Rajakumari, the story of a high school princess

Sweet Charioot, coming for to carry me home

"Swing looow, sweet charioot, coming for to carry me hoomeee..."

That's the song I hear whenever she is in the kitchen. The sweet melody is sung from Emaye's (amharic for mommy) beautiful sihlouette in the hotel kitchen---a big-boned thirty-seven year old Ethiopian woman with deep brown skin and thick black curls held up in a frizzy bun. She flips sourdough flatbread and seasons the vegetables. Skirting around the staff, she grabs two plates from the cupboard.

"Mou, how was your day at school?"

"Good."

"Put these on the table for me."

As I set down my backpack, she hands me the two plates and gives another one to my sister when she comes through the door. "We have company?"

"Bapi is coming." Emaye does not turn to us as she adds another sourdough pancake on the skillet.

Without a word, Nandita clinches her jaw and sets the table beside me.

"Does he have company?" I ask.

"He is bringing his eldest son and daughter, so you know the rules."

Nandita slams the plate on the table, and I literally see a crack form through the middle before the whole thing shatters into about ten pieces---like in a cartoon.

Emaye whips around. "PICK IT UP, Nandita," she growls through gritted teeth.

Nandita scrambles to pick up the pieces, and I place the trash can next to her. "Why does he have to come, Emaye? He is going to ruin our whole end of the semester. Why can't he wait til summer, like usual?" She shoves long black ripples of hair over her shoulder. "It's Mou's last year before she goes to college."

Emaye deposits veggies on all the plates around one of the tables in the empty dining hall---so different from the scattered hotel guests checking out this morning. "He has a business meeting tonight. His family will be flying in tomorrow to join us for dinner, which means you are expected to be on your best behavior."

We continue setting the table quietly.

"Am I understood?"

"Yes, Emaye," we answer in unison.

As I place Bapi's dish in front of his chair at head of the table, I catch sight of his white limo out the window. Bapi steps out in a bronze suit with a plain yellow tie and sporty sunglasses to match. Our father is anything but traditional. For one, like us, he was raised under integrated cultures. His father was a rich Ethiopian man, and Bapi's mother was a Bengali girl that was sold to his father at 15. In the end, she ended up falling in love with him, and she quickly became his favorite wife of three. He allowed to her go back to India to continue her studies and paid for her to go to the nicest institutions. While she raised their children--2 boys and a girl---she resided here in America.

Bapi is the eldest and the heir to his father's estate. He is every bit just like the grandfather Nandita and I have never met but have heard of. He studied business in school, where he met his best friend. Together, they opened a fairly successful local hotel here in Atlanta and several bed and breakfasts throughout the country: The Regalia's.

Bapi is accompanied by one of his prized Rampur greyhounds, Gigi, with her giant yellow sunflower collar to match his tie and sunglasses.

"Be good," Emaye reminds as the bell-hop opens the door.

The staff lines up in front of the counter. "Good afternoon, Mr. Gupta."

"Good afternoon, everyone. Relax." He smiles to my mother. Despite having a wife to whom he was betrothed and seven other children, I have never seen him look at her like he looks at Emaye. "Hello, beautiful." He kisses her fingers gingerly, then glances at us. "My girls, how you have grown since I saw you this winter. Madhuri, you are such a beautiful young woman---a noble Rajakumari. Nandita---a stunning and dauntless as ever, I see."