CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Hindi word for prince is rajakumar.
Our stay in India was for one month. Twelve days had passed already in a flurry of visiting family, friends, markets and temples. Kishore’s family, including myself had quickly slipped into a familiar morning routine.
His Father and siblings were not on holiday so life continued as normal for them. Ranjini and Saras attended high school, while Sunil, who was twenty-one, was at university studying to gain a business degree. Kishore’s Father followed in his bookkeeper Father’s footsteps and worked in a bank.
I was surprised to find that their morning routine was similar to any family home. Everybody rushing to get ready, wanting to use the bathroom first. Mother urging ‘eat your breakfast quickly’ and to the girls, ‘don’t spill anything on your clean school uniform' and 'have you got your books?’ As each person dashed out of the door she exclaimed, ‘don’t forget your lunch.’
A lunchbox in India is called a ‘tiffian carrier,’ a metal cylinder with three compartments, each section stacked on top of the other with a handle over the top. One compartment might contain dahl or a meat dish, the next a cooked vegetable or salad and the last, rotis and a spoonful of chutney.
As Kishore’s family flat was on the top floor, they had access to the roof which doubled as a private balcony. They enjoyed this area as a place to sit, chat and watch the goings-on in the street below and be happy for once that they’re not a part of it.
As we were on holiday there was no rush for Kishore and myself to get ready so we kept out of everyone’s way, most mornings we went up onto the balcony. I liked to go to the edge, lean over the railing and look down at the mayhem that was the traffic, people going about their morning business and the sheer mass of diverse humanity.
On this morning as I stared at the view from my vantage point, I noticed a lazy mist covering the city. It was as if the clouds had drifted down to join us in welcoming the morning. Across the street in the opposite garden a gentle breeze tantalised the leaves encouraging them to join their dance.
Kishore and I as a young couple savoured this time. After all, we were still in the full flux of new love so anytime spent alone together was special. I joined him as he sat cross-legged on the concrete floor, we faced each other, taking advantage of the early morning sun. We positioned our backs to soak up its warmth, just like cats, we basked in its rays. I gazed into Kishore's eyes and him into mine, perhaps we would even sneak a tender kiss - knowing our love for each other was apparent, words were not always necessary.
Once everybody had left the house, before Kishore’s Mother began her daily chores, she joined us on the balcony. As she reached the top of the stairs, she conveniently coughed to announce her arrival. Usually, we discussed our plans for the day while we sat drinking tea and eating breakfast, which we carefully carried up the stairs.
As I was now immersed in the language, I understood a lot more Hindi. Aided with Kishore’s Mothers broken English, we managed to communicate quite easily.
Little did I know as she joined us on the balcony on this day she had something special to talk about.
As she lowered herself to sit, crossing her legs with ease, I was perturbed, as she strangely did not look at me. Although the three of us faced each other in a small semi-circle almost like a little pow wow (although this was the wrong type of Indians to have a pow wow with!) Mummyji did not even try to speak in English. She communicated only in Hindi and directed her conversation solely at Kishore. I sensed it would be rude for me to interrupt so I tried to pick up any distinguishing words but she was speaking too fast. I strained my ears until one word jumped out at me, a word I did understand, a word that hit me like a bolt from the blue and that was the word for marriage, ‘shaadi.'
With the continuous toot-toot of the morning traffic echoing from below, his Mother mentioned this word a few times, what was she saying? I was desperate to know. Had I done something wrong? Did she disapprove of us getting married? Did Kishore actually have a secret girl he had been betrothed to marry? Was the truth finally out?
As I watched Mummyji, although she wouldn’t look at me, I noticed a slight smile at the corner of mouth. With my ears on high alert I heard the word ‘shaadi’ again. I stared at Kishore, piercing my eyes into his downcast head, willing him to make eye contact with me but he was too intent on listening to his Mother, keeping his head down, deep in concentration. When Mummyji finally stopped talking, I nudged Kishore unable to contain my anticipation any longer. Was he going to tell me Mummji and Daddyji didn’t like me and did not approve of us getting married?
Kishore didn’t react. I nudged him again, harder this time, urging him to explain, “Come on Kishore,” I finally pleaded, “What is Mummyji saying?"
He raised his head and gazed at me, his eyes dispelling any negative thoughts I had.
He had the same smile at the corner of his mouth as his Mother.
“Well…” I almost demanded.
Kishore just sat there with a silly expression on his face, his smile getting bigger and cheekier.
“Kishore, tell me,” I pleaded, I was getting frustrated.
“Julie…” he cleared his throat and began again. “Julie my precious jewel, Julie my love, Julie my…” he stopped mid-sentence. Seeing the anguished look on my face he started once more, “Julie my precious jewel” he repeated.
“Yes” I calmly said, although I wanted to shout, 'stop the soppy talk and just get on with it!’
“Julie, my Dad and Mum have had a long talk.”
“OK…, go on.”
“Well, Julie, they are suggesting that since, umm, since we have just under three weeks left before we go back to New Zealand…”
“Go on…,” it was like extracting teeth.
“My Dad and Mum love you Julie, Mum says she feels like you are already part of the family.”
I appreciated the sentiment but really couldn’t stand much more of this, I just wanted him to get to the point.
Finally Kishore took a deep breath and said hurriedly, “Julie, Mum is suggesting that we get married here, now, while we are in India.”
I think my heart missed a beat, “What? marriage…us?...here?...now?”
“That’s right,” he was happy now he had finally said it and it showed in his voice, “Well, what do you think?”
I had heard clearly what Kishore had said but it took a few moments to sink in, to comprehend what he had said. My head swam and I tried to swallow as all of a sudden my throat felt extremely dry. I forced myself to look at him straight in his eyes, they seemed to be dancing with excitement. I knew I loved him, I loved him so much. I drew my eyes from him and over to his Mother. She had that same smile on her face but now there was also a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
In my heart I knew there would be no other answer. I again tuned my attention to Kishore, I managed to swallow even though, I now felt my heart was in my mouth. Finally, I was able to say the only answer I always knew I would say. A word that is understandable in any language…"Yes.”
The three of us beamed. It was the biggest smile I have ever seen on Kishore. I looked again at his Mother, she had obviously understood. Her smile was as big as a Cheshire cat’s.
If I thought my life had changed since I met Kishore, after saying that simple three letter word, my life was about to change a whole lot more.