Chapter 15
On March 8, 1971, Raj and I climbed into the back of Bob and Evie’s VW van. We were on our way to Knoxville to celebrate Sewa Singh’s birthday, and Bob did not want to waste one second in getting to the party. He pulled onto the highway, driving seventy-five miles an hour, looking out for cops along the way. Bob had put in a table so passengers could sit across from each other and play cards, and he had also installed new carpeting, which he was proud of, constantly telling us to be careful and not make a mess with dirty shoes or any food we brought in. Half a keg of Hudepohl beer sat in the corner, and Raj held a container filled with hot aloo prantas, flat bread cooked over the stove with potatoes and spices between its two layers. We would eat the prantas and drink beer while Bob drove. At that time, the laws were not as strict about drinking beer in the back of a vehicle while someone else was driving.
An hour into the trip, I glanced at Raj and noticed a strange look on her face. Suddenly, she leaned over and threw up all over Bob’s new carpet.
Bob whipped his head back to see what happened. “No, aw, no,” he groaned over and over. “The new carpet! Hurry, someone clean it up.”
Evie turned around in the front passenger seat. “Raj, are you okay?” she asked.
“Kris, clean it up,” Bob said. “Do something!”
“There aren’t any rags back here,” I said, frantically looking around for something to wipe up the mess.
“Look in the very back,” Bob said, almost yelling now.
He had slowed the van down, and we all were staring at Raj. She wiped her mouth on a corner of her sari and took a few swigs from a can of soft drink Evie gave her. Glancing at Bob and me with a worried look on her face, she said, “I’m so sorry, Bob.”
“It’s okay, Raj,” Bob said, realizing how bad she felt. “We’ll pull over at the next gas station and let you get out for a bit.”
“Bob,” Evie said, “maybe you should drive slower the rest of the way.”
The next day, as we drove back to Covington, Raj leaned over and whispered to me, “I think I need to see the doctor. I think I’m pregnant.”
Raj had mentioned she’d missed her period in February, so I should have known what was coming, but still, I felt surprised and a little bit hopeful at the same time.
The next day, I took Raj to see an obstetrician. After the doctor examined her and ran some tests, he confirmed Raj’s suspicions.
“You are pregnant,” he said. “You are about three months along.”
Raj and I left the doctor’s office feeling happy. Would the baby be a boy or a girl? How would we take care of it? There was so much to learn. At the same time, we felt a little scared. I did not know much about babies or pregnancy, and while Raj knew a little from witnessing births in her hometown, there was a lot she didn’t know.
As the months passed, I still lived like a bachelor. Whenever Bob called me to come down for a beer, I went right away. Also, when my friends invited Raj and me to a social gathering, I was always ready to go. Raj, on the other hand, was reluctant. In some cases, she did not go, preferring to stay home to knit or to prepare supper. I always went out anyway, coming home late and not thinking much about how Raj felt about my behavior. Looking back years later, I realized I should have paid more attention to Raj and what she wanted, but at the time, I was unaccustomed to having another person to look out for. Now, in a matter of months, I would have a second person to care for. This news sobered me up, if not right away, then eventually.
If there had been a book on the subject, maybe that would have helped me when it came to understanding how to be a better husband or to understand my wife’s needs. However, even if there had been hundreds of books written on the subject, I wasn’t seeking them out, and no one was giving any of them to me, saying, “Look, read this.” Marriage was seldom discussed in those days, and the matters between a husband and wife were mostly kept private.
As Raj’s due date approached, we began preparing a room for the baby. We did not have any baby furniture, so one day, while Billo Cheema was visiting with her sons, Billo mentioned that she could give us her baby furniture as she did not plan to have any more children. Raj and I drove up to Morristown, New Jersey, on Saturday, and I drove home with the furniture on Sunday, letting Raj stay with the Cheemas for a few extra days to talk to Billo about pregnancy, giving birth, and parenting.
A few weeks after Raj returned from the Cheemas’ house, she went into labor and gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. This was good news for our families back home. In Indian culture, it is a great celebration if the firstborn child is a boy, especially in those days. Now things are changing, but in some parts of India, a firstborn baby girl is still not welcome.
The hospital personnel wanted to know what name we chose for the baby. Since Raj and I didn’t know the gender until the moment of his birth, we hadn’t thought about it. “I don’t know,” I said. “We are still thinking about it.”
“You have to have a name,” the personnel insisted. “We have to prepare the certificate.”
Even though
