Imaginary Men by Anjali Banerjee Read Free Book Online

My fingers itch to grab a
roshogolla
, candy made from milk and sugar, but I don’t want to annoy the goddess.
    Crammed in next to the altar is a Hewlett-Packard computer on a wooden desk piled with books and paper. A golden elephant screensaver dances across the monitor.
    There’s no reception area or chairs, so Auntie and I wait awkwardly near the door until the men stand, bow, and press the palms of their hands together in front of their chests, in a gesture of prayer called
namaste
, which means, “The divine light in me salutes the divine light in you.”
    The chubby man stares at me on his way out, his critical gaze skewering my clothes.
    â€œCome, come, my dear girls.” Pandit Parsai gestures toward the carpet. We sit cross-legged in a triangle on the concrete floor. My tailbone will be bruised for days.
    Pandit takes Auntie’s hands and smiles. “My dearest Kiki, how are your son and daughters? How have you been maintaining your health?” His words flow clear and cool like water.
    â€œMy son ran away to his tea gardens, my girls neglect me, and my corns are paining, Pandit.” Auntie makes the
namaste
sign and bows her head. I follow suit. I have a kink in my neck.
    Pandit does the sideways head nod and clicks his tongue. “You’re always in the wrong footwear, Kiki. Have I not told you?”
    â€œHah, you have.” Auntie gazes at her feet, clad in Indian sandals,
kolhapuri chappals
. The corns bulge at the joints of both her big toes.
    Pandit turns to gaze at me. I have the uncomfortable feeling he’s reaching inside my head and twisting my neurons.
    â€œMy dear Lina Ray. Last time I saw you, you were just a baby.”
    â€œI’m sorry I don’t remember you, Pandit. It’s an honor to meet you.”
    â€œQuite a fat baby you were. Now you’re too thin.”
    My ears heat up.
    Auntie elbows me. “You see, the pandit has a perfect memory.”
    â€œHave you brought the natal charts?” He gazes at me with mild expectation.
    â€œI, um, haven’t got them. I didn’t know I would be seeing you.”
    He doesn’t blink. I wonder if he ever blinks. I wonder if his eyelids even close. Maybe they’re perpetually open, on the alert, like gecko eyes. “No matter. Your auntie has given some information, and I’ve done what I can.” He speaks to her in rapid Bengali.
    I clear my throat. “Excuse me. What are you saying? I don’t understand.”
    His eyebrows furrow. “Bangla bolo na?”
    Auntie shakes her head, her cheeks jiggling. “I’ve tried to teach her—”
    â€œI don’t have much opportunity to speak Bengali in San Francisco,” I say. “Ma and Baba sometimes spoke in Bengali when we were growing up, but our friends spoke English. Besides, our parents wanted us to assimilate into American culture.”
    â€œSuch a shame.” Pandit Parsai clicks his tongue again. “I’m telling your auntie that your fiancé is problematic.”
    â€œProblematic? He’s perfect!”
    â€œYou must look east.”
    â€œI did. I live in the States. India is east from there.”
    â€œYour true home is here.” He touches my forehead as if checking for a fever. His fingers are cold. “And I see many more problems.”
    â€œOh, Vishnu! What problems?” Auntie groans.
    â€œThere’s no problem, Mr. Pandit. With all respect, how could you know? You haven’t met my fiancé.” My fingers curl into fists.
    Pandit rubs his nose with his forefinger. “Your fiancé is a cipher, ephemeral. It is as if … as if …”
    â€œAs if what?” I snap.
    â€œAs if he does not exist.” He takes Auntie’s hand. “I’m concerned for this dear girl.”
    â€œOh, Vishnu, oh, Vishnu,” Auntie says. “What to do?”
    â€œNothing!” I shout. “Everything’s fine.”
    Pandit shakes