Dear Jeeta,

You must be surprised to get this letter. Believe me, I wouldn’t have written to you if I could have avoided it. When I first arrived here I missed all of you, but I was excited about starting a new life in a new land with Anoop. In the beginning it seemed that my dream was coming true. Anoop was very charming and funny. (Wasn’t that the reason I decided to marry him so quickly?) Slowly, though, his temper began to flare. It didn’t take much. I never told you this, but he slapped me once in Matheran and he’s started doing the same here. If I set the table wrong (yes, there is a proper way to set a table) or didn’t wear my hair down, he yelled, “How can I take you to meet my friends when you look and act so desi?”

Well, I am a desi and so is he, so what’s wrong with acting like one?

The harder I tried, the less I seemed to please him. As time went by I realized that we never met anyone. I wondered if he had any friends. Hardly anyone called and he was rude with the neighbors, too.

One day when he came home from work, he saw me talking to Mr. Dobbs, who lives next door. Anoop lost his temper and slapped me hard across the face. Remember when Mummy used to occasionally slap us? We felt so little and powerless then. I felt the same way, only worse. I know you always had more courage than me to stand up to Mummy, How, I wished I had that!

That night Anoop was apologetic and took me out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. With the right side of my face swollen and my eyes blood-shot from crying, I didn’t want to go, but I was afraid to refuse. It seemed like he wanted the whole world to see what he’d done to me. The world that didn’t know us and wouldn’t dare to ask what had happened.

That night, as I lay on our bed crying, I decided to look for work. When Anoop found out that I wanted to work, he laughed. He said no one would hire me until I got rid of my heavy accent. About a week later, when my face was back to normal, I went to the bank in our neighborhood and luckily they hired me right away. Anoop was shocked.

My boss, Karen, is considerate and caring. It is like having part of you and Nimita here. Bosses and the people under them can talk much more freely here than in India. I felt awkward with my Indian accent, but slowly I opened up.

At home I told Anoop nothing of what went on at work. It was my private, unpolluted world. He thought all I did at the bank was work, work, and work. As time went by he told me I couldn’t call home because it was getting too expensive.

Two weeks ago he punched me again for putting his pants into the dryer by mistake. I hit the shelf of the kitchen cabinet above my right eye, and we had to rush to the hospital. When the doctor asked me what happened, I had to lie, for Anoop stood there holding my hand, looking very concerned. At that point I knew I hated him.

Don’t worry about the wound. It’s healing well. At work Karen asked me what had happened, and over lunch I told her the truth. She begged me to leave Anoop and said I could stay with her as long as I wanted to. I’m scared and confused. If I leave Anoop, what will happen to our family’s reputation? And yet I can’t stay One day I’m afraid he’ll really hurt me. Of all of us sisters and brothers, you have the most courage. Please tell me what I should do. Karen says I can file for a divorce. I don’t know anyone in out family who’s been divorced. Divorce here is not considered bad, and divorced women, even the ones with children, marry again. Often, even widows remarry. On one hand that seems like the right solution, but will anyone want to marry a daughter from our family again?

I know this letter is long and rambling. I haven’t asked you how everyone is. I hope all of you are well.

Karen’s address is on the back of this page. Write soon. If you can, call me in the morning after eight o’clock my time. Help me.

Your sister,

Mohini