At the very end, the teachers performed a surprise skit for Maya, a tribute to how she had started the preschool from nothing, conducted the office with resolve and fairness, and how they were all one big happy family. As Maya watched the women sing and dance, she also began to cry. Though it had been a hard year—perhaps a hard stretch of years—she felt content knowing she had created the school she’d always wanted.
It was not long after Annual Day that Ashni let Maya know that she was leaving the preschool. Her husband told her she had to quit to run his family business, which was a women’s clothing shop, so that he could take a job he liked better. At first, Ashni resisted. She was not a woman to give in. But Ashni’s husband and his parents kept pressuring her, and eventually she gave her notice, like all the timid girls from conservative families had done. Maya was upset over losing Ashni, who was smart and frank and confident and had become her closest friend. They had become even closer after Ashni confided to Maya that she was seeing another man.
The man was from the village where Ashni was born and someone she knew from her school days. Ashni said he treated her like a princess. He told her he loved everything about her. Any time Ashni went home to see family, she now made plans to see him too. Soon, she began flying home just to see him. She even got a tattoo for him, after seeing Maya’s treble clef. Ashni’s tattoo said ishq, which was Arabic for “love,” but a selfless kind, a love without lust. She told Maya she felt guilty that she needed both a man who obsessed over her and the man who was the father of her child.
But Maya told her not to, because she was not the only one.
* * *
Maya and Veer’s ninth wedding anniversary came and went. Veer didn’t come home until very late from work and didn’t mention the day. But this year, Maya didn’t let it bother her. Her teachers held a little celebration. Friends commented on their Facebook walls, and both she and Veer thanked them. It was enough. She no longer needed Veer to pretend that they were something they were not. She had other friends, other men, who told her that she was smart and beautiful and gave her nicknames like rani, or “queen.”
She couldn’t tell these men everything, though—not the secret things from her childhood that she’d never been able to tell Veer. She knew they wouldn’t understand. And so instead she told them to Ashni, who remained her close friend.
It had first happened when Maya was between six and eight years old, with the man who worked at the stationery store. Her mother used to give her two rupees to buy paper or a pencil there. Several times, the man tried to kiss and grope her, and Maya didn’t know what to do. Once, when she had been gone a long time at the store, her mother came and brought her back home. “Next time there’s a stranger, you be careful,” her mother said, and didn’t give Maya two rupees for the store again.
When Maya was a little older, eleven or so, a neighbor who was fifteen or sixteen touched her on the terrace of her house. The other kids were playing downstairs. Again, Maya didn’t know what to do. This time, Maya’s grandmother came to check on her, saw what was happening, and stopped it. Afterward she told Maya, “Any time you do anything like that, I’m going to tell your father.” Maya was confused. She didn’t think she had done anything wrong; the boy had. But now it seemed it was her fault, and that she could not tell anyone if it happened again.
The next time was with a family friend. There was a couple who lived nearby, and when the husband went out of town, Maya’s parents often sent her over to their house to keep the wife company. They even had her spend the night to help the woman fall asleep. Sometimes, the husband came home very late at night, and Maya woke to find him trying to put his hands up her shirt or down her pants. She was not yet fourteen. When this happened, Maya stayed frozen; her bones felt like they were made of lead. She was certain his wife was awake and knew what was happening. And yet his wife still asked that Maya come over when her husband was away.
Finally, Maya told her parents she was not comfortable going to their house anymore. Then the man came to Maya’s house instead and groped her when her parents left the room. After several visits like this, Maya got up the courage to tell him: “Don’t touch me. Bas ho gaya, abhi, if you do it again I’m going to go and tell someone.” He stopped touching her after this. She never told anyone else about it. She was sure that if she had, she would have gotten in trouble.
“Maybe it’s why I go from man to man,” Maya told Ashni after she finished her story. Maybe it’s why she had been attracted to Subal, then left him, and was now drawn to other men. It was her hisaab to fulfill, or it wasn’t.
Maya needed someone to tell her that she did not owe a debt—that it wasn’t her fault what happened. And that perhaps she was attracted to other men for other reasons. But Ashni was quiet. These were things people didn’t talk about.
* * *
Just after the fourth anniversary of Maya’s preschool, Veer was diagnosed with diabetes, type 1. Previously, he had been diagnosed with type 2, which was caused primarily by being overweight or lack of exercise. But now his doctors told him they’d been wrong. They said his diabetes had become so bad that his “pancreas was basically dead.” The word dead was not lost on him, or on Maya. They told him he’d need to change his diet and life if he wanted to make it to old age.
I need to make myself a little more healthy, Veer thought after the diagnosis, trying to keep himself calm, so I can live enough to have some wonderful time with Janu.
Veer went away to a diabetes camp for four days, and after coming back made more dietary changes. He arrived home with bags and bags of groceries, much of it fresh produce. He said that he could no longer drink milk and that he was going to become a vegan. He asked if Maya could prepare him a raw diet.
And he vowed he would no longer work so hard. He had never felt so happy as he had at camp, because—for the first time in a long time—he had had time to sleep, work out, and eat well. He had had time to think over many things. “You know, Maya, when you take out the T in trust it becomes rust,” he joked.
Maya laughed. The diagnosis had washed away much of her resentment. At least for now, when he needed her, and maybe couldn’t live without her. She told herself she had been silly to be so angry. And they were moving to the new house soon.
A few weeks later, as Veer snacked on namkeen, him on one couch, Maya on the other, they discussed the move. “This is not how we should eat, without drink,” he said, and went into the linen closet, which doubled as a liquor cabinet.
“Where will we hide the liquor in the new house?” Maya asked, taking a sip of the whiskey he’d brought out, which she did not like. She preferred sugary rum with sweet lime, the drink she and Subal used to have together. But Veer kept only scotch at home, favoring the expensive stuff.
“It’s okay, it’s kept inside the cabinet,” said Veer.
“But if your parents find it, they will throw me out,” Maya said. “And they will kick your bum so hard you will not walk.” They both laughed and then fell quiet. “Even my dad would be upset if he knew I drank,” she said.
“Oh, yeah?” Veer got a mischievous look on his face. He sat up, put down his drink, and took out his phone. Maya watched him, waiting for the joke. “Actually,” he said, “I will call your father and tell him you are drinking.”
Maya raised her eyebrows at this.
Veer began speaking into his phone, in the accent of a busybody neighbor, the kind who gossiped while chewing paan tobacco, so that it sounded like he had marbles in his mouth. “Hello, Uncle, how are you? . . . Haan, toh, do you know what your daughter is doing here?” Veer was chewing so much pretend paan he could barely be understood.
“Yes,” said Veer, putting on a different accent, that of Maya’s father, proper and refined. “She works for an international preschool.”
“She is doing VERY international all right.” Now Veer was practically spitting the imaginary paan. “Drinking ALL the international drinks.”
“Ah?”
 
; “ALL the pubs of Bombay exist ONLY because of her. And she is eating chicken tikka BESIDES.”
“Nahi!” said Veer, as Maya’s father, scandalized.
“HAAN.”
Maya laughed so hard she almost fell off the couch, and Veer was glad he could still make her laugh.
At first, the new diabetes diagnosis made them fight less often and without bitterness. But this didn’t last long. Soon, Veer told Maya that he could not eat the food she made, and Maya told him that Pallavi would make his dinners from here on out.
As life became unsettled at home, Pallavi became unpredictable in her work. She would show up in the morning but not at night. She would wash the dishes but not clean or start the laundry and then rush out the door. Or she wouldn’t come at all, saying she had something else she had to do. It turned out life was also unsettled in her home.
After a few months, Pallavi told Maya what was going on: her husband was having an affair with her sister-in-law, and her sister-in-law had gotten pregnant. “Leave him,” Maya told her. But Pallavi couldn’t. All the money she’d saved cleaning houses was in a bank account in his name, as was her family land back home.
Pallavi seemed most distraught that the affair was out in the open. The whole family knew, which was shameful. Even the brother—the husband of the sister-in-law who was sleeping with Pallavi’s husband—knew and didn’t seem to care. Maya was sure it was because they all wanted access to Pallavi’s money, little as it was. And now, in some twisted way, the sister-in-law and her husband could claim it.
That Sunday, Pallavi didn’t show up to work or call. Her phone was switched off, as was her husband’s. Her two sons showed up at Maya’s door to ask if she had come to work, which worried Maya. She waited all day for Pallavi to come, and the next morning went to Pallavi’s shanty, but the shanty was locked and no one seemed to be at home. In the afternoon, Maya sent Janu’s babysitter to look for Pallavi, but she could not find her either.
When Pallavi finally reappeared two days later, she said her husband had been fighting with her. She said he would not let her leave the house or make a call. That was why the shanty was locked and her phone was switched off. Perhaps the boys had been locked outside. The fight was about the other woman, because the illegitimate baby was due soon.
Still, Pallavi did not leave him. It wasn’t just the money—she also said it would be hard on her boys. Maya was thankful Pallavi did not have a girl child to complicate matters. If a woman left her husband, it was often hard to get a daughter married. But a divorce wouldn’t affect the boys much. Boys were privileged. No matter how rich or poor, this held true.
Maya had seen it in her own life. Though she had been smarter than her brother, getting far better marks in school and continuous praise from her teachers, her parents sold land so that he could have an education in the United States. Maya, meanwhile, was sent to the local college.
“Leave him,” Maya said again. She urged Pallavi to move houses when she and Veer moved and bring her two boys with her. Maya said she could start anew. Pallavi told her she’d consider it and began showing up on time again.
Despite the diagnosis, Veer soon returned to his old work schedule. His businesses depended on it. “I have taken too much of rest,” he said. He also began to worry about Africa, where in one country a new government had made business uncertain and a businessman owed him twenty-two lakhs. “I will block him,” Veer announced one day, with uncharacteristic bitterness. “And I will make him bleed from his neck.”
Veer’s pants were falling off him now.
* * *
In the new apartment, there would be three bedrooms: one for Janu, one for Veer and Maya, and a third bedroom for guests. Or one bedroom each for Veer and for Maya.
Maya learned that Veer’s father had given the other wives in the family 50 percent ownership of their apartments, while she had been given 10. Her father told her he wouldn’t attend the housewarming unless Veer’s father invited him, which Maya knew would never happen. All these years later, the two men still didn’t get along. Veer’s goal in marriage of bringing two Marwari business families together had never materialized. And Veer’s father had said recently that he still believed daughters-in-law required discipline. He said he and Maya were bound to fight again in the new house. No, thought Maya, feeling anxious. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to move there.
But in a strange way she also looked forward to the new apartment and its certainty of conflict. Maybe the fights would get so bad she’d work up the courage to leave Veer. Only if he gets better, she thought. Only if it seemed like the right thing to do. Her feelings toward the new house, like everything with Veer, were convoluted. Since he had become sick, she did not know what to think.
Though she feared the new apartment, she threw herself into the decorating, picking out color palettes and window designs and Western-style furniture. She dreamed of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and walk-in wardrobes and a superhero theme for Janu’s room. When she visited the apartment, she saw how posh the building was, though it was still under construction. There was already a security guard, bamboo plants lining the entrance, and glass doors and marble everywhere. The apartment itself had giant windows that looked out onto the city. She could see palm trees and pink buildings and the wavy hills beyond, though there were no nearby apartments with windows like tiny plays. It would be a dream home for most women.
Before the move, Veer’s old friends Raj and Anika, one of the couples who had been witnesses at their wedding, came for a visit.
Raj and Anika lived a quiet life in Jaipur, where they ran a small shop together, from which they sold Rajasthani clothing. They were kind, down-to-earth people—Anika in her motherly way, though they had never had children, and Raj with his wide-set face and intense, perceptive stare.
They had not seen Maya and Veer much since their wedding. But after spending several days with them, they were convinced the marriage was in trouble. Maya and Veer did not seem to see each other. When they spoke, they often seemed on the edge of a fight. Raj and Anika agreed they had to intervene. One night, Raj stayed up late drinking scotch with Veer—though Veer wasn’t supposed to drink with his diabetes—and after an hour of talking, Raj took his chance. He asked why Veer seemed not to care about Maya anymore.
“See, I don’t have affection for anyone,” Veer told him, with unconvincing bluster.
“This is BS,” said Raj. Among all his friends, Veer had always been the most affectionate.
“I am only into work,” Veer said, and took a swig.
Years ago, after the other Maya had ended things, Veer made two promises to himself. One: he would work day and night going forward, to prevent another crash of the family business, like the one that happened decades ago. And two: he’d stop keeping many friends. He would stop making birthday calls, or sending cards on special occasions, or writing poetry to friends like Raj. He would stop getting so attached to people.
It is better not to keep too many friends, he had told himself. If somebody like her could walk out, then anybody else could. After losing his mother and the other Maya, he thought perhaps it was better not to love anyone at all. But this was not something he could tell Raj.
The next day, after Veer went to work, Raj and Anika sat Maya down to ask her about the marriage. Raj began by telling her what Veer had said.
“Hmmm, well, Kancha is detached,” Maya said, as she served an elaborate lunch she had prepared for them of roti, rice, and different subzis. She thought there was no use pretending to some of their oldest friends.
“No, Maya,” said Raj, dissatisfied with her answer. “Kancha is not the type to get detached. He is very attached. He used to write cards to me with poems inside.”
Maya nodded. That was the old Veer, she thought.
“Kya hua, Maya? What happened?”
“Things started getting bad in 2008,” said Maya, speaking carefully now. “It’s . . . partly due to the political movements of his father and
family—”
“They are crooks actually,” said Anika.
“Crooks,” echoed Raj, who had known Veer’s family since he and Veer were young.
As they spoke, Raj remembered how happy Veer’s father had been when he’d gone to talk with him about Veer and Maya’s marriage. Too happy, in hindsight, that his son was going to elope. “I believe now the reason he was so happy was because it would upset your father and bring you shame,” Raj said, thinking of how the two Marwari men had once done business together. Perhaps for Veer’s father the union was a kind of revenge.
“Hmmm,” said Maya, nodding.
“His wife is even worse.”
“Hmmm,” Maya said again. She had always wondered how much the actions of Veer’s father were shaped by the talk of his wife—the stepmother with the cruel lips who neither Veer nor his brothers had taken to. Maya remembered something that Veer’s grandmother had once told her. She said that if Veer’s real mother had been alive, everything would be different. Veer’s mother had always talked about wanting daughters she could treat as her own. Perhaps his mother would have helped Maya and Veer connect and would have worked to keep them together. If his mother were alive, maybe Veer would have worked less. But Veer’s mother wasn’t here, and Maya knew it wasn’t worth thinking about what could have been.
When lunch was over, Maya served green tea and milky chai, and the conversation moved on to astrology. They all remembered how Maya was said to have the mula nakshatra, a star that was inauspicious for girls. Girls with this star were passionate but also felt restricted by conventions. They wanted to rebel. They easily grew resentful or felt betrayed. Girls with this star also had calamitous love lives and problems with their fathers. They were questers, always on a search. Even if Maya didn’t fully believe in astrology, it was remarkable how much this star reflected her life.