Mangoes on Azalea

Abstract

Mrs. Shozz is a God-fearing woman with a bad haircut. She didn't hire me for my inner beauty. think she felt sorry for me, for my type, my caste. She has lived here for twenty years, yet all the old-world moral eyebrows still twitch for her. Brahmins stocking cosmetics at Kmart doesn't faze her. only when the lesser of us manage to prosper as cardiologists or own strip malls, and have modem houses in the suburbs, that Mrs. Shozz mutters about a return to tradition; but it's too late. She and her husband have managed to dig themselves deep into this continent. was born here a matter of days before her plane touched the ground at La Guardia. Now work for her in the video store on Fifth and Azalea. The front half of the store is a meticulous display of kindly rewound American videos. Fifty-cent late charge per day past 5 P.M. The store opens at 10 A.M. Mr. Shozz does this since most people work nine to five. There's no off-hours drop box. considers himself a clever entrepreneur. Mrs. Shozz works in the back with the Indian movies. Never rewound. No late fees enforced. No bookkeeping, save a shoddy spiral notebook. Just Mrs. Shozz and her cordless telephone. call her Auntie out of respect, but we speak in English. am what they call a modern girl, something tantamount to a lost soul. Auntie, think want to go to Bombay next Oh God, Bombay in the summer will broil You want to be a film star? Find a husband? is so hot in the summer. Power outs all the time, no air conditioning, mosquitoes, beggars, useless fans - are you kidding? Papa says it will be good for me. haven't been in over ten years. He dreams. Why waste a summer when you can make money for your college? My God, what will you eat there? Mangoes. Mangoes? In India, one person doesn't get one mango! how many? More? Nonono, only a couple slices, and rarely expect the seed to yourself. They are expensive there, too. But they grow on trees There are more mouths to feed sympathize with Mrs. Shozz. can't be easy managing the store seven days a week. Her husband plays bridge with his friends when he isn't working, and even when he works he is distant. They have only one son, Dev, who is a year older than I. They consider me his friend. am technically his lover. If you can call it love. certainly kills time. Dev is through working at the video store. spent a semester in London under the pretense of studying architecture. wants to be a poet. The only thing he said to me when he first got back was that there were a lot of Indian restaurants over there. The other night he called to talk. Usually he invites me over for a game of pool. I can't be with you right now. Five months in London and lose my luster? It's not you. Then you met someone. No. No? Yes. Great. Blonde? It was nothing. Just an experiment. glad it's costing me some dignity then. Listen, this is just too much, okay, I'm young, need space. let Dev touch me the first time we met. trusted him completely. After all, he couldn't see me as exotic, he understood the same languages, and he had some interest in intellectualizing about the diaspora. We had even joked about how it sounded like a personal hygiene product. Or a parasite. At the time, locking up the store and crossing a quiet Azalea, it seemed safe to kiss him. We're both good Indian kids; we can keep anything from our parents. Everything a secret, everything very discreet. not even a conspiracy. We're just being used. And so you've replaced me working as a peon in the Shozz video empire. It'll help with my tuition costs. Who do these city colleges give their money to anyway? I'll have nothing left for grad school, Dev. Bureaucracy. …