The Patient Sikh: Part Ten--Ravi
This an excerpt from a novel in progress and a work of fiction. It was the nineties. My brother Ravi came back from Bali. He had traveled around most of Asia, some of Europe and some of Africa. He would work for six months and then travel for six months. I wish I could live his life. There is so much adventure in his eyes and in the way he talks. He doesn't have to deal with mom and dad on a regular basis."Yaz," he would say, "You think too much.""Ravi," I would say, "At least I think.""That's the thing about people in other places around the world. They don't just think about it, they just are it. If they are poor they don't worry about being poor, they just live out their existence. They accept it. They don't even give it a second thought," he added on a day as we were sitting on our back deck, waiting for my mom to make us some chai."I wish I could be that simple," I told him and looked at a little brown bird whirling around an evergreen bush."They are not stupid if that is what you are suggesting," Ravi declared and put his right arm over the flexible lawn chair."Who said anything about being stupid. If anyone is stupid it's me," I said and put my hand through my hair, the wind was making it fly a little."You got that right, sister," he said and smiled that mischevious smile he had. The one I missed. Every time he left town we all missed him so much. He was like the second dad of the house. The first dad was sitting inside in a drunken haze, reading The New York Times. How he could concentrate on reading while drinking was a mystery to me. He never read the local paper or watched the local news. "I don't care how many dogs have died in our city," he would say.My dad loved Bill Clinton, hated George Bush. I think Ravi is the reason he became a Democrat because he was a big fan of Reagan in the eighties. But since my brother spent years trying to make my parents understand the corruption of the government, they didn't become anarchists like my brother, but they gave up their Republican tendencies a while ago."I would be a communist if it weren't for the inevitable dictatorship that happens with communism. But I guess I'm a true blue socialist when it comes down to it," Ravi once said."Don't say things like you are a communist out loud," my mom would say. "People will say things about you.""No one cares what I think, mom. No one is listening to me," my brother declared."You don't know, they are always listening," my mom would say and put her hand on her head as if she had a headache."Mom, I gotta go soon," Ravi yelled that day from the deck so my mom could hear him through the screen door."You always have to go, go, go. You can't spend five minutes with your family," my mom said and poured the tea into very large white cups.Ravi shook his head. "Why are they still living here?" he asked me quietly. "They can't afford this house anymore.""I don't know anything," I said and looked away at some more birds gathering together by a tree. "I don't know how they are paying for me to be in college," I continued. I felt guilty. Guilty that I cost so much."Dad can't work anymore and Mom can't work enough," he said to me, trying to make me look at him. My mom is a doctor and so is my dad. Actually, my dad is now a drunk doctor."They take money out of their IRA every month," I blurted out even though my mom told me not to tell anyone that, even Ravi. She knew he would be mad about that."Shit," he said and shook his head some more. "They can't keep this up for much longer."Ravi gave them money every month. I don't know how much, I never asked. It's an Indian tradition that your son takes care of you when you start to get old. My parents were getting old, and losing money by the minute. They lived in a huge house that they never needed in the first place. But the thing about Indian people is, it's really hard to get a house in India, so a house is like a symbol of stability in the community. We were the first family amongst our friends to get a big house, my parents did not want to ruin their image, so they were ruining their lives instead."I can't watch this," Ravi sighed and he looked like he wanted a cigarette. I knew he smoked occasionally but my parents had no idea. They would have been devastated. Even though my dad is an alcoholic, smoking is something that they have always forbidden us to do.
Why don't I just quit college, I thought. I'm not really good at it anyways. I don't know how to think these big thoughts they require of you. In my Social Biology class, we were learning about how everything you do in life is really just about reproducing. Getting a job, getting your hair done, whatever is all so you can reproduce better. So you have a better chance of finding a mate and keeping a mate.So what they are telling me is that I'm going to college so I can eventually mate.I haven't had sex yet. I haven't even gone to second base if that's what they call it. That is kind of an old term like from the sixties or something. I think I'm going to wait until I get married. I figure I'll be married by twenty-four. I only want to have sex with the love of my life, otherwise, it's really not worth it.I know, I'm so old fashioned, I'm like from the fifties myself. I know there are other ways to be. Ravi stays with his girlfriend Nima when he is in town. Those two are the reason I believe in true love. They break up a lot, but I've never seen love like that before. Their intensity, their magic when they are together, is crazy. I love Nima. I want to be Nima. I don't mean I want to date my brother, I just wish I was as free as her.My mom came outside with two mugs of chai. "Ravi I made chicken curry yesterday and I packed you some in the fridge," she said as she handed us our tea."OK," he said. He was the only one out of him, me and my little sister Sonia who appreciated my mom's food. Me and my sister were not fans of Indian food. Ravi, on the other hand, could eat anything. I had become a vegetarian in my junior year of high school because I read a book that it was bad karma to eat meat.Then in my biology class, I read some books on how they treat animals in the meat industry. No wonder it's bad karma. It's sick. My mom keeps asking me when I will stop this vegetarian non-sense. I'm not going to stop. I'm doing the right thing."I made you mutter-paneer," my mom said and looked at me. She looked older in the fall sunlight."OK," I mumbled. I usually gave the food my mom gave me to my friend Harry. He was this tall Indian dude who could eat anything. He was shocked that I was throwing out my mom's food and getting pizza in the dorm instead. He told me to give it all to him. So I did.I know I'm a bad daughter but my mom sends me tons of food and I can't, I just can't eat it when there's American food I can get at the dorm. I think my days of eating Indian food might be over. Besides, I should stop eating so much. I have already gained eight of the fifteen pounds I'm supposed to gain as a freshman. I want to ask Ravi if he can tell I've put on weight. But he will just shake his head and look at me, disappointed.Disappointed that unlike Nima, I'm not comfortable with my body. Nima has sat me down many times and told me that there is nothing wrong with my body, that I need to love it. She's a total feminist, which I love. But I don't love my body. I love Nima's body. She is pretty slim with a large chest. She's so beautiful.I wish I was beautiful.I'm not sure why it's so important to me to look good. I break out sometimes and get zits. I'm definitely never been 'skinny.' I know I'm not actually fat, but I could stand to lose a few. My mom never hesitates to tell me that pretty much every time she sees me.It's OK, she has to deal with my dad. I give her a break for being obsessed with her own weight as well. Probably the reason I have body image issues. I'm taking a Women's Study class that Nima suggested I take. It's really amazing, we are reading this book called, The Beauty Myth by Naomi Campbell. It's basically about the beauty industry has created these unreachable beauty standards and ideals for women, so they can never feel good enough.I don't think I'll ever be good enough.ninaIf you would like to read the beginning of this novel in progress, The Patient Sikh, visit the following links in chronological order:The Patient Sikh: Part OneThe Patient Sikh: Part Two–The Wonder YearsThe Patient Sikh: Part Three–SonnyThe Patient Sikh: Part Four–Song LyricsThe Patient Sikh: Part Five–Your SongThe Patient Sikh: Part Six–Coffee Talk
The Patient Sikh: Part Eight--Kiss And TellThe Patient Sikh: Part Nine--Street Chess