Cartwheels in a Sari by Jayanti Tamm

Author:Jayanti Tamm
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780307451644
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2009-04-13T21:00:00+00:00

WHEN KUMUD INVITED me to lunch with her, since Guru was out of town and wouldn't be at the UN for a meditation, I declined, not wanting to leave my desk in case Oscar dropped in en route from removing an old filing cabinet or changing a fluorescent lightbulb. I sat fiddling with paper clips, staring out the window.

“Busy day?”

I hadn't seen Oscar approach. He carried a clipboard with work orders and a pencil rested behind one ear. I flung my paper clip chain into a drawer and flipped my hair over my shoulder.

“If you need a box of jumbo paper clips to work with next, I can arrange a delivery,” Oscar whispered, as though he were a special agent.

The phone rang, and I wrote a message. Oscar stood waiting, amused, as I filled out the official message log, pressing hard into the four sections of colored carbon paper.

“I see why they pay you the big bucks,” Oscar said, when I hung up.

Before he left, he asked me to hang out that night.

Later, I worked up a raspy, cloggy throat voice, then called Apala, the head of the singing group that Guru had assigned me to join, to let her know I wouldn't be able to make practice since I felt too ill. When she wished me a speedy recovery and even offered to drop off some soup, instead of feeling guilty for lying, I congratulated myself for being such a good actress. The lie came easily, and I thought that as long as I did it well, I could outwit everyone.

Since many disciples worked in the United Nations complex, it was common to bump into sari-clad devotees while waiting in line at delis or crossing the street. To be safe, I told Oscar I'd meet him by the subway, which was a few blocks away. While I scanned the crowds merging down the stairs into the subway station, Chandika, my father's sister, a disciple who worked at UNICEF, collided with me. She wore a bright pink sari and had large headphones over her ears, as she practiced out loud one of the hundred Bengali songs that her singing group had to perform. Without taking off her headphones, she yelled for me to join her, so we could rehearse on the ride home. She had moved into the first floor of our house. Loud and known for her drastic mood swings, Chandika reveled in being bombastic and quirky. After Guru told her that she had been a duck in her animal incarnation, she started collecting ducks, and her apartment was a shrine to the aquatic bird. I spotted Oscar in the distance, at the top of the stairs, searching for me. With my best dramatic performance, I suddenly clutched my purse, panicking that I had forgotten my keys at work and needed to rush back to the office.

Oscar waved to me. I hesitated, scanning the throngs of commuters for disciples. I knew that all my hopes for a romantic adventure would end if I got caught and reported to Guru.

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