chapter VIII

Shilpi arrives at our apartment with her uncle Syamal. She is wearing a simple salwaar kamez that looks well-worn. She carries a small, rectangular blue bag that matches her nail-polish. It is only a few inches long and had a tiny strap which is nestled in Shilpi’s strong fingers.

While Ma leads the conversation, Shilpi and I furtively exchange glances. Syamal promises that his niece will be a perfect daughter-in-law. She apparently will do all of the cooking, cleaning, and sewing. Shilpi will even clean vomit from the floor and give Ma a kidney if she needs it.

“Shilpi can do everything in the house and she is also a very good cook. Only she doesn’t know how to use a ‘bee - lender’ and… what’s the name of that box that gets hot very quickly?”

“A microwave oven?”

Haa, shei jinish’ta

“Yeah, that thing.”

Excusing herself to check on the cook, Ma heads towards the kitchen.

Shilpi produces a folded blue handkerchief from the small bag. Cupping her mouth with it, she turns her head away from me and whispers to Syamal.

“Shilpi wants to hear you speak in Bengali,” he translates in broken English, which causes us to laugh together.

Shunbo.

“I’m going to hear it,” Shilpi says confidently and throws me another glance.

By the end of lunch glancing turns into staring. Afterwards we are alone in my bedroom. Sitting on the bed a few feet apart from each other, small talk comes more easily than I have expected. Shilpi’s questions revolve around my ex-wife, my temper, and my business. I learn that Shilpi has been in Calcutta several months, although her Bengali seems to suggest longer. I question Shilpi as to how a lovely thirty year-old Hindu girl could still be unmarried in Muslim-dominated Bangladesh. She informs me that her aunt in America had sent someone to see her a few years ago, but that he was unable to get a divorce from his first wife so he could not marry her. She doesn’t remember the suitor’s name, however.

Shilpi is very interested in my ex-wife and my current relationship with her. We discuss it for some time before moving on to us.

Amake shunben?

“Will you listen to me?”

Ma ke boloon na ami jigesh korsi.

“Don’t tell Ma that I am asking.”

In Bangladesh, her father, who is a school teacher, kept Shilpi very carefully protected at home. Naturally I ask why she doesn’t speak English if her father teaches it as part of his curriculum. I never really understand her explanation, chalking it up to being unfamiliar with Shilpi’s Bengali which is somewhat different from that which is spoken in Calcutta.

Phire ashbe?

“Will you return?” I wonder.

Biye agee, ki kore phire ashbo?

“How can I return before the wedding?”

Before she leaves, I take Shilpi into our temple room and we both bow together before the alter. I genuinely like the girl, so I pray that God blesses our union.

please continue to

chapter IX