Christmas Fireworks
From the window of the top floor apartment the city lights in the distance seemed to shimmer and stretched forever. On the highway that twisted by the looming apartment building, a never ending stream of cars. And at random moments the sky above the city bloomed with fireworks. People were celebrating in the city. It was only a week before Christmas, and inside the ample living-room of the apartment the consecutive rounds of tequila were starting to take its effect on the guests. The laugher and talk were at a fever pitch. By now people had already formed their cliques; their mini-tribes for the purpose of the evening. At times it seemed as if they were competing for space in the room, each speaking or laughing louder than the other. The cold breeze that came in through the open window did very little lighten the combined smells of perfume, food and alcohol.
Arundati smiled back at her husband as he waved at her from a small group of people at the far end of the room. She had made herself comfortable in the love seat next to the large tree covered in shiny baubles and fairy lights. No one it seemed wanted to be close to the Christmas tree. For her it felt like a bright refuge, the light providing her with a way to hide in plain sight. She had already done her round of introductions and had nodded and smiled at the fact that she did not speak much Spanish. And now she was happy to watch her husband laughing and smiling; his grin wider and his jokes funnier in his own language. He was comfortable and she had learned to find her own comfort in seeing him in his own element.
There was always someone in parties like this who would want to speak with her in English, a hint of an American accent peeping through as they asked about her country. “So you speak Hindi?” They would ask smiling, finally finding something they could related to in the foreign woman they were making conversation with. She always felt a tinge of sadness as she eventually disappointed them with her lack of knowledge of that language with her brief practiced explanation that people did not speak Hindi in Sri Lanka. But of course, she had seen countless Bollywood movies and she could tell you plenty about her appreciation of the formulaic beauty of that cinema.
She loved her husband; there was no doubt theirs was a happy marriage. The fact that neither of them had ever felt a strong allegiance to their countries and cultures had helped them find a common ground in their marriage. Their common rootlessness had helped them find their grounding in their bond with each other.
Arundati had always prided herself in her chameleon abilities; blending in when she needed to, hiding in plain sight. But what she sometimes did not admit even to herself was that there were moments of loneliness; moments that reminded her that maybe she didn’t always do a good job of blending. That indeed, people did see her despite her best efforts.
“Are you okay?” Her husband walked towards her and asked. She could see the familiar look of concern in his eyes, almost apologetic for speaking in Spanish.
“Yes.” She smiled widely.
“Do you need anything? I’m sorry you are not getting to participate too much.”
“I’m enjoying myself. Don’t worry about me.”
“Are you sure?” He asked again as he glanced back at the group that he was with before.
“I’m fine.” She kissed him on the cheek. As he walked back to the animated talk in the group she started looking around the room. Was there anyone else like her? There were always outsiders in a party irrespective of language; someone who didn’t completely belong.
Sitting close to the window was one of the newcomers to the group. Arundati had already been introduced to him. Rohan; his name had stood out like a marker.
She had noticed the look of relief in his face when he realized she spoke as little Spanish as he did. A not-so-secret fraternity of language-aliens. And when she said her name his face lighted up.
“No, I’m not Indian. Sri Lankan…..close enough right?” She had laughed. The flash of disappointment on his face was not lost on her.
“Yes.” He had smiled exaggeratedly.
She had watched him moving across the room walking from group to group, his laugh louder than it needed to be, his friendliness spreading thicker than it was needed. He was trying to make friends. At one point she heard someone openly making fun of his accent, emphasizing the roll of the “r”s. She waited to hear some protest from him but there was only his loud laughter.
There was always loss in blending in.
Rohan was now holding a bottle of beer in his hand and the expression on his face resembled defeat. Had he finally decided he could not find a space among the groups of people at the party; the circles they were standing in too close that he could not get a foothold? She felt an urge to walk up to him and strike a conversation but she hesitated. Should she risk being exposed? Her place next to the tree suddenly feeling comfortable.
Arundati instead looked beyond him to the city skyline; the monstrous spread that was Mexico City. A city that she now called home, a far reach from where she had grown up in. She was grateful for the days she felt she belonged, but she also knew the sense of smallness she felt; the city around her overwhelming and enveloping. A giant succubus that feasts on the spirit of millions of migrants for its own lifeblood.
Once again there were fireworks lighting up the sky. Now they seemed small and lonely; acts of rebellion of individuals declaring their presence on the canvas of the hazy night sky. And as she moved her gaze away she instead caught the eyes of the man sitting next to the window. But this time she felt a jolt of electricity in her body. It was recognition. She was exposed; her loneliness, her vulnerability and her alien-ness. And in his gaze she saw who she was. She was the outsider.
He smiled weakly at her. She instinctively touched the soft protrusion of her belly. Will the life within her be treated with kindness- this complicated mix of races- Sri Lankan, Dominican and Mexican? Or will she lose herself in her otherness? Forever an alien, never finding that foothold.
By now the other guests had started to notice the fireworks, gathering closer to the window. She could no longer see Rohan who was engulfed in the newly formed group. But it also meant that she could no longer see beyond the window. Her husband was walking towards her again. He was smiling.
“Wanna go see the fireworks?” he said.
“Sure” She stood up carefully, feeling vulnerable. She was about to be exposed again.
Arundati touched her belly. Would this new soul within her do better at finding her place than her mother? In the least would she know when she was exposed as an imposter, a chameleon? Or would she be one of the brave lighting up the sky with fire even if it was for a brief moment in time?
As she got closer to the group she saw Rohan. He was smiling again, his confidence regained. And in that moment he was blending in; once again part of a group. He caught her eyes and she realized that he could no longer see her. She too had once again camouflaged herself, a shape-shifting survivor.
By the time she could see outside the window to the skyline the fireworks had stopped. The crowd had already moved on, their interest satiated. And she looked out into the shimmering darkness and felt loss. She understood that rebellions and individuals could not last forever. That was a happy dream that would never come true.
Her husband was calling her name. Dinner was ready and the food was being served.
