The sun lazily bounced off the tarmac as Prerna and her husband, Manish, sped past suburban Staten Island. American flags fluttered on the porches of Bay Terrace and boards in front yards proudly proclaimed that the owners of the houses had. lived to see the turn of the millennium.
The couple lived in a simple, two-level, white-painted house. Prerna kept a small, manicured garden-a far cry from the weedy, neglected sidewalk outside. It reminded her of her childhood, but she preferred the grit and diversity of the city. Manish, however, didn't-he was a man of small pleasures, such as lying on the sofa and watching cricket, or enjoying a barbeque at a neighbour's house.
Sometimes, Prerna marvelled at how much Manish reminded her of Karanjit-they had the same moustache and high forehead -but he couldn't be more different from her father. For one, he barely smiled, whereas Karanjit was inclined to beam at absolutely everything.
'Work, work, always driving you to work. And at the same time every morning, every day,' grumbled Manish, as he steered the car down the last length of Hylan Boulevard before veering off to Bay Street, which runs alongside Upper New York Bay. The road would take them to St George for Prerna's early morning shopping before she caught the Staten Island Ferry to work.
'That's the restaurant owner's life in New York City,' Prerna said. 'I'm sorry, but you know we can't afford to live anywhere else. And here, we have more space. Especially with the state of affairs at The Curry Bowl.'
'I know.'
'Can you drive a little faster? I don't want to miss the freshest herbs and spices at Khanna and Sons in St George-they sell out so quickly. If we don't get there early enough, Shriman Khanna will try to sell me his old, wilted herbs and stale spices. I can't have that. I can't miss my ferry either.'
'Driving as fast as I can, dear.' Manish threw up his hands.
'Traffic! You don't drive, so maybe you don't understand that.' Prerna glared at her husband and was about to retort sharply when a bicyclist veered in front of their car. 'Manish! Watch out for that bicycle!'
Manish honked at the errant bicyclist and rolled down the
window. 'Get to the side of the road! You are going too slow for
the traffic!'
The bicyclist glared over his shoulder, flipping them off as the Nissan sped past him.
'Don't worry, I'm an excellent driver.'
'You remind me of my father; he would smile and honk at all the cows in Old Delhi-only you don't smile when you honk and there are no cows crossing the roads in New York. It's just aggressive people in aggressive vehicles.'
Manish pressed on the accelerator as they closed in on downtown St George. 'My courier business is starting to trickle off. I'm not sure why. I gave a lot to the Indian community downtown-the best prices, taking risks on some of the rules for people like Dr Annu. I feel that they are not appreciating what I've done for them,' Manish sighed as the traffic lights in front of them turned red.
'Take it easy. Businesses are still recovering from 9/11. It's for everyone. We can talk about that later; I really need to get to the spice market now,' Prerna responded.
