In a New York minute ...(part 3)

A few months after he graduated from Princeton, Sameer met Abigail – she was handing out flyers on the corner of Lexington and 3rd, and he was on his way to an interview. Abby was a flower child with flowing peasant skirts and red hair. She walked into a room like a hurricane, leaving a wreck behind her. She was anti- war, anti-meat, anti-pesticides and chemicals, anti-anti abortionists. Abby was a professional protester – she painted placards, sat in on candlelight vigils; duck taped herself to fellow protestors.

Sameer was not quite sure when he started going out with Abby, but a year and a half later, they were living together in an apartment in New York. Sameer was working in an investment bank on Wall Street, and Abby had taken up a job in a publishing house. Sameer enjoyed Abby’s company and was comforted by her presence. Abby mothered him, and took care of him. When he got the flu, Abby would diligently make him dhal. Although she was a dismal cook, she would painstakingly follow instructions from the recipe book that she had bought from an Indian store in Queens. Abby was the one who introduced Sameer to the bohemian life in New York – hanging out in smoke filled cafes, browsing through small, non-descript art galleries and record stores, and listening to underground grunge bands.

Over the years, Sameer had become very fond of Abby and almost dependent on her. She refilled his acid reflux medicines, she reminded him to call his parents, and she made sure she bought Honey Bunches of Oats – the only kind of cereal Sameer ate. His parents knew of Abby, and though they had tried to express their unhappiness, since they weren’t married, they didn’t really have anything concrete to disapprove. Sameer had also often accompanied Abby to her parents for Passover and Hanukkah. And though Abby’s parents weren’t pleased either, they had grudgingly come to accept Sameer. In fact, Abby’s parents had given up on trying to say anything to her. They had seen her date a tattoo covered biker, they had seen her go bald, and they had stood by , when at the age of eight, she had loudly proclaimed in the middle of the synagogue that she had seen the Rabbi kiss another man.

Sameer loved Abby, but it never occurred to him to ask her to marry him. He was so used to the notion of Abby as his girlfriend, he couldn’t really see her as his wife. Sameer was also busy climbing the corporate ladder - working 15 hour days – and it never crossed his mind that Abby might want to marry him – he didn’t think she was the marrying kind. But the thought of marriage had occurred to Abby. Sameer hadn’t noticed that Abby, the 80’s flower child was now the 90’s Cosmo girl. He didn’t notice that her long floral skirts had given way to designer fitted skirts, he didn’t notice that the red head had become a bottle brunette (he did notice, however, when Abby started waxing her legs instead of shaving). Abby was now a senior editor in the publishing house, and on her train-rides back from work she would often read articles on summer’s hottest fashion trends, and 10 ways to get a man to say I do.

One Sunday morning, while they were eating breakfast, Abby casually remarked, “I think we should get married.” Sameer was perplexed. It was not a question but a statement, and since it wasn’t a question – was he even expected to answer? But Abby often spoke that way – “Let’s eat Thai.” “We should get a new couch.” There was never a question mark. Sameer usually ended up saying OK – it was the path of least resistance. Though extremely aggressive and decisive at work, Sameer had never really confronted anyone or anything in his personal life, he had never needed to – he had happily walked down the path that was laid out for him.

Thus far, Sameer’s ambivalence had worked for him – but this time it didn’t. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. While Abby wanted him to marry her, his parents were vehemently opposed to the idea. “We are quite liberal you know. It’s not that she’s American, but she is Jewish,” they said. His mother would call him, sigh, and say in a defeated voice, “Do what you want to do, it’s your life. But remember, your father and I are getting old – and you are the only one we have.” Though Sameer had lived away from his parents for more than a decade, he still found it hard to openly disobey them or disregard their wishes. And while Sameer was struggling to make a decision, Abby had moved out from Alphabet City to Tribeca.

Sameer held Abby’s wedding invitation in his hand, and looked out the window. In the apartment across the street, was an old man watching TV; and in the apartment next to it, he could see an empty dining room with a large cherry wood china cabinet. As he looked at the row of apartments, the windows glowed like Christmas lights, and for the first time he felt alone.

Over the past one year, Sameer’s mother had tried to get him to meet girls – but he had buried himself in his work. His mother had occasionally been quite brutal about it. “You aren’t getting any younger, you know. All the good girls are already taken, and you’ve put on so much weight as well,” she’d remark.

Sameer picked up the phone, and called India. “Ma, It’s me – how are you doing?
“Oh, Sameer, it’s been ages since you called,” his mother replied, though they had spoken only four days ago.
After a few minutes of conversation, his mother made her usual pitch. “Sameer, I met Veena Masi recently . She had come down from Bangalore. There is this girl in Philadelphia – that’s quite close to New York, no.?
“Her name is Manisha, and she is a doctor. Veena Masi says she is a very nice girl, and her family is very well respected in Bangalore,” she continued.
“Uh, Manisha is divorced, but she is very pretty – I saw her photo- you will like her.” “The divorce wasn’t her fault. Veena Masi said that she was married to a really nasty man, “she added as if to justify to herself why she was setting up her son with a divorcee.

And as he had done so often in the past, Sameer succumbed to the path in front of him, and said, “OK.”