Karma Read Online Free

he’s different.
    Confident.
    Even strutting.
    Is this his true home?
    This country where he doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb?
    Home.
    A place where no one stares.
    And no one cares.

Dear Maya,
    It’s not easy to live in a country far from where you’re born. It’s not easy to go home.

Overheard on Main Street, Elsinore
    -  You know the country’s going to shit when they let the towel-heads in.
    -  I heard he hides a knife under that hat.
    -  And I heard he gives away a free carpet when you buy a set of tires!
    -  Hey, Amar! Hope your head gets better soon!
    -  Leave him alone, boys. You’ll need Mr. Singh when your tractor breaks down.

Overheard at the I.G.A. grocery store
    -  It’s called a sari.
    -  It must be hard to walk in.
    -  Do you think it’s only for going out?
    -  For shopping in Elsinore? Kind of fancy for these parts.
    -  Bob was in their house last week, you know, and he said she wears it at home too.
    -  How would you do housework with that end flung over the shoulder?
    -  I hear the old Franz place smells of curry.
    Real spicy. Jack must be turning over in his grave.
    -  Do you think it’s made of silk?
    -  I hear they’re rich. Used to have servants.
    Look at her jewelry. It’s all gold, you know.
    -  Well, if they’re that well-off, what are they doing in Elsinore? Who in their right mind would move here?

The Sari Emporium
    You must have something to wear, Bapu insists as he pushes open a door on Arya Samaj Road.
    The din of traffic fades away.
    He means: something to wear to meet the relatives who only know me from photographs.
    You must look Indian or they will not like you.
    (Like I care.)
    There are no Indian clothes in my suitcase at the hotel. I packed only jeans and T-shirts. Bapu shouted loudly when he discovered this fact too late.
    They’ll think you’re a Western whore!
    Well, Bapu, you’re the one who encouraged Mata to wear pants and where has that gotten us?
    I thought he might hit me.
    (A first for me. Helen says she’s smacked regularly.)
    But Bapu didn’t touch me. Instead his face turned grey and he walked out of the hotel room without saying a thing.
    I wanted to yell like Mata used to: Go ahead, leave me alone here. What do you care for how my life is? But instead, I just lay on the bed and cried.

Silk
    Inside the air-conditioned store, the staff of young women flutter around me like pretty birds. Their bracelets shake. They smile. Touch my clothes. Stroke my wavy unoiled hair that I refused to braid this morning.
    See the scene you’ve caused , Bapu says under his breath.
    Because of my jeans.
    (Because I tore up all my saris after Mata died.)
    Because they know we’re not from here.
    (Orange silk blowing in an open prairie window.)
    I shall have to pay more now.
    When the saleswomen start draping silks over my head, Bapu waves his hand like he’s about to hit them with an open palm. They bow deeply and retreat to the shadows.

One size fits all
    Anyone can wear a sari, Mata used to tell me.
    One size fits all. Hindus, Sikhs, Christians.
    Even Muslims . Many Sikh women wear a salwar kameez , a loose-fitting pant and long top, but my mother preferred the sari. She thought the salwar kameez was too similar to North American pyjamas.
    I’ll not be laughed at , she told her new husband, shortly after they arrived in Canada in 1968.
    Amar had let it go. Wear what you want. This country is so young it doesn’t matter. The streets are filled with immigrants like ourselves. There’s no such thing as a real Canadian anyway except for the Indians. And we’re Indians! He thought this was very funny.
    Leela looked on Elsinore’s Main Street for women like herself and saw none. The women wore short dresses, their pale calves sticking out like the thin legs of flightless birds. Some wore