And Laughter Fell From the Sky Read online

  And Laughter Fell from the Sky

  JYOTSNA SREENIVASAN

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Jyotsna Sreenivasan

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  On a humid Friday afternoon in August, twenty-four-year-old Abhay Setty sat cross-legged on the grass in front of the Fox and Hound restaurant and bar in the tired college town of Kent, Ohio. He took occasional bites of a floppy slice of pizza while writing in a little notebook balanced on one knee. Next to him on the grass was a stack of books, the top one open, at which he occasionally glanced as he wrote. He didn’t want to be inside the noisy, dim bar, and Kent seemed not to have heard of outdoor dining. A steady stream of cars drove past on the five-lane highway. Across the highway, at the entrance to campus, was a metal archway, spelling out KENT STATE UNIVERSITY in blue letters. The campus itself was quiet. It was happy hour time, which to Abhay was a misnomer, because it seemed the saddest part of the day. The air was heavy and still.

  A gleam of light at the corner of his eye caused him to look up from his notebook. A gold Lexus crossed the intersection and turned into the Starbucks parking lot. A young woman in a tan pantsuit stepped out of the car, slammed the door, and stood scanning the air around her, as though not sure what to do next.

  He blinked with recognition. Rasika? His friend Pramod’s older sister? She was the last person he expected to see in Kent. They’d both gone to college at Kent State, but she’d graduated three years ago. She lived with her parents in Fairlawn, a wealthy suburb of Akron. He hadn’t seen her since she’d graduated from college. She worked in banking, last he’d heard. Why would she bother to drive all the way across Akron to show up in Kent?

  For a second he wondered whether to stay out of sight so she wouldn’t notice him. Maybe she was meeting someone. But she looked lost, standing there on the street corner—not like someone who had plans. He closed his notebook, stood up, and waved his arms above his head. “Rasika!”

  She turned toward the sound of his voice. Even from across the street he could see that she was still breathtakingly beautiful. She was tall and slim. Her skin was a creamy tan, and her black, thick hair was combed neatly into a gold barrette at the base of her neck.

  “Rasika!” he shouted again.

  She spotted him and waved back.

  Abhay stood there and enjoyed the spectacle of her crossing the street and strolling over to him in her sleek pumps and trim work attire. A silky melon-colored blouse peeked from her suit jacket. There was nothing remarkable about the way she walked, except she was perfectly aligned without seeming to make the effort, her head floating on her neck, her shoulders floating over her hips. She looked completely out of place in this university town where no one bothered to dress up.

  “You’re back in town!” She stopped beside him and gave him a brilliant smile. Normally, Abhay liked natural women, yet on Rasika, the tinge of red on her lips, the twinkle of diamonds in her ears, and the faint scent of a floral perfume all worked together to create a stunning whole. She took her sunglasses off using the balls of her fingers, to keep her manicured nails out of the way, and raised her arched eyebrows. “My mom mentioned that you were home.”

  “I guess my mom told all her friends.” He suddenly felt awkward and sloppy, standing next to this elegant woman. He bent down to pick up his paper plate of pizza, and in the process dropped his pen. He kneeled down, closed the book he’d been reading—an orange-covered volume titled Peak Oil Survival—gathered up his things, and stuffed them all into his backpack.

  “Your mother really missed you,” Rasika said.

  “Yeah.” He stood back up, flushed. “That’s one reason I came home. To see her.”

  “I could never do what you did—go somewhere my parents didn’t approve of, and stay there for so long. My mother would be so worried, and I can’t even imagine what my father would do. He’d probably feel ill because he missed me so much.”

  “Sounds like your parents are really dependent on you.”

  “It makes my dad happy to have me around.” She slipped her jacket off, folded it neatly over her arm, and plucked at the front of her sleeveless blouse. “God, it’s still muggy, and it’s after five.”

  Abhay dragged his eyes away from her bare shoulders. Rasika scratched her neck delicately with her glossy pink fingernails. The sun glared off the red and white Papa John’s pizza sign across the side street. They heard a shout, and a sound of breaking glass, probably from one of the frat houses down the street.

  “What’re you doing in Kent, anyway?” he asked.

  “I just wanted to get away.” She adjusted the handle of her purse on her shoulder.

  “From what? Your high-paying job? Your parents who love you too much?”

  “From everything.”

  “So you came to Kent to be bohemian or something?” He laughed, trying to be casual at seeing her again. He wasn’t even sure what emotions he was trying to hide.

  Behind her on the highway the light changed to green, and an old, dented Mustang from the 1970s lumbered by, its paint scratched and faded.

  “Why is that funny?” she asked. “You grew up in Kent, so it’s normal for you. I’m in Fairlawn, so Kent is different from my normal life. For you, maybe all of Ohio is too bourgeois.”

  He was surprised she’d used, or even knew, that word. He couldn’t read her expression, and felt himself growing hot. Why was he baiting her? They weren’t kids anymore. He used to be best friends with her younger brother Pramod. Rasika was a year older, but Pramod was always threatening to skip a grade and catch up to her. Abhay and Pramod had loved teasing Rasika: tripping her up with math puzzles, asking her silly riddles. He’d been amazed at her stupidity. She’d never seemed to catch on.

  Now he wondered if she really was dense, or if she’d just enjoyed seeing them collapse into giggles. They were such geeks back then. He hadn’t even realized she was beautiful until he was in college. Rasika probably still thought of him as Pramod’s little friend.

  “So, were you planning to go in?” She waved her sunglasses at the front door of the Fox and Hound. The place was built with heavy tan brick, steep roofline, and few windows: a suburban American version of an old English tavern.

  “I need to get home.”

  “Come on. It’s my treat.” Rasika stepped toward the doorway.

  He didn’t want to reveal his poverty. He’d signed on with a temp agency, and his first paycheck was a week away. His mother had slipped him a twenty before he left the house this evening, and after buying the pizza, he was down to seventeen dollars and some coins, which needed to last until his paycheck.

  “I’m not hungry,” he lied.

  “Just sit with me, then. I don’t feel like being alone right now.”

  He hesitated. She smiled at him. “Why not?” he said, and held the door open for her.

  At the hostess stand, Rasika stood very still and tall.

  “What’re you looking at?” he whispered.

  “Those girls over there.”

  He followed her
glance to a nearby table. Two young women in tank tops sat with two muscled guys, one wearing a Cleveland Cavaliers cap. One girl, whose black scoop-neck shirt showed a lot of cleavage, had a wide, red-splotched face and a large nose. Her eyes crinkled almost shut whenever she smiled.

  “That girl in the black thinks she’s beautiful,” Rasika said.

  “How can you tell?”

  “She’s giggling with those guys and running her hands through her hair.”

  “Yeah?” Abhay noticed the girl did keep fluffing up the top of her long hair and letting it fall to the other side. The boys seemed transfixed.

  “The way you present yourself is so important,” Rasika said. “Why doesn’t that girl wear some makeup? At least a light concealing cream.”

  “She’s captivating them despite being ugly,” Abhay observed.

  Rasika narrowed her eyes at the girl. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  As the hostess led them to their table, Abhay followed Rasika and enjoyed watching her hips move as she walked. They were seated at a booth near a window overlooking the parking lot. The hostess slid a basket of popcorn onto the table.

  “What would you say about my looks?” As soon as he asked this, he regretted it. He didn’t really want to hear that he was too short, or not muscular enough, to suit her taste.

  She settled her purse, a firm bag with tan and brown checks, squarely on the bench next to her, as though it were another guest. “You’re really very handsome.” Her gaze was more scientific than admiring. “Strong jawline. Straight nose. Beautiful eyes. You’re short but fit, and your shoulders are broad. Why not make the most of it? It’s like you’re trying to hide your good looks with that tie-dyed T-shirt, and that little pigtail, or whatever it is. How hard could it be to get a decent haircut and wear a real shirt?”

  He put his hand up to his head and stroked the tiny braided pigtail at the nape of his neck. He was pleased with her positive opinion. “Aren’t you worried about insulting me?” he asked, to cover up his pleasure.

  “You asked. Plus, you’re an old pal. You don’t take me seriously.”

  The waiter, a tall blond man, deposited two glasses of ice water on the table.

  “So, how’re you doing?” Abhay changed the subject. “How’s life?”

  “Good.” She raked a strand of hair off her forehead with her perfect fingernails.

  “You work at a bank, right?”

  “I’m a junior commercial loan officer with Ohio West Bank.”

  “I guess you make a decent amount of money.” He opened his menu as a way to take his eyes off her.

  “Everyone thinks I’m rolling in cash because I work at a bank, but banking salaries aren’t that high. If I were smarter, I’d’ve become a doctor or a software engineer. But I’m doing OK. I have plenty of money to spend on myself.” She put her elbows on the table, intertwined her fingers, and set her chin on the shelf of her hands.

  “You live with your parents, so that saves money.”

  “That’s what a good Indian girl is supposed to do, right? Why bother getting my own place when my job is so close to my parents’ house?”

  The pictures of nachos, potato skins, and cheddar cheese soup made his mouth water. The piece of pizza had just whetted his appetite. Although she had offered to pay, he’d rather be hungry than sponge off Rasika. He closed his menu and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “So your life is settled.”

  She took her elbows off the table and sat back. “Of course not. I’m not married. Hopefully soon.” She rubbed a palm over her forearm. “Someone’s coming to see me tomorrow.”

  “You mean, someone your parents have invited?”

  She nodded and held out a hand to examine her fingernails.

  “You want an arranged marriage?”

  “Of course.”

  “You don’t seem terribly excited.”

  “Well, I am.” She tugged up the shoulders of her blouse, although it wasn’t low-cut at all.

  “Why would you want that kind of marriage?”

  “It’s the next step in my life. I don’t want to be unconventional, like you.”

  “Having an arranged marriage is not exactly conventional in the U.S.”

  “Come on, Abhay. It’s expected in my family. Your family, too. You know that.”

  “You want to be conventional within the context of your unique, unconventional situation.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You’re an Indian-American woman at the beginning of a new millennium. You’re in a unique situation. There’s no convention for you to fit into. You have to create yourself.”

  Rasika shook her head. “I just need to do what my parents want me to do, and everything’ll be fine.”

  “So you feel the need to fit into their image of who you’re supposed to be?”

  Rasika rolled her eyes. “You don’t understand, Abhay.”

  The waiter approached them, and Abhay pushed his menu to the edge of the table. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m going to have some wine,” Rasika said.

  Abhay decided it would be awkward to sit here watching Rasika drink. “I’ll have a beer,” he told the waiter. He’d just be extra frugal for the rest of the week.

  When the drinks arrived, Rasika licked the edge of her wineglass. “I learned it on the Internet. You lick the edge of your glass before taking a sip, and you don’t leave a lipstick print.” She giggled, and he saw a glimpse of her younger self, Pramod’s silly sister.

  “So, an eligible bachelor is coming to visit.” He raised one eyebrow. He had mastered this art when he was a child, in order to annoy his mother, and it still sometimes came in handy.

  “He’s related somehow to my father’s cousin’s wife, so that’s how we found out about him. I liked his photo, and he liked mine, we talked, and we invited him to visit.”

  “Are you happy about it?”

  “My parents are happy.” She picked up one kernel of popcorn with the tips of her fingers and shook it slightly, as though to remove any impurities before eating it. “They think I’m getting too old to be single.”

  “You’re, what, twenty-five?”

  “My horoscope says I should get married before twenty-six.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “January.” She gazed up at the ceiling.

  Her eyes were shaped like half-moons. To take his gaze away from her face, he lifted his mug of beer and took a long swallow. “You don’t believe in horoscopes, do you? I mean, we’re in the twenty-first century. It’s 2007. Why bother with that kind of thing?”

  She shrugged. “It’s important to my parents.”

  “You seem ambivalent. Is that why you wanted to get away this evening? To think about things?”

  “No. I’m not ambivalent.”

  Abhay twisted his thin leather bracelet, a souvenir from the commune, around his wrist. He wondered what she really wanted. He wondered if she even knew. “What’s the guy like?”

  “He has a bachelor’s degree in computer software engineering and an MBA. He’s from New Jersey, but he’s willing to relocate here.”

  “Sounds like you’re ready to hire him.”

  “Ha, ha. You know those are the kinds of things Indian parents care about.”

  “What about you? Have you actually spoken to him? Do you know anything about him?”

  “Of course I’ve spoken to him. My parents have spoken to him and his parents. We’ve had the horoscopes matched. You know, the works.” She ran a finger over the edge of her glass. “He’s quite handsome.” She smiled faintly. “He’s tall, and he has a relaxed look. At least, that’s what I got from his picture. I don’t want to marry the usual Indian-American guy—short and scrawny, intellectually brilliant, and with no social skills. Someone who makes a lot of money but doesn’t know how to spend it.”

  “You don’t want to marry a nerd, in other words.” Abhay wondered if Rasika put him in the category of the “usual Indian-American guy.” Was he still a nerd? He was short
but not scrawny. He prided himself on his intellectual brilliance, but he wasn’t someone who would ever make a lot of money. “Listen. You don’t have to go through with this. You can make your own decisions.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t know why I told you in the first place.” She lifted her glass.

  In the middle of the room, a waiter pushed three tables together. A dozen overweight, middle-aged people dragged out chairs, seated themselves, and started shouting out drink orders.

  Rasika turned her shoulder against the noisy group and put her glass down. “Tell me about your—where you were.” She brightened her face with a smile and held up both hands, as though ready to catch whatever he would tell her. “What was it like?”

  What could he say about the last year of his life? That he’d learned to cook a meal for thirty people, make a straw-bale house, and endure hours of meetings in order to reach a consensus for any little thing? That he’d had what he assumed was his first long-term, serious relationship with a woman, and his assumption had proven false? That his illusions of the life he thought he was going to live had been shattered, and he had no idea what to do now?

  “You lived on a kind of farm, right?” she asked. “Where was it again?”

  “West Virginia. It was a commune.”

  “How could it be a commune? We’re not a Communist country.”

  Usually, once he brought up this word, Indians turned away and asked him no more. His parents had only come to visit him once at Rising Star, during one of the “outreach days,” when all community members were properly clothed. Abhay remembered this about Rasika: she’d ask questions where other people were not curious. Sometimes her questions made her seem slow, but at least she was interested.

  “A commune’s a group of unrelated people living together who share labor and resources,” he said. “You can have a commune anywhere.”

  “Don’t you like having your own space and your own things?”

  “We each had our own private room, where we slept and kept our personal stuff. But we shared everything else: cars, food, a stereo system, tools. Even clothes. There was a room where you could go and get something to wear.”