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of yourself?’
    Zareen blew her nose, and addressed herself to what, next to the thought of her daughter’s outcast status, caused her the most agony. ‘It is not just the case of your marrying a boy; the entire family is involved—all our relationships matter.’ She tried to describe how much added prestige, influence and pleasure their interaction with a new bunch of Parsee in-laws would bring. ‘You are robbing us of a dimension of joy we have a right to expect. What will you bring to the family if you marry this David? But that doesn’t matter so much … What matters is your life: it will be so dry. Justhusband, wife, and maybe a child—rattling like loose stones in America!’
    Feroza who had been in the United States almost two years now, had absorbed a new set of values, and a new way of thinking. She despaired of bridging the distance that suddenly yawned between them—of conveying new thoughts and fresh convictions to her mother. ‘You’ll have to look at things in a different way, Mum. It’s a different culture.’
    ‘And you’ll have to look at it our way: You can’t just toss your heritage aside like that—it’s in your bones!’
    Feroza stared at her mother. Her face had become set in a way that recalled to Zareen the determination and hauteur with which her daughter had once slammed doors and shut herself up in rooms and bathrooms.
    ‘You’ve always been so stubborn!’ Zareen said angrily. ‘You’ve made up your mind to put us through this thing … You will disgrace the family!’
    ‘I’m only getting married—if the family wants to feel disgraced, let them!’
    Zareen checked herself: she recalled her husband’s sage advice—she must not push her daughter to rebellion.
    ‘Darling,’ she pleaded, ‘I can’t bear to see you unhappy.’ She buried her face in her arms and began to sob.
    Feroza brushed her lips against her mother’s short, sleek hair, and putting her arms round her cried: ‘I don’t know what to do … Please don’t cry like this … It’s just that I love him …’
    Zareen reared up as if an exposed nerve in her tooth had been touched. ‘Love? Love? Love comes after marriage!And only if you marry the right man! Don’t think you can be happy by making us all unhappy.’
    ‘I think I’ve had about all I can take!’ Feroza said, pushing her chair back noisily.
    Zareen suddenly felt so wretchedly alone in this faraway country. ‘I should have listened … I should never have let you go so far away. Look what it’s done to you … You’ve become an American brat!’
    David, who had entered the kitchen at this point to get some cookies, silently withdrew to brood in his book-lined garage.
    ‘I don’t know how I’ll face the family,’ Zareen cried. ‘I don’t know what my friends will think!’
    ‘I don’t care a fuck what they think!’
    Zareen glared at her daughter open-mouthed, visibly shaken by the crude violence of the language. ‘I never thought that I’d live to hear you speak like this!’ she said, wagging her head. With affronted dignity she stood up, and walked from the kitchen with the bearing of a much taller woman.
    After a while Feroza followed her into the room they shared and hugged her mother. Zareen’s pillow was soaked with tears.
    ‘I’m sorry … I didn’t mean that …’ Feroza said, herself weeping. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
    Chastened by the storm of emotion they had generated, and the unexpected violence of the words exchanged, each called a frightened, silent truce. Neither brought up the subject for the rest of the evening. David had wisely electedto stay out of their way and had left the house. Although made wretched by his absence, Feroza appreciated it: it was best that she be alone with her mother. They talked late into the night of family matters, of Feroza’s progress in her studies, and, carefully circling the subject of marriage, each ventured, gingerly, to mention David. Feroza casually threw