To my mother’s dismay, I continued to resist their efforts to make me adopt their Sikh identity as well. I always wondered why it was such a big deal to them. After all, it was just another label, one among many, and unfortunately for my parents, it didn’t fit too well in my life. And so every Saturday morning, after a night of partying, I was thrust back into reality with a loud mother who complained relentlessly about my behaviour.
Accepting my fate that morning, I finally pushed myself off the floor and stepped into the bathroom to freshen up. I examined my reflection in the mirror. I was happy with my looks and compliments were never scarce, in fact quite abundant. I was thankful to my parents for that much. I got my large light-brown eyes from my mother and my striking jawline and smile from my father. Whenever I smiled, someone would tell me how much I resembled him.
“Oh my dear, just like her father. Mirror image,” I would hear the group of Punjabi women exclaim whenever they managed to corner me at a family gathering.
I must admit that being reminded of how much I resembled my father did not sit well with me any more. Once upon a time, I would have been overjoyed to receive such a compliment. I would have been proud to carry on any attributes that remotely resembled the strong, dedicated father I knew. Things, however, were different now. And just as our relationship had changed, so too had my level of pride.
At this moment, however, I wasn’t too proud of myself either. As I lowered my gaze, I saw a bright, reddish mark on my neck. “Oh shit . . . a hickey! Shit, it can’t be! Mom’s gonna kill me!”
Before I could figure out how to cover the damn thing, my phone rang. I ran to answer it. It was Carrie.
“Carrie, thank god! Girl, I have a hickey! How do I get rid of it? I don’t even remember getting one!”
“Chill out, Esha!” she laughed. “It’s not a hickey, or at least I don’t think it is, because I never saw you with anyone. It’s probably a bruise.”
“A bruise? From what?”
“You honestly don’t remember? Girlfriend, you decked Skanky Rachel, then she lunged at you.”
“What? Oh shit,” I cried, trying to remember the details.
“You caught her with Johnny. Sorry about that, by the way, but I guess everyone was a tad overboard last night. It was a hell of a party. We gotta hand it to Tiffany. She may be an annoying little rich twit, but she can still throw some crazy parties.”
“Yeah, it was pretty insane. But . . . Johnny . . . I’m sorta remembering it, but everything’s still fuzzy. Maybe it’ll get sorted out later. I just got a crazy headache right now. Gonna go nurse it. I’ll catch you later?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just called to remind you of tonight’s plan. We’re meeting at Mandy’s later then heading to the bonfire. Don’t be late!”
“Sounds good, take care,” I replied, hanging up.
Damn that Skanky Rachel. She really couldn’t keep her hands off any guy. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten into it with her, but Johnny had surprised me even more. I’d really thought we had something going, but I guessed I’d been wrong. Though it was funny to think that I must have bruised up Skanky Rachel; funny enough to at least put me in a better mood.
I finally managed to come downstairs while the aroma of my mother’s cooking was still fresh in the air.
“It’s about time, Esha. Are you not hungry?”
“Famished,” I replied, quickly loading up my plate with mom’s homemade yogurt and Indian parotas, which were really just fatter versions of roti jacked up with a lot of margarine. Nothing cured a hangover like my mother’s parotas.
“Esha, my child, you must really not stay out so late at night,” she began. She was warming up to lecture me again. I thought it best to stop her before she got too far.
“Mother, please. Let’s not start this again, okay? I just graduated, so I went out to celebrate a little with friends. I did nothing wrong, so please don’t grill me. Not today,” I pleaded.
“Fine then, if not safeguarding your future, let’s talk about something else,” she said, sounding annoyed.
“Good. Glad to hear you say that. So tell me, what’s on your mind, mother dearest?” I asked between mouthfuls.
“You and your father.”
Oh, how I dreaded this topic, and my loud sigh reflected that. I would rather have listened to another lecture on partying too late. “Mom, you know I have nothing more to say on that subject.”
“But I do, Esha. He is your father, and today we are going to discuss it,” she said, sounding very adamant. I opened my mouth to object, but she held up a hand and continued. “He has worked hard his entire life so that he can give you a life without complaints. He deserves your respect, and I wish that you would show him some.”
“But that’s just it, Mom. I do have complaints against him. Many complaints! He isn’t the man I grew up thinking he was. We’ve lived in ignorance. I’ve lived in ignorance. If I hadn’t found that picture, I probably would have continued to live in ignorance. It’s humiliating, he’s humiliating!”
“Esha! Watch your language! He is your father! Like it or not, that is the truth!”
“No! That is not the truth!” I slammed my fists on the table as I stood up. The anger was rising within me. I could barely control my voice. Just thinking about it made my palms sweaty, my insides jittery. This always happened, and she just could not let it go. Today I had to let my thoughts out. I could not continue with the stress of burying my true feelings. If she insisted on bringing up this subject, then today I was going to give her what she wanted. “The truth, Mother, is something that you know very well, and that I had to find out by sheer coincidence. Apparently, you didn’t find it necessary to fill me in on Daddy’s little secret.”
“Watch what you say!”
“Why? Huh? Why, Mom? What difference does it make? The truth is still what it is. My father still has another family!” I spat the words out. It was revolting to think about, let alone to say it out loud. “So really, it doesn’t matter what I say or how I say it. In fact, let’s just put it out there today. He has us here, while he keeps a wife and son in India! And what drives me insane is that you don’t object to it. Why is that? Why are you quiet about his indecency? I don’t understand why Indian women lack all self-respect!”
Ouch. There it was. Clearly, I had finally managed to hurt my mother’s feelings with my last remarks. Her eyes watered, and she turned away from me. I regretted that remark the moment I let it escape my lips. As much as it pained me to think about what my father had done, a part of me still felt sorry for my mother.
“Esha, enough is enough.” She spoke ever so softly now. “If you knew the whole truth, you would not feel this way. He . . .” She quickly cut herself off, as if she had said something she did not intend.
“What are you talking about? What do you mean by ‘if you knew the whole truth’?” Suddenly my mom’s gaze was concentrated on her hands, and I could see that she was struggling with her thoughts. Yet I still could not calm my own anger. Discussing my father was an explosive issue for me. “I don’t know if I can hear any more. Just leave it alone.”
“This you must, Esha. This you must.” Her voice was almost as low as a whisper now, but she continued. “I have been