Free Motherland by Vineeta Vijayaraghavan Page A

from New York, stores there wrap everything so handsomely, with ribbons and velvet and tissue, even if you’ve just bought a barrette.”
    Sangeetha auntie did not look impressed. “With our jewelry, you aren’t paying for fancy decor in the jeweler’s shop or fancy packaging. You pay by the weight of the gold. Feel this.”
    She took the necklace off the pins and put it in my hands. It was heavy, like a whole rollful of quarters from the bank.
    â€œWhen I was your age, I had necklaces already, as fine as this, from my father and mother. But only now, after buying for our three daughters, now that they are married, have I accepted my first one from my husband. “
    I hoped the collar of my salwar kameez covered the thin gold chain I was wearing. It was so thin it was more like a shiny piece of thread, really. Steve had given it to me last Valentine’s Day. I’d never seen him so bashful before, and I was too surprised seeing him like that to be as appreciative as I should have been. He couldn’t have known that in our tradition, necklaces are more important than rings, my mother would take off her wedding band to do dishes or check the oil in the car, but she never took off her wedding necklace. I wore my necklace almost all the time, sometimes at night I reached up inside my T-shirt to glide the tiny links back and forth between my fingers.
    â€œI hope your mother has been putting away some things for your special day?” Sangeetha auntie said, holding the box open for me to put the necklace back.
    â€œI don’t know,” I said.
    â€œYou don’t know? Well, what does your horoscope say? When is the right year for your marriage?”
    â€œI don’t know, I don’t think I have a horoscope,” I stammered, looking to Reema auntie for help.
    â€œNonsense, everyone has a horoscope; your mother would have seen to it when you were born. Reema, what does her horoscope say?”
    Reema auntie didn’t look at me, “Actually, Maya doesn’t have a horoscope, her mother didn’t want it done.”
    Not having a birth-chart, or horoscope, in India was like missing a basic appendage. Families commissioned a horoscope based on the date and time of their children’s birth to guide them in every endeavor: what subjects to study, what medicines to take, what gods to propitiate, what husbands to marry. My mother had not made one for me, and I hated when it came up in conversation.
    Sometimes I lied and made up a horoscope for myself, I knew what star I was born under, and I would just adapt the formulaic things I’d seen written in cheap Indian tabloids. But I couldn’t lie to Sangeetha auntie, not with Reema auntie right there who knew the truth.
    â€œOh,” Sangeetha auntie said. She looked perplexed. “But then how will she marry?”
    Reema auntie said, “Hopefully, we’ll find a family who doesn’t follow these things.”
    â€œOh,” Sangeetha auntie said again. She looked unconvinced and patted my cheek in a pitying way. “Oh, well, then 1 can’t really help. But I’m sure you’ll find someone suitable.”

    W E DROVE INTO the carport at Helena’s and were greeted by a line of tall girls, most wearing saris, some salwar kameezes.
    â€œI can’t wait to be in the upper school and not have to wear this stupid uniform,” Brindha complained. One of the upper-school girls was dispatched to take us to Brindha’s hostel and introduce Brindha to her bunkmates for the year. There was silence among eleven watchful girls while the upper-school girl helped Brindha open her suitcase. A teacher checked off a list of requirements—three white shirts, two blue skirts, two blue dresses, two sweaters, one exercise outfit, etc.—and the girl held Brindha’s clothes up for inspection. The teacher and the girl conferred over a few items, and when they were in agreement on everything,