A Group of One by Rachna Gilmore

Author:Rachna Gilmore
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781627798075
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)

CHAPTER 15

After Erin leaves I take out the pearl earrings. I hesitate, then try them on. They are exquisite, as Maya says—I guess it doesn’t hurt to leave them on. I make a face at my reflection, then pop on my gracious smile.

When I go down, Mom, Dad, and Naniji are yakking away in the kitchen, while Naniji stirs something on the stove. So she’s cooking dinner, too.

Naniji notices right away. “Thank you for wearing the earrings, Tara. They look beautiful on you.”

I flush. She makes it sound like I’ve done her the favor.

Mom kisses me and strokes my cheek. “Lovely, sweetie,” she says.

Even Dad smiles approvingly. I feel a pinprick of irritation, but I can’t be bothered to react.

When we sit down to eat—in the kitchen, because Naniji insists we carry on as normal—the dinner is perfect. A chick-pea curry, rice, a cauliflower-and-potato bhaji, and a green-bean bhaji. All separate. And chapatis. Actual chapatis, perfectly round. Mom never makes them, because they’re too much work.

“Oh, this is delicious,” says Dad, visibly relaxing. “Sour chick-peas—my favorite when I was little.” He takes a huge portion.

Naniji glows. “See, I remembered. I remember everything.”

Mom says, “How nice. We both do so appreciate you cooking.”

Did she say that a shade too brightly, or am I just being paranoid?

“My pleasure,” Naniji says, smiling.

“Pleashure,” says Maya, eyes fixed on Naniji.

The chick-pea curry is good—it has surprising chunks of tomatoes and onion in it, but, unlike the stuff Mom flings in, they actually belong there.

Nina raves on and on about it, and I feel my body relax as Naniji’s food works its magic on me. Whaddya know, I’ve gone mellow. Naniji must’ve put something in the food. Hash. Ha! I’ll have to tell Mom later. But perhaps, the way she is now, she wouldn’t find it funny.

I catch something Naniji is saying.

“… he interviewed me about it.”

Dad says, “I’m glad. Papaji’s contribution shouldn’t be forgotten. Or yours.” He glances uneasily at Mom, who is smiling stiffly.

What? What did I miss?

Naniji tears a portion of chapati and wraps it around some cauliflower. I wonder if Mom’s noticed that Naniji is now eating with her hands.

“I don’t know if we need yet another book about the Independence struggle, but I think this one is more personal history rather than all the facts. You know…” She says something to Dad in Hindi, then catches herself, looks at Mom, and says in English, “All the little-little things that don’t make the textbooks, the costs to personal life.”

Mom’s jaw tightens. She carefully loads her fork with rice.

Nina pipes up, “My grandfather’s going to be in a book? And you? Cool. What kinds of things did you do? I know he went to jail and stuff, but…” She glances at me, then away.

I stifle my grin and spear some beans.

Maya chips in, “He was a hero. Dad said.”

Naniji sits straighter. “Yes, his whole family suffered terribly, but they followed Gandhiji’s ideals, even when it wasn’t convenient. Three years he spent in jail. Three.

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