Serving Crazy With Curry Read Online Free PDF Page B

one after the other. Devi was always crying in pain and even though Saroj's heart ached in sympathy, she wished that Devi was more like Shobha, who rarely fell ill as a baby.
    As Devi grew up, her problems shifted from the physical to the emotional. She was in the fourth grade when Devi's teacher, a Mrs. Parson, invited Avi and Saroj for a small chat regarding Devi.
    “My husband is a founder of a technology company, we have lots of money,” Saroj blurted out when Mrs. Parson accused Devi of stealing money from a classmate.
    Saroj refused to believe that either of her children was capable of stealing. Why would they steal? They had everything they needed and most of what they wanted. Hadn't Avi bought Devi that bicycle she nagged about? The orange-and-black dress (which Saroj thought was ugly and ill suited for Devi) that was hideously expensive?
    “And she also hit a classmate, Lilly, very hard in the face. Actually, Devi broke Lilly's nose,” Mrs. Parson further explained. “You have to understand, this is a very serious matter.”
    That information was digested by Avi and Saroj in icy silence. Saroj could barely form any words, she was so flustered. Her frail little Devi hitting someone? Breaking someone's nose? Impossible!
    “We talked to her, but… she won't say anything. As a matter of fact, she simply won't talk, at all. The school counselor feels the problem might be that Devi is not getting enough attention at home.”
    Mrs. Parson could as well have said that Avi and Saroj were sexually molesting their child, Saroj was so horrified.
    “What on earth are you talking about? My child has everything she needs. Are you saying we don't love her?” Saroj demanded. She stood up as she spoke, kicking her chair aside, towering over the teacher, her hands bunched into fists at her waist.
    “Please, Missus Veturi,” Mrs. Parson pleaded, but she was looking at Avi because it was obvious that mere words would not placate Saroj.
    “Saroj, sit,” Avi instructed, and Saroj had half a mind to throw the glass vase with the plastic roses on Mrs. Parson's table at him.
    “You said your husband is a founder of a company and that probably means he's very busy, correct?” Mrs. Parson said in a questioning voice, and Avi nodded while Saroj shook her head.
    By the end of the meeting Saroj was ready to pack her home and children, move back to India. “Here they are all crazy, Avi, and they are making our children crazy. Let us go home.”
    “This is home, Saroj,” Avi said in his noncommittal tone as Saroj drove the car a little too rashly in her anger.
    That afternoon both Avi and Saroj took Devi to task, but they couldn't pry a single word out of her. She just stood there, rooted, in silence. She didn't speak for a week to anyone, and then finally when Vasu called from India at Saroj's insistence, Devi spoke to her on the phone. But she didn't say anything about her little mishap in school.
    Things went back to normal, but Saroj and Avi never found out why Devi stole one dollar and twenty-three cents and why she broke Lilly's nose. But they also never heard from any of Devi's teachers again.
    Devi's problems didn't end there, though. There were many, many things that went wrong: there was the car accident without insurance, the dumped perfect-husband-material boyfriend (Indian boy from a good family), the kissing some black man in a public place for all to see, the speeding tickets, the layoffs from all her jobs, et cetera, et cetera. And each time something went wrong, Saroj thought how wonderful it would have been if Devi was just a little like Shobha who never seemed to have car accidents, unacceptable liaisons, or job problems.
    Vasu once warned Saroj not to compare her daughters. “You will make them resent each other, and compete with each other. That is wrong. They are sisters, they should be friends.”
    “I have two children and if I don't compare them with each other, who will I compare them with? And Mummy,