It rained last night. But not today. It had been a typical day in the San Francisco Bay Area, sunny and warm. No rain in the forecast for the next twenty-four hours. The recent months had brought in much needed rain in California, and the drought-stricken land couldn’t handle it. Flooding and mudslides had caused damages in many areas throughout the Golden State.
Was the drought over? Who knew? The trees and the grass, the meadows and the hills couldn’t be happier. They turned green again. Almost like beautiful Asian green!
Sam had been packing all day for his long journey home to Asia, where the trees and the grass were always green—the Land of the Monsoons. He wasn’t a nature freak, nor did he have the time to obsess over it. However, every now and then the little free time he spent in the solarium-style living room in his beautiful Palo Alto home, he enjoyed looking at the leaves on the trees as they swayed in the soft breeze, especially when they were this green. He found it calming. Perhaps these trees whose names he didn’t know, reminded him of his childhood home in a faraway land?
Pacing around the house in shorts, T-shirt, and slippers, his eyes glanced at the clock in the hallway. It read 2:55 p.m. Nora would be here around six, he had time. He walked over to his bedroom to finish packing. Two large suitcases lay flat open on the soft, freshly-scented carpet. A few items on the table also needed to go inside a suitcase. He grabbed the long checklist from the bed and found to his delight that the most items had already been checked. He placed a couple of last-minute items in one of the suitcases: two containers of mosquito repellent, a stack of earplugs in a plastic container to last for months, and an all-in-one AC/DC converter for all his electronic devices.
He zipped the suitcases and locked them. Then he picked up the carry-on next that stood on wheels by the dresser and quickly peeked inside. It looked fine as well: a spare set of clothes, a couple of underwear, a pair of socks, slippers, toiletries, a face towel, and a new Architectural Engineering book on building modern bridges, purchased recently from Amazon. He planned to read it on the plane.
Feeling satisfied with his packing and leaving some room in the carry-on, he left it unlocked. Nora would recheck it and stock some snacks she believed he needed. She had been doing that for years for all those international trips he took for business. This, however, was not a business trip and had the potential to change the direction of his life again, and forever. He looked forward to the challenges just the same, with a tint of fear of the unknown hanging over his shoulders.
America didn’t feel like home anymore. Something had changed. Almost every week, new laws were being passed, immigration laws in particular. Lately, he’d been plagued by eerie feelings that people were looking at him as if they knew his origin and they weren’t fond of people like him anymore. And this country would be a better place without his sort. He was unsure if it was his own fickle mind playing the tricks, and it probably did at times. But he couldn’t help the way he felt.
The phone rang.
“Hello, Zaid,” he answered. His CTO and friend Zaid Emrani was calling. Zaid would run the company as the acting CEO while Sam explored business prospects in Asia.
“Hello, Brother, how are you?” Zaid called him brother in personal interactions.
“I’m fine. Have been packing all day.”
“Oh good,” he said. “Did you go through your checklist?”
“Of course, you know me.” Sam chuckled.
“Listen friend, don’t you worry too much about anything now. We’re here and will take good care of the business and everything else.”
“I know, and I really appreciate that,” Sam sounded humble.
“You go on and see how it’s like over there, spend some time with family. If things feel good, then let your heart decide what to do next. Otherwise, we’re all here and no matter what happens, you won’t be alone. You understand?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Zaid.”
Feeling like talking some more, he said, “Did you hear about an incident with my friend Surinder that you met at a party once in San Francisco?”
“Some Indian software guy?”
“Yeah.”
“What about him?”
“He lives in Orange County, on the south side. A few days ago, someone trashed his backyard with rotten fruit and other things. Similar happened a while back when on a Halloween night, the backyard got tainted with rotten pumpkins.”
Zaid began to laugh with elevated curiosity, “Really?”
“Yes, at the time, Surinder also thought that some kids’ pranks or something. This time, there was a note written on a cardboard that said, “Go back to where you came from.”
“Oh, that’s disturbing. The guy is not even a Muslim. Seems like a case of plain and ugly racism. So how’s he taking it?”
“Not well. He is thinking about putting the house up for sale and moving out of that town altogether.”
“I don’t blame him.” Zaid said. “You think, some neighbors?”
“Hmm, it’s hard to tell,” Sam said. “He said that he’s friends with some neighbors.”
“Brother, I won’t keep you long, but something else I wanted to ask or suggest if you don’t mind,” Zaid said.
“Fire away. I won’t mind.”
Hesitatingly, he continued, “You know I think of you as my younger brother and I was thinking maybe you ought to settle down with a nice lady over there, your own kind?”
“Why not, if I meet the right person? And over there, who else will I find but my own kind?” He said.
“True. I just thought a lady from your part of the world may be better for you. You’ve dated a lot of ladies here, but none of them worked out. So I’m just thinking out loud.”
“Thank you so much for caring and thinking of me as a younger brother. It means a lot. I’ll definitely keep an open mind.” Sam paused for a moment and then said, “In my defense, I haven’t been looking for anything serious either.” He laughed.
“It must be getting old?”
“You’re right. Haven’t been out on a date for a long time. Don’t feel like it. Might as well now that I’m leaving, having no personal ties would make it easier.”
Zaid married a lovely American woman and raised a family with her. Through the grapevine Sam came to know that Zaid had to leave behind his sweetheart in Iran when the revolution broke out. And it had been thirty-five years. He met Barbara at college and they became friends. When she offered to help him with a marriage of convenience, they both settled for a real marriage and a life together.
Still staying on Sam’s case a bit longer, Zaid spoke again.
“So what did Nora say?”
“About what?” Sam inquired.
“You going away like this.”
“Nothing much. We haven’t spoken about it in details yet.”
“It’s just that,” Zaid hesitated for a moment, then said, “She is a fine woman who takes good care of you.”
“Yes, she does and I’m truly grateful. She’ll look over my house while I’m gone.”
“You won’t miss her?” he chuckled.
“I’ll miss her like everyone else. We’ve never been an item, you know.”
“Why didn’t you ever… I never understood it, Brother,” he laughed.
“Don’t go there, Bro,” Sam said laughing.
“Okay, Man. So when is the flight?”
“One o’clock in the morning, I think.”
“Is Nora taking you to the airport?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Have a safe flight, Brother, and all the best.”
“Thank you, Zaid. I’ll be in touch.”
≈≈≈
Sam wasn’t a stranger to racism. Sometimes it’s brute and violent, sometimes subtle. As a non-European immigrant, he had done very well, and his early years in cosmopolitan Miami and the later years in the liberal San Francisco Bay Area had been lived well. In college, he made friends with Americans. Women were drawn to his tanned physique, his rich head of hair, and his charming personality.
He ran a successful business, played golf at the country clubs, and wined and dined with beautiful women who hung around the clubs fishing for successful hunks like him. And if his only long-term girlfriend, Jenny didn’t disappear after a four-year relationship, leaving a Dear John letter, he could’ve married her and had kids grown up by now. He even ordered the engagement ring. He valued friendships with all kinds of people and his architectural engineering firm in San Francisco bore the testimony—it employed people from various backgrounds and nationalities.
But what happened a couple of months ago, made a deep impression on him. While having a quiet drink at a bar and grill place out of state, he heard some drunks strongly vocalize against Muslims and Mexicans. That they stood hundred percent behind the president on that, they’d said. Sam never cared for drunkards and avoided them in any situation if he could.
“We want no frigging Moslem terrorists living here and no beaners (he meant the Mexicans) either.” Someone said, “God bless America,” pounding their glasses on the table and stomping their feet on the carpet. Their voices got louder and abhorrence heightened as they consumed more alcohol.
He might not have been a practicing Muslim and no one here knew what he was, but their comments were disconcerting and deeply personal. These people were talking about someone like him, a man of color who could resemble an Arab, a Mexican, and a Native American to a racist, and that was enough to be harassed by such people.
Sam looked at the bartender, who was thinking what to do. The place wasn’t busy and people sat scattered around, so the table in question hadn’t yet attracted the attention of others. He knew this was not his battle. He quickly rose to his feet, paid the bartender and left. For a humble and a peaceful man, an experience such as this felt like a slap in the face.
He was not running away from United States due to the fear of what might happen in his adopted home. Perhaps the travel bans on certain Muslim countries, rumors of internment camps for American Muslims, people openly lashing out against Muslims and putting everyone in the category of ‘terrorists’, and occasional attacks on Muslims here and there took away his comfort zone. This certainly didn’t feel like the America he came to thirty years ago.
One night, after watching someone on television lash out at minorities, especially the Muslims, he woke up in the middle of the night to a revelation. A small voice whispered to his soul:
You’re not a refugee. You have a choice. You can go back home.
He grew up in a free country that was still there waiting to embrace him. Building bridges in so many places in the world, he was ready to build one between his current self and his roots that lay deep in that place, in that culture. It was time to give back to his birthplace and the people, and he had a choice to live in the dignity of a first class citizen there.
However, what he’d planned to do was easier said than done.
Could he go home to the place he was now a stranger? Could he even adjust to the climate, congestion, noise, traffic, the corrupt political system, and the culture that had changed since he left? His family still lived there, but he had changed and lived an American life for thirty long years.
And how about his identity anywhere? In the US, he was a man of color with an accent and with a religion that’s now looked down upon by many due to its terrorist associations. No one knew how afraid he was of the terrorists himself let alone befriend or support them, and hoped not to be categorized as the same in the western world, especially in his beloved adopted home, just because he came from a Muslim country and carried a Muslim name. His parents practiced Islam in moderation, but he hardly ever prayed.
In his adopted home, all he wanted was acceptance and be able to feel at ease, hoping that the present government would discourage the hatred toward a certain group, not encourage it. That the racism would be frowned upon, not fortified. He knew it was only a dream, but he still hoped.
Now at fifty and alone, Sam found himself standing at a crossroad asking who am I and what am I doing here?
≈≈≈
The laptop bag lay on the bed as his Sony Vaio charged from the wall socket. Once fully charged, he would put it inside the bag. Sam had been called all kinds of names: neat freak, clean freak, finicky, but he was a man who planned everything and carried out those plans meticulously in his business, wardrobes, and in all aspects of his life with equal importance, and he liked his home tidy and clean at all times. He never paid much attention to what anyone thought of him in this respect or any other. In fact, he always smiled and stayed true to himself.
Nora often compared him with Scott Turner, Tom Hanks’ character from the movie Turner and Hooch, and they both laughed whole-heartedly. She also said that one needed a magnifying glass to find dust on his furniture. Nora loved teasing him every chance she got.
Sam ducked into the large closet to pick up an outfit for the journey. He settled for a navy blue suit, a light blue shirt and a striped tie, and placed them gently on the bed. He started getting ready for shower and stepped inside the large bathtub. His toes slightly quivered at the touch of the ceramic floor. Closing the transparent shower door, he turned on the water knobs—first left, then right reaching for the comfort zone with one hand. Finally he turned the middle lever to the left and the water began pouring down on his firm body.
Within minutes, the entire bathroom fogged up from hot water and the heat brought pleasure to his body and calmed his mind. The water dripped by his sides and trickled down his back with a tingling sensation. Sam enjoyed this pleasure for a minute or two before reaching for the shampoo to wash his thick, gorgeous, dark hair. Men in his family were blessed with bountiful hair. At fifty, he hardly had gray hair on his head and however little there might have been, no one ever saw it. A Korean hairdresser in San Francisco regularly styled and dyed his hair.
After the ritual of shampooing and conditioning, he picked up the soap from the dish and began lathering up his body. Occasionally he used a loofah sponge, but not today. He loved the feel of his strong biceps and admired them. Just like everything else, Sam took great care of his body with regular exercise and sensible diet whenever possible. Losing both parents to heart attacks, he was haunted by a deep-seated paranoia.
Sometimes, he wondered if that was the reason he didn’t fall in love deeply; that he feared if the love failed, his weak heart couldn’t survive. He laughed at the silliness and once even dared to share that with Nora, who almost died of laughter. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said while trying to recover from the stomach-aching giggles.
Despite being a Type-A personality, always on the go, Sam took a longer shower than usual. In fact, he was more relaxed today than ever before. His bathroom resembled that of one seen at a luxury hotel suite: beautiful and organized with folded towels of all sizes neatly placed on the rack. Sadly, he never took time to enjoy the many luxuries that came with the house. The Jacuzzi for example, was hardly ever used.
Leaving the exhaust fan running, he exited his steamed up bathroom removing excess water from his hair with a small towel. He picked up body lotion from the top of the dresser and began to apply it on his body. The skincare was finalized with the application of face cream. Sam stood in front of the mirror and stroked his wet hair as his eyes stopped on a family photo on the wall.
Three children playing with their parents on shallow water of the Bay of Bengal. Sam’s family had gone on a holiday to the beach city on the southern part of the country. The kids screamed at each coming wave and ran away from the water, and then went back again and again. What a sweet memory! Today, he had everything, yet he couldn’t remember the last time he felt joy that was so pure and sweet. Today, the sweet memories of the past gave him mixed feelings of joy and sorrow.
Everything in his life was compartmentalized as if in the past thirty years he’d been going through the motions—getting an education, landing a job, taking care of the family, building a successful business, and all this for what? His adopted country didn’t even feel like home anymore as if the new government had placed a bad taste in his mouth by preaching daily hatred toward people like him.
Suddenly, the phone rang. An overseas call from his sister Laboni.
“Hi, Sis, what are you doing so late?”
“Hi, Bhaiya, I’m so excited to see you after five, long years.”
“Are you doing okay, Sis?”
“Yes, Bhaiya. Taimur is sleeping in the next room. Thought I could sneak in a call to check up on you.”
“I’m glad you did, but you should go back to bed and try to sleep. It’s only a few more days before we meet. You can’t imagine how excited I’m.”
“Okay, Bhaiya, I’ll see you soon. Have a safe flight to Singapore.” She whispered.
“Thank you, Sis. Goodnight.”
Putting the phone down on the table, he looked himself in the mirror again. His strong fit body with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and flat stomach proved that hard work pays off. Sam didn’t look a day over forty, whereas, his younger brother back home was a bit overweight with a visible belly. But his brother, Sajjad was a happily married man.
Sam collected the towels from the bedroom and from the bathroom floor and hung them over the shower door. The housecleaner Rosa would take care of them on Monday. He dried his hair, combed it and put on pants and the shirt on, and then grabbing the phone, walked over to the living room. Flipping through myriads of channels, he found nothing interesting to watch. Sam had no time to watch television, but he hadn’t the faintest idea why he subscribed to so many channels. Perhaps to entertain guests at his occasional house parties, where a group of male guests often gathered around the living room to watch sports.
≈≈≈
In his five-bedroom house, two rooms were almost never used. Beautifully decorated in Feng shui style, they looked like models that could go on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens. In fact, his entire home could be featured on a home or real estate magazine anytime without prior notice. It was hard to tell if anyone lived here. Feng shui was his decorator’s idea that sounded good. “It will be really good for your body and mind,” said his interior decorator.
When at home, Sam spent most of his time working in his design studio, looking over the designs by his talented engineers, sometimes incorporating his ideas. Then there were contracts and various documents to be examined. He also loved studying the designs by some of the famous designers in the world. Photos of magnificent bridges hung from his walls and some of their creators as well.
Twenty years into the business with a measurable success and stability, he didn’t have to work so much, but he couldn’t stay away from the action. He was a perfectionist at heart, and a photo of the genius, Elon Musk on the wall of his home office bore the testimony. Even though Musk had nothing to do with designing bridges, Sam simply admired the man and drew inspirations from him.
First, he entered his home office studio adjacent to his master bedroom. With all the important documents already put away safely, the room looked tidy enough. He closed the large windows and pulled down the shutters. Then, he stepped inside the first unused bedroom down the hall. With a full sized bed, it looked like a room in a five-star hotel. A mint on the pillow could close the deal. Family photos hung from the walls and a couple of hotel-style paintings as well.
During his mother’s one and only visit about ten years ago, this room was used for the last time. Before that, when his brother with his wife and son visited, both of the unused rooms got used. The rooms stood side by side. With nothing to really check, next he entered the room adjacent to the living room that he called his library.
The room had bookcases filled with mostly engineering books, classic prosperity books such as Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill, The Science of Getting Rich by Wallace D. Wattles, and various others, and still today, he read a chapter here and a section there from these books on prosperity that he considered to be his beacon of lights on his road to success. Surprisingly, there were one or two self-help type of books on how to become a better person, or how to be happy, etc., that may have been gifts. He didn’t recall reading any.
Occasionally, he bought travel books during his many trips to foreign countries. His library was furnished with a proper desk, a reading lamp, a phone, and other necessary items. A comfortable desk chair complemented the desk, and a beautiful floor lamp standing right by the comfy lounge chair allowed for happy reading. The personal pictures on the walls or on the desk displayed his present life: friends and office people at parties, or on construction sites in remote locations.
On one side of the room, there was a photo of Muslim pilgrimage to the house of God called Kaaba in the city of Mecca, Saudi Arabia. A gift from a friend. Out of respect, Sam hung nothing next to it.
He didn’t always spend time at his library, so it looked fine. Putting away a couple of books on the shelf, he came out.
The sun was slowly sinking low and as he entered the hallway, the fading sunbeam through the window facing backyard, reflected on a photo of his father holding a hunting gun and wearing a hat. He must’ve been in his thirties. Sam couldn’t remember any stories related to this or the fact that his father went hunting.
Hmm, what did he hunt I wonder? Birds or deer? Folks back home don’t eat rabbits or hare.
In the living room, he briefly turned on the television. A drunk driver violently hit a gas station and there was fire. An attempted burglary at a jewelry store in a mall. Just lovely, he felt a tinge of sarcasm prevailing. He switched to ABC News. A man with an Arabic sounding name was refused to board the plane at LAX (Los Angeles) airport. He was detained for two hours under suspicion. Finally, he was allowed to fly to New York, his destination. Oh boy, that’s all I need.
Frustrated, he changed the channel again. A polar bear tried to catch a seal and failed. The seal quickly dove and swam away. He laughed at the two bulky creatures doing their things. Sam could watch a business channel but didn’t feel like it today. His mind was elsewhere, preoccupied.
Turning the television off, he rose from the sofa and getting a can of Budweiser from the fridge, walked over to the corner of the living room and sat lazily on a lounge chair by the glass window. Sam took a couple of slow sips and put the can down on a coaster on the side table. There were magazines in the rack, but he didn’t feel like reading either. He took out the phone from his pocket and placed it on the table. It was quiet out there. No noisy neighbors. Not even a barking dog. Soon the mid-April day would fall into darkness.
≈≈≈
Two weeks earlier
When Nora arrived, he took her to the kitchen right away and they sat down at the table to eat before the food got cold. He’d brought in Thai food and asked her to join him so he wouldn’t have to eat alone. As they took their servings, the kitchen filled up with the aroma of Thai lemongrass from the soup.
“So glad you could come,” he said pouring her a glass of chardonnay.
“Thanks,” she said and smiled. “It was a good idea. I was feeling bored myself.”
“For some reasons, I hate to eat alone at home. It’s like I’m changing or something.”
“Midlife crisis?” she laughed.
“You think?” he laughed.
“Good that you’re going home to your family. You won’t be eating alone.”
“You’re half right. Only when I’m at home. Once I start setting up my new company in Singapore, I’ll be all alone in a different country.”
“You can always get a girlfriend.” She winked.
“Yeah, sure. In a new place, unknown culture, you want me to get into trouble?” he said. “I better bring you to Asia.”
“That’d be the day.” She chuckled.
“Not forever. Maybe for a short while come and help me setup the office?” he grinned.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes, I’m. My offer is extended to Tiffany if she could come.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think Tiff can come. I’ll definitely give some thoughts to your proposal.” She said as she took a large sip from her wine.
Sam poured her more and they ate in silence for a moment. The Kenmore, French door, stainless steel refrigerator hummed away tirelessly. As he watched his diet after forty, he never ate too much in one sitting and preferred smaller meals. But tonight, he ended up eating more than his shares because he was hungry and the food was delicious. There were no leftovers.
Later, they had coffee in the living room and talked about trivial matters such as about the people they’d dated lately.
“So, what happened with the man you were dating?”
“Got bored,” she laughed out loud.
“An acceptable answer.” He laughed.
“Actually, he was getting too clingy and I’m not interested in hooking up like that.”
“You mean marriage?” he said.
“Yes, I don’t think I want to. At least not just yet. I got tired of having to tell him about everything I did every moment of my life.”
“I don’t blame you. One bad marriage is enough. You don’t need this kind of possessiveness.”
“Yes.” She said as she got her feet up on the sofa, holding a cushion on her lap. “So, how was your last date?” she asked.
“I think it was almost six months ago. Can’t even remember the details.”
“That long?”
“Yes, I must be getting weary of dating. Could be the middle age.” He chuckled.
“It couldn’t be the age because most men after living a stable family life, head for the road wanting to adopt your lifestyle.” She giggled.
“Yeah, that’s true.” He laughed. “I’m trying to get off the road.”
“I guess, we’re never happy with what we have.”
“Guess not.”
“I think ‘I’ll call you’ or ‘you call me’ isn’t cutting it for you anymore,” she said.
“Could you believe that in all those years there were only a few women with whom I had meaningful conversations? They always seemed eager to see my house, know my life’s plans. I kid you not, sometimes it felt like that they were about to prepare the guest lists for the wedding. Not one of them wanted to know me, the person behind the name or where I came from.”
“I believe you. Clinginess is something that’s been going around. People feel so desperate that when they meet someone they kind of like or think is a good catch, they want to tie them down and lock them up.”
“All those years I thought this lifestyle served me well because it was the only area of my life where I could have a fun activity and won’t have to be committed and responsible. Short dates with superficial women were just my things.”
“I think, you want something meaningful now.”
“Don’t know.” He paused for a moment. “Relationships are complex and bothersome. That’s why I haven’t been in one for a long time. I’m afraid of dramas and won’t know how to handle them.”
“If someone steals your heart, would you consider it?” she said.
“I suppose. But this is not on top of my list.”
“And you never get lonely?”
“I do, like tonight for example, I asked you to come over.” He said putting down the coffee cup on the coaster, then putting his feet up on the ottoman. A dog barked in the neighbor’s house across the street. A car passed by, its headlights flashed on Sam’s face through the window.
“But not desperate enough to consider a relationship?” she said.
“That’s correct.” He said looking away from her. “If you didn’t come tonight, I would’ve been okay. I have years of training being alone, Nora.” He said looking doleful.
She didn’t know what to say. An awkwardness filled the room for the moment. She looked at him but he was elsewhere.
“You’re going home. You can now stop the loneliness training. Won’t you agree?”
“I suppose, you’re right. Thank you.”
“Anytime,” she smiled. He smiled and their gazes met.
Reaching for a happier mood he said, “I had an interesting conversation with Zaid in the afternoon.”
“Do tell,” she said.
“There was a part about you and me.”
“Oh? You’ve my full attention.” She moved about on the couch, her hands folded over the cushion on her stomach.
“He said that you’re a fine woman who’s been taking good care of me. Then he asked me why we aren’t an item?”
“OMG!” Nora laughed so hard it shook the sofa. “You and me? In what universe? We’d probably kill each other.”
“Oh, c’mon now.” He shook with laughter. “Please tell me why it’d be so terrible?”
“For one thing, you’re such a neat freak. I’d be scared to touch anything in the house. Everything has to be meticulous and orderly.”
“Okay, what else?”
“You don’t do anything for fun.”
“What? I play golf at the country clubs, go bicycling and wind surfing at the Shoreline Park.”
“And whom do you play golf with? All the business people. It’s nothing more than networking. Biking and wind surfing are exercises just to keep fit. If you were going out into the sea with your own yacht, that’d be fun. And so would be camping and lazily hiking when you feel like it, or hanging out and doing nothing.”
“I’m doing nothing and talking to you right now. But point well taken. I made a note.” He smiled.
“So, when was the last time you actually enjoyed something or did something for fun that wasn’t for business networking?”
“Well, other than parties at my house, probably everything else was for business,” he said.
“Maybe you want to take this opportunity to discover what Sam likes and try to do some of those things?”
“Sounds like a plan.” He thought for a moment, then leaning forward he said, “Actually, I took time off when my mom came for a visit ten years ago, about two months after I’d bought this house. And what fun we had! I took her to Niagara Falls, Las Vegas, Big Sur, Yosemite, Disney World, Grand Canyon, and several other places, you know, to all the touristy places.”
“That sounds great! What places did she like?”
“She loved Big Sur and Las Vegas. I had hard time detaching her from the slot machines in Vegas. She even won a few dollars.” He laughed. “I probably didn’t show you the photos. There are some on the walls in my bedroom. The rest of the pictures maybe in a box. I don’t know.”
“Some nice memories, huh?”
“Yes, they are.”
“And do you know what we did every night at the hotel room after dinner?” he said.
“Tell me.”
“My mom went through the photos and profiles of prospective brides for me. She came prepared with a file of some sort.” He laughed and continued, “And they were all pretty and younger, much younger. This one is from a very good home and has a Master’s in something. That one is a fine singer and is also from a good home.”
“How cute! So the marriages are arranged?”
“In most cases, yes. Now-a-days, young people tend to date and prefer marrying someone after getting to know them. In the end, however, parents’ approvals are still needed.”
“Wow! Can’t imagine marrying someone without knowing them. Even then, our marriages don’t last.”
“You may find it hard to believe, but the arranged marriages last a lifetime. At least they did when I was there.” He smiled.
“Amazing!” She said.
“Sam, I’m often curious as to why you bought such a large home for just one person? I mean, this is lovely and all.” She said scanning his magnificent home.
“Yes, I love it too. Thanks. I like my privacy and peace and quiet.”
“You do.”
Sam continued, “So when I saw the house, I immediately fell in love with it. And luck would have it, I got an unbelievable deal. I hoped that my mother would share her time between here and back home, and she would’ve if I got married,” he smiled.
“I guess, subconsciously you thought of having a family someday?” she said.
“Perhaps.”
“Who decorated the house?”
“There was this Indian lady, an interior decorator, who came with the realtor. I think they worked together. She too, gave me a good deal.”
“She sure did a great job!” she said.
“Yes, I think so too,” he said.
≈≈≈
He smiled after rerunning the mind movie of his time with Nora that day. There was no question about it, he’d terribly miss her, his best friend of eight years.
Gazing out through the glass, he thought the trees indeed looked pretty today. The courtesy of the recent rains. Sam felt a sudden surge of childhood memories come rushing back to him as though a wormhole had opened up and sucked him in and threw him into the distant past. The picture of his family home in South Asia came alive.
Their home was surrounded by fruit trees: mangoes, berries, jackfruit, banana, coconut, and more. There was a small garden and green lawns. He remembered as a little boy, how he used to wait for his father standing by the window on a rainy day watching the leaves dance on the trees and the tiny birds hopping from branch to branch looking for shelters from the rain. Other times, he would be in the backyard playing with his siblings or climbing trees and would come running breathless at the sound of the doorbell.
Father always came home at five-thirty in the evening and he never returned empty-handed: a box of cookies, sweets, or seasonal fruit baskets were some of the common items he brought home for the children. And he would give those to Sam asking him to share with his two younger siblings. Perhaps, his father was teaching him responsibilities from an early age?
“Doorbell, doorbell, doorbell,” kids came running from the backyard.
“Baba is here, Baba is here.” The three rushed to the front door and the eight-year-old Sam opened it. At the sight of his excited children, father smiled. Lovingly he stroked Sam’s hair and messed it up, and then bent down to hug all three.
“Shamsu, share these cookies with your little brother and sister, okay?”
“Okay.”
Almost snatching the box from his father, Sam ran to the dining area to cut it open with a pair of scissors kept in the drawer. Aromas of handmade snacks went through his nostrils as his mother prepared the delicious treats to be served with the tea. Only the adults had tea with the snacks.
Saying a quick hello to mother, father washed up in the bathroom, walked over to the living room, and sat down to watch the news on television. Snacks and tea would be served shortly. Sam loved the evening teatime. Father at home, the family together, the sunlight saying goodbye with a promise to return tomorrow.
“Shamsu,” his mother yelled from the kitchen. “Don’t eat the cookies now, or whatever that your Baba brought. I’m making delicious snacks.”
The box was now open and the two younger siblings looked at Sam with puppy eyes, begging for the cookies. He took out three pieces, left the box on the dining table and ran out to the backyard with his siblings following behind him, where they each ate a cookie and played awhile.
The memory brought a smile on his face. Those innocent days; they were happy.