CHAPTER TEN
The Hindi word for meal is bhojana.
Finally, after five hours of driving, we were relieved to arrive in Sundar Gardens, the suburb where Kishore's family lived. As the car turned into their street, I saw the familiar sight of the block of flats that contained their apartment on one side of the road and the garden reserve where our marriage ceremony took place on the other. My mind flashed back to our arrival the last time we arrived. That day, a huge group of people had gathered to greet Kishore and his 'English fiancé'. Today, in comparison, the street was empty. When the taxi finally came to a halt, I opened the door and flew out of the car like a bird out of a cage, but unlike a bird I was desperate to put my feet on solid ground and stretch my legs, not my wings.
We extracted our luggage from the boot and then said our goodbyes to our driver, his job was over. Kishore was concerned that Surinder was going to attempt to drive back to his home in Agra straightaway, but he assured Kishore he was going to visit some of his friends while in Delhi. He would get some food and rest, and would drive back once he was refreshed. He also said he hoped to pick up some more passengers who could make the return journey with him.
He was our hired driver but during the many hours he had driven for us, he and Kishore had bonded. They hugged farewell like old friends and said an emotional goodbye. Kishore took Surinder's home address and phone number and the two men promised to keep in touch. Although, in reality, I am pretty sure we all knew we would never see each other again. He turned to me to say goodbye but only nodded and smiled as he warmly shook my hand. Surinder and I had not said a word directly to one another the entire time he was with us. Had he been too shy to speak to me or could he not speak English?
Holding onto our suitcases, we walked towards the block of flats, and as we climbed the stairs and reached the front door of Kishore's family home, we wondered just who would be there. Nobody knew which day we would be arriving. As it was late afternoon, we thought Daddyji, Sunil, Ranjini, and Saras were probably not quite home yet.
The door was open and as we quietly entered the kitchen we saw Mummyji standing in the kitchen chopping vegetables. She looked up, opened her mouth, dropped her knife, and ran into Kishore's arms, and then mine. My Mother-in-law confirmed that our suspicions were correct, no one else was in the house. I placed my bags on the ground and went to help her make tea - traditional Indian chai tea, made in a pot with milk, sugar, and spices.
She handed Kishore a metal container and a plate and instructed him to put a dozen pinnis on it. His eyes grew wide, now he knew he was truly home, his Mum was famous for her homemade sweet treats which were about the size of a ping pong ball and Kishore’s absolute favourite. I think if it were possible he would have flown to India every week just to eat them. Once the tea was ready and he had done as asked, the three of us sat down in the lounge room to talk. We were happy to have Mummyji to ourselves for a while to catch up on all the goings-on. My Mother-in-law chatted to us while her son popped pinni after pinni into his mouth like they were potato chips. I waited until he wasn't watching and quickly grabbed one for myself before they all disappeared.
All too soon the sound of Kishore's sisters Ranjini and Saras’s chattering voices and the tapping of their shoes as they came up the stairs announced their arrival. They were surprised to see us, after shrieks of delight and excited greetings I looked the girls up and down. It was hard to believe they were more beautiful than when we left them just ten months before, they were stunning young ladies. Mummyji went back to her cooking, while Kishore, Ranjini, Saras, and I talked and teased one another just like any other siblings.
As if on cue, as soon as Mummyji slapped the last roti onto the tawa to cook, Daddyji and Sunil walked in the door. We shook each other’s hands and hugged while my Mother-in-law directed Saras to lay a large clean cloth on the floor of the living room. Ranjini placed empty bowls, plates, a pot of steaming dahl, and a pan containing cooked vegetables on top of the cloth. And once Mummyji was ready, the seven of us positioned ourselves cross-legged on the floor around the food. Warm rotis, spread with a little ghee (clarified butter) were handed around while Mummyji ladled steaming, thick dahl into the bowls and spooned spicy vegetables onto plates. How did she know we were going to arrive on time to eat with the family that night? The amount of food she had prepared was just right. Slotting straight back into the comfortable atmosphere of our family dinner, we ate, talked, quarrelled, and laughed, it was as if Kishore and I had never left - the seven of us were reunited.
After the dishes had been cleared and washed, I opened my suitcase. I had packed, what was for me, the most important items on top for easy access. I was most excited to show my in-laws my wedding albums. It had taken me a while but I had completed both of them just the week before, determined to have them finished to take away with me. The colourful, irreplaceable memories of our Indian and English weddings were passed from person to person with exclamations of 'oohs’ and ‘aahs.' Eyes examined photos and hands turned pages faster than any suspense novel.