Free Inheritance by Indira Ganesan

answered the door, her smile widening when she saw Richard and me. She greeted us warmly; evidently, Richard had spoken of me to her, a fact that gave me a curious thrill.
    She led us to a room that was cluttered with things: little curios of dancing Shiva, images of Laxshmi, smiling Buddhas, plants that trailed, three or four fishbowls, shawls tossed over chairs, pillows studded with mirror work, everything speaking of a woman who had traveled quite a bit. There was too much furniture: armchairs and sofas crowding one another, coffee tables that were piled with large books and trinkets. There was a clash of color permeating her home, chintz righting with plaid, stripes overlapping flowered fabric. I was used to a more streamlined look from my family’s houses, but I supposed Maria’s place was very cozy to her, warm, with red and orange colors. One table held a typewriter and paper, an oasis amid the mess.
    She fetched us a tray loaded with sweets and savories and a tall pot of tea. She urged us to eat and helped herself as well. I couldn’t stop staring at her. She had an air about her that seemed to encompass freedom, and this wasn’t just because she didn’t wear a bra. She seemed more comfortable with herself than the women I knew.Only my mother had her air of carelessness, but while in my mother there was an undertone of defiance, in Maria there was only generosity. She had lived on Pi for four years and had known Richard for three. She and her daughter had traveled all over the map before setting off for Asia. Now her daughter was in London with her father, while she continued to write “silly romances” on the island.
    I felt privileged to meet her, I liked her because to me she seemed at once like someone you could trust. She told stories of meeting Richard when he looked bedraggled and carried a backpack.
    “And look at you now, terribly respectable.”
    Richard blushed, and I felt happy.
    Richard told Maria that I wanted to go to Radcliffe.
    “You want to leave the island? And India itself! How can you?”
    “I want to try someplace new,” I said, realizing after the words were out that I sounded like Jani.
    Maria seemed to think it was like running away. She told me that America might not hold such a sweet life.
    “Do not put your life on hold, or wait until you escape to another world to start living your life as you want. While it is true you might start another stage, another phase, you cannot ignore the life you are in. I say this because I used to put my life on hold constantly. I used to say, when I get a car, I can enjoy the museum in the next town. This instead of merely taking a bus to themuseum. After I lose weight, I’ll buy the red dress. It’s a Western notion, this idea of punishment and reward. Guru-ji tells us what the hippies used to say: Be here now. But enough lecture,” she said, sitting back.
    “No, go on,” I urged, wanting to hear more.
    “People always think they can start anew in some new town. But every time you move, you are either running toward something or running away from something.”
    Then she stopped and began to laugh.
    “I should talk, look at me here.”
    “Were you running from something?”
    “My husband, yes, my old life, my old friends. I thought Pi could answer my need to launch a new life.”
    “Has it done so, do you think?”
    “It is different, yes, and I don’t tire of it. At least, not yet.”
    “Maria is the most contented woman I know,” said Richard.
    We ate more snacks and drank more tea. Maria described her books, fairy tales retold as romances set all over the world. Essentially girl meets boy, girl loses boy, girl and boy find each other in the end. The same theme as found in the Tamil and Hindi popular films. She showed us the galleys for her latest, called Last Hope, Last Time. It was scribbled over in blue pencil, accompanying her editor’s notations.
    “I’m wildly successful. It’s so odd because I came toPi to simplify my