MY WISHING THEORY AND MY HOPE-OF-THE-WORLD THEORY
We walk around the block to the party, taking it slow because Gramma Dee isn't used to walking in a sari.
Soma's house is dark brown wood with green scallops like half-moons around the windows. There's a twisty buttercup-yellow staircase going up to the pink front door. Riya's mom and dad painted the staircase last month. It took them two whole days, with the help of Riya, her brother Kiran, Mario, and me. I myself suggested the yellow, and Riya picked the pink.
My mother calls it a Victorian. If you stare at the house for a few seconds, then blink quickly a couple of times, it resembles a gingerbread house with frosting. And while you are staring and blinking, what you do is whistle softly or hum under your breath to block out the noise of all the cars going by. You concentrate hard on that scolding squirrel or the squawking hawk high up in the sky. Slowly, slowly you open the iron gate leading to the front walk. The gate creaks nicely. You follow the winding pebbled path to the back of the house and, PRESTO! You are in a magical forest of magnificent old oaks, not someone's backyard near a freeway.
I've taught Freddy to do all this, too.
"Hey, what's up with all the crazy blinking and whistling, you two?" my mother asks.
Gramma Dee pushes away an overhanging vine. "I hope it's not allergies. I told Soma she's getting carried away with this urban farmer business."
"We were just playing a game," I say, and my mother gives me her Look. It's interesting how a Look can say something without words. My mother's Look can mean many things, depending on the situation. This time it says, Hmmm, should I worry or laugh? I am leaning toward laughter… Hmmm.
Soma's backyard isn't really a forest of magnificent old oaks, because there's only one magnificent oak, a very old one from way, way back when Oakland was a land of oaks. Oak. Land. Get it? Kiran says it is the oldest oak tree in Oakland. Kiran is always quoting things he's read in books or heard from his parents.
At the other end of the yard, there's that camellia tree, the one shading our alley. Bushy green ferns and shiny leaves of wild ginger grow in the shade, along with a vine winding over the fence. Gramma Dee is right: Soma is an urban farmer. There are tomato plants and rows of lettuces and poles of beans and pepper plants. And there's also Soma's goat, Bleet, and chickens squawking and screeching in a coop, which wouldn't necessarily be found in a magical forest. But then again, as My Secret Love would say, why not?
I wish for a backyard like this someday with all my heart. I've never lived in a house with a backyard, only an apartment with a balcony that has a cactus plant, two chairs, and a barbecue grill on it. Before my dad died, our alley used to be a pretty nice place to call a backyard, until life got in the way. It's still an OK substitute. Still, I've been wishing for a real backyard lately, based on my Wishing Theory:
1. To make a proper wish, you need to designate a Wishing Object, which in my case is Zook's diamond on his old pendant stored in my underwear drawer. Almost anything can become a Wishing Object if that object is important to you.
2. It is old-fashioned to believe that wishes should be kept secret. Sharing your wish with someone who totally wants the same thing doubles your power. It just makes sense, don't you think? I've shared my backyard wish with my mom, and she says that would be nice, but it's unlikely we'll ever afford one.
3. Impossible wishes do not come true, in my experience. Improbable wishes have a better chance, especially if the wisher has something to do with making them probable. But it's not impossible that our family will have a backyard one day. I'll even take it without a swimming pool.
Seated on blankets in the shade of the oak are zillions of friends and cousins. Some guests are wearing brightly colored Indian clothing, pants and long tunics called salwar kameez. Many of the women are wearing saris and flowing, beautiful scarves. They look like summer flowers themselves. There's a long, long table covered with bowls of food. And now Gramma Dee's taffy. And pizzas and zucchini from O'Leary's because Maria and Mario are there, too. A few people shout "Go Raiders!" when I walk by and I give them a thumbs-up.
Riya is sitting with Kiran and some of her cousins.
"Hey, Cuzzes," Riya calls to Freddy and me.
Riya calls me Cuz because she says it feels as if I'm her cousin. I like that because I don't have any real cousins. Riya predicts that we actually will be related one day, but she's not sure how. Riya can predict the future by reading the lines on a person's palm, and that's what she says she predicted when she read mine.
Kiran hands me a sheet of blue paper. I notice other guests are holding the same blue papers.
"An information sheet for your edification," he says. "I'm sure you will find it helpful."
On those sheets, Kiran has described the rice-feeding ceremony for those, like us, who have never been to an annaprasan before. I'm thinking that maybe we should have had a huge celebration for Freddy, too, the first time he tasted solid food. Maybe then he'd know what a big deal eating should be.
I feel very edified as I read Kiran's information sheet, even though he isn't the greatest speller.
The grandmother makes the infint a special conkoction called payesh, a mixture of rice, sugar, and water. Then a Seniur Male Member of the mother's family gives the baby his first taste of it.
Their chubby baby brother, Ravi, doesn't really look as if he's about to eat his first solid meal. He looks very cute in his dhoti kurta (traditionul Indian garb) and a fancy pointed hat with bangles and balls. He is sitting on his mom's lap beside his dad. They are also wearing beautiful Indian clothing.
Tom, Riya's dad, is of Swedish descent, not Indian descent like his wife, Gitanjali. Riya and Kiran call themselves and baby Ravi "multi-culties."
"We are the hope of the world," Kiran once told me.
That's when I developed my Hope-of-the-World Theory. One day in the distant future, the whole world will be intermarried. Human beings will be like one big happy family and peace will reign among the world's peoples, because everyone will get to understand everyone else's differences, living with them all day long. But then I began wondering how we'd decide which holidays and ceremonies to celebrate since there would be so much good stuff to choose from. We'd be going to parties all the time. Or people could end up fighting about which celebrations to weed out, which would kind of spoil the peace, unless they set up some sort of holiday schedule and took turns. But the more I think about it, the more I realize how much fun it could be.
The Senior Male Member of the mother's family, Riya's uncle Arjun (the one who is in a rock band and plans to move to L.A. to become famous one day), feeds a spoonful of the sweet rice mixture to baby Ravi, who really loves it, opening his little mouth for more. Lots of guests and relatives go up to feed him the payesh, and let me tell you, that baby is very happy.
I realize again that I haven't thought about Zook for a while, but this time I don't feel guilty because it's such a beautiful day. All that food smells so yummy, everyone is happy, and the sun is warm on my back. Bleet the goat is nuzzling Freddy's chin and making him laugh.
"Thank you, Zook," I say, because when I got that good idea about giving our job money to the cat rescue society, it was definitely a message from Zook to go out and enjoy the day. Which I am.
Then, just like that, I'M NOT.
Riya is leaping to her feet, running across the yard to the gate as someone enters the yard from the street. "Uncle Dylan!" she yells.
And Uncle Arjun is at the gate, too, and other guests, laughing and slapping Uncle Dylan on the back, welcoming him back to Oakland after some sort of long trip he took. The sun is in my eyes when I look up, but it's him, all right, with his flashing white teeth and long braid, and a piratey silver earring in his ear. Probably thinks he's the handsomest person in the world.
Dylan.
RW VILLAIN.
Figures!
