The knocks on Kumar’s door grew more intense. He knew who was outside and wasn’t particularly interested in listening to a diatribe about how she, Marjorie, had to listen to her parents. After all, they are paying for everything from the roof over her head to her country club dues to the etc. etc. etc.
Kumar had left India with such incredible hopes and dreams of becoming someone in his life, the first person in his family to visit another country. In fact, he remembered it well. How when he got the news from the government office that he had been selected for a place at a university in the US, he had to pull out an atlas while his entire family sat on the floor. He proudly explained to them exactly where the US was in relationship to India and specifically their village. After that his mother, who was so incredibly proud of her eldest child, went outside even though the monsoon rains were falling and shouted out to their next door neighbour, “are yar dekho. Kumar is going to Hollywood!”
Kumar laughed at his mother. He didn’t want to dent her enthusiasm and his own for that matter, and now the warning from her about American women being vampires or close to that, seemed to be coming true.
He kicked himself for not just ignoring Marjorie when he saw her next, about a month or so later and had agreed to having a coffee at the local Starbucks as a thank you. He thought it was all so innocent and should’ve remained that way, after all he did have a bride waiting for him back home. What would he tell her or his family? He was sure they had already planned everything for when he returned with a prestigious American degree in hand. And now that all seemed like a dream being derailed.
He sat on his bed. He was alone in his room as his roommate and returned home to Georgia for the summer holidays. He wondered what his next move should be. He was determined he wasn’t going to answer the door. It should remain closed, he knew that. He found himself justifying the reason to open it and say, “sorry but I’m not interested in having dinner at your country club and pretending to be a maharaja.”
“Hello,” he said rather meekly when he opened the door slightly.
Marjorie smiled shyly, “I’m sorry,” she replied.
“It’s ok. But please don’t keep banging on my door, you’re giving me a headache.” That sounded funny and they both began to laugh. He opened the door a little more. “Do you want to come in?”
“No,” she replied, “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she stopped for a second and took in a deep breath. “Look, Kumar, I really just came to say I’m sorry for what I did to you. It was horrible and that’s all I’m going to say about it.” Kumar was a little surprised at her response which then put him in a strange bind. Yes, he could say ‘that’s ok let’s forget about it,’ or close the door and continue sitting on his bed and deciding what to watch on TV. He would’ve liked Marjorie to make the next move, but he had a feeling that she wasn’t going to.
“Are you going back home now?” he asked and then kicked himself. What sort of question was that, Kumar? he thought.
“Yes, I am,” she replied and took a step back from the door. “I, I just wanted to apologise for my behaviour and since you hung the phone up on me, I thought the only thing I could do was to drive here.”
“How far is that?” Kumar sounded surprised that someone could do just that. Back in India it would be an impossibility. The roads and transportation would not allow it.
“About 2 hours,” replied Marjorie.
“Ok,” and Kumar began to close the door. “Drive safely,” and then against his best judgement closed the door. Damn! he thought to himself and sat down on the bed half waiting for another knock on the door. None came.
A few minutes later he got up from his bed and walked over to the door. He held his breath. He had this deep fear that when he opened it, he would see Marjorie still standing there. She wasn’t. He stepped out into the hallway and looked down each way. There was no sign of her. He turned to his left and walked to the end and peered around the corner, nothing. He then turned around and walked the other way, but with the same result. ‘Maybe I was too hard on her,’ he said to himself. ‘After all, she is a nice girl,’ but it was too late.
He walked back into his room and closed the door. There was nothing on the TV. There was never anything on the TV. So why was he surprised that there was nothing on the TV that night? He lay on his bed and looked up at the ceiling. He grabbed a calendar and counted the days till when the new term started. There might be a chance to see Marjorie again. Only a slight chance because their majors were so different. Soon he fell asleep. He hadn’t eaten dinner in the cafeteria, but he didn’t feel hungry. He dreamt he was a maharaja and showed up at Marjorie’s country club. He was a hit. The table they were sitting at was constantly crowded. They wanted to ask him all sorts of questions about whether he had camels or elephants or how much gold he had all over his palace. He loved the attention he was getting.
“Are you Jewish?” someone asked.
“No, I am not,” he replied.
“Oh!” they said, “only Jews are allowed in here.” He panicked and woke up. Damn! he thought to himself that was no dream, that was a nightmare.
There was a knock on his door. He looked at his watch, it was 10.30. The knocking continued. He knew it was Marjorie who had returned, “go away!” he shouted.
A male voice replied, “ok Kumar, I brought you something to eat.”
“Oh, wait a minute. I thought you were someone else,” and with that, he jumped out of bed and opened the door. It was a friend of his from Malaysia who was in the same predicament as him.
“Man, where were you. We had a wonderful barbecue outside. It’s really warm and there were many people there. You should’ve come.”
They stood in the doorway. His friend was holding a rather large plate covered with tin foil. Kumar felt foolish, “I’m sorry, come on in.” He did and put the plate on his desk. “It smells fantastic,” said Kumar with a broad smile and lungs filled with the delicious aroma. “What is it?” “Barbeque beef ribs,” his friend replied.
“Beef?” asked Kumar slightly confused.
“Yes, from a cow.”
“I can’t eat that,” he replied, “cows are sacred in the Hindu religion.”
His friend froze, “Oh my God! I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that,” and he reached over to pick up the plate.
“No, no,” said Kumar, “leave it there.” He thought for a second. “Do you think you’ll ever meet my parents?”
His friend looked confused and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not going to go to your village.”
“Great!” replied Kumar picking up the plate and unceremoniously ripping off the tin foil. He stopped for a second, “but if you do, tell them it was pork, ok?”
His friend laughed, “it’s ok. I don’t eat pork I’m Muslim, but I don’t think that will ever happen.” That night Kumar had his first bite ever of barbecued beef ribs and loved it!