Free Secret Daughter by Shilpi Somaya Gowda Page B

boardwalk.” Her mother-in-law, brow furrowed, peers at her. “They touched me,” Somer continues, gesturing to her chest, “you know, inappropriately.” She exhales and waits for them to understand.
    Her sister-in-law speaks for the first time. “Krishnan let you go out by yourself?”
    “Yes, well, no. He didn’t let me, exactly. He was at his cricket game, so I went for a walk.”
    “No, of course he wouldn’t do that. Krishnan knows better,” his mother says. She turns to Somer. “It is not appropriate for women like you to walk on the streets alone. You should not have gone without one of us, for your own safety.”
    “Women like me?” Somer asks.
    “Foreign women. Your bare legs and arms, your blond hair. It’s asking for trouble.” She shakes her head firmly with a disapproving look.
    Somer thinks back to the midcalf-length skirt and T-shirt she wore this morning. Not appropriate? “I’ll…remember that next time.” She folds her arms and stands up. “Sorry to interrupt.” She walks quickly down the hallway to their bedroom and pulls the door closed behind her. She tries to fight her growing resentment toward this country, the feeling that everything here is tainted: that the biased adoption process, the opaque cultural rules, and the oppressive weather, all are wrapped up with India as a whole. She expected to feel at home with Krishnan’s family, not so utterly out of place. Is this how I’ll feel in my own family, like an outsider? Asha and Krishnan will look alike, they will have their ancestry in common. Her daughter will always be from this country, which feels so foreign to her. She rummages through her suitcase for the pair of sweats she hasn’t worn since the plane, and despite the sweltering heat, pulls them over her nightgown.

17
ALREADY ATTACHED
    Bombay, India—1985
K RISHNAN
    K RISHNAN LEAVES A DRIPPING TRAIL AS HE BOUNDS UP THE STAIRS TO his family’s flat rather than waiting for the elevator. Somer hardly protested when he proposed going to the government office alone this morning, understanding this might be their best chance to finalize the adoption. Inside the flat, he finds her alone in their room, sitting on the bed, arms wrapped around her hunched knees, watching the downpour through the window. She doesn’t notice him until he is standing before her, drenched from head to toe. When she looks up, her cheeks are wet. “Good news,” he says. They share tears of relief, exhaustion, and joy and decide to go out for a celebratory dinner at the Taj Mahal Hotel.
    Before their bottle of wine is half-finished, Somer is tipsy and begins to vocalize her complaints for the first time since arriving in India. She admits how frustrated she’s been with the adoption process, how conspicuous she feels as a foreigner, how disconnected she feels from him and his family. Krishnan listens and nods, pouring himself more wine and then ordering one scotch, followed byanother. He was worried how Somer would fare in India, and it has been even worse than he expected. He forces himself to listen, and though she doesn’t blame him, he feels the weight of guilt nevertheless. He has known for a long time this reckoning would come.
     
    B ACK IN MEDICAL SCHOOL, EVEN AFTER HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH Somer became serious, he avoided telling his family about her. They would never think to ask him about a girlfriend: he was not expected to have any extracurricular interests, much less romantic ones. By waiting, he reasoned, he could prepare Somer to meet his family: teach her a few words of Gujarati, expose her to the food. But in reality, he didn’t share very much with her about his life in India. She was, after all, thoroughly American, and he wasn’t sure how she would react to reports of living in an extended family, or pigeons flying into the living room through windows that stayed open all summer. This love was new and intoxicating to him, and he didn’t want to risk it. It would have required