Today is August 15, 2020, the 74th anniversary of Indian Independence Day. Thanks to COVID, it is quiet here in Houston. There are no parties to celebrate the occasion and the cultural program at India House, Houston, is virtual.
Feeling a trifle sorry for ourselves, my husband and I decided to have an authentic Indian meal for lunch. We ordered crab online—hats off to the online grocery shopping which is exploding—and Costco promptly delivered a couple of humongous crustaceans directly to our door.
I tried out a mind-blowing Bengali recipe and followed it to a TEE, grinding the exotic spices, chopping the herbs, and folding them into the curry exactly as instructed. I was lucky to have all the ingredients in my treasure trove—excited as I was about that cuisine.
As the crabs stewed, my husband fixed us a very fruity Caribbean cocktail.
The drink in my hand, I returned to editing the sequel of “They’re Calling”—“The Date”. Priya was cooking Rogan Josh to perfection.
Involved in the intricacies of Indian cooking, she suddenly seemed remarkably similar to me. That was not something I had intended. I never meant to drag her into the kitchen, especially the Indian kitchen, to prepare a meal from scratch in the sweltering heat.
Priya, Ravi’s wife, was just a product of Indian culture—not bound to its traditions—
I was happy to share my love of seafood with her. In “They’re Calling”, Priya immediately thought of Galveston’s seafood places when the air-conditioning broke at the Indian Cultural Center on August 15, and the Indian community in Houston demanded a substitute venue.
I allowed Priya to drink alcohol in moderation and love cocktails like me—in “They’re Calling”, she couldn’t have enough of Sue’s handcrafted cocktails at her Thanksgiving party.
But that was all. I did not wish any other aspects of my personality to weave their way into her.
I envisaged Priya as a liberated woman, living the adventure I created for her. But somewhere along the way, she ceased to be the imaginary person filling the role of my protagonist and became a real human being to whom the story happened.
Indianness was innate in her—deep in her heart, she believed that she was first a home-maker and then a person—and the reason for this mentality was the primordial goo in which her character had been formed.
Nandita Author 