ABSTRACT
One of the things that Prapulla had insisted was to have a place waiting for them in New York where other Indian immigrants lived. She had worried a great deal over this sudden change in her life. First, there was her fear of flying over Mount Everest, a certain intrusion over Lord Shiva's territory which he did not approve of for any believing Hindu. Then the abrupt severance of a generation of relationships and life in a joint family. She had spent many a restless night. In daylight, she'd dismiss her nightmares as mere confusions of a troubled mind and set herself to conquer her problems as she faced them, like the educated and practical woman that she was. If anything happened to the transgressing jet, she would clutch her husband and child to her breasts and plummet with at least a partial sense of wholeness, to whatever ocean the wrath of the god would cast her. She would go down like those brave, legendary sea captains in the history books and movies. But moving over to the West, where you lived half the year like a monk in a cave because of the weather, was something she was unable to visualize. Besides, how was she going to manage her household without the maid-servant and her stalwart mother-in-law? To be left alone in a strange apartment all day while Shekar went to work was a recurring fear. She had heard that in New York City, even married women wore mini-skirts or leather slacks and thought nothing of being drunk or footloose, not to mention their sexual escapades in summer in parks or parked automobiles. But cousin Manjula who had returned from the States was most reassuring:
"All that is nonsense! Women there are just like women here! Only they have habits and customs quite different from ours. There are hundreds of Indian families in New York. Once you've acclimatized yourself to the country, you '11 find it hard to sit and brood. You may run into families from Bangalore in the same apartment house, who knows!"
