As the girl and her friend walked toward the women’s clothing section, she saw me right away.
“Kris, I haven’t seen you for so long!” she said, rushing over and wrapping her arm around me. Turning to her friend, she said, “I want you to meet my husband.”
I froze at these words, and Raj turned around to look at the girl who was still holding my arm and smiling at me.
Feeling embarrassed, not only for myself but for this girl, I said, “I would like you to meet my wife.” I turned to Raj, and she came forward, her dark eyes passive and unreadable. She gave a slight, tight-lipped nod at the two girls, who stared at us in shock. We all were speechless. The girl’s mouth dropped open as she backed away.
“I am so sorry,” she said to Raj. “It is very nice to meet you.”
We all stood there for a moment, feeling awkward and not knowing what to say. Finally, after a few more words, the girl and her friend walked away.
Raj continued looking at clothes, and the entire time, I wondered what that must have looked like to Raj. I often left Raj alone at the apartment so I could party with Bob and his friends after work. Perhaps she thought I was with my other wife.
Raj never shared her thoughts on this subject with me. At the time, it was not the nature of our relationship to tell each other what we were thinking, and it was such an awkward situation. It was easier to pretend it never happened, and Raj did not press me for any explanation.
On February 27, 1971, Bob and Evie hosted a wedding reception for Raj and me so we could introduce Raj to our friends. Bob was excited about planning the event, and he asked me to tell him what food and decorations to buy for the party. I made a list and began reading it to him.
“Fifty pounds of onions,” I began.
Bob’s jaw dropped, and Evie almost had a stroke. She dropped the pan she was cleaning and stared at me.
“Kris, what in the world are you going to do with fifty pounds of onions?” Evie exclaimed.
“We need 3/4 pound of onions per person,” I answered. “We are going to chop and sauté them for the curried chicken, dal, aloo gobi, and the mater paneer (peas and ricotta cheese).”
They stared at me incredulously.
“Okay, Kris,” Evie laughed. “Whatever you say.”
The day of the reception, Bob, Evie, and my Indian friends decorated the party room. Quite a few of my friends came from out of town, and we made arrangements for them to stay at Bob’s place and with Ravi Chopra and his wife who also lived in our apartment complex. Several other couples chose to stay at a hotel. Sewa Singh and his girlfriend, Gail, would stay at my apartment that night.
Shortly before 5:00 p.m., I put on an Indian record. Raj, my Indian friends, and I fetched the rest of the food, which we had taken turns making in my apartment. As my friends arrived, I greeted them and introduced Raj who looked beautiful in an orange silk sari embroidered with gold thread. She wore her waist-length hair in a braid draped over one shoulder. Evie, wearing the green sari Raj gave her, helped Bob mix cocktails for the guests. Fifty to sixty people crowded into the room, conversing as they sipped cocktails from plastic cups. I led Raj around the room to meet everyone, and she greeted them with a shy smile, accepting their congratulations with a nod of her head and a small thank you.
After some formal introductions and a toast, Bob explained the food to the guests and told everyone to help themselves. He felt happy that he knew the names of the Indian dishes and felt great about showing off to his American friends how intimate he was with Raj and me.
At one point, Bob and Evie stood in line behind the owner of Coppin’s department store, Mr. Franklin and his wife. Mrs. Franklin spooned at least six Bedekar peppers onto her plate. These are spicy pickled peppers that look a lot like green beans. I bought them mostly for the Indians because we liked to eat hot peppers with our spicy food.
“Those are very hot,” Bob warned Mrs. Franklin, knowing from experience.
Mrs. Franklin gave him a reproving look. “Oh come on, Bob,” she said. “I can handle it. These are just beans.”
Bob and Evie finished filling their plates and went to stand with the other Americans who formed a small group at one end of the room. Mrs. Franklin, standing only a foot away from Bob, took a few bites of the curried chicken and lentils.
“This is very good,” she remarked to Mr. Franklin.
Then, forking a couple of Bedekar peppers, she took a big bite. Immediately, she let out a loud yelp, grabbed Bob’s mug of beer and gulped it down.
“Oh my God, this stuff is hot!” she exclaimed between drinks.
After the dinner, Raj served the Indian sweets she had made, while Bob and Evie brought out a cake. Most everyone brought presents, which Raj and I opened at that time. The evening was a huge success, and by ten o’clock, the last of the guests had said their farewells, leaving
