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It was a time when there were not too many Indians on university campuses or supermarkets in America. Dot-busters and dot.com setups lay four decades away. One communicated with folks back home through letters. Long distance calls were a luxury to be indulged in only on special occasions.

Kunal had sailed from Bombay to Hongkong from where he took a flight to San Francisco. That was how most middle-class students going to universities on the west coast traveled. Kunal was going for his graduate studies in mechanical engineering at the Stanford University, Palo Alto. Academic excellence came easily to Kunal. He had been a topper at the Bombay University but out there at Stanford he would have to compete with the best in the world.

Kunal had a teaching assistantship at the university and between studying and teaching, he found very little time for any other activity. He seldom wrote letters home and when he did, they were perfunctory notes, conveying nothing more than his well-being. His only aim was to excel in his studies.

Things began to change since the evening he met Sharon in the dining hall of the dormitory. His ever serene face would now sometimes wear a smile. He began to feel a need for a break from his long hours of studies. Walks on the sprawling campus with Sharon proved relaxing. Some weekends Sharon drove him to San Francisco where they visited museums and art exhibitions. Soon Sharon started to miss the Sunday morning visits to the church. Such a lapse would be unpardonable by her parents who were devout Roman Catholics. Her father, a renowned medical practitioner, had in his clinic a special shelf for stacking copies of the small green pocket book that had on its cover "The New Testament" neatly printed in golden letters. The couple reveled in being true children of Jesus and spread his message by distributing this holy book even among those who did not share their faith.

When their elder daughter Rosemary had married Jack who was a Protestant, the parents had been furious. They would have nothing to do with her. Their grandson was almost three years old and they had not seen him. Sharon had shared her parents' agony and had hated her sister for what she had made them go through.
And now, what about her?

- Kunal belonged to a different religion and culture, a different country. The colour of his skin was different and so was his mother tongue. Her parents would never accept him and would stop supporting her. And Kunal was still a student. He did not have the resources to support the two of them - Sharon had thought of all this and yet one fine day she quietly married Kunal at the Marriage Registrar's office. She took a break from her studies and worked at a store while Kunal pursued his Ph.D.

Kunal had been in the USA since six years. He was now an assistant professor, soon he would be a full professor. Sharon had given up her job and rejoined the university.

"My father had a similar easy-chair, it was so comfortable - My mother baked a better cake than this - Rosemary had given me a musical jewelry box as a Christmas gift when she was not married to Jack." Sharon would oftentimes reminisce about her parents and sister and the luxurious home she had grown up in.

Kunal rarely talked of his home and his family. Who knew, perhaps he was very different from the rest of them. Only on occasions did they correspond. Kunal was now an American- in his accent, clothes, food, mannerisms. He had adapted completely to that lifestyle. Most of his friends were Americans. His Ph.D. thesis and the book he wrote were dedicated to his 'Dear Sharon'. Now he could not go back to India. He belonged to this place, to Sharon, to her alone. She was his world.

Kunal had a married sister, Mamata. One day she wrote to Kunal that she was coming to the USA to help her husband's sister during her delivery. Before going there, she would stay with Kunal for a couple of days. Sharon felt a bit uneasy.

"Will Mamata be comfortable with us?" she asked Kunal.

"Yes, she will. It is only a matter of a few days. Please relax - and stop worrying. She will sleep on the sofa-cum-bed in the living room. In India, people do not have separate bedrooms for everyone. She is a vegetarian and she will do the cooking while she is here. You will get some rest. I suppose she will be carrying some special Indian foods for the mother-to-be. You will get a chance to taste them." Kunal tried to reassure her and Sharon's nervousness increased.

One early morning, Mamata alighted from the plane. They received her with a warm embrace. At first sight, Sharon almost fell in love with her. Her husband had a sister who was pleasant and loving. She was easy, warm and affectionate. Out of habit, Mamata would start a sentence in Gujarati but would soon apologize and switch over to English.

Mamta had just come out of the shower. While Sharon was still thinking of a plan for the day that would interest her, Kunal said,
"Mamta, today is Saturday, a holiday. You'd better make some nice Indian dishes for us."
" Ofcourse, ofcourse" Mamata replied enthusiatically. Were the the brother and sister really meeting after six long years?

'Kunal has never made any demands of me...' Sharon was just thinking, when Mamata said,
"Sharon, come let us go to the market and get the necessary ingredients."
Perhaps, this was their normal way of talking. It may not mean a demand to them.

Kunal seemed greatly elated. "Sharon, did you note the way in which Mamata pronounces my name. Instead of 'n' she uses a different letter that sounds like the quivering of a sitar string." He then pronounced all the consonants that had no place in the English alphabet.
"Oh! My tongue can still manage them."
Kunal had adopted an American accent but not forgotten his consonants.
Mamata made 'halwa' from carrots and 'kachorees' from green peas. The food was delicious. Everyone relished it.
"Mamata, do you remember on one of my birthdays there was no salt in the potato balls and Dadima, that's our grandmother, Sharon, said that is a good omen, it brings good luck. How is Dadima? She must have grown pretty old. I have very recently been made a professor. Now I will be able to save for a visit to India."

Sharon was discovering that the professor living in the world of books had parents, brothers and sisters and a grandmother. He also had friends and childhood memories. Even his tastebuds for Indian food were intact.

The dining table suddenly shook. It brought a stop to the brother-sister conversation. Sharon had got up with a jerk that had shaken the table. She started to cough. Perhaps the kachorees had been too hot? But she had eaten the sweet carrot halwa after that. Why then had her eyes started watering and her nose turned red? The kachorees had been fried a while ago and the exhaust had been turned on. And yet the room suddenly felt smoky and Sharon seemed to suffocate. She took the frying pan by its handle and rushed out of the kitchen to the back yard. "Henceforth no more deep frying in this house", she announced. She scooped a hollow in the soil and poured the oil into it. "Who knows, it may also choke the drainage pipes."

Outside in her beautiful garden, a robin was sitting on the fence and singing. Sharon looked up and saw there was a hole in her fence.

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