Read Online Blue Jasmine by Kashmira Sheth - Free Book Online Page B

history of Thanksgiving. During dinner I asked Mommy and Pappa. “Did you know that the first Thanksgiving dinner was served at Plymouth in 1621?”
    â€œNo, we didn’t.” Mommy said.
    â€œI did,” Mela said. I ignored her.
    â€œThe Pilgrims were thankful for a good harvest and celebrated the day with a big feast.”
    â€œA big feast.” Mela said, with her arms wide apart.
    â€œWhy do you keep interrupting?” I said.
    â€œSeema, she’s as excited as you are. Let her say a few things,” Mommy said.
    â€œSay something. Now!” I told Mela. She was quiet.
    â€œSee, she has nothing to say except when I talk, then she starts jabbering.”
    â€œHow did our Thanksgiving holiday turn into a Complaingiving holiday?” Pappa asked jokingly in English. I noticed that more and more often, we were sprinkling our conversations in Gujarati with English words and phrases.
    â€œI don’t know. Pappa, Jennifer is going to her grandparents’ house in Wisconsin, and Ria is going to her aunt and uncle’s house in Chicago. Where can we go?”
    â€œIndia,” Mela said.
    â€œIt’s too far,” I said.
    â€œDr. and Mrs. Davis have invited us for Thanksgiving dinner,” Mommy said.
    â€œReally?”
    â€œWe’re going for a feast! We’re going for a feast!” Mela sang and clapped.
    On Thanksgiving day I wore a mango-colored silk dress. Mommy French-braided my hair and tied the end with matching silk ribbons. Mela wore a green-and-white velvet dress that had once belonged to me. I combed Mela’s hair into a ponytail and tied it with green-and-white candy-striped ribbons.
    â€œMela, you look so festive, and with that ribbon, someone might mistake you for a candy and gobble you up,” I said.
    â€œNo, they won’t.”
    â€œThey might, you never know,” I said, as I buckled her shoes.
    â€œDaddy, Seema says someone will obble me up,” Mela said. It was amazing how quickly even Mela was picking up English, from watching Sesame Street and from her preschool.
    â€œAnd why would they do such a terrible thing?” he said, suppressing his laughter.
    â€œBecause I look like a candy,” she said. Her round cheeks were so puffed up that she looked like a hen to me, and I was about to tease her more when Pappa said, “Seema, go help Mommy or else I’ll obble you up.” He could barely finish his sentence, he was trying so hard not to laugh.
    â€œYes, Dad, right away, sir,” I said, and marched upstairs. Then I peeked through the banister and said. “Excuse me, but I forgot to tell you, you look very nice, sir.”
    His laughter followed me up the stairs. He was dressed up in a light-blue shirt, a leaf-patterned tie that I had picked out for him, and a navy blue sports jacket with beige trousers. He never dressed up when he went to work except on the special days when he had to give a presentation. Today he took extra care.
    When I looked in Mommy’s room, she was draping hersari. It was a magenta silk sari with gold and off-white chrysanthemums. It was a perfect fall sari.
    â€œMom, you’ll have to teach me how to wrap a sari,” I said.
    â€œYes. I will.”
    â€œYou put it on so quickly and smoothly. How does it stay?”
    â€œIt stays because I’m used to it. The first few times it kept coming apart, but the more I wore it, the easier it became.”
    â€œIn India you used to wear saris all the time. How come you don’t wear them here every day?”
    â€œWe’re in Iowa City and not in India.” she said. “We get used to what we’re surrounded by. Have you noticed how Mela calls Pappa ‘Daddy’ now? And you call us Mom and Dad sometimes.”
    â€œI do?”
    â€œYes. And we are all getting comfortable speaking in English.”
    â€œBut I don’t want us to forget Gujarati,” I said. “If we do, then how would