Radha & Jai's Recipe for Romance Page 19

  Radha touched the two frayed cotton cords, each with over two hundred bells in a single row. When she tapped one of the brass bells, it rang like crystal-clear music.

  She sat down and tugged off her socks. She wrapped each sock around an ankle, then took the ghungroos from the basket and began tying them over the socks. If she’d had any clean ankle pads, she would’ve used those, but this would have to do. Then she was knotting the ends of the strings.

  It was as if her whole body had been waiting for her to wear her practice ghungroos again. They felt different from her stage pair, because she spent so much more time with them over the years. Everything inside her lifted and sighed.

  Radha got to her feet and gave one testing stomp. The sole of her foot slapped against the tile. She stood with her shoulders pushed back, her hands flat at chest level with fingers pointing toward each other, and started her namaskar. She needed blessings, and this time she wanted to do a more formal and respectful version than simply touching the floor with her fingertips. When she was done and had returned to her first position, she pulled her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket and plugged it into the stereo system. She scrolled for the right track, and when she saw a dance piece she hadn’t played in nearly a year, she selected it from her kathak playlist. Radha increased the volume and took her position.

  The first strains of the sitar were like welcoming arms. She listened and counted the beats before her cue.

  This composition was supposed to be her big moment at the Kathak Classics in London. It was the routine that she’d never gotten to perform, in the final round.

  Tatkaar.

  Ta thei thei tat, aa thei thei tat, ta thei thei tat, aa thei thei tat…

  The intro was deceptively simple. And then the track changed into a paran.

  Radha’s muscles relaxed, and her feet hit every step like she’d been practicing the choreography all this time.

  The track changed again, and she spun across the floor in chakkars. She grounded herself and completed two chakkars per beat until she spun a total of one hundred and eight times in the tarana. She was awash with relief when her body responded as it should.

  She let go of her chaotic thoughts and embraced the dance joy as it washed over her. She pushed herself harder and faster, immersing herself in the piece she hadn’t been able to perform. Even when her eyes blurred with unshed tears, she didn’t stop.

  This was why she loved kathak so much. Why she’d let her mother push her into being her best. Because she wanted it just as much.

  The music ended, and she stopped in the exact same spot where she’d started. She was breathing heavily, and her muscles trembled with exhaustion. When she heard the clapping, she turned to see her father at the base of the staircase, leaning against the railing. He wore jeans and a button-down shirt. His hair was a little grayer, and he looked tired, but he smiled, and Radha knew he was really happy to see her.

  “You’ve always amazed me, chutki,” he said. “You have so much happiness when you dance.”

  She couldn’t hold back anymore. She burst into sobs and ran into his arms.

  * * *

  Radha put her ghungroos away and washed her face while her dad finished the dal. He made a quick batch of rice and set the small table he’d added in the kitchen. They drank cans of orange soda, the only beverage in the fridge for some reason, and ate with their hands.

  “Vadiya, Radha,” her father said. “I normally don’t use the Instant Pot for dal makhani, but I’m so happy you did.”

  He leaned his forearms on the table as if getting closer to the plate. That was how she knew that he loved the food he was eating, and it warmed her that she could make something her father would enjoy with such enthusiasm.

  “Dal is literally one of the best things to use it for. There are group forums dedicated to Instant Pot dal.”

  “Recently I’ve used it to make yogurt. I can’t wait to see what else you make in the kitchen.”

  “Since I haven’t been performing, I’ve had a lot of time to learn and explore. You’ll be surprised at what I can do. More than what you’ve seen when we video-chat.”

  Her father took a minute to chew and swallow before responding. “You know,” he said, “I was thinking of turning the basement into a gym, but if you’re going to use it when you come and visit, I’ll use one of the bedrooms instead. You said you’re not performing, but it looks like you still like to dance.”

  Radha scooped up more dal. “Do whatever you want with the basement. But honestly, you should move closer to the city. That way you’ll be near the restaurant, and you won’t have to travel so far when you work late. This house is too big anyway.”

  Her father looked around. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Maybe we can look at a few places while you’re here?”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

  “What I want,” he started slowly, “is for you to tell me how you’re doing in New Jersey. You were pretty adamant about leaving Chicago. At first I thought it was a good move and encouraged your mother to give you more time. Your grades are up, and you’re even dating and making friends. But your mother called—”

  “I knew it.”

  “She’s still worried that being here will set you back even more than the last few weeks.”

  “Dad, first of all, leaving Chicago was not about leaving you,” Radha said. Even though she couldn’t read his expression, she knew she had to make that clear. Especially since she’d burst into tears when she first saw him. “I knew that if I stayed in Chicago, I’d be forced to face the disappointed people who treated me like a screwup after the Kathak Classics. I couldn’t get away from the community. My grades plummeted, I didn’t do well on my first round of SATs, and I was always on edge. I had a second chance in New Jersey.”

  Her father nodded. “I’m glad. We talk more, even though we don’t live together. But, chutki, when we did live together, I loved you just as much as I love you now.” He cleared his throat as if the words were getting stuck in the wrong pipe. “When you were happy, I was happy. I guess what I’m trying to say is…I hope you’ll still come to Chicago to visit me, even if you’re not a fan of the city.”

  Radha wiped her fingers before she squeezed her father’s arm. “Try to keep me away.”

  “Not a chance. Well, unless you bring your mother.”

  “Dad.”

  “Kidding.” He chuckled for a second, then grew solemn again. “I’m happy for you. But that’s not all. Your mother also said something about ‘stress cooking,’ and how it’s my fault?”

  “She says a lot of things that are wrong, but in this case she’s not. Let’s just say that I really, really want to thank you for Dada’s notebook.”

  He laughed, then lifted his soda can and tapped it against hers. “My father knew how to make cooking an experience. I hoped that you’d find the same escape in food.”

  “I did. I think I found more than escape. I found a new passion.”

  Her father gave her a contemplative glance before he took another drink. “A new passion is good. But you still don’t look happy, chutki. I saw you downstairs just now. Maybe you’re so sad because you’ve embraced a new passion, but you’re worried that you have said goodbye to the other?”

  How did parents do that? she wondered. Half the time she felt like she didn’t even need to go to a therapist, because her folks could read her so well. But, then again, she’d been more honest with her therapists than with her parents.

  Radha looked down at her dal and rice. “There are probably some things you need to know before I tell you why I’m so confused.”

  “I have all night, Radha.”

  And because that meant the world to her, Radha told him everything. About the director, the school, Jai, and her mother. She even talked about he
r deal with Sujata, and how she was hoping to secure her parents’ support for college. He raised an eyebrow at that but remained quiet until she finished.

  “Now I’m here,” Radha said. She pushed her empty plate forward.

  “Radha, I know your mother is…driven. But in the long run, it doesn’t matter if you perform or not. You’re our bacha. Nothing will change that.”

  “That’s not true, though. Performing is what caused me to lose Mom. She changed when I started winning competitions. Performing is what caused me to lose”—she cleared her throat—“to lose you, because I was so busy.”

  “You can’t take responsibility for that, Radha,” he said quietly. “I spent so much time working too. I’m just as much at fault.”

  Hearing her father admit that he’d been absent was bittersweet. Radha hated that there was any blame between them at all, but it was a relief they were finally acknowledging it. More importantly, she felt like she’d been blaming herself for so long, but shifting some of that responsibility off her shoulders helped. “When I stopped performing, that’s when I discovered that we had this whole food culture. I missed out on things like visiting the dhaba every time I went to India. And, Dad? Performing, or in this case not performing, is what’s causing me to lose Jai.”

  “Well, I can’t speak for your mom. All you and I did was lose time, but we can make up for it now. We have been making up for it, right? And as for your half-Punjabi boyfriend…have you really lost him too?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He picked up her plate and his to take to the sink. “I mean,” he called over his shoulder, “is there no chance you can get back together? I don’t know how you American kids date, but he kept something from you, and you had a fight, so the next step is for you to talk, right? You know, when we were growing up in Punjab, your thaiji used to see this girl in the next sector over, and he was always saying something stupid. Then the girl would throw her jutti at him, he’d apologize, and they’d be fine.”

  “Throw her jutti…yeah, no one is throwing a shoe here, Dad.”

  Her father shrugged. “It worked for my brother’s girlfriend. Now that I think about it, when I went to college here in the US, your mother threw her heels at me quite a few times. Those heels hurt, too. Probably a warning, now that I think about it. What are you going to do instead?”

  Radha was at a complete loss as to how to respond. Yes, she was mad at Jai. His reasons were inexcusable. He was hurting himself. But could she forgive him? More important, could she perform again, this one last time, for him and the team?

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, Radha?”

  “I think we’re going to have to do a lot more stress cooking for me to figure this out.”

  “I can always talk to your desi boy. You might want to prepare him by telling him I have the sharpest knives in Chicago.”

  “Dad,” she said, even though the thought made her smile. She closed her eyes and dropped her forehead to the table. Hopefully all the food she was about to make would help her decide what she needed to do.

  It was pretty clear, though, that since she loved Jai, the idiot, and she wanted to support her team, she’d have to dance again. He’d been right about how much she was running away from her issues. Her father nudged her upright as he sat up in his chair. He put both Dada’s recipe notebook and hers between them. “I’m glad you brought these.”

  Radha picked up Dada’s and ran her fingers over the worn leather cover, the leather string wrapped around the body, and the aged, food-splattered page edges. Some of those food splatters had probably come from her. She held the notebook to her chest for a moment. It had been her safety blanket, but now it was time for her to let it go.

  She slid it across the table.

  “I’m giving this to you,” Radha said. “It was important to me, but I’ve translated all the recipes, and I think you should have it with you. He was your dad, after all.”

  Surprise flashed across his face. “I gave it as a gift, though.”

  “I know. I’m giving it back to you as a gift. I’ll borrow the book again from time to time, but for now I think Dada should keep you company.”

  Her father held the notebook like a priceless artifact. He then touched it to his forehead in reverence. “Are we still going to use it for stress cooking?”

  “Nope.” Radha opened her own recipe log. “We’re going to use mine.” She showed him the note cards and sticky notes she’d tucked in the back. “I have some ideas, but I didn’t want to write them in the book without trying them. What do you say?”

  “I say let the stress cooking begin!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Christmas

  JAI

  MASI: I’m sorry you’re upset. Your mother said you’re trying to visit Nana but don’t want to run into me at the stroke unit. Why don’t you bring your father to visit him on Christmas? The three of you can have a few hours.

  MASI: I miss you, sweet boy. Merry Christmas.

  Jai sat between the hospital bed and his father’s motorized chair. Nana Veeru was sleeping while his father was watching Sholay, which Jai had brought with them. It had taken nearly an hour to set up, since the hospital had serious accessibility issues, but luckily, Nana was in his own room now that he’d been transferred out of the ICU, so there was more space.

  Jai had his laptop open and was researching some of the notes he’d taken when he’d talked to the last attending physician who’d come by on rounds.

  Hemiplegia: paralysis on one side of the body.

  Memory loss. Decreased speech function. Partial face paralysis.

  If a stroke victim has had a stroke before, they’ll most likely have it again. Chances of survival after a stroke are less than 25% after seven years.

  Nana Veeru had made it longer than that, probably because Masi had worked hard over the years to make sure he had regular checkups, medications, healthy food and exercise, and psychiatric care.

  There was also a bit of luck associated with it too. Sometimes, though, strokes were unexplainable.

  And now Nana would require extensive speech therapy, physical therapy, and psychiatric care based on the severity of his second stroke. If Jai was being honest with himself, he knew that his adopted grandfather had a clock that was ticking down faster and faster.

  Jai opened another blank document and started making treatment notes and jotting down information on mobility and rehabilitation for maintaining quality of life. He wanted to look it all up later. He’d have to check the cost, too. Dad’s treatment had been so expensive that they still hadn’t recovered from it. Hopefully, Nana was in a better situation.

  If Jai’s dance team had still been talking to him, if Radha had still been talking to him, Jai would have leaned on them for some support. But now he was on his own.

  “You are sad,” Jai’s father said quietly.

  Jai looked up from his research and saw the questioning look on his father’s face. He set his laptop on the small side table and put his socked feet up on the edge of Nana’s bed.

  “I’m not sad. I’m tired.”

  “From dancing?”

  “No, from reading. I want to help Nana Veeru when he wakes up.”

  “Your mom,” he said, forming each word by first making the shape with his mouth, “says you are an idiot because you don’t go to college.”

  “Well, Mom says a lot of things,” Jai said.

  Jai’s father huffed a laugh.

  They sat in silence for a moment while Sholay continued to play.

  Sholay, time with his father, and hours at the store had been his constant over the last week. Radha had gone to Chicago, and as much as he missed her, he knew she was definitely going to ignore his texts if he bothered reaching out first.

  Jai adjusted his fathe
r’s drinking tube for easier access. “Dad?”

  “Yes, beta?”

  “Did you ever think that all three of your sons would run the convenience store?”

  Jai could tell it was taking a moment for his father to process the words, so he repeated himself, more slowly. When his father understood, he gave an almost imperceptible movement with his head.

  “The store was my dream. Was Gopal’s dream. You were too young to dream yet,” he said in Gujarati.

  His brother had told him the same thing. “But now that I am older. Wouldn’t you want me to work with the family? Wouldn’t you want me to be here instead of off at school?”

  His father’s mouth moved before the words could form. “No. That makes my Jai sad.”

  “It doesn’t! I want to help Gopal and Neil. I want to help the family. I didn’t do anything when the accident happened because I was too young. It’s my turn to help everyone. We need the money.”

  “Deekra,” he said after a few minutes. “You can only help if you be Jai. Not Dad. I can still dream. I don’t need you to dream for me.”

  “Dad—”

  “No!” he said, loud and sharp. “No. I dream for me. Gopal dreams for Gopal. Neil dreams for Neil. We are lucky we all dream together. Their dreams happened early, that is all.”

  “I didn’t help after your accident, Dad,” Jai said quietly.

  “You were a kid, Jai.”

  “Let me help now. Neil and Gopal helped. Let me be there now. For them, for Mom, and for you.”

  “I don’t need it,” his father said. “I don’t need help. We did this for all of us, not just for you. I need maro deekro to know that. I need Jai. Jai has to dream for himself. Dream for yourself, Jai. You do what you want. We are not holding you back. You are the only one holding you back.”

  His father was essentially calling him a coward and telling him that he was making excuses. Radha had called him a coward too. Maybe both of them were right.