A Bruised Nothing

By Katie John

"A Bruised Nothing" by Katie John is a stirring account of Nidhi Anvar, a woman whose life took an unexpected turn from the familiar and vibrant streets of New Delhi to the icy landscapes of Toronto.

At its heart, Nidhi's story showcases the struggles of many immigrants like her family: th

• Language: English
• Publisher: IngramSpark
• Release date: Apr 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869308689

Book preview

A Bruised Nothing

Katie John

Copyright © 2024

Katie John

eBook ISBN: 978-1-964280-22-6

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-964280-23-3

Hardback ISBN: 978-1-964280-24-0

All Rights Reserved. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is strictly prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

All reasonable attempts have been made to verify the accuracy of the information provided in this publication. Nevertheless, the author assumes no responsibility for any errors and/or omissions.

Dedication

For my husband, who has so selflessly and kindly supported my childhood dream of becoming an author. I love you more than all the words and books in the world could ever say. Always.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 1

I nervously stirred my vegetable dhal, wondering when my husband would burst through the door with his anticipated news. Ahmed’s engineering company constantly complimented him on his job performance. Last week, he told me they wanted to offer him a promotion. This promotion would take me, Ahmed, our one-year-old son, Vishal, and our unborn baby all the way to Canada. I didn’t want to leave my home in New Delhi. It was all I’d ever known. I didn’t want to move, but I knew the chances of my husband accepting the job were more than likely.

Ahmed’s mother, whom I called Sass (the traditional Indian name for the mother-in-law), opened the door behind me. I turned and smiled in relief at her as she entered the kitchen, holding my little son, Vishal, in the folds of her orange and purple sari.

Nidhi, honey, Sass began, I haven’t heard anything from my son yet. That closed bedroom door is making me stressed. She sighed in exasperation. Ahmed was taking the call regarding the promotion in our bedroom in the quiet part of the house. Sass shook her head and gently laid a hand on my arm. I don’t want you to leave India. You and Indreela help so much and are good company; I’ll miss you if you move. She bounced Vishal tenderly on her hip and gave him one of her gold bangles to play with. Who wants to live in Canada anyway? It’s so cold! she insisted, making me smile.

Vishal squirmed, yelling, Down, down! Sass set him down on the ground to explore. He loved standing at the broad, floor-length window, babbling incoherently about what he saw on the street many floors below him.

In traditional Indian homes, the wife lives with her husband and his family. Ahmed’s younger brother, Lakshman, and his wife, Indreela, helped me and Sass take care of the house. We were strict adherents of Hinduism and tried to follow every custom, from the widely practiced and significant concepts to the more obscure ones.

In a traditional Hindu home, the women spend most of their family prayer time at the home shrine. We prayed for the well-being of our families and our husbands’ successful careers. We worshiped the vast pantheon of the Hindu gods, but our family deity was Krishna, the blue-skinned god of compassion and love. Ahmed’s family had been devotees of Krishna for at least five generations, so it was natural to continue the practice.

Sass rummaged through our turquoise cupboards for incense to burn for puja, the worship of Krishna. I tried to occupy my thoughts by crafting a small plate of dhal and walking into the living room to offer it to our idol. Hindus customarily provided small samples of their dinners to their deity to invoke the god’s blessing.

After my offering, I nervously hurried over to the bottom of the staircase to see if my husband was coming down to talk to me. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen. I headed back into the kitchen, nervously pacing around, stubbing my toe on a chipped tile.

Suddenly, the kitchen door flew open, and Indreela breathlessly ran in, holding her two-month-old daughter Ghita in her arms. She set Ghita in her little baby seat, rearranged her hair, and squealed, Nidhi Anvar! He’s coming! I heard him say goodbye on the phone!

Oh no! I yelped, my heart pounding in my chest. I gave the spoon to Sass and rushed through the warm kitchen. I almost rammed over Vishal in my haste to find Ahmed. Vishal giggled and ran after me, but Sass scooped him back up and covered his chubby cheeks with kisses.

Bring me the good news that you’re staying here! she called as I turned the corner.

Bangles and earrings jangling, I ran up the narrow stairs in our apartment until I reached my sacred spot: a large window seat with a decorated cushion. I loved my area because it overlooked New Delhi. I sat on the window seat, leaving room for my husband, impatiently tapping my bare feet on the linoleum floor, one Bollywood dance step at a time.

Ahmed appeared around the corner and smiled, greeting me. Judging by the wide grin on his usually stern face, the interview must have gone well. He sat down on the seat beside me, saying nothing for a moment.

So? I let the question hang in the air as I fidgeted with a string from my sari. Time seemed to freeze as I waited for my husband to speak.

Ahmed took my petite hand in his and squeezed it. Nidhi… we’re going to Canada! He looked excited, but I knew there was fear and anxiety behind his enthusiasm.

When? I breathed. We have to stay in New Delhi for another few months, at least until the baby is born. I touched my bulging belly and ignored the thudding of my heart resounding in my ears.

Ahmed shook his head. No, no. It’s September, and the baby’s due date is early February, right? We have to be in Canada by Diwali.

Less than two months, I thought in panic. I only had two months to say goodbye to New Delhi, the only place I have called home all my life. Two months to pack our things, bid farewell to my beloved family, and leave for a country across the world.

I nodded, trying to smile bravely at him. Congratulations. You will do a wonderful job. I’m happy for you! I abruptly pulled away from Ahmed so he would not see me cry and slowly headed downstairs. I drank in all the minor and precious details about this apartment that I had never noticed before, such as the zigzag crack on the ceiling and the tiny chunk of wood torn out of the handrail. I was only twenty-one years old, and life’s extraordinary book had just opened a terrifying new chapter for me.

When I walked back into the kitchen, I was speechless. I grabbed a plate and quietly helped my family dish up dinner.

How did it go? What happened? Indreela inquired as she heaped rice and dhal onto dinner plates. Sass said nothing but focused intently on my expressions. Judging how her face darkened, she was probably assuming correctly.

Well, we’re moving to Canada by November. So, I don’t think you’ll see this baby for a while. I wiped a tear out of my eye and sniffled.

Sass dropped her dish towel and wrapped me in a warm hug. She smelled of cinnamon and cardamom, a warm, comforting smell I would miss dearly. Ahmed got the job, then? she whispered.

I nodded through my tears. He took it.

She bit her lip. Well, you know as well as I do that once he makes up his mind, there’s no going back.

As our family streamed into the kitchen for dinner, I inhaled the aromatic scents of spices, vegetables, incense, and flowers. We prayed to Krishna and then began to eat. Indreela, Sass, and I served our husbands first and fed Ghita and Vishal before we ate. I preferred to feed Vishal by hand. I loved the feeling of his little mouth and teeth against my fingertips.

Ahmed’s father, my son’s namesake, held his hand and expectantly glanced at his oldest son. Immediately, any clamor ceased since male Indian elders are respected by their families.

Well, Ahmed began, My engineering company transferred us to Canada two days before Diwali begins—

Why so soon? Lakshman interrupted.

Ahmed sighed through a bite of rice and said, I’m a little overwhelmed right now, so be patient. They want us to settle in the Toronto suburbs by November so I can begin to work about a week after we arrive. He stopped talking, ate another bite of dhal, and continued. I don’t want to leave India at all, but in Canada, I’ll be able to work with twenty people designing and manufacturing airplane parts and developing new methods to make flying more efficient. It’s a great opportunity, and I cannot pass it up. It’s a huge raise from what I am making. It’s almost double of what my salary is right now.

Everyone’s eyes widened, and I saw Lakshman pull his phone out to make the rupees-to-dollars conversion and then calculate Ahmed’s new salary. He whistled and looked admiringly at his brother. Wow.

I leaned over Vishal and snuck a bite of dhal for myself, but it suddenly felt lumpy in my throat. Coughing, I managed to choke it down. My family turned their concerned eyes to me.

I’m okay. I lowered my gaze to my yellow plate again, feeling uncomfortable. I struggled to eat dinner while pregnant and with a squirmy one-year-old on my lap.

Fortunately, Sass rescued me, pulled a messy-faced Vishal into her arms, and leaned her face into his hair. When she looked up, I saw tears in her eyes. The size and pain of goodbye were immense, especially in India, where family ties are life-bonding. It had been difficult enough when I, as a nineteen-year-old, left my parents’ home to live with my husband’s family after my marriage. I didn’t want to feel that all over again.

I stood quietly and left our family circle to go to my bedroom. I wanted to call my beloved mama. I grabbed my cell phone from my messy drawer of scarves and dialed my parent’s home phone number.

Hello? This is Ramesh. My father’s voice boomed into the phone.

Namaste, Daddy. This is Nidhi. Can I please talk to Mama? I fiddled with my bangles and waited for his reply.

Absolutely. I’ll go get her. The line went silent as Daddy fetched Mama. I wanted to hear Mama’s voice for reassurance that I would be okay.

Hi, my baby. You wanted to talk? Mama sounded happy, so I hoped she would not be upset with my life-altering news.

Hi Mama, are you ready for some big news? I asked nervously.

Of course, dear. Oh no - it’s twins, isn’t it? Ha, I knew it! Mama chuckled.

No, no. I bit my lip. See, Ahmed’s job is transferring him to Toronto in Canada. And we have to leave by Diwali. So, you won’t see this baby like I wanted you to. I’m so nervous, Mama. I don’t want to go, but he is accepting this because it’s a promotion. But, I’ll call you every day… I started rambling in confusion and shock.

Oh, Mama said in a small voice, wavering with emotion. There was silence for a moment; she probably didn’t know what to say either. Selfishly, I was praying that he would not get the job. I knew this could happen but did not want to believe it. We’ll have to throw a party the night before you leave. Tomorrow, Daddy will drop me off at your house, and I’ll have your sisters and Arulai come with me, and maybe Indreela will help you pack, too. Her voice broke, and I heard her sniffle. Can I tell everyone?

Yes, I replied, in tears. I’m too upset to tell my brothers and sisters. Please do it for me.

We said a tearful goodbye, and I walked over to my window seat, which, in two months, would not be mine anymore. I fondly patted my magenta cushion, then walked into the bedroom where Ahmed, Vishal, and I slept. I opened my closet, where my saris, salwar kameezes, scarves, lehengas, and shirts blended in a colorful, messy heap.

How will we cram our lives into suitcases? I mumbled. I looked around my bedroom at all my possessions, from my decorative lamps to our son’s crib to Ahmed’s cramped desk with his work laptop. I had worked hard to turn this tiny space into a home and room where Ahmed and I enjoyed relaxing. I had to leave this all behind and go to a continent where I knew no one and would be without my family.

I laid down on my bed and couldn’t stop the bitter tears. I wanted to show excitement for my husband, but the concept of leaving India ruined any joy I felt for Ahmed.

As I was lost in my thoughts, someone knocked on my bedroom door.

Come in, I called, wiping all my tears away and dabbing my nose with the pallu of my sari.

Ahmed came in, closed the bedroom door behind him, and joined me on our charpoy. Are you okay? he asked hesitantly.

I hastily nodded and tried to force a smile on him. I’m fine.

He gazed deep into my eyes. No, you’re not. You’re upset about leaving, aren’t you?

I swallowed and put my hands over my face. I’ve never left India before.

Ahmed smiled grimly. I’ve never left either. I know you don’t want to move, but think about how much money I’ll make.

At what cost? I wanted to ask, but I bit my tongue. I know.

It’s for our children’s future, Ahmed said softly. So they can have everything.

But, I started, Don’t— don’t they already have everything? A loving family? A good home?

Ahmed’s brow furrowed. Yes, of course, but I want to ensure it’s truly secured for them. You know?

I nodded, even though I disagreed with him.

It’s going to be okay, Nidhi. I know you don’t want to move; I don’t either. But this is just something that I can’t let go of. I’m excited about this new job. It’s a dream come true. I’ve always wanted to expand my knowledge and work in a more challenging environment. We will get a nice home for you, and it’ll be all right, okay? Ahmed tried to reassure me.

I bit my lip. But I’m about to have a baby.

And? Thousands of women do, all around the world, every day, even in Canada. I’ll be right by your side, dearest.

Ahmed’s words brought me no comfort. However, I did not want to dampen his spirits anymore when he should feel celebratory.

I’m proud of you, I said. I know how hard you work and perform at your job. It’s just a lot to take in.

Ahmed put his arm around me and hugged me, drawing me close. We’ll get through it together, all right? We have almost two months left in New Delhi and can make the most of it. He kissed me on the side of my forehead. I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.

I smiled sadly at him. I’m by your side. Where else would I go?

He grinned, leaned down, and stroked my belly. I don’t know. But I do promise you; it’s going to be all okay. Now, rest for a little while. Did you get enough dinner? I’ll bring you a plate. You’re growing a baby! He kissed me a few times. It’s going to be okay.

I smiled and leaned back against the mountain of pillows on our bed. Vishal loved making forts with them when he was supposed to be napping. I closed my eyes and tried to relax as Ahmed wished, but without his hands to hold me and his voice to assure me, I could do anything but worry over the isolation and loneliness accompanying me to a different part of the world.

Chapter 2

I sat on our family couch two months later, chatting with my youngest sister, Meshawari, who was sixteen. This was my last night with my whole family in New Delhi.

I bounced Vishal on my lap to keep him occupied while I enjoyed mithais (traditional milk-based Indian sweets). I adjusted my green sari over my growing belly as I accepted a gift from Arulai, my brother Jai’s wife. All of my female relatives blessed me with small presents to remember them by. I told them I could never forget them. My other sister, Shanta, cried for hours, acting like I was going somewhere to die and that she would never see me again.

Night fell, and the Hindu priest from the local temple stopped by to do a puja with us at home. Ahmed and I also wanted to go to the temple to offer one last puja to the gods. Everyone slipped on their shoes, and the priest, more like an extended family member, led us down the noisy city streets to the temple.

As we walked down the road, my husband slipped his arm around me and mumbled, Take it all in, Nidhi. Take in New Delhi. Our last night here. He squeezed my hand, turned to Shanta’s husband, Shiv, and started conversing with him.

We reached the temple and quietly filed inside. The place smelled like incense, flowers, and home. I’d never smell my favorite place until we returned to New Delhi for a visit, which would probably not be for a long time. Of course, they would have Hindu temples in Canada since Canada was home to a large Indian population, but it would not be the same.

I set my clingy son down on the floor and gave him a piece of candy to munch while we performed puja. My family and I assembled around Ganesh, the elephant god of good fortune. I set my offering of flowers and incense before Ganesh, closed my eyes, and pressed my palms together in the typical Hindu prayer pose. I prayed that our move would be successful and that I could find peace and happiness in Canada. The priest blessed us, and after a few minutes of silent meditation, I finished my prayers.

When we exited the temple, I solemnly reflected on the beautiful building. I had practically grown up there. I would not be able to do yoga in the temple anymore. I would not visit with all of my friends or gain merit with the gods here. I felt so melancholic and lonely before leaving the country.

When we arrived home, I checked the living room clock: midnight. Our plane took off in six hours, so we had to arrive at the airport in four hours with all our luggage.

During these limited, intimate hours left with our family, Ahmed, Vishal, and I bid our goodbyes. I had never hugged my family so much. I never wanted to let go. Ahmed acted agitated and kept glancing at the time, wanting to leave and begin our journey. I wanted time to freeze forever to hang onto every minute with my family, especially my parents.

As we walked out the door, preparing to drive to the airport, Mama approached me and pulled me into a hug that would have to last me years before I could hug her again. Goodbye, my dear daughter. Stay safe. We all love you and will miss you. Don’t let anything hurt you over there without me.

I nodded, choking back tears, squeezing my mother’s hand, dripping tears all over her shirt. She put a finger under my chin and lifted my head to stare into my eyes. She placed both hands on my face and used her thumb to wipe away my tears, just as she did when I was a little girl. You’re going to be all right. You’re a brave girl. I love you, my beti. Take good care of my grandchildren. I bet anything you’re having a baby girl.

I love you so much, Mama, I sobbed.

Mama hugged me again as Ahmed waited impatiently for me to join him at the front yard’s gate. I love you more, darling daughter of mine.

Two hours later, Ahmed, Vishal, and I sat in our plane seats, bound for Berlin, where we had a short layover. I bounced Vishal on my knees while holding a Hindi-to-English dictionary. Ahmed spoke English fluently, but I only spoke a little and could not read or write it. I had a few hours of leisure, so I utilized it to learn a few words.

We are preparing to take off. Please stay in your seats with your seatbelts on until the plane is in the air. The pilot’s voice floated into the cabin, interrupting my silent reading. I did not listen to a word as the flight attendants droned on about oxygen masks and safety procedures. Ahmed muttered under his breath about how stupid the systems were and that, in an actual situation, no one would know what to do, and everyone would panic.

I toyed with my numerous bangles, attempting to take deep breaths to calm myself. It did not work. I felt too nervous and jumpy. Suddenly, the plane lifted into the air at a sharp angle. When I looked down, New Delhi was growing increasingly smaller. The buildings soon resembled building blocks, and the people and cars were as tiny as ants. Tears rained down my face, and I silently wiped my eyes with the scarf I wore over my head.

The light of the sunrise gently reflected on my face as I adjusted Vishal to help him feel nice and comfortable in his seat for the long ride to Germany. The baby inside me kicked and kicked. Only three more months until I would meet my new darling son or daughter!

I squirmed around a little bit until I was finally in a decent position to relax. I glanced at Ahmed, who had opened his work laptop to edit design documents for a new airplane part. How could he work when his life was in such turmoil?

How is your laptop working on a plane? I asked.

I’m not online. It’s just a drawing program, Ahmed replied. He squeezed my hand. It’s going to be okay. Try taking a nap.

Try to sleep, I told myself. With this baby coming, you need rest. I touched the top of the diamond and amethyst ring Ahmed had given me on my last birthday.

Landing in Germany. Please stay in your seats with your seatbelts on until the plane comes to a complete stop. Thank you, the pilot announced as he prepared to land the airplane.

As the plane rolled to a stop, Ahmed and I gaped as we saw white, flaky snow falling all around for the very first time. November in Germany was quite different than the ninety-degree weather we had left behind.

Isn’t that strange? Ahmed grabbed my arm and pointed at the snowflakes. That’s what we will have for half the year in Toronto! Oh my gosh, look at it! I can’t wait to touch it.

It looks like fluff, I said in astonishment.

Before leaving India, we had purchased coats, long-sleeve shirts, leggings, sweaters, and pants to stay warm in Canada. I buttoned up Vishal’s jacket to ensure he remained nice and insulated. My teeth chattered as we headed through the airport. Germany was so cold! People strolled about in thick, quilted coats and hats, talking and laughing. Red, gold, and green Christmas decorations hung everywhere in the airport. This was nothing like India! I stared wide-eyed at my surroundings, clutching my sleepy baby.

I shivered. My long-sleeved purple cotton shirt was not warm enough, and I certainly had no idea where our coats were in those suitcases. I yawned, exhausted from the jet lag.

We had a three-hour layover at the airport and stopped for food. We bought a couple of pastries called strudels. They were crispy, sweet, and filled with fruits. Ahmed chose an apricot strudel, and I picked a cherry one. Vishal nibbled on both of ours but spat the cherry filling onto the table.

Soon, we were back in the warm airplane, bound for Canada. I whimpered when the plane zipped over a deserted, snowy beach and then over the ocean, where nothing was underneath us but cold, black water.

What if we crashed into the ocean? What if we drowned? The ominous what ifs filled my mind. I buried my face in Ahmed’s shoulder momentarily before I took Vishal out of his seat and plopped the sleeping toddler onto my lap. Ahmed cast a glance over at my anxious face. He leaned over and gave me a quick peck on my forehead.

It’s okay, he whispered. You’re all right. I will never let anything happen to you.

Thank you, I said. I’m so scared about everything. I just don’t know what to do.

Go to sleep now, Ahmed told me. He gently wiped away the unshed tears before they could fall. You can do this.

I did not fall asleep but closed my eyes and daydreamed about my family for a while.

Hey, Nidhi, I’m getting hungry. Get me some food, Ahmed said just as I started to doze.

I nodded and opened a small bag with snacks we bought at the airport. That started something because, soon, practically everybody was opening up food or ordering food from the flight attendants.

I gave Ahmed a small bag of chips and opened one for myself. Vishal was awake by now, so I fed him. I also treated him to a small donut for dessert.

Thank you, he mumbled before drifting off to sleep again. I affectionately rubbed his head, thankful that he had not learned to talk much since he would be learning a different language to thrive in Canada.

My luck with Vishal sleeping lasted about an hour. After that, he was wide awake. I walked him up and down the aisle until I received dirty looks from the flight attendants. Then, I occupied him in his seat with the meal tray. He wanted to bang his hands on it, but I did not let him, prompting him to emit a piercing screech. He was rather spoiled by me and his grandmothers, so being told no was new for him. Ahmed was annoyed at Vishal’s behavior, and kept telling me to quiet him down. I resorted to letting Vishal play with my jewelry.

After spending most of the plane ride quieting my son, reading my dictionary, and fretting, I finally fell asleep. I woke up to Ahmed’s rough nudging. Hey, we’re in Canada now. Come on, wake up; we need to get ready to go. We’re about to land.

As we exited the plane and entered the noisy Toronto airport with all of our suitcases on a monstrous luggage cart, Ahmed’s new boss, Darvesh Dhussa, and his wife, Sonali, came over to greet us and help us take our things over to the new house we were renting, thanks to Ahmed’s new job.

As we piled into their large SUV, Darvesh kept the conversation going on his own. We went over to your new house and finished putting in all of your furniture the company provided. There’s plenty of room; two bedrooms, one bathroom, a small dining room, and a nice storage closet. And Sonali made you a big dinner, and we brought you some winter clothes in case you didn’t have any, and we’ll help you unpack!

Every spare seat in the car was crammed with suitcases, not to mention the trunk and the luggage trailer attached to the vehicle. Thankfully, Darvesh and Ahmed moved quickly, loading everything into the trailer and trunk.

After forty-five minutes, we reached our new home. It was located in a quiet neighborhood with an abundance of medium-sized homes. Most were bungalows or small two-stories. Our house was a bungalow with dark gray siding and white trim. We had a generous-sized front and back yard. That was all new to me, as I had only ever lived in a large apartment building in New Delhi as a child and after my marriage. I had never had a backyard to call my own.

As I stepped out of the car, snow whirled all around us. The cold flakes bit at my exposed face and neck. Morning light reflected on the accumulated snow in the front yard, causing me to blink rapidly.

Nidhi, Ahmed called me. He walked over and extended his hand in my direction. Feel it! It’s so cold and wet. It’s funny when it melts. Pick some up!

I bent down with Vishal and picked up a handful of snow. Instantly, I felt a burning sensation from how cold it was. I quickly shook what I could off of my hand and wiped the rest on my pants. It’s so cold that it stings!

Ahmed did not seem to care. He had squatted down on the ground and drew a line through the snow with