Same Sun Here Page 3

  Kiku says there are only two ways to be American:

  Being born one

  Getting papers from the government

  He says once you are an American, even if someone calls you a terrorist, you can get a lawyer for free, and you can vote for Barack Obama.

  I have never heard that people in Kentucky are stupid. If I ever hear someone saying that I will tell them they are wrong. I wonder why feeding pigeons is against the law but saying mean things about people isn’t. That doesn’t make any sense to me.

  I think New Yorkers are very nice. On the subway, people give their seats to the elderly or children or pregnant ladies. Strangers carry strollers and heavy suitcases up the stairs for one another. People talk to each other, just because. When I first came here, I thought everyone was scary because they walked so fast and said a lot of bad words. But now I walk fast, too, and sometimes I say, “What the hell?” I have never been mugged and neither has Mrs. Lau, who has lived in Chinatown for fifty-five years. I told her what your mamaw said about stereotypes, and she said it was true. She said, “There’s good and bad people everywhere.” I wrote that down in my journal.

  Maybe I’ll try it out now like a poem:

  There’s good

  And bad

  People

  Everywhere

  That was fun. Kiku says tourists who come here get drunk and shop and sightsee, but they do not understand the city. They think it is a playground, not a real place to live. He says it is because in the movies, New Yorkers always have a lot of money or are shooting each other. One thing I like about New York is that everyone is different. So nobody is weird because everybody’s weird. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense. But I am not going to cross it out.

  I have never been in a cab, but my daddy’s friend Sushil-Uncle drives one. We walk and take the subway and sometimes the bus. Even Mayor Bloomberg takes the subway to get to work. I think it would be fun to raise my hand for a taxi and see it stop. But it is expensive.

  Do you have a brother or sister?

  I have not answered all your questions, but I have to go now and wash the dishes before Mum gets home. There are a lot in the sink and Kiku never does them.

  August 28, 2008

  It is one day later. I think I will write this letter like a journal. I have just taken Cuba for a walk. First I had to clean the sofa, because Kiku got bicycle grease on it. He doesn’t notice that it is always on his legs.

  Your grandmother sounds very interesting. We learned about activists last year on Martin Luther King Day. I wrote a paper about how he was like Gandhiji, who fought the British. Can you tell me what is your mamaw fighting for? I hope she will win.

  Is it fun to mow the lawn?

  How many windows are in your house?

  Do you have your own room?

  Last night a big storm rolled in off the river. When I heard the thunder, I went out the window and stood on the fire escape so I could see the sky. It was grey and OMINOUS. I looked down in the street and saw everyone walking fast. Nobody had an umbrella because it had been sunny all day. The wind got strong and cold, and a garbage can on the corner blew over and rolled in the street and a taxi almost crashed into it. Then it started to rain so hard that people ran and flattened themselves against the sides of buildings. I could hear the gutters filling and the wind howling in the shaftways. I love when storms come and remind everyone that Mother Nature is stronger than anything. It is easy in New York to forget that.

  The rain sounded different all over, hitting the garbage bags on the curb, the tops of air conditioners, the big cloth awning above the bodega, the windows, and the rusty fire escape. Then the lightning came. I was completely soaked and Mum leaned out and scolded me and told me to come inside. When I came in she gave me a towel for my hair, and I heard Cuba barking next door and remembered that Mrs. Lau had her windows open, so I went over there. I always wear the key to Mrs. Lau’s apartment around my neck.

  Cuba was shaking, and his ears were flat against his head because thunderstorms scare him. All the parakeets were puffed up and squawking, and Mrs. Lau was trying to shut her window but it was stuck. I wish the landlord would come and replace her windows. She has been asking him for two years. They are not safe and they leak.

  When I went back to our apartment, Kiku and Mum had lined up three chairs in front of the bedroom window. They had their feet on the sill and they were getting wet and laughing and passing a bowl of popcorn back and forth. They had left the middle chair for me. “Arrey, come, come, Mee-Mee!” Mum said, and we sat there and held on to each other and screamed like crazy every time the thunder came. It sounded like the storm was right on top of us. The curtains blew straight out and Mum rolled up the peacock bedspread so it wouldn’t get wet. We sat there and watched the storm like it was a movie, laughing and screaming and having so much fun. But you know, even though I was happy, I missed Daddy. He should have been having fun with us. And I missed Dadi. That is just what me and her always did when a big storm came in off the mountain. We’d stand together in the doorway and wonder at such a strong thing in the world. “God is great,” Dadi always said, especially during storms. Now there is no one to close the windows for her. There is no one for her to watch storms with. I am here and she is all alone. Just like Daddy, poor Daddy, who has to eat his meals standing up in the restaurant. He says the best thing about coming home is getting to sit down and eat all together as a family.

  At one point during the storm, Kiku looked over at me and said, “I hope Ana Maria’s doing OK.” Then his face got pinched and scared because the big dummy had forgotten that Ana Maria is a secret!!!! He’s SO in love with her that he HAS to talk about her all the time!!! Anyway, Mum frowned, then raised her eyebrows like she does when she is both interested and suspicious. She said, “Who is this Ana Maria?”

  I thought Kiku was going to fall down dead. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish. I felt so sorry for him that I made up a lie. I said, “She’s a girl at my school who is scared of lightning. Kiku thinks it’s funny so he’s being a jerk.”

  Mum tsked and sighed and said, “Oh, Kiku. You be nice to that Ana Maria.”

  Kiku looked at me and made his eyes wide and laughed his head off. He said, “If you say so, Mum.”

  Whew. It was a close calling.

  By the way, the reason why Ana Maria is a big secret is because Mum wants Kiku to marry an Indian girl. She says if he marries an American girl, she will die of GRIEF and SHAME. She also says I’m not allowed to EVER go on a date EVER and that she will pick out a nice boy for me when it’s time to get married. Kiku and I already have a plan that I will look ugly and act like a wild animal whenever I meet these boys Mum wants me to marry. And when I am seventeen, I will have a secret boyfriend FOR SURE.

  When I was in India and it was just me and Dadi, we had a world map from National Geographic. We would unfold it and count all the mountains and rivers and countries and cities in between us and Mum and Daddy and Kiku. I think about that and I wonder if now Dadi counts alone. It is so sad to be far away from each other. We write Dadi letters, and we call Daddy on the phone, but it is not the same. Sometimes I get so sad that I have to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and stand still. It’s like my legs won’t move. All the people keep walking and all the cars keep driving and after a few minutes I know that I have to keep going. I know there is nothing to do but keep going like everybody else in the city. I think that, and then I am able to move again. But some days I worry so much I feel like my head will break into a zillion pieces.

  I don’t know why I just told you all that. Sorry.

  After the storm, Mum and myself wiped down the sills and floor and put the fans in the windows to drag in the cool air from the outside. The air was clean, the buildings were dripping, and the pavement was steaming and smelled like stones. I love the smell of summer pavement after rain. It is funny because Francie in my book also loves that smell. I want to try drinking coffee because she likes it. I think we
have a lot in common.

  By the way, I think A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is not girly. I knew a girl in Mussoorie who would not wear her glasses, so she always got bad grades. She said she would rather be pretty than see properly. I think that is girly. But A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is an amazing book for anyone. I am not sure, though. I have never had a friend who is a boy, except for Kiku.

  One more by the way . . . I CAN believe that S. E. Hinton is a girl and that she wrote a book. Girls can do anything.

  August 29, 2008

  It is another day later and I am sitting on the fire escape. The sun is setting and the tops of the buildings look pink and gold. I can hear the couple on the fourth floor fighting. Kiku says they should get a divorce and stop keeping us awake at night.

  You ask a lot of questions, so I think you will be a very good newspaper reporter some day. I have read your letter so many times that I have it memorized. It is good that the Summer Program has ended, because I have lots of time to write to you.

  The red dot you asked about is called a bindi. Mum had a laugh that you thought it was Magic Marker. She said to tell you the bindi marks a place of wisdom on the body. It is a decoration, like jewelry. I’ve seen Christian people who wear a cross around their neck. A bindi is the same kind of thing. Mum wears a small one made of felt. It is only as big as the tip of a pencil, and it works like a sticker. It is red because she is married. I wear one during the festival season in October and November, if we go to temple or a party.

  There are some famous white people who like to wear bindis, too, like Madonna and Gwen Stefani. I think it is kind of weird that they do that. Kiku says they are both Italian.

  I have never been asked what I am good at, so I had to think about that question for a long time. I think I am good at reading and noticing things. I am also good at making a bundle of firewood on my back as I walk through the forest. But I cannot do that in New York City. Also, I have a very good sense of smell.

  It would take a zillion pages to list all the things I am NOT good at.

  At the library this morning, I looked at the book by your S. E. Hinton called The Outsiders. It was missing pages, so I didn’t take it out. I have put in a request for a copy from another library. It took me three months to get A Tree Grows in Brooklyn because all the copies in the city were missing or on hold. I think it is a very popular book. I have already finished reading it, and I am now halfway through it again. It has some hard words but they are beautiful. My favorite new word is SUCCULENT. Since reading this book, everyone I pass on the street seems full of stories and dreams and a secret sadness.

  My favorite meal is chawal (rice), kala dal (black lentils), roti (bread), raita (yoghurt), spicy mango pickle, and sitaphal (a kind of fruit). Dadi and I ate this meal all the time. Actually, I do not know if it is still my favorite, because I cannot eat it with Dadi and part of what made it taste good was being with her. I think Dadi would like where you live. If she comes to America, I will tell her about your uncle who sells houses. She does not speak English, so I would live with her and be her interpreter. Then we could all be neighbors.

  It is very exciting that your mountains look just like mine. I googled Black Banks at the library and read that is in the Appalachian Mountains. Mum always says, “People are people.” I guess mountains are mountains. I never knew that before. In Hindi, the word for pine tree is this:

  I don’t think I believe in the Bible because I am Hindu. But in our bedroom, Mum has an aarthi/puja space, where she keeps a picture of the Virgin Mary right next to Lord Krishna. Also, Mum always says, “Do unto others,” and I think that is from the Bible. In Mussoorie, I went to St. George’s School, where there were many Christian teachers. There are lots of missionaries in Mussoorie because the British used to go there when they felt hot. Kiku says Christians think that everyone should change to be like them or we will all go to hell. You are a Christian and it does not seem like you think I should be one, too. Do you?

  Sometimes Kiku says mean things because he is a teenage boy with a lot of hormones. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I had to ask him what “the N-word” means. He told me, and then he said a white person who uses the N-word hates Indian people, too. I am telling you this so I am not keeping secrets from you, but I hope you are not upset.

  I asked Mrs. Lau what kind of dog Cuba is and she said, “He’s a New Yorker.” She said he followed her home from work twelve years ago. She thinks he is one of those fight dogs, but he was too nice to fight so he ran away. This was a new story for me. If I had not met you, maybe I would never have asked Mrs. Lau that question. I am so glad to have met you.

  I hope your mother doesn’t have a headache today. Has she been to Dr. Patel? By the way, I think it’s not nice that you think the way Dr. Patel speaks is funny. And I think your mamaw elbows you because it is rude to stare at someone just because they look different from you. You said yourself it was bad when your daddy didn’t like people different from him, right?

  I bet Mrs. Patel is homesick like me. I don’t like it when people make fun of the way I talk. It doesn’t seem like I have an accent, because I am writing, not speaking, to you. But I DO have an accent, and if you made fun of me for it, I would not want to be your friend anymore and Kiku would probably beat you up.

  Next week, the day after Labor Day, school starts. When I first came to New York, it was March, so I could not go to school because of the city rules that say you have to wait till September. That year, Kiku taught me from his books and made up examinations for me and put smiley faces on them. And then for three years, I went to PS 110, but we didn’t do much except read out loud from textbooks. Ms. Bledsoe at the Summer Program got me transferred to PS 20. It is just ten blocks from here. I start there next week. I do not know anyone, so I am a little nervous. I don’t know if I will make any friends.

  Mrs. Lau says you shouldn’t have more friends than you have fingers. She says real friends are hard to find. I think she is right. My best friend, Anuradha, has not written me a letter since I moved to New York. I think she has a new best friend and has forgotten all about me. Mrs. Lau says if this is true then Anuradha was never my best friend in the first place, so I shouldn’t sit around feeling sad about it.

  Next weekend, Daddy comes home. I cannot wait to see him.

  I hope you and Rufus are smiling. Please write back soon and tell me more about your real true self.

  Your pen pal,

  Meena Joshi

  P.S. I have been thinking of what you said about computers. Tomorrow I will practice typing at the library.

  P.P.S. Here is how Dadi makes okra:

  Heat oil in a pan and throw in a pinch of cumin seeds. Fry till the seeds stop sizzling, then add 1 sliced onion, 6 cloves of garlic, and fry till onion turns pale brown. Next add okra. It will be kind of sticky at first but don’t worry, that goes away as you mix. Add a pinch of coriander powder and a 1/2 pinch of mango powder. Fry it all for a little while, then add 2 cubed tomatoes. Cook for another 2–3 minutes. Eat with rice or chapatti and . . . YUM.

  P.P.P.S. I have started doing those leg stretches. I think it’s working.

  P.P.P.P.S. Last thing, I promise. I have never been to an amusement park. I am afraid I would throw up on a roller coaster, but the Thunderhead sounds like so much fun it would be worth it.

  11 September 2008

  Dear Meena,

  I am writing to you today with real sad news. I don’t know how to say it all, so I will just say it and hope that it doesn’t come out like a big jumbled mess. Here’s what happened:

  Yesterday, the bus dropped me off at the end of our driveway, just like always. We have a real long driveway and it takes a while to walk it, but it is lined on both sides by big woods full of old, old trees that remind me of big stone columns like you’d see on an ancient temple. Lost Creek is there, too, which is where we always go fishing. Lost Creek is mostly shallow with big gray rocks, but every once in a while there is a deep fishing hole. Because of t
he rocks and the rushing water, you can hear Lost Creek from a long way off, so it’s like a music in the woods. I usually walk through the woods instead of taking the driveway because it’s a different world there. It’s cooler, and the birds are louder, and there are all kinds of things to see. Sometimes I take my time and run my hand over all the moss. I get down real low and look at the ferns. This one time last summer I was moving real slow and quiet like that, and I looked up and there was a little fawn standing ten feet away, in the middle of Lost Creek, watching me. We stared at each other a full minute and I felt like it was reading my mind. Then it just eased away and disappeared into the woods.

  Anyway, I was in the woods, doing my thing, and then I noticed that the birds had all hushed. This was real weird because it’s always crazy loud in there, with so many birds hollering and singing. So this made me listen harder, and then I could hear a machine running somewhere, even over the rushing of the creek. So I ran through the woods toward the sound, because we’re far enough outside of Black Banks to not hear any traffic usually. I could tell it was a big machine, like the kind you see working on the highway when they are making a new lane.

  Finally, I came to where the big drop-off is, which is this line of cliffs that are about fifty feet high. You can see them from Black Banks and they’re what the town is named for, because when you’re in town you can look up and see them like a big set of black teeth on the side of the mountain. Before I got out to the edge where I could see, I stood in the woods, trying to catch my breath. Have you ever run so fast that it feels like something in your side has come undone? That little place was hurting me real bad, so I held my hand over it and breathed hard.