Involuntary Reaction (Part 6 of 7)

Mrs Sharma greeted her husband when he came home from work that evening. In all their thirty-two years of marriage he had not seen this particular expression on her face.
He asked her in concerned melodic Hindi if she was all right and she gave him an answer that caused him further distress:

"My wisdom tooth is bothering me."

Mrs Sharma had called Deepa the very next morning after reading her daughter-in-law's email and asked her if she could take her out to lunch. Her office was in Springton too.
Deepa smiled and looked down at her waist-line. All these tea-parties and lunches. She would need to get herself to the gym! But her last interaction with the older lady had actually led to some introspection. At first she had felt insulted and dejected at the futility of her participation in the temple. But slowly, she began to wonder if there could possibly be any truth in the older lady's words.

She had always had the feeling that people did not take her seriously. She was gregarious and well-liked but did people really think her opinion mattered? Even her friends interrupted her at their monthly book club or at social events. She regretted not going for her doctorate and wondered if it was too late. Would THAT make them take her seriously. She sighed. She did not know. But then again, people took Mrs Sharma seriously and she was not exactly over-educated. Maybe it was because she was the wife of the chairman of the board. But she had seen her in her "corporate" mode too, while inter-acting with the temple accountant or with local politicians at their annual dinner.

So what was it that she was missing?

"Lunch it is, Mrs S. See you at that gourmet sandwich place on 57th Street?"

On the other hand, Deepa did wonder about all this attention from the temple board. If she was a complete loser, they would have just have continued to ignore her and not have instituted such a steady stream of intervention. She had obviously touched some nerve, had made them question something. If they were honestly happy about the status quo, why would they be constantly contacting her? Or was that her ego? Maybe this was a way to tell her to slowly 'let her go'. She chortled at all this drama for a simple volunteer project. It seemed like lives depended on it. She needed to keep it in perspective, not take it all so seriously. But that was Deepa; always wanting to save the world.

She was having the most trouble stomaching the idea that women could bring down other women so completely. It was almost a way of life in the Indian culture. Mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law. Every type of sister-in-law relationship. All constantly competing, under-mining, planning each other's demise. Was there no other way for a woman to bolster her self esteem? Was life just one long WWF fight?

And how did the men in these scenarios perceive all this in-fighting? Were they like the British Empire in India: Divide and Conquer? Or were they also hapless and trapped in a complex web that these women had created?

Deepa had a sudden, terrible thought. She vaguely remembered watching melodramatic Hindi movies with her grandmother years ago. Mrs Sharma reminded her of a character from 'Umrao Jaan'. She could picture her showing young girls how to sing or play the sitar provocatively and how to sway seductively. She could not shake the vision of the older lady with a bunch of keys dangling from the waistline of a heavy crimson sari. Her hands would be covered in large yellow gold rings, her nails painted burgundy. She would be counting up wads of rupees, while girls in red and gold bridal outfits, countless necklaces and tinkly ankle bracelets pirouetted around her.

Deepa started giggling uncontrollably.

Fortunately, she saw the older lady first at the restaurant and walked right back outside to collect herself for a moment. Mrs Sharma was telling the waiter the table wasn't clean enough and that she wanted a corner booth. He was apologizing and almost bowing. Mrs Sharma dismissed all the wait staff and began scanning the menu purposefully, horn-rimmed reading glasses perched on the end of a sharp long nose.

Deepa no longer felt like laughing and joined her lunch date. Now she knew why Bhagwan had sent her there. She could learn a lot from this woman.