Free Abby Spencer Goes to Bollywood by Varsha Bajaj

out—my father, in flesh and blood. Real, in this unreal moment.
    The father whose absence has defined my life, whether I like it or not.
    The string quartet soars.
    I remember all the moments when I yearned to know him. At Doughnuts with Dad, at father-daughter dances, in family pictures, and across the kitchen table each evening for dinner. The wait is over. This moment will always divide my life into before I met my father and after I met him.
    He stands with arms outstretched. He’s wearing jeans with a white T-shirt. “Abby!” he says.
    For a moment I’m paralyzed.
    Dad? Could this be happening? Or is he a hologram?
    He comes toward me and I step into his arms. Maybe there should be awkwardness but there isn’t. Strangely I feel safe.
    In that moment he becomes real. He becomes my dad. “Dad!”
    Then he holds me at arm’s length and looks at me. His eyes mist. He blinks and brushes his eyes.
    “Wow! You look like a clone of Meredith with dark hair.
    You take me back years!” he shakes his head in disbelief.
    Thomas and Shiva hover around. Dad thanks Thomas for meeting me at the airport, and he leaves. Shiva, I learn, lives with Dad.
    We walk into the house. It’s unreal. The floors are lined with silk carpets, huge windows and cathedral ceilings make the space light and airy, and the sound of sea waves provide a natural sound track. Tall bamboo plants with their waxy leaves sit in gleaming bronze pots. Museum quality bronze sculptures of Ganesha and the Buddha adorn various corners. The beautifully blended décor is at once ancient Indian and modern. I’m no art dealer, but the stuff on the walls scream real!
    I’ve never been to a movie star’s house before, and now the one I’m in belongs to my dad. Crazy! I’m certainly not in
    my middle class, homey house in Houston anymore. I read that Mumbai is the wealthiest city in India and therefore a magnet for people seeking a better life. People from rural India come to Mumbai every day to try to find job. I’ve seen both the poor and the rich within minutes.
    Before I can absorb anymore of the house, Dad says, “Abby! I know it’s late and you’re exhausted, but you have to meet your grandmother. She refused to sleep. She had to meet you.”
    I’m surprised. It’s past midnight. I expected to see her the next day. I know she lives with Dad. Mom explained that in India elderly parents often live with their children.
    Dad leads me through the foyer into the living room. An elderly woman sits in a cozy-looking armchair, watching TV. She’s dressed in a loose-fitting blue tunic that grazes her knees over matching loose pants.
    As soon as she sees us, she rises to her feet. She holds a cane for support in one hand and the other hand reaches out to welcome me. Dad rushes to steady her weak, shuffling gait.
    “Abby, I had to get better. I had to meet you.” Her English is deliberate and accented.
    I’ve been worried that she might speak only Hindi. She lets go of her cane, holds my face in both her hands, and kisses my forehead. Happiness lights up her eyes.
    “Grandma Tara, it’s nice to meet you,” I say.
    “I like that name. Grandma Tara,” she repeats and smiles at Dad and me. “You say it differently than we do, but I like that, you know.”
    “How do you say it?” I ask. When I say Tara, it rhymes with Sarah.
    “Ta-ra.” She says it with a soft T and it rhymes with Lara. I say it her way.
    Grandma Tara laughs. “No. Say it the Abby way.” Shiva steps forward. “You have to rest,” he says.
    Grandmother waves him away. “Seeing my granddaughter doesn’t tire me,” she says in a regal voice. The she turns to Dad and they speak in Hindi.
    “She says you are beautiful, and she’s glad she didn’t die,” Dad translates for me. He shakes his head and bursts into a huge guffaw of laughter. He raises his hands and claps. Genuine happiness pours out of his smile.
    I shrug away fatigue. Oh, I am glad too!

Chapter 12
Namaste
    Weird trivia