
beta
?”

“Not at all, Uncle. On the contrary, I’m getting very spoiled by all this delicious home-cooked food and a nice room to myself. But Nilesh shouldn’t have to give up his space permanently. It would be most inconsiderate of me to take advantage of his good nature.”

Nilesh had joined them at the dinner table that evening. “Hey, it’s no problem, man,” he said. “It’s not like I spend a lot of time at home anyway.”

“That’s not the point, Nilesh. It’s your room, and the longer I stay the longer I’m imposing on you and your family. Besides, you’re a student and you need your own quiet area to study.”

Good for Rishi, Anjali mentally applauded. She’d been wondering how long she’d have to share a bathroom with a stranger. It was bad enough that her uncle was going to be around for months.

And then she had to be careful how she dressed in her own home at nights and how she behaved. Since that comment Rishi had made about her legs, she’d made sure to wear pajamas to bed instead of her short nightgowns. But she had to admit he’d been a gentleman since then. Come to think of it, even that particular remark hadn’t been really lewd. It was more like a clinical assessment. She’d read too much into it for some reason.

He seemed to be considerate about some things. He took all his laundry to the cleaners, preferring not to hog up their washer and dryer. Of course, all those expensive clothes he wore had to be professionally cleaned. He ate whatever her mother put on the table and never complained about anything. He often brought home snacks, fruit, pastries, and desserts that the whole family enjoyed. In most ways he was the ideal guest.

But it would be a relief to have him out of her house, mainly because he made her so uneasy. All kinds of weird emotions that had been buried for years were creeping up on her again and she didn’t want them to complicate her life.

Her mother seemed upset at Rishi’s news, too, surprising Anjali. Usha had been the unhappiest of them all at having to entertain a stranger.

“But you’re always welcome at our house, Rishi,” Usha said. “You may not be family, but you’re like family to us. We enjoy having you here.”

Rishi reached across the table and patted Usha’s hand. “Likewise, Auntie, I enjoy being here, but I respect your privacy.” He paused. “And I don’t want to outstay my welcome. I’ll move into a hotel tomorrow.”

Jeevan-kaka gave Rishi a thoroughly disgruntled look. “I thought we agreed that you and I would be together while we worked on this project.”

Rishi sent the old man an indulgent smile. “Who says we won’t be together while we work? The hotel room is mainly for bed and bath.”

Sufficiently mollified, Jeevan-kaka went back to his meal.

The thought of Rishi leaving them seemed to bring a certain contemplative air to the table. The rest of the meal was unusually quiet, with only a few minor references to the day’s business. After dinner, Nilesh excused himself and left for the library.

After the dishes were cleared and the kitchen cleaned up, Rishi said to Anjali, “I think we should talk about the ideas for the store’s interior. Didn’t you say you’ve drawn some sketches already?”

Anjali nodded and ran to her room to fetch them. But she was hesitant about sharing them with the others. Her expertise was in clothing and jewelry design and she knew nothing about building plans or blueprints. All she had was a rough idea of where everything should be placed based on the crude rectangles Rishi had drawn the other day.

By the time she came back downstairs her mother had cleared the dining table of its pickle jars and condiments so Anjali could spread her designs on it. Reluctantly she showed them her drawings, which were more like landscape paintings of each area, colors and all.

“These are nice,
beta,
” her mother said after giving them a cursory look. “Very artistic.”

“But not professional. I’m not sure how to go about showing the dimensions and all that technical stuff architects do.”

Jeevan-kaka looked a little lost as he turned the sheets this way and that. Her father had a slight frown on his face. It was hard to say what they were thinking.

She glanced at Rishi, who was studying them with narrowed eyes. She was most nervous about his criticism. For some reason his opinion mattered. Of everyone present, he seemed to be the most knowledgeable about store design and also the most sophisticated. Besides, he owned boutiques in some of the swankiest malls and shopping centers of the world.

“This is pretty good, Anjali,” he said finally.

“But not great, right?” She looked at him for confirmation. “The contractors wouldn’t know how to go about following my ideas?”

He shook his head. “On the contrary, your sketches should be useful in giving them a good bird’s-eye view of what we want. Once we have the basic structure laid out, then we can go into what you have here, the shelves, cabinets, and displays in the colors we want…the colors
you
want.” He put a hand on Jeevan’s shoulder. “Don’t you think so, Jeevan-kaka?”

“I agree. Isn’t your usual architect sending someone from New York to look at the place?”

Rishi nodded. “Our man in London has a contact in New York City, someone he works with in this part of the U.S. I happen to know the man.”

Jeevan asked his brother about building permits.

“I’ve already taken care of that,” said Mohan.

“Excellent.” Rishi turned back to the drawings. “Now, let’s discuss these lovely designs, shall we?”

Pleased with his remarks, Anjali felt emboldened to mention her color scheme. “Am I allowed to stick with the cream and blue?”

“Yes.”

“But I suppose you guys are going to change the name of the store?” She was so afraid they were going to give it some tacky handle that she had obsessed over it the previous night.

Rishi lifted an eyebrow. “A little worried about the name, Anjali?”

Despite her resolve to keep this on a friendly level, she couldn’t help asking, “Saris and Samosas?”

“Not even close.”

It was her turn to raise a brow. “Kapadia & Shah?”

“Silk & Sapphires,” he replied with a sly grin.

She stared at him. “You mean we keep the name?”

“Absolutely.”

“I never thought I’d…well…that you and Jeevan-kaka would…” She was so relieved she had no words.

Jeevan-kaka laughed for the first time that evening. “Why are you surprised, Anju? Why would we change such a beautiful name?”

She gave him a grateful smile. “I’m glad you think it’s beautiful.”

Over the next hour they argued over the placement of the different departments. Anjali was adamant about the food being entirely separate from the rest of the store. “I won’t have fried food odors in the store. The way a place smells has a lot to do with its ambience and the mood it creates.”

“Not to worry,” Rishi assured her. “A solid dividing wall will separate the store from the café. Glass doors will be in place for those who want to get to it. Also, customers will not be allowed to take food and drink into the main store for obvious reasons. The odors don’t even begin to creep into the store.”

“Exactly how much business will this
chai
shop generate, Rishi?” Anjali’s father pushed his glasses up his nose and bent over the designs once again.

Rishi pointed to the area marked
café
on the sheet. “When a bride and her bridesmaids and family members are getting their hair and nails done and spend hours at the store, they invariably get hungry and start looking for a convenient place to eat.”

“Makes sense, I suppose,” murmured Usha. “They can’t walk on the street or drive with curlers in their hair and
mehndi
drying on their hands.”

“Exactly. Our cafés, particularly in London, are very popular. They’re always crowded, not just with customers from the store but also others who come in just to eat the unusual fare we offer. We always serve something different, like finger sandwiches, and on good crockery, too. Even our tea is served English-style with a china teapot and cups and saucers. No unsightly foam cups and plastic stirrers.”

“Sounds too expensive for
Desi
tastes,” murmured Anjali. “
Desis
are generally a
kanjoos
bunch, tight-fisted.”

“I agree,” said Rishi, much to Anjali’s surprise. “But when it comes to weddings and special occasions they’re willing to splurge. Don’t forget those are the events where they’re trying to outdo each other and make the others a little envious.”

She nodded. “Yeah, keeping up appearances.”

A large number of Indians and other South Asians had immigrated to the U.S. in the 1970s and 80s and through hard work and scrimping they had become comfortably entrenched baby boomers. But despite their frugality they thought nothing of spending their hard-earned cash on certain things they considered important, like their children’s educations and some significant milestones in their lives. Consequently Ivy League graduations, elaborate weddings, christenings, and birthdays had turned into eye-popping status symbols.

In fact, it was precisely that mentality that had led to upscale stores like Silk & Sapphires to appear on the commercial scene.

Usha stifled a yawn and looked at her wristwatch. “It’s been a long day. We should go to bed.”

Anjali noticed Jeevan-kaka looking drawn. He’d eaten very little at dinner. She wondered if all this stress was getting to him. He might be a tyrant, but he was still her uncle.

She touched his arm. “You look exhausted, Jeevan-kaka. Maybe you should go to bed, too?”

“I will.” He stood up and pushed his chair in.

Her parents followed suit. The elder Kapadias went upstairs to sleep, leaving Anjali and Rishi to continue deliberating over the designs. Rishi looked at her. “You think we convinced the three of them sufficiently?”

“It’s not those three you should worry about. They seem willing to eat out of your hand. I’m the one that’s not entirely convinced.” She stacked the sheets of artist’s paper and rolled them into a tube. “But then, it’s mostly your money that’s tied up in this, not mine.”

“A skeptic to the core, aren’t you? It’s a good trait for an entrepreneur, Anjali.”

“No kidding,” she said.

“I’m serious. You’re a good businesswoman. All you need is a little extra help at the moment.”

“A lot of help.” She slipped a rubber band around the roll of papers. “By the way, I’m glad the store will keep its name.”

“Speaking of names, may I ask you something? It’s personal, so if you want me to back off, I will.”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Did you ever change your surname to Gandhi?”

So he knew she was married to a Gandhi. He’d been doing his homework in that area, too. She shook her head. “I kept my maiden name.”

“Any particular reason?”

“It was too much trouble to go through the legalities, and Vik didn’t think it was important. I personally don’t like hyphenated names either.”

“I see. I’m sorry.”

“About what? That I didn’t change my name?”

“That your marriage lasted such a short time. You must have been devastated.” He seemed to ponder something for a long moment. Then his gaze came back to her. “Jeevan-kaka told me a bit about your husband.”

It was hard to keep her emotions intact, especially since he sounded genuinely sympathetic. “Vik was a terrific guy.”

“You were lucky to have found someone you loved.”

“Lucky? Or
unlucky
to have lost him so quickly?”

“I said lucky because although it was very short, yours was a happy marriage. There are couples who are married for fifty and sixty years and are miserable.”

He almost sounded envious of her brief marriage. “Are you married?” she asked him, wondering how he’d react to her prying into his personal business.

He shook his head.

“Engaged?”

“I was engaged once. Didn’t last long.”

“Oh.”

He looked amused. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

“None of my business.”

“I’ll tell you anyway, because you were candid in answering my questions. The woman I was engaged to wasn’t a particularly nice person.”

“What did she do?”

“She had a problem with a monogamous relationship.”

Anjali frowned. “Hmm.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Laura was part British and part Italian, and beautiful. And she believed men and women are born to be promiscuous.”

“So why did she want marriage? She could play as much as she wanted without the restrictions of marriage, couldn’t she?”

“That’s where I came in. She wanted to marry me for my money. That way she could play in style and not have to work to pay for it.”

“What a gold digger!” Anjali felt instant sympathy for him. No one deserved to be treated that way. “You must have been heartbroken.”

“Young, hopelessly in love with a callous vixen—and yes, heartbroken. That was sixteen years ago.”

“Looks like you glued your shattered heart back together just fine.”

He remained silent.

“I gather you’ve never trusted another woman after that?”

“Not exactly.”

“So you’ve had other…uh…relationships?”

He was quiet for an awfully long time before he replied, “One or two. I have a girlfriend at the moment. Samantha and I stay together…have been for nearly five years.”

So he had a live-in girlfriend: Samantha. To Anjali it was as good as being married. “So you decided to trust a woman after all.”

“I didn’t say I was married to her.”

“Isn’t living together the same thing?”