Soon Prema takes complete charge of the house. Quickly learning the intricacies of the clothes-dryer, dishwasher and vacuum-cleaner, she sets about cleaning the house with the earnestness of an exorcist trying to dislodge demons.
One afternoon, after a frenetic bout of cleaning, she digs out a couple of incense sticks from her suitcase and lights them in the drawing room. Lazy curlicues of smoke rise, spreading the fragrance of sandalwood. Then all hell breaks loose.
A smoke-detector in the hallway begins to tweet, and then another joins in, creating an infernal cacophony. Prema stands paralysed, her mind numb. Then she hears heavy footsteps racing up from the basement.
– What’s happening? says Joe.
He throws the offending joss-sticks into the kitchen sink and turns on the exhaust. The smoke-detectors fall silent, and Prema feels a rush of affection for Joe.
– Thank you so much. I just didn’t know what to do.
– Lady, if you really want to play with fireworks, do it in the park down the road, OK?
When Shyam returns from work, Prema recounts her escapade.
– Where did you find a matchbox to light those damn things?
– I’ve been on the look out ever since I came. Yesterday, when I was dusting the furniture I found a cigarette-lighter wedged in the side of the loveseat.â€
– Funny, neither Shilpa nor I smoke.
– Shyam, I’ve been looking for an electric iron, too. I’d like to wear pressed clothes even if you and Shilpa don’t care to.
– Point taken. We’ll buy one today. Anyways, it’s time I got you some winter clothes.
Later, they drive down to a nearby mall. The trees along the way are bare; yellow and orange pools have collected on the ground as if the trees have sprung a leak.
– Is everything OK between you and Shilpa?
– Why do you ask? Of course everything is OK!
– Things don’t seem the same. Shilpa has become so ….so remote.
–Mom, it’s your imagination. Life can be very stressful for immigrants. Besides, even when we were living India, you never quite liked Shilpa just because she comes from a different province.
– You know that’s nonsense, says Prema.
At the store, they pick up a coat, gloves and snow-boots, all from a section marked ‘Clearance’. Unable to find an iron there, Shyam, wheels the cart to the aisle which carries small appliances. To his mother’s wonderment, he homes in unerringly on the cheapest one.
A few days later, it snows for the first time. It starts off gently like a shower of jasmine petals but soon turns into an uproarious maelstrom. Prema, who’s all alone in the house, shuffles timorously to the window to take a peek: the entire neighbourhood is being submerged in drifts of fleece.
In the afternoon, the sky clears as if by magic and sunlight spills like molten gold on to the landscape. Prema puts on her winter gear and ventures out into the yard. Her legs sink almost knee-deep in the snow. She pulls out her gloves and scoops up handfuls of snow to make a snowball. Feeling shy all of a sudden she tosses the ball away and returns indoors – happy as a child.
In the days that follow there are a few flurries and some rain – but hardly any snow. Prema has a sneaking feeling that she’ll never get to see a white Christmas.
One afternoon, when Prema is single-mindedly pressing clothes, the door bell rings. Setting the iron down on its rump, she goes to open the door. There’s a young white male standing at the doorstep. Prema sees a red pick-up idling in the driveway.
– I’ve come for Shilpa, he says.
He’s unshaven and reeks of nicotine. His eyes are sapphire blue.
– She should’ve been ready by now. Let me go up and see.
Upstairs, Shilpa’s fast asleep. Prema doesn’t have the heart to wake her. She creeps back downstairs
–Shilpa’s resting. She will not be able to come to work.
The young man leaves, looking peeved. The truck backs out with a roar and races away.
Prema returns to her ironing; however much she presses, sometimes it isn’t easy to flatten all the wrinkles.
When Shilpa emerges from her room in the afternoon, she’s cross.
– I wish you had wakened me, she says.
– Shilpa, this is your first pregnancy. You must be careful, child.
– I know. But I don’t like losing a day’s pay.
– Why? Don’t you have sick leave, or something?
– No work, no pay. It’s as simple as that.
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