chapter XII

Sleep is impossible. I lay awake and ask myself over and over, “What have I gotten myself into?” This must be an inauspicious start to a relationship. How could she treat me so coldly, pushing my hand aside as if it were a slimy insect crawling upon her skin.

I finally arise at 2:00 AM and walk out to the living room. A laundry line hangs through the middle of the large hall, as the clothes have been taking so long to dry in the high humidity. I stop where Shilpi’s burgundy colored sari is hanging and I bring it to my nose. It seems vaguely of perfume. I relish the luxuriant feel of silk against my face.

There is a window between our dining room and my bedroom, where Shilpi is sleeping. I can see the mosquito net hanging and want so badly to crawl under it and be with my wife.

Wife.

I have a wife now. That makes me a (gasp!) husband. The thought seems foreign to me.

I make my way to the verandah. Sitting with my prayer beads, I whisper the mantras I know so well and watch the quiet street. After some time, I see a gentleman across the way through his window standing erect, speaking to himself, and frantically bobbing his head like an amphetamine-popping hippie. Only after I saw him bring his hands together reverentially and touch his head to the floor did I realize that he was praying. Feeling inspired by his devotion, I renew my prayers with greater intensity.

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chapter XIII