Bombay Brides Page 2

  Ezra would smile victoriously whenever he drove Myra to the synagogue. He would listen to her version of the Torah and after each session have discussions over tea and biscuits. Then he would drop her at the society and stop for a moment at his own place before going to the society office, so that Sigaut did not become suspicious.

  For Ezra, this was an excellent arrangement. He had never been unfaithful to Sigaut and although he met Myra every day, he did not know how to get close to her. He was always afraid of being caught red-handed. What if he did manage to get intimate with Myra and at that very moment, Salome or someone else rang the doorbell?

  The thought sent shivers down his spine.

  ‘Coward,’ he scolded himself.

  Ezra’s chase became futile when Myra joined a yoga class during the weekdays when she was not teaching at the synagogue. He was no longer sure if he had done the right thing by inviting her to India. To attend the yoga class, Myra would wake up as early as 4 a.m., sit in meditation and leave at 5 in an autorickshaw for the class. Ezra was disappointed that she had given up her Western clothes and was almost always dressed in salwar-kameez with a dupatta covering her head.

  Ezra’s plans were further jeopardized when Salome informed him that a young man who wore a tracksuit and sport shoes often dropped Myra at the society gate. Salome said that he was her yoga instructor.

  Jealous, Ezra discreetly asked the security guard if the young man ever went up to Myra’s flat. He felt reassured when he was told that the man never got off the scooter; he only dropped Myra at the gate, waved and drove off.

  Soon, Salome was not going as frequently to Myra’s apartment as before because whenever she rang the bell, Myra was either sitting in the Padmasan pose with eyes closed or in Shirshasan, the upside-down position, or watching a DVD of the guru’s sermon on her laptop. But later Myra would always go down to Salome’s flat, have tea with her and explain how she was discovering the spiritual side of India.

  Myra was full of praise for the guru who ran the yoga centre, saying that though he was almost a hundred years old, because of yoga, meditation, fasting and simple vegetarian food he looked forty, and his face shone with an inner light.

  Myra was fascinated by the guruji who gave her special discourses in English on Vedanta. The guru in turn was impressed that she was a highly educated religious American. Myra started spending long hours with him and Ezra rarely saw her. But she gave Ezra no reason to complain, as she was still diligent about her Torah classes. She told him politely that she would get to the synagogue on her own.

  Every afternoon, she would arrive in an autorickshaw but sometimes the young instructor would drop her at the traffic light near the synagogue. In her simple salwar-kameez with a dupatta around her head, Myra looked so holy that Ezra stopped going to the synagogue and requested Lebana to help her with the translation. In fact, he was relieved to return to his routine: early-morning sessions at the laughing club, then his building construction office, home for a late lunch and a nap, and then attending to the problems of Shalom India Housing Society.

  Ezra knew that Myra was a hot topic of discussion in the society. He often came upon women of the Jewish community standing in the foyer of the synagogue discussing her, her young yoga instructor and how she had distanced herself from the Jewish community. She no longer accepted their invitations for lunch, dinner or Sabbath, citing one excuse or another.

  Salome informed the women that Myra’s apartment was full of books on Vedanta and the Gita. Myra had made it clear to her that she did not like to be disturbed at odd times, as she meditated and would not open the door. She also stopped the lunch arrangement with Salome, saying that she now ate at the ashram.

  With Myra’s new-found interest in Indian philosophy, the Torah classes were no longer interesting, instead becoming long-winded and boring. When the participants complained, Ezra was embarrassed, but did not know how to tackle Myra, as she always got away by giving him a quote from the Gita.

  Then one morning as Ezra was preparing to leave for the laughing club, the doorbell rang. Myra was standing outside. If it hadn’t been for the colour of her hair, he would not have recognized her. She was wearing a white sari with a full-sleeved blouse and had her head covered. She greeted him with a namaskar instead of a handshake. Taken aback, he invited her in and asked Sigaut to bring her a cup of tea. Myra refused, saying that she was fasting. She wanted permission to take a week’s leave from the Torah classes, as her yoga instructor had invited her for a trip to Jaisalmer. Ezra agreed enthusiastically and cancelled the Torah classes for a week. He was amused and wondered if she would go on a camel safari in a sari.

  On her return, Myra came up with another demand. She had organized a satsang at her flat and invited a few people from the ashram. She wanted to make sure that there was no objection from Ezra. She saw the look on his face and explained hurriedly that satsangs were held at every member’s house in turn each week and that week she had to organize one in her apartment. The guru never went to the homes of devotees, but was honouring her by visiting her.

  ‘It is like a small party,’ she explained. ‘We will have group meditation followed by bhajans, after which I will serve fruit and milk to the satsangis.’

  Ezra was taken aback and told her that he would have to ask the executive committee of the society. He did not want to take this decision on his own. That evening he called a meeting, saying that the committee’s decision would be final. He asked Myra to be present and convince them.

  Myra charmed the committee. She had worn jeans with a short kurti and won them over with her articulate explanation about the satsang. The committee gave her permission on the ground that the people of Shalom India Housing Society often held parties. Anyway, it did not matter, as she was returning to America in fifteen days. They were even planning a farewell party for her.

  On the day of the satsang, Ezra was shocked when a car drew up at the society gates. A tall bearded man dressed in a dhoti, his shoulders covered with a shawl, stepped out. Myra received him by touching his feet and led him to her flat. Then a group of men and women arrived in a minibus and went up to her flat. Nobody would have known what happened in the flat after that, but Myra made one mistake. She asked Salome to help with the arrangements.

  Later, Salome told her rapt audience at Shalom India Housing Society, ‘Since joining the yoga classes, Myra had become rather distant with me. But when she decided to hold the satsang at her flat, she came to see me at lunchtime. Luckily, Daniyal was not at home and I offered her a plate of dal and rice. She accepted, saying that she had missed lunch at the ashram. She was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt with her bright red hair piled up on her head. When I complimented her, she thanked me, saying that she was cleaning the flat. She wanted my help to get durries, paper napkins, plates, spoons and glasses for the satsang. She also wanted me to prepare plates of fruit and kesar milk. I agreed and gave her an estimate of the cost. She accepted, although I had doubled my price. Then she went back, saying that she still had to fill the clay lamps with oil.

  ‘That day, Myra spent a few hours at the synagogue. In the evening, as the lift was not working, I was climbing the stairs to Sippora’s flat when I saw her dressed in a green silk sari with gold jewellery, a shiny bindi, and flowers in her hair. She looked the opposite of Myra the ascetic. She had made a star-shaped rangoli at her doorstep and decorated it with diyas. I stopped for a moment to admire her handiwork and invited her to join us at the synagogue for a malida. She refused, saying that Guruji had sent a car for her and she was leaving for Laxmi Puja at the ashram. She had the diyas outside her door for all the five days of Diwali. I know, I know, some of us also make rangoli, light diyas and burst crackers during Diwali, in keeping with the festive mood. We visit friends and offer sweets and on Dusshera, we like to eat fafda-jalebi and decorate our vehicles with flowers. But she seemed to take it a bit too seriously.

  ‘A few days later, Myra and I went shopping for her satsang meeting. On
the day of the satsang, I dressed in a white sari, out of respect for Myra’s feelings. When I rang the doorbell of her flat, she opened the door and I saw that she had transformed from a smart American woman into a demure satsangi in a white sari and long-sleeved blouse.

  ‘Assuming there was a lot of time, I sat in her drawing room, peeling the fruit. Myra’s brow furrowed, so I smiled and assured her that as soon as the guests arrived, I would move into the kitchen. She was apologetic and invited me to join the satsang. I refused, saying that I would be more comfortable in the kitchen.

  ‘Overnight, Myra had hung a curtain at the kitchen door so that I could not see what was going on in the main room. I was going to charge her double the price for everything, so what did it matter? She forgot that I have ears and good eyesight. Moreover, her planning did not work. When she went downstairs to receive Guruji, she forgot the keys to the house. So she had to ring the bell. When I opened the door, she looked embarrassed as she led Guruji into the house and did not introduce me, as though I was her maidservant.

  ‘A little stung, I went back to the kitchen, telling myself that I would triple the price.

  ‘Later, I saw and heard a lot from the kitchen. The guru and Myra were sitting on chairs, while the rest were seated on the floor, eyes closed. When all the ceiling fans were switched on and the curtain moved, I saw that Guruji was seated just under the picture of Prophet Elijah. Strangely, they resembled each other, but for their clothes. The guru was wearing white. He had arrived in a car, while our Prophet was in a pink kaftan and riding a chariot of fire. The Prophet appeared to be shooting out of the guru’s head. Somehow, I got the impression that they were flying away together in a chariot. Guruji looked younger than Maa Myramayi. I also recognized the young yoga instructor in the group of devotees. He looked different in a white kurta. I have never been able to figure out if she is closer to the young instructor or to Guruji.

  ‘They were all chanting a prayer when the guru asked them to start the group meditation. There was pin-drop silence, so much so that I was afraid to move. As I still had to prepare the milk, I closed the kitchen door and stirred it in a huge vessel I had borrowed from Elisheba.

  ‘They meditated for half an hour, during which I had to move noiselessly. When the guru gave the signal that the meditation was over, there was a question-and-answer session. All the questions were asked by Maa Myramayi in English, such as: “Guruji, what is happiness—ananda; what is the meaning of life; what are we all looking for…” and many more. This lasted for twenty minutes and I am not sure how many understood what she was saying. It was just like her Torah classes, about which my husband had told me. But Guruji translated the questions and answered them in English and Hindi.

  ‘This was followed by bhajan-singing with harmonium and tabla for another ten minutes. By then, the fruit and milk were ready. Myra came into the kitchen with some women, took them and served them to the satsangis, making the first offering to Guruji. She had kept aside a silver plate and an ornate glass for him. The rest had disposable paper plates and cups.

  ‘Myra did not ask me to join them. Maybe she was uncomfortable about me being in the holy presence of the guru.

  ‘I did not understand her behaviour till much later. Even though I was angry, I put away the things, filled garbage bags and washed up. I was hurt and in tears, but wiped my eyes and spitefully picked up the curtain and hung it on the side of the door, so that I could have a good view of what was happening in the drawing room.

  ‘The guru kept sitting as the satsangis started leaving after touching his feet. He blessed them as they bent over his “lotus feet”. I had my eyes glued to the dais, as I did not want to miss seeing Maa Myramayi falling at the guru’s feet. Some of the satsangis lay flat on the floor for his blessings. I wondered what Myra would do.

  ‘But in the blink of an eye, I missed the scene as I bent to pick up a garbage bag. When I turned around, the house was empty. All I could see was the open front door, the colours of the rangoli and the flickering lights of the lamps. Disappointed, I assumed that Myra had gone downstairs with the guru.

  ‘An hour later, I was still waiting in Myra’s house, writing the accounts. Suddenly, I felt there was something amiss. I went to the balcony and called out to the security guard and asked him about the “gori” lady. He said that she was not downstairs, nor had he seen her leave in the guru’s Mercedes. Maybe it was Guruji’s “maya” that they had all disappeared in a split second. I peeped into her bedroom. It was stripped of all her personal belongings. Her backpack was missing. There was nothing there but the stuff we had bought, rented or borrowed. Just a single apple sitting happily on the dining-room table. Maybe it was symbolic. I am not intelligent enough to understand these matters; maybe Ruby could enlighten us about them. Daniyal had told me to charge her properly, as America is often known as the Big Apple. But I got nothing from the deal, neither big apple nor small. It dawned on me that Myra had cleared out and flown off unnoticed in the guru’s chariot.

  ‘The next best thing I could do was to send for Ezra. It was his bright idea to invite single young women to stay at Shalom India Housing Society. Myra had not been interested in any of our nice young men and nobody ever understood a word of her Torah lessons.

  ‘I was always suspicious of Ezra’s intentions when he drove Myra back and forth from the synagogue. Imagine, such a busy man had time for her! Good he stopped all that nonsense. I had half a mind to warn Sigaut about his interest in Myra. Now the bird has flown and how…’

  When Salome called Ezra from the security guard’s intercom at the gate, he rushed down in his pyjamas. He was stupefied that Myra had left without a word of farewell. She had been his responsibility so he had to inform the police. What a mess!

  The police carried out an investigation, but there was no trace of Myra. Nor had she taken a flight back to America. The police closed the file with a note, which stated, ‘Disappeared into India.’

  That night, as Salome helped Ezra switch off the lights and close Juliet’s apartment, A-107, a holy number according to Maa Myramayi, she felt that Prophet Elijah was smiling down at Ezra mischievously.

  3

  Ruby

  AT A HANUKKAH party at Shalom India Housing Society, Ruby was conscious of Lebana of Apartment A-110 watching her. Her look was a little too amorous for Ruby’s comfort. Even while her husband Gershom was alive she was used to attention from men, but not women. It annoyed her.

  It had been a pleasant evening but Lebana disturbed her. She was feeling a little dizzy when Lebana’s niece Yael offered her a plate of food. She thanked her and sat down with the teenagers of the society. They wanted her to start a music class in the community hall of Shalom India Housing Society. Smiling graciously, she left her plate on an empty chair, refused the offer and went towards the Hanukkah tree installed between Block A and B. She was fond of Yael, as Yael resembled her married daughter who lived in Canada, so she had packed a small bottle of perfume in a shimmering cloth bag with Yael’s name inscribed on it. She left it in a basket near the tree and turned around only to find herself face to face with Lebana. As Lebana congratulated her for looking so elegant, her eyes drilled holes into Ruby’s cleavage.

  Ruby smirked. Lebana looked drab, like a 1950s Hindi film star, in an outdated lemon-yellow salwar kameez suit with violet sprays and an embroidered smock, worn with a net dupatta. She tried to smile as Lebana complimented her on her sari, her string of pearls and the colour of her lipstick. But her jaw dropped as the other woman closed her eyes, took a deep breath and asked, ‘Which perfume are you wearing, Lily of the Valley?’

  Ruby felt even more uncomfortable. She patted her hair, smiled and said, ‘No, this is just an ordinary eau de toilette.’

  ‘Ah! You speak French?’ said Lebana. ‘When I was in school, I studied French as a second language. I was good at languages. In fact, I always dreamt of going to Paris. Beautiful city. I saw it on a travel show on television. Have you been there? I cannot tra
vel. Family responsibilities, you know…’

  Ruby saw that her eyes were wet as she glanced at her widowed sister Abigail and Abigail’s daughter Yael.

  Lebana did not seem to notice that Ruby was being brusque when she said, ‘No, I have not been to Paris. Yes, once when Gershom was alive, we had a stopover there … you know my daughter lives in Canada.’

  ‘Did you see the Eiffel Tower?’ Lebana leant towards Ruby, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  ‘No.’

  Lebana persisted. ‘And your daughter, does she speak French?’

  Ruby shook her head and touched her temples. Lebana was giving her a headache.

  Lebana immediately swung into action. Asking Ruby if she had a headache, she forced her to sit down, stood behind her and lightly massaged the back of her neck.

  To Ruby’s embarrassment, all eyes turned to them.

  Ruby stood up, saying, ‘I am fine, just a little tired.’

  It was then that Lebana said something, which often came back to Ruby like a warning. She held Ruby’s hands, looked deep into her eyes and said, ‘You know, I am a trained nurse and can give you a very good massage. In the hospital where I worked, I was known for curing migraines. So, whenever you have a headache, call me…’

  Aghast, Ruby noticed that while Lebana was talking about the massage, her hands were moving sensuously in the air, as though they were touching her body. She shivered, wondering if Lebana was a lesbian. She had heard about them, but never met one.

  Ruby wondered if Abigail and Lebana…?

  Her suspicions grew stronger when, a few months later, Abigail suddenly fell sick. She had high fever, nightmares and delirium. She kept thinking that a two-headed scorpion was attacking her. Night after night, she would wake up screaming and only calm down after Lebana gave her a sedative.

  It was then that Lebana remembered that Ruby sometimes divined dreams and phoned her. ‘For the last few nights, my sister Abigail has been having frightening dreams. I know you analyse dreams. Can you please help us?’