The Jesus Sketch

The Jesus Sketch

By Shyama Anant

The Jesus Sketch - Smashwords Edition

Published by Shyama Anant at Smashwords

Copyright © 2010 by Shyama Anant

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover By Shyama Anant. All rights reserved.

To my parents Shantha and Somaraju without whose example and inspiration I could never have written it.

CHAPTER ONE

Michigan, 1991

It was the last week of November and just past five in the evening. Trees had long since surrendered their foliage to the approaching chill and evening shadows had already claimed what had been left of the weak wintry light. Pooja drove to the apartment she had leased less than three weeks ago, foot easing up on the accelerator with every passing mile. She dreaded returning to it at the end of the day. She hadn’t gotten used to being on her own and wondered if she ever would. The fact that it had been cold and rainy these past few weeks hardly helped; the perpetual gray seemed to find an echo in her solitary existence and where life had once felt warm and rich and vibrant, the possibilities had withered away like the foliage yielding to the grimness of decay. Would this bleakness ever lift?

Anxiety swirled in with each passing mile building a knot in the pit of her stomach but when she turned onto Clark Avenue, Bloomfield’s one main commercial thoroughfare, she gasped at the sight that greeted her eyes. Christmas lights! They seemed to be everywhere… millions upon millions of them woven through bare branches of birch and maple lining the six lane avenue and sparkling like diamonds against the unrelenting sky. Illuminated cut-outs of Christmas Trees strapped to lampposts on either side of the avenue added to the festive air. Pooja slowed down as she leaned forward to get a better look. How was this even possible? It must have taken a small army to accomplish all this because there had been nothing of the sort just the day before!

Clark Avenue might have been transformed but it was still busy. Peak hour traffic competed with ambitious shoppers making their way to the West Oaks Mall located on her right and a mild drizzle added to the general aggravation on the street. Technically, it was still fall and snow from all accounts was a few weeks away but temperatures had dropped and it was bitterly cold outside. Inside the small red Honda Civic, it was snug and warm. Taking one gloved hand off the steering wheel, she tugged at the collar of her serviceable black overcoat and loosened it. Black gloves, black overcoat, black handbag and briefcase… she’d left color behind in India. Even the interior of the car was charcoal grey and clean and sterile; giving no indication of her once bubbly personality.

A van swerved into the empty stretch of road in front of her and Pooja focused abruptly on the traffic easing back into her seat. It wasn’t that she was a bad driver; she was just a new driver who had never driven a car before her arrival in the States nine months ago. Back at home in New Delhi, she’d taken the bus like everybody else and if the occasional trip warranted it, she’d taken a taxi instead. Family fortunes or the lack thereof had made the owning of a car more distant than the furthest dream and at home, public transportation had been cheap and readily available. Not so in Bloomfield; there were no buses so you had no option but to drive.

While on the one hand, traffic in the United States was much more organized and people pretty much kept to their lanes; on the other, it was a faster moving traffic and changing lanes took all of her nerve and more besides. Perhaps one day she would be as adept as the other drivers who seemed to take pleasure in honking at her but until then, she would just have to suffer the humiliation of it all; the ignorant foreigner who should return home to her own country where she belonged!

Truth be told, she didn’t know where she belonged anymore. Three years ago she’d considered herself the most fortunate of women to have attracted the likes of Rajeev Kapoor. She could still remember the day. It had been one of those very pleasant Saturday afternoons with nothing but fun on the agenda when her uncle had come knocking on their front door. Hiraram Savani had smiled when Pooja answered the door but his shoulders were rigid with tension. It was clear that he was on a mission and that he’d come directly from work because he was still dressed in one of those light grey suits he favored. As Pooja welcomed him into their living room with its comfortable but old fashioned furniture and faded rugs, she couldn’t recall the last time any member of her father’s family had paid them a social visit. Her uncle’s appearance had been a shock not just to her but to her mother and sister as well; in fact, the unexpectedness of it had so alarmed her mother that she had promptly assumed the worst. The last time a member of her husband’s family had paid her a visit, it was with news that her beloved Sumeet had died in a car accident on his way to work and that had been over fifteen years ago.

Hiraram Savani had stalked into their tiny living room that day, looking about him with some amount of curiosity before sitting down on the edge of the shabby sofa and announcing that he had wonderful news.

"Mira-bhabi, you’ve heard of the Kapoors haven’t you? he’d asked looking very purposeful and surprising all three women. They’re a very rich and well known family not just in Delhi but in Mumbai as well; very famous indeed! They own four textile mills and two luxury hotels - one in India and one in Singapore and they own the Kapoor Film Studios! Srikant Kapoor is my childhood friend and my wife is good friends with his wife." Apparently the Kapoors were looking for a good Indian girl for their youngest son Rajeev and Hiraram thought that he’d be perfect for Pooja!

I wanted to introduce him to Tara, he continued smoothly referring to his own nineteen year old. But she refuses to listen to reason! She wants to go to college and get a degree in Interior Design instead! I tried to explain to her that good matches like this don’t come around every day but she won’t listen! So I thought of Pooja. I think Rajeev will be perfect for her, he continued slowly in the face of his sister-in-law’s growing incredulity. He is very much like her you know… very independent and broad-minded. He didn’t want to go into the family business like his brothers. Instead, he went to an excellent school near Detroit and got his MBA. His parents want him to come home but he has decided to settle down in America. What do you think? His announcement had stunned the women into speechlessness. Whatever else they had been expecting, it hadn’t been that!

Arranged marriages were the norm in their community so it wasn’t unusual for family members and close friends to do some amount of match-making; but never in a million years had they expected the Savanis to fulfill their familial and social obligations towards them and Pooja was not going to turn down an opportunity to meet somebody eligible. Besides, she was twenty-four years old and most of her friends were already married. Of course, if she’d stopped to consider why her usually autocratic uncle hadn’t pressured his daughter into marrying this so called eligible young man, she might have run a mile in the opposite direction but as things stood, neither she nor her mother suspected the extent of his greed or deceit.

I wonder why Hiraram uncle is doing this, her sister Priya had wondered more than once but neither Pooja nor their mother had spared it another thought! Unlike Sumeet, Hiraram was all about appearances and money and status. Had the Kapoors not been wealthy and well connected, Hiraram would never have given them the time of day. But this time, his need for status and connections were not just benefiting him and his immediate family but it might just open doors for the girls!

And Rajeev made an excellent first impression the next day. Priya had opened the front door to find a handsome stranger standing on their doorstep. He was dressed in a fawn colored suit, with thick hair neatly brushed back from a wide intelligent forehead and a clean shaven face. He was tall and broad-shouldered and every girls epitome of a tall-dark-handsome hero. And to add to that, he’d arrived by himself at the appointed time explaining that while he respected and enjoyed his parents company, he did not want them to dictate his conversation with Pooja or her family and force a decision one way or another.

Marriage is such a huge step, he’d explained, smiling. While I’m old fashioned enough to go the traditional route, I’d rather make the decision for myself than have one made for me!

We don’t mind, Priya had promptly answered sauntering over to stand next to her mother. It’s not as though Pooja is marrying your parents is she?

Rajeev’s reaction upon first seeing Pooja had been everything that Mira Savani had hoped it would be and Pooja who’d been coaxed into wearing the much more traditional but extremely flattering, green silk ghagra-choli was suddenly glad that she had! And, for a person who stubbornly insisted that looks didn’t matter much, she found herself somewhat dazzled by Rajeev’s sheer good looks, tall, athletic build and a winsome smile.

For his part, Rajeev chatted easily with all three women, talking to them about his experiences in America with school and work and about his aspirations for career and family. He’d moved to Ann Arbor, Michigan to study MBA and while he’d had every intention of returning home afterwards, he’d grown to cherish his independence and decided to stay. He had many questions for Pooja and some for Priya and Mira Savani as well and through it all, he had been so charming and witty and respectful that Pooja had taken an instant liking to him.

Would you consider moving to America? he’d asked when she’d walked him back to his car and that was his way of indicating that he liked her and was interested in taking the encounter further. And Mira Savani had been ecstatic. What an auspicious turn of events! She’d promptly called Hiraram who’d been extremely pleased.

Secretly, Pooja hoped to take her mother and sister with her to America, away from the petty tyranny of her father’s family. Perhaps they could all start a new life there. It would be so much more fun than living under her extended family’s thumb. It wasn’t that Pooja and her mother weren’t grateful for the various kindnesses showed to them by her father’s family but Priya, being the pragmatic of the three, suffered from no such illusions. Upon the death of their father, their mother should have inherited his share of the family’s diamond business or, at the very least, some money should have been set aside for their upkeep. But the family had decided to pay Mira Savani what could only be considered a paltry apprentice’s fee in exchange for her expertise in designing, cutting and setting precious gemstones. They put a little extra in each pay check ‘for the girls’ and expected to be appreciated for their so called generosity and while the injustice of it made the girls’ blood boil, Mira Savani refused to discuss it. Having no family of her own, she was loath to antagonize her in-laws and cut her daughters off from any social or matrimonial opportunities.

Four months after they first met, Pooja and Rajeev got married in a simple ceremony at a local temple attended only by close family and friends. Both Rajeev and his family had insisted on a simple affair which pleased Mira Savani but also surprised her. Given the status that both families enjoyed in New Delhi, the request was a bit shocking but Hiraram explained it away by saying that it was out of respect for Pooja’s father who was no more.

Rajeev’s father had been expansive and his mother quiet. His brothers had been reserved but Pooja barely noticed. Rajeev himself had been most attentive and considerate. They’d gone to Goa for their honeymoon and when he left, Pooja continued living with her mother and sister. It was contrary to the prevailing custom but neither Rajeev nor his family had any objections. During the two years that it took for Pooja to get her green-card, her husband continued to be most attentive, calling at least twice a week, surprising her with quick visits and giving her no reason to believe that he was anything other than what he seemed. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Flashing lights and a blaring siren recalled Pooja abruptly to the present and she watched a fire truck race past followed a few seconds later by an ambulance. She didn’t want to leave the bright lights and bustle of Clark Avenue behind but she had no choice; it was time to go home. Slowing down, she turned onto Hemple Road lit only occasionally by the headlights of a passing car or van and dimly lit entrances to apartment complexes on either side. The Windy Hills apartment complex was a quiet community with double story buildings on either side of the narrow street winding through it. In sharp contrast to their complex in New Delhi, there was nobody about and the buildings seemed deserted but most of the parking spots were taken and light outlined windows, closed against the chill. Pooja drove past the club-house and pulled into the one empty spot in front her building. The hallway and stairwell were deserted but she knew that with the exception of one upstairs apartment, all the rest were occupied.

The radio station finished playing O Holy Night and a throaty female singer started belting out Let it Snow. Pooja shivered in spite of the warmth; she had never experienced snow before and wasn’t sure how she was going to manage. She remembered how Rajeev had fired up all of their dreams and hopes and ambitions…America…land of infinite possibilities! Of amazing opportunities! She and her sister had borrowed books from the American Center Library and read up on the country and Priya had been endlessly fascinated with the Statue of Liberty…

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land,

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch…

A mighty woman ma, Priya had said with eyes bright and shiny. For her sister, it had