A Smile on Foreign Land

Red and pink saris hung wet on the clothesline, water dripping from the freshly washed fabrics. The girl drying them was thin and tall, with milky-white skin, like it had never seen the sun. She methodically picked the saris from a blue plastic bucket, squeezed the water out, and then flung the long garment into the sky, her fingers gripping tightly at the hem. Going on the tips of her toes, she reached to the clothesline and hung the sari out to dry, running her hands over the creases. Although her skin looked delicate, the backs of her hands were worn from soap and water.

She bent down to pick up the empty bucket but suddenly rose, arching her back, looking up to the sky that was heavy with the summer heat. She paused with squinted eyes and then retrieved her bucket, walking down the stairs from the terrace to the house. The coolness of the floor calmed her bare feet as she entered the quiet house where everyone was taking a nap to escape the hot afternoon. The house felt so odd without the sounds of movement in the kitchen—spoons clashing against pots, heavy footsteps accompanied by the tinkle of anklets, bangles chiming as strong hands washed vessels big enough to hold food for twenty people, steady voices of commands and recipes floating through the air.

The kitchen was clean and cool, having just been washed after lunch. The floor and low counters were still slightly wet from the water that had wiped away the flour and ghee used to make rotis for the large family. She picked up a steel cup that had been placed upside down on a large terracotta earthen pot and dipped it into the pot to fill it with water. She raised the cup over her face and parted her lips to allow the cool water to enter her mouth, the cup inches away from her lips. A trickle of water ran down her neck and she brushed it off with the back of her hand as she gargled the last sip.

As she placed the steel cup back on the earthen pot, the sound of the sharp steel against the soft, solid clay was the only sound in the house. She realized that the silence was one she had not felt in a long time. Ever since she had gotten married and started living in the new house of her husband and his family, there had always been people entering and leaving, dining and visiting. There was always so much movement that the girl never got time to sit and ponder during the day, to look around at the house and notice new things that caught her attention like a spot on the floor or a dent in the wall. While everyone napped, she had a moment to pause for the first time. The kitchen suddenly felt sacred, like it was her own space, inhabited only by her body that breathed the air of the room.

She sat down against the wall, her legs sliding to the floor. The ground was so cool against her skin that she placed her hands downwards, allowing the sweat from her palms to seep into the tile and pull the heat out of her tired body. She almost felt peaceful. But suddenly a worry crossed her mind as she imagined the fear and embarrassment if someone were to see her like this. But she would surely hear the bangles or anklets of anyone walking towards the kitchen. She relaxed and sank deeper into the tile floor, a dirty green color against the mustard yellow of her sari. Her mind was blank and then the thought occurred to her that she could nap, but the thought of laying next to her husband scared her. Although she had been sleeping beside the man for a month, the darkness of the night had always protected her in his presence. Even as he would look at her face and undressed body, the darkness veiled her true self from him. It was the only thing that was her own: the layer of untouched skin that lay below what had been touched by unknown hands.

She sank lower against the wall, her elbows resting on the tile floor. Her thoughts went further back to the last moment of silence she had experienced. She thought about her home where she lived when she was a girl, before she had begun to bleed between her legs. With her siblings and cousins in the large house, it had always been alive. But she now recalled moments of silence in the fields outside the house during the summer afternoons when everyone was napping: the dry leaves of the maize crops against her arms as she soaked in the summer sun’s waves. She had never thought back to those afternoons before, and she smiled to herself and closed her eyes. Her ears were sharply attentive to any sounds around her, and although her body was relaxed, she did not allow her buttocks to relax into the floor entirely. But even still, she felt more relaxed than she had felt since her wedding, since the fearful nights with her skin exposed against the body of a strange man, since the harsh eyes and mocking tone of her mother-in-law’s commands in the kitchen, since the gliding gaze of her father-in-law that followed her body as she entered the dining room carrying freshly-made rotis that carried the scent of the burning wood over which they had been cooked.

She missed her home—her mother’s thin rotis, the cheerful squeal of her younger brother playing catch through the fields, the wetness of the soil where she came from. She felt love for her mother and then pangs of anger that she had to live away from her, working in a home in the foreign land where the language sounded different and the food tasted different, both strange sensations in her mouth. She imagined what her house looked like, miles away, separated by the forest and the river. She imagined her mother’s wide figure embracing her the night before her wedding, bidding her a silent goodbye through her touch and familiar scent of coconut oil. When the girl opened her eyes, they were moist. She wiped away at the edges, the tips of her fingers aware of the thin, drooping skin below her eyes.

The sounds of bangles jolted her back to the moment and she rose to her feet. It was her sister-in-law, Aarti. She was unmarried and did not wear a sari, so even though they were about the same age, Aarti looked much younger. Her face was fresh and bright, and there was a small smile on her lips.

Aarti recognized an emotion on her sister-in-law, Kari’s face. She had never felt it before, but she had seen that pained look in others’ eyes—in her mother’s eyes after a long day, in her older sister’s eyes after she returned home from her husband’s house in the summers. Aarti associated that look with growing up and wearing a sari, because no girls in her school wore that emotion on their faces. As Aarti’s smile widened, she saw Kari’s body relax.

“Why didn’t you take a nap? You must be tired from lunch. There were so many people, was it forty?” Aarti used her hands to speak, making a large gesture with her arms when she said  “forty.”

Kari’s face relaxed and, for a moment, the look in her eyes disappeared. It was just Aarti and Kari in the room. “There were fifty people.” Kari paused, her shy eyes lingering on Aarti. “I didn’t want to nap. Did you sleep well?”

Aarti nodded as she  began to walk towards the earthen pot to drink some water, but paused and suddenly turned. She walked back to Kari and opened her mouth, the words flowing out. “How do you like it here? Is it….very different from…where you come from?” Aarti asked, pointing her hand upwards to the north where Kari was from.

Kari nodded and smiled to herself. They both spoke to each other in broken languages. Despite the meanings of words being lost, Kari understood what Aarti wanted to know. “It is very different and I…I don’t know. This place is still…very different. The clothes, the food, the language, the way people talk…. There is no…rain here! Back in my village, it rained all the time, the fields were always green and…fragrant from the fresh water.”

Aarti wanted to continue talking to Kari, and she noticed an instinct in her chest to comfort her—although she was unsure why she felt that way. Maybe it was the emotion she saw in Kari’s eyes.

Kari heard the kindness in Aarti’s voice and wanted to step closer to her, to thank her for her kindness. But they were strangers in this strange house. If Kari’s mother-in-law were to see her childishly gossiping with a younger girl, she would surely be looked down upon. So Kari withdrew out of fear and began to slowly walk away from Aarti. Kari felt a pang of guilt in her chest as Aarti watched her, but she continued to walk away towards the room where her husband was sleeping. As she softly opened the door, she looked back to see if Aarti was still watching her but saw nothing.

Kari sat down on the bed below the mosquito net that had been wrapped for the day. The bed was wide and low, made of a dark wood that matched the color of the other furniture in the room. The man beside her stirred in his sleep and his eyes opened slightly. He closed his eyes again and turned to the other side. Her stomach relaxed and she exhaled with relief, spreading her legs as she lay down on the mattress, her back giving in, legs relaxing. She sunk in and exhaled loudly. She had been very tired.

For the first time in a month, Kari slept soundlessly—almost peacefully. She awoke when it was growing dark, and the room was empty and cool from the evening breeze entering through the open window. A mosquito was already buzzing in her ear and she slapped the side of her head, irritated by the sound. Her first instinct was to roll over and fall back asleep, but the cool breeze and mosquito kept her up, and she realized where she was, and who she was. She got up suddenly, embarrassment and fear in her chest. Her mother-in-law would call her lazy, a kaamchor, someone who did not want to do any work. She sighed and caught a look at herself in the mirror as she walked out. She combed her fingers through her hair and braided it again, strands still standing up against the coconut oil she had applied earlier.

Outside, there were three young men sitting on the sofa talking with her husband. When they saw her, they stood up and she nodded at them, joining her palms together to greet them with a tight smile. Her eyelids were still heavy from her nap and the light from the electric lamps made her squint. She missed the dim, candlelit evenings in her village, bursts of orange fire guiding her from sunset to the night. Nothing felt familiar in this space. Not the sun, not the lights. She rushed to the kitchen, her legs hitting the fabric of her sari, creating a swooshing sound against the tinkle of her silver anklets. When she entered the kitchen, her mother-in-law gave her a sharp look and then pointed at the patties which she told her to fry. Kari looked to her right where Aarti was peeling potatoes on the floor. When Aarti saw her enter, she looked up at Kari’s eyes and stared for a long moment. Kari held her gaze, unsure of what to do. She felt a jolt in her chest as Aarti watched her, jerking her head away with embarrassment. She had seen something beyond concern in Aarti’s eyes.

Kari’s heart beat fast as she fried the patties and more than once looked over her shoulder at Aarti, who was still peeling potatoes. Their eyes never met again, but sometimes Kari felt stares on her back as she worked. She noticed that Aarti had smooth black hair that was braided neatly at her back. It was the kind of smooth hair that did not need coconut oil to keep the stray strands in place. As Aarti slid past her to retrieve more washed potatoes to peel, Kari caught a whiff of ashes and realized that Aarti must have put a pinch of powdery burnt residue from the incense stick behind her ears, on her neck, and on the point between her eyebrows. The scent made her imagine Aarti praying to the gods in a private ceremony after the pooja. She pictured Aarti bowing her head to the idols and then kneeling to touch her head to the floor. She envisioned Aarti rising to dip the tip of her ring finger into the ashes fallen from the burning incense stick, smearing the ash on her long neck and behind her ears. She imagined the soft touch of Aarti’s skin and blushed, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. Kari blinked and brought her attention back to the patties, unable to understand what she felt. She distracted herself by observing how the strong sizzle of the hot oil engulfed anything that came in contact with its heat.

The guests loved the patties and the women continued to make more, the heat from the oil frizzing up Kari’s hair even more. At night, when the women were done cleaning the kitchen, the mother-in-law told Kari to wash some lentils and soak them for tomorrow’s meals. Everyone left and once again, it was just Kari in the empty, cool, peaceful kitchen. It was so quiet without the clashing of utensils, the sizzling of food, and the jingle of bangles that Kari could hear the crickets outside. If she strained her ears, she could even hear the stars shining against the dark night sky. She slowly washed the lentils, wanting to prolong the moment before she headed back to the bedroom where her husband lay. She washed each grain, brushing the dirt off with her thumb and index finger.

It was just the wet lentils and her until she heard the sound of soft footsteps and the gentle tinkle of an anklet. Kari turned around, her heart beating fast. She realized that before Aarti had asked her the question in the afternoon, she had never before noticed Aarti’s footsteps, her hair, or her long neck. Aarti’s lips were slightly parted in a smile and she softly walked to where Kari sat on the floor. Aarti slid to the ground, her legs spread out in front of her and the cuffs of her salwar slid up to reveal her ankles. Kari noticed them and moved her eyes up to Aarti’s face. Kari could hear Aarti’s breaths through the silence, her nose wheezing slightly from the cold outside the house.

Kari opened her mouth to say something, but she could not find the right words. She looked at Aarti who was sitting beside her, looking ahead out of the small window that peeked into the night sky and its blazing stars. The air smelled of wet lentils and coconut oil and Kari wondered if Aarti smelled it too. She was suddenly conscious of how she smelled of sweat and scooted away. Aarti looked at Kari and then again out the window, a playful smile on her face. Kari watched the way the smile formed on Aarti’s face, and she found herself biting her own lower lip to suppress a smile of her own. She always thought she looked silly when she smiled, her chipped tooth visible. But when Aarti looked at her again, a wide grin still on her face, Kari gave in to her instinct. She smiled, revealing her lips, her teeth, and even her tongue as her mouth opened to let out a small laugh.

Tanaayaa (also known as Tania Apshankar) is a junior studying Creative Writing at USC. She is passionate about storytelling through multiple mediums from writing and photography to music and cooking. Her writing is inspired by the strength of women as they rise above adversity.

You can follow Tanaayaa on Instagram here.