Daya had met a pretty girl. A sweet girl. A girl that takes your heart, improves it, joins it with hers, and they both beat together until life ends. He knew it. She knew it. Other than that, they knew nothing about each other at all. She did not know that he was an Orphan, abandoned at birth. He did not know she had five siblings. Their lives before they met in Dairy Queen, may as well have been some imagined paths that had little to do with them now. Unfortunately, sometimes past things shape future events. As they soon found out.
For two weeks Daya and the Sweet Girl - Shreya, had talked, walked, shared and laughed. Bits of who they are, and who they wanted to be, or thought they were, drifted out into the love they were carving between them. It was foundation stuff. Nothing miraculous in all those little bits other than the miracle of love. Gentle touches, unsure at first, but hopeful, became, like holding hands, the natural outcome of two people becoming one. There was no one "moment" when they knew, all the moments themselves did. It was time to meet her family, for he had none.
He showed up on time. Cleaned up and pretty. Six foot five, tall, but not looming. Dark hair smoothed out. Dark chocolate brown eyes, surveying, withholding judgement. He had on a green collared shirt, black pants with a crease that could be used as a scalpel. His shoes set the tone of understated elegance. The only jewelry he wore was his belt buckle. A solid silver bracket that would have been called Art in a different era. He was- every inch- Class, Elegance, and Sophistication, whispered not shouted. For a moment, the entire family at the table, already seated for dinner, stared. Shreya did not exaggerate his presence, or his looks. They remembered her words before he showed up:
"He looks like a character from Spy Novel." Yes. He does.
The dinner started out with polite introductions. Then went down hill like an athlete in the twilight of his career. At first, he shrugged off the sarcasm dripping from both sides of the table, and the other end where her parents sat. Little snide comments snipping at his comfort zone.
"So…my sister says you speak ten languages. So, why aren't you talking?"
And her brother would wink and nod at the other sibling and the parents. Each of them choking back a guffaw.
He would look over at the Shreya, she wouldn't meet his eyes, and a blush formed and faded. Another of the Shreya's older sisters spoke up:
"Yeah. She says you are a Concert Pianist too!" They all exchanged knowing looks.
Daya was befuddled, embarrassed, but he was a guest, and it was HER family, so he merely smiled and looked interested.
The Father, with a big smug grin on his face looked down the table at the Shreya:
"She is so gullible. She says you have Art Work hanging in a museum somewhere." That got the biggest laugh of the night, when her other sister said:
"In the gift shop, under paint by the numbers!" Another big laugh.
Daya had gone quiet. Nobody noticed because he hadn't been speaking since the spate of ugly comments, sarcasm, and creeping resentment from her family began. Not as pleasant getting to know you comments, but as self righteous, superior, digs at his supposed accomplishments. Still, Daya held his tongue. His body portrayed only a stillness. A stillness that they either ignored, or did not know its import. On any other man, it would have appeared as …rage. His smile was gone. His eyes became darker, sharper, on the look out for threats or prey. They didn't notice, as they chided him on yet another supposed achievement of his… a gold medal at the World Games for Judo.
"So, Daya, how did you fit in this dinner tonight? I mean shouldn't you be jetting around the world saying: "Bond, James Bond." Everyone howled.
They loved it when their Mother did that clipped British accent, and delivering yet another blow to Daya's supposed prowess. The whole family was engaged in sniping holes in the life story of Daya. Except Shreya. Tears were dripping openly down her face. Unnoticed by all but Daya. The laughter around the table danced around both Daya and the Shreya, as if they weren't there at all. In a way, they were not there. For the family had long ago left the trappings of manners, and good will, fall away, so they could bark , and tear, at their helpless prey. Daya.
Finally the oldest brother spoke:
"We don't mean to make fun of you Daya. But come on, you have to know your stories are made up. You are a con man. Nobody could have done half that stuff at twice your age. Hell, Daya you are EIGHTEEN years old! All you have ever done is graduate from High School."
Before Daya could respond: Darla, the other sister spoke up:
"Yes. That high school was Juilliard."
The Dad slapped the table with glee.
"Good one, Darla! "
Shreya's tears continued to fall.
"Enough."
The word struck like a gunshot. Instantly commanding silence. It wasn't yelled. It wasn't screamed. It was simply a command. It would not be denied. Somewhere, in the tiny minds around him, awareness was waking up to the fact that a Man had spoken.
He looked at each of Shreya's family. One. By One. By One. A look of complete dismissal. A sentence in a glance. The silent treatment gone haywire in a look. It was a look none of them would forget, and it came tinged with fear. Righteousness, not self righteousness - always brings fear to lesser people. Daya was righteous. The silence held like a lock. Daya turned to Shreya:
"They called me a Con Man…and you…you…believed them? "
Shreya looked up, her eyes stills steaming tears. Tears that explained better than words, that she had doubted him, and trusted her family. "
"They are my family. They were looking out for me. I tried to tell them about you, and they twisted it and made it ugly. I believe in you Daya. They just made me doubt a little. I mean…it is an awful lot to have done…(her voice grew weaker)…I mean…don't you think…well…they have a point?"
Daya stood. Slowly. Each movement controlled- barely. He slid the chair under the table. His place setting still untouched. He let go of the chair, stepped back from the table into the alcove before he spoke. Every word edited before it came out. Clipped. Crisp. Solid. Fact.
" I am a guest in your house for the last time. I will ask that if you ever see me again, anywhere, at any place, or time, give me the courtesy of not acknowledging me. I do not know you. I do not want to know you. You should know me.
My name is Daya.
I am a Concert Pianist. Google my name and look up my Concert Schedule for the Winter. I only perform in Europe in the Winter, because the Opera Houses, and Concert Hall are full then.
I started my own IT company when I was 13.
I have a Ph.D in Theoretical Physics from M.I.T, and Doctorate in Romance Languages from Harvard.
(He glanced over at Shreya…who's tears streamed unabated…hope, love, and her future pouring out onto her chin, washing them all away)
I speak 26 languages, what I told your daughter was I am fluent in ten.
If you Google the World Games, you will see my name as the Gold Medal Winner in Judo. I won it last summer. They youngest competitor to ever win a Gold in Judo.
I am not an Artist, I am a Calligrapher. I have two examples of my work in Museums. One is on display in the Louvre, in Paris, the other at the New York Museum of Art.
I have no family. Until I met her…(and he did not look but unrolled his hand like a carpet to place her at the end of it, not pointing, showcasing)
I have never had a girlfriend. I still haven't been kissed. I was hoping she would bring both into reality for me. "
The room was dead silent. Tomb silent. Each of Shreya's tears now it the floor and table with a sound of great loss.
"I do not lie. I can't even imagine people like you. People who take their own opinions as fact. You could have at least Googled any of the supposed "claims" (and none of them missed the sarcasm and venom he placed into that word) your daughter made about me. You…did…not. You should be ashamed of yourselves. You won't be, because that is beyond the reach of petty bullies like all of you. I leave here without a girlfriend, without a first kiss. Without a new family. You should be proud of your little petty peacock strutting wit…all lies. All invented by you, not me. I am not given to exaggerations, hyperbole, or story telling. I do what I say. No more. No less. "
He turned once more to look at Shreya.
"You chose Family…a good thing. In a few weeks, or months, when you realize how superficial they are, you will wonder what could have been, or might have been. It is to late for us, you BELIEVED them.
This time, when his hand waved to include the entire family, the gesture cut like a scythe, an execution of an entire family in all but deed. They withered, cut and discarded before that wave.
"The only good thing about his evening is this (and he held her eyes with his) you will love again. You will find someone, and you will know not to bring them here."
He said "here", as if he had just spat on the floor.
"I will let myself out of your life now. I do not want to see any of you ever again. If I do, I will not acknowledge you. Your apologies carry the same weight as your inquisition did tonight…empty of all but your pettiness. I won't believe them, as you did not believe me. Except unlike you pitiful people, I will have a reason. Good night. Good bye."
He did not slam the door. He just quietly closed it. Sealing in what might have been. Only then did he cry.
Shreya never moved from the table. Tears continued to fall. Each of them like an arrow in her family hearts. She was beyond comforting. The outside world had just walked out the door, sealing her off. Many minutes later, the phones came out in complete silence. On brother looked up Ph.D's from M.I.T, when he found Daya's name, he just held the screen out, and showed it around the table. A grunt came from the Dad, as he held his screen up to the table: Dr. Daya and his Company: Silent Cubed, wins Defense Contract for 600 million dollars.
A gasp came from Darla: She turned and showed her screen to everyone: " Art Goes Daya: At Sotheby's Auction house in London, Daya's Calligraphy broke the bank. The exact price that his "Calligraphy of Change" sold for is not Public Knowledge, but, insider say it sold for …"far north of 100 million."
The Mother, the only one without a phone, lowered her head to the table: "What have we done? What have we done?"
Even though her voice was muffled , the words echoed around the table. Everyone heard them, but Shreya. She didn't hear anything, except the door closing when Daya left, and her heart breaking.
Daya had gone back to work. Hard. Usually he slept about four to five hours a night. In the three weeks since he left the disastrous dinner at Shreya's home, he slept , if he slept at all, for minutes, not hours. He was normally quiet, bordering on taciturn. Now? Well, now, words were as rare two sunsets in the same day. He was empty. He made up for it by filling the void with work He had not thoughts for her family members, the wisp of their existence blew away when he closed their front door. He had thoughts for Shreya. It wasn't pride that stopped him from calling her, it was the simple fact that he couldn't - she had chosen. He had to respect that choice, and let her move on and find a new love. He hoped she would. A good man. A man big enough to forgive her family, and her. A man that Daya could not be, or become. He wished her well, the way drawing people wish for air.
The Bell rang. Daya opened the door. The moment of shock he felt is the only reason the door did not automatically close again. He was stunned. On his front porch stood Shreya's entire family. Both her parents, both her sisters, and both her brothers. They saw the look on his face, and they recognized it for what is was. For they too, had stepped in dog shit, and looked at it the exact same way. They were family though, and had come with a purpose. Even if they were dog shit in his eyes, they weren't in each others.
Carla spoke first:
"Mr. Daya…(even to Darla that didn't sound right)…you have to see my sister. You HAVE to."
Her tears fell, each of them honest in their distress and hope.
Daya remained unmoved. Unflinching. Unspeaking.
The Father tried next:
"Daya, look we were idiots. You can hate us all you want. My daughter does not deserve to pay for our sins. We created that doubt in her, she did not. You don't have to forgive us, but please, for God's sake forgive her! "
Shreya's father's hand balled up into fists, not to fight, but to stand up for his daughter. For a moment, he stood like a Man, a Father, a Husband, a person who hurts for someone whom he loves. That did not go unnoticed by Daya, but only made it clear that someday, some …day…Shreya would have a new love, and one that could find room in that family.
Daya still stood mute. Unmoving, and unmoved.
It was then that the Mother of Shreya moved to the front and looked up into Daya's eyes. She didn't back away from her culpability, or her pettiness, she embraced her errors, but his was her daughter, her baby…her girl. She would stand naked on the fifty yard line of the Super Bowl and take the riddle and shame, if that would help her daughter. It was a mother's love, a mother's duty, and a mother's will…she would beg if she had too. Her baby needed help.
"Daya, we were fools. More than fools. More than unfair. Daya, my daughter hasn't spoken since you left. She has lost more than ten pounds. We had to take her to the hospital, she won't eat, she won't cry. She doesn't respond at all. (Now the tears were streaming from her eyes, they were the worst tears that can fall, the tears of a mother with no hope) Daya, please, please, ignore us for life, but give her back hers!"
Daya looked at them all. Each one was touching, supporting, holding another one, all of them trying to touch their mother, whether to offer support, or gain some, wasn't clear. He saw them for what they truly were…a family. There was love there. There was hope. There was trust. There was support. Not for him, for Shreya. She was loved, and that, that alone, is what unleashed his own love. They did not know it yet, but he had just forgiven them…all of them.
"Take me to her. "
Like every other time they had heard him speak. It was a soft voice, no need to shout. The words were a contract, a command. In that short sentence, they knew hope.
Daya walked into the room…alone. The lights were dim, casting angular shadows on a face grown thin.
He took that pained an owned it. "I was part of this too." He thought. In his hand he held a chocolate shake with two straws. It was how they met.
When he offered to buy her a chocolate shake that first time in Dairy Queen, she had said:
"Don't be silly, get another straw!"
That first silly meeting, with their heads bumping as they bent to sip from their straws, and then racing to make the slurping sound at the bottom of the cup…it was a ritual that they both enjoyed. One of those things that couples forge entire futures off of. A ritual that had died the night of the dinner. He was hoping it hadn't died in her heart.
Even in the dim room, Shreya knew someone had come in…a shadow. A dream. A wisp. She imagined it to be Daya. She didn't turn her head, because the shadow was safer than no Daya.
" I have two straws."
This time, Shreya turned. She heard that voice. She heard the apology, the ownership of the pain he caused. She heard his loneliness and hope too. Above all, she heard the love in it. She was to weak to get up, but not to turn towards the voice.
"Daya. I …"
Whatever she was going to say, went unsaid. Her lips had no more times for words. His lips were telling her the whole story, as they pressed softly like fluffy wisps of meringue. A moment later, and what was a gentle brush of lips, formed a more gentle crushing like the velvet of a fistful of rose petals, and then, well, it was their first kiss…one that held their future safe.
In the hallway, a family embraced. Shreya was going to be fine. They were going to be fine.
They left the young couple to their two straws and a shake.
*****ThE EnD*****
A/N - Uff! It's extremely a long long story. But I really hope it wasn't boring. Do Review guys.
Toodles!