Season of Mangoes in the San Francisco Bay
Although I miss Priya and can’t wait until she returns with the unspeakable truth off her chest, it’s a nice feeling to know that I have a brief yet valuable period of me time. Here I am, alone and free to act and do as I please in this beautiful city. I have always had a deep affection for San Francisco. The city has an inexplicable energy that seems to embody opportunity and creation, a lovely atmosphere between each narrow street and foggy high-rise. There is a popular misconception that those involved in technical fields like accounting lack an appreciation for art and beauty, though that is what I really love about this city. A coffee shop for every corner, permeating culture and promising a relaxing ambiance with each visit. Priya tells me that she enjoys the city as well, but I suspect that she doesn’t share my enthusiasm and perhaps is only trying to humor me; which in of itself is a kind gesture.
Perhaps it’s just my closed-minded American bias, but I don’t fully understand why she is so reluctant to tell her family about us. Even if they are unable to accept the fact that she is in love with a foreigner, why should their opinion even matter? They live on the other side of the world, for God’s sake, and haven’t been actively involved in Priya’s life for years! Perhaps I’m being insensitive, I just have this lurking fear that her family will coerce her into some sort of rushed arranged marriage and she’ll accept out of the sheer guilt of being dishonest with her family. I know it’s important to be tolerant of other cultures, but it seems far too backwards to be true in this day and age; though in comparison to the practices of other countries in today’s world, reduced autonomy is moderate. Maybe I am being irrational and this is merely a mental reaction to that tortuous meeting I had to sit through, either way, I’m worried.
On my way home I ran into Jim and Cindy at the coffee shop down the street from the apartment, which was unexpected since I haven’t seen or heard from them in weeks. They said that they were experiencing a mid-life upheaval of sorts and trying to engage in as many rich experiences as possible; Jim seemed overjoyed to see me and insisted that Priya and I go camping with them at majestic Mt. Shasta in a few weeks- I told him that I would love to but had to run it by Priya first in lieu of the last time we went backpacking and she was mauled by a hungry raccoon trying to get a taste of the mangoes in her backpack.
In her last email she said that camping would be delightful; perhaps she has repressed the incident with the hungry raccoon or is simply seeking to move-on, either way it should be a really positive experience. Only being able to communicate through email has been very strange and disorienting as Priya and I are usually so close and now her only manifested existence is virtual text on a screen. I wouldn’t normally be so bothered by the communication deficit, but the irrational fear of my lovely fiancé being cajoled away from me by a handsome Indian prince still persists in the back of my mind. Like a love-struck schoolboy, I continuously send her unacknowledged messages and desperately wait for a shred of correspondence, but am met only with an empty inbox and an uneasy feeling in my stomach. The best solution, I’ve found, is to just relax and breathe in the encumbering bay air- to simply remind myself to be the rational, kindhearted individual that I have known myself to be. It’s best not to be possessive and jealous, especially if I do truly intend for our marriage to be an equal and trusting partnership. With the morning fog and promise of a new day, I will find my cool and collected composure.
The bitter taste and stimulating aroma of black coffee and the pale cold of morning has brought me back to life and in touch with reality. I’ve finally received another email from Priya, her situation seems very complex through I think she may be blowing things out of proportion to some extent. Despite the strong and imposing personalities dominating her family dynamic, the intricacies of the Indian caste system, and her mother’s strong will, the whole situation feels dramatized. Her time in India is finite, and regardless of whether or not she is able to confess her reasonable love for a foreigner, her life in America still waits abroad, unchanging through any given outcome. She continuously expresses how disapproving she is of her family’s concrete ideals and judgmental nature, yet she judges them through the lens of her immovable beliefs all the same. I love this woman, truly, but this all seems a bit ridiculous. She assures me that I have nothing to fear as to the possibility of her marring and Indian stranger, through with this crazy week nothing will surprise me.
The recent few days have been convoluted, random, and perplexing; continuing on the same chaotic trajectory I first detected when spilling my lunch on my lap during a conference call with a client. Following my reassuring phone call with Priya and a meditative two-wheel session along the bay, I felt more content and focused than I had in weeks. The overwhelmingly positive overtone was interrupted by a weather advisory on my phone, warning Silicon Valley residents to the imminent monsoonal rainstorm that was soon to hit the coast. Underestimating the magnitude of the storm and the severity of the warning, I ventured out on my bike to run a few errands, figuring that it may be fun to defy the elements and embark on a journey of sorts. After I had completed the last remaining task on my list, retrieving Priya’s dry-cleaning, the storm had finally hit the coast- eliciting a violent downpour that lightly flooded the streets and virtually carried cars off the road. Miraculously, I made it home without being taken adrift by the encroaching storm, but found that the dry cleaning was ruined by the excessive moisture and beyond repair. Out of sheer embarrassment, I tossed the ruined garments in the trash-bin and formulated an elaborate story about them being stolen from the shop or spontaneously combusting- there’s no way I’m telling Priya.
Marking the climax of my grand week of trials and tribulations, I had a real-life encounter with a bonafide thief downtown yesterday. While fixated on the devastating account of Steven’s cat being taken downstream by the superstorm and the reeling affects it has had on his business and personal life, I felt a sudden jerk in my chair and realized that someone had just taken off with my slick leather jacket and bag in a single, steady motion. After chasing the hooded thief for several hundred feet and narrowly avoiding being hit by oncoming traffic, I found myself unable to catch up, thereby losing my cellphone and work laptop in an instant. After miraculously rebooting my old PC and recovering at least some of my stolen files, I finally had the chance to email Priya and tell her what had happened. Despite the tumultuous past few days and the incapacitating fear and doubt that have come with Priya’s absence abroad, I am content. Soon she will be back in the States and life will continue as it was; I have missed Priya deeply and hope that her family was able to accept her autonomy and consensual love for another. Despite her inability to efficiently slice mangoes, I love her dearly and am counting the days to her homecoming.
