‘Be patient, mom. Over time, the families will get close,’ I said.
Ananya brought up the topic of my father one last time before she left. ‘Krish’s dad won’t agree?’ Ananya said.
My mother gave a wry smile. ‘He won’t let us watch TV, forget Krish Choosing his bride. It’s fine, my siblings are enough. Otherwise, it will never happen,’ my mother said.
Ananya nodded. My mother went to her room and returned with two gold bangles.
‘No aunty,’ Ananya said, even as my mother shoved it down her wrists and kissed her head.
Happiness floated like rose petals in the air and I imagined fist pumping my hand three times
~
‘So what’s the next step? The wedding date?’
Ananya and I were on our long-distance call from our respective offices.
‘You know your mother is right, there is a gap here,’ Ananya said.
‘What gap?’ I said.
‘My parents like you. Your mother likes me. What about them liking each other? Remember the Ahmedabad disaster?’ Ananya said.
‘Yeah but,’ I said. ‘Oh man, I thought we were done.’
‘No, the two families have to unite. Trust me, it will be worth is. We should make them meet,’ I said.
‘Where? I’ll come to Chennai with my mother?’ I said.
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‘No, let’s go to a neutral venue without relatives.’
‘Good point. Let me organise something,’ I ended the call.
I went back to work. I didn’t have a fixed division or boss in Citibank Delhi yet.
I floated between departments, pretending to be useful. I had a temporary stint in the credit cards division. I had to come up with a credit card promotion plan, something I had no interest or expertise in. I opened the existing brochure of offers for our credit card customers. We had a special deal on a package to Goa.
I picked up the phone and called Ananya again. ‘Goa,’ I said. ‘Let’s all go to Goa. Nothing like the sea, sun and sand to make the two families bond. Plus, it will be fun for us, too. What say, next month?’
‘It won’t be cheap,’ she said.
‘Isn’t love the best investment?’ I said and fumbled through my cards to call the travel agent.
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ACT 5:
Goa
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51
‘I am telling you now only. I don’t like her mother – arrogant woman,’ my mom said as we waited at the taxi stand. My mother and I landed at the Dabolim Airport in Goa two hours before Ananya and her parents did. I had tried to time the flights as close as possible.
‘It’s not arrogance. They are quiet people,’ I said.
‘Don’t be under their spell,’ my mother said.
‘I’m not. OK, here they come, remember to smile,’ I said.
Ananya’s parents came face to face with my mother for the second time.
‘Hello Kavita-ji,’ Ananya’s father said. They exchanged greetings, not warm and cuddly like Delhi airports, but not completely ice-cold either.
I had hired a Qualis. I helped the driver load Ananya’s bags into the car. My mother gave me a puzzled look.
‘What?’ I said.
She shook her head.
I sat in front. Ananya’s family took the middle seat.
‘Oh, I’ll sit at the back,’ my mother said.
‘OK,’ Ananya’s mother said.
I realised the faux pas. ‘No, mom, I will take the backseat,’ I said. My mother declined as she had already taken her place.
‘Park Hyatt,’ I said. The driver turned the car towards South Goa. My mother took out a plastic packet from her bag.
‘Here, for you,’ my mother said and passes a sari to Ananya’s mother.
Ananya’s mother turned around and took the packet. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘It’s tussar silk,’ my mother said, ‘I bought it from the Assam emporium.’
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‘Silk is very popular in the South also, we have Kanjeevaram saris,’ Ananya’s mother said and she kept the sari in her bag.
We didn’t speak much until we reached the resort.
Hotel staff received us with a garland of flowers and a fruit-punch welcome drink. None of us had ever stayed in a five-star hotel.
‘Isn’t this expensive?’ my mother said.
‘They gave me a deal. I promised I’ll get Citibank to do their annual conference here,’ I said.
‘Welcome, Mr Krish, we have two garden view rooms booked for you,’ the receptionist said. ‘And I have some good news. One of the rooms, we are offering an upgrade to a larger, sea-view room.’
‘Wow,’ Ananya said, ‘I’ve never stayed in a sea-view room.’
Of course, Ananya and I weren’t staying together. I was to share a room with my mother while Ananya would be with her parents. And since they were three of them, I made the choice.
‘Ananya, your family can take the larger room. Mom and I will take the other one,’ I said.
The bell-boys carried the luggage to our room. ‘Nice place, no?’ I said to my mother as we passed a flower garden.
My mother didn’t respond.
‘Everything OK?’ I said.
My mother gave a brief nod. She kept quiet until we had reached the room.
‘They are very rude people,’ my mother said.
‘Who? The hotel staff?’ I said as I opened the curtains to see the garden view.
‘Shut up, these people you want to make your in-laws. Are they in-laws? They are making their son-in-law pick up luggage?’
‘Huh? When?’ I asked.
‘At the airport. You don’t even realise you have become their servant?’
‘I….’ I said, searching for a response, ‘I wanted to help.’
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‘Nonsense, and why did they take the sea-view room? We are the boy’s side.’
‘They are more people. Besides, do you care? Isn’t the garden pretty?’
‘Whatever, have you noticed their biggest blunder?’ she said.
‘What?’
‘They didn’t get anything. I gave their daughter two bangles. They should have some shame.’
In Punjabi terms, Ananya’s parents had committed a cognizable offence. You don’t meet the boy’s side empty-handed. Ever.
‘And I gave her a silk sari for two thousand bucks. She didn’t even appreciate it.’
‘She did.’
‘No, she was bragging about her South saris,’ my mother said.
This is one of the huge downsides of getting married. A guy has to get involved in discussion about saris and gold.
‘Mom, we have come here to get to know them. Don’t pre-judge, please. And now, get ready for dinner.’
‘You will take their side only. You are trapped.’ She muttered. ‘Stupid boy, doesn’t know his own value.’
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52
Few things bring out the differences between Punjabis and Tamilians than buffet meals. Tamilians see it like any other meal. They will load up on white rice first, followed by daal and curds and anything that has little dots of mustard, coconut or curry leaves.
For Punjabis, food triggers an emotional response, like say music. And the array of dishes available in a buffet is akin to the Philharmonic orchestra. The idea is you load as many calories as possible onto one plate, as most party caterers charged based on the number of plates used. Also, like my mother explained since childhood, never take a dish that is easily prepared at home or whose ingredients are cheap. So, no yellow daal, boring gobi aloo or green salad.
The focus is on the chicken, dishes with dry fruits in them and exotic desserts.
‘You can take more than one plate here, mom,’ I said as she tossed three servings of butter chicken for me.
‘Really? No extra charge?’ she said.
We returned to our table. ‘You are having rice?’ my mother said as she saw the others’ plates.
They nodded as they ate with spoons. Their fingers itched to feel the squishy texture of rice mixed with curd and daal. Ananya had made them curb their primal instincts to prevent shocking my mother.
‘Chicken is too good. Did you try?’ my mother said and lifted up a piece to offer them.
‘We are vegetarian,’ Ananya’s mother said coldly, even as the chicken leg hung mid-air.
‘Oh,’ mother said.
‘It’s OK, aunty, I will try it.’ Ananya said.
We ate in much silence with only our chewing making a sound.
‘Amma, something something,’ Ananya whispered in Tamil, egging her on to talk.
‘Your husband didn’t come?’ Ananya’s mother said.
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‘No, he is not well. Doctor has told him not to travel by air,’ my mother said.
‘There is a train to Goa form Delhi,’ Ananya’s father supplied. Ananya gave her father a glance, making him return to his food.
‘We don’t travel by train,’ my mother said, lying of course. I have no idea why.
She continued, ‘Actually, Punjabis are quite large-hearted people. We like to live well. When we meet people, we give them nice gifts.’
‘Mom, do you want dessert? There is mango ice-cream,’ I said.
She ignored me. ‘Yeah, we never meet anyone empty-handed. Oh and meeting the boy’s side empty-handed is unthinkable,’ my mother said as I gently stamped her foot.
‘OK, I’ve booked a car for sightseeing tomorrow. Please be in the coffee shop by seven,’ I said.
‘Illa sightseeing,’ Ananya’s mother mumbled.
‘Sure, we’ll be there,’ Ananya said.
Ananya and I met for a walk post-dinner at Park Hyatt’s private beach.
‘My parents are upset,’ Ananya said, ‘your mother should learn to talk.’
The waves splashed the shore as many tourist couples walked hand-in-hand in front of us. I bet they weren’t discussing the mood swings of their future in-laws.
‘Your parents should know how to behave,’ I said.
There we were, at one of the most romantic locations in India, having our first marital discord. In an Indian love marriage, by the time everyone gets on board, one wonders if there is any love left.
‘How can they behave better?’ she said.
‘I will tell you. But you must do exactly as I said,’ I said.
‘If it is reasonable,’ said my sensible girlfriend.
‘Step one, buy my mother an expensive gift.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, step two, when we go out in Goa tomorrow, always offer to pay.’
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‘Everywhere?’
‘Yes, at restaurants, to taxis or anywhere else. And when you offer, she will say no. but insist, if needed, snatch her purse to prevent her from paying. In Punjabi, this is considered OK, even affectionate.’
Ananya’s jaw went slack.
‘Step three, never let me do any work when everyone’s around. For example, at the breakfast table, tell your mother to bring toast for me.’
She snorted.
‘That’s what my mom expects. Do it,’ I said.
Her face looked defiant.
‘I beg you,’ I said.
‘Anything else?’ she said.
‘Yes, step four is to make love to me on the beach.’
‘Nice try, pretty Punjabi boy. But sorry, nothing’s happening until we cross the finish line now.’
‘Ananya, c’mon,’ I coaxed.
‘We have to fix the family situation. I’m too tense to think of anything else,’
Ananya said.
‘OK, if tomorrow goes well, then can we do it on the beach? We will call it Operation Beach Passion.’
‘We’ll see. Beach Passion,’ she smiled and smacked my head. ‘Let’s go back, my dad is waiting for me.’
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The day tour of Goa went off without fireworks, mainly due to the presence of a friendly Goan tour guide. We went to Bom Jesus Basilica, the oldest church in Goa.
‘Light a candle with someone you love,’ the guide said. I had to choose between Ananya and my mother. Given the sensitivity of the trip, I went with the latter.
We also visited Dona Paula, the climax location for the movie Ek Duje Ke Liye.
“Famous movie shot here. North Indian boy, South Indian girl. Difficult to get along, so they die,’ the guide said.
‘What else could have happened?’ my mother smirked. I let it pass.
Ananya’s parents stayed back in Panjim for shopping.
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53
We met Ananya’s parents at dinner. All buffet meals at Park Hyatt were paid for as part of the package. They came to the coffee shop with three brown bags.
‘Kavita-ji, this is for you,’ Ananya’s father passed the bags to my mother.
‘No, no, what is the need?’ my mother simpered as she took the gifts.
The first bag had three saris. The second bag had four shirts for me. The third bag contained sweets, savoury snacks and Goan cashews.
I cruised the buffet counters with Ananya.
‘Enough or does she want more?’ Ananya said.
‘It’s cool. This is exactly what works,’ I reassured her.
All of us sat at the table and ate in silence. I always found it scary to eat with Ananya’s family, who ate their meals as if in mourning. If I found the lack of conversation awkward, my mother hated it. She shifted in her seat several times.
The only sound was cutlery clanging on the plates.
My mother spoke after five minutes. ‘See, how times have changed. Our kids decide, and we have to meet each other.’
‘Yes, initially we had a big shock. But Krish lived in Chennai for six months.
Once we knew him, we were ok,’ Ananya’s mother said in her naturally stern voice.
‘What OK? You must be jumping with joy inside. Where would you find such a qualified boy like him?’ my mother said. I prayed Ananya’s mother wouldn’t bite at the bait. Of course, she did.
‘Actually, we do get qualified boys. Tamils value education a lot. All her uncles are engineers or doctors. Ananya had many matches from the USA.’
‘Yeah, but they must be all dark boys. Were there any as fair as Krish? Looks-wise you cannot match Punjabis,’ my mother said, without any apparent viciousness in her voice. I almost choked on the spaghetti in my mouth.
‘Mom, they changed dessert today,’ I coughed, ‘do you like bread pudding?’
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‘And my brothers are also doing well,’ my mother said. ‘Ask Ananya what a wedding she has attended. They gave a Santro to the groom. You may have landed my son, but it doesn’t mean he has no value.’
Ananya imitated a stunned goldfish while I shook my head to deny responsibility for that statement.
‘We haven’t trapped anyone,’ Ananya’s mother said finally. ‘He used to keep coming to our house. W are decent people so we couldn’t say no.’
‘Mom,’ Ananya said.
‘Why should I be quiet and get falsely accused? We haven’t trapped anyone.
Aren’t we suffering? We all know Krish’s father is against this. Our relatives will ask. Still we are accepting it,’ Ananya’s mother said.
‘What are you accepting? You don’t even deserve my boy,’ my mother said, her voice nice and loud.
‘Please don’t shout. We are educated people,’ Ananya’s father said.
Are you saying we are not educated?’ my mother challenged.
‘He meant “we” as in all of us, right, uncle? We are all educated,’ I hastily put in.
‘Will you continue to take their side and clap while your mother gets humiliated?’ my mother asked.
‘No mom,’ I said, wondering if I had taken sides. ‘I won’t.’
Ananya’s family spoke to each other in Tamil. Uncle looked especially distressed as he took short, jerky breaths.
‘My father is not well. We will go back to our room,’ Ananya said.
I looked at him in alarm.
“Krish, we will see you later,’ Ananya added.
‘Mom,’ I said in protest after they left.
‘What? Is there bread pudding? Let’s get some,’ she said.
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My mother and I came back to our room. She pretended nothing had happened.
‘How does this remote work? I want to watch my serial,’ she said.
‘Mom, you could have behaved better there,’ I said.
My mother didn’t answer in words. She responded in nuclear weapons. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘Oh please,’ I said.
My mother didn’t respond. She switched to her favourite soap where a son was throwing his old parents out of his house. She cried along with the TV
parents, correlating their situation to hers. Yeah right, she was staying in Park Hyatt and ate four kinds of ice-cream and bread pudding for dessert. But, of course, all sons are villains playing into the hands of their wives.
‘We can’t have a conversation if you watch this stupid serial,’ I said.
‘This is not stupid. This is hundred percent reality,’ she retorted.
I switched off the TV. My mother folded her hands. ‘Please have mercy on me,’
she said, ‘don’t subject me to this.’
The doorbell rang. I opened the door. Ananya stood there, her face equally wreathed in ears. When estrogen attacks you on all sides, there is not much you can do.
‘What happened?’ I said.
‘Dad’s chest is hurting,’ Ananya said, fighting back her sobs.
‘Should I call a doctor?’ I said.
‘No, he is fine now. But something else can help.’