2 States The Story Of My Marriage (11 page)

married a guy who called her as a wrong number. They have two kids now.’

‘Wow,’ I said. I wondered if I should gulp my coffee down so we could leave

sooner.

‘Do you like me?’ Dolly asked.

‘What?’

‘You know why we have been sent here, right? For match-making.’

‘Dolly, I can’t marry anyone but Ananya.’

‘Oh, that’s her name. Nice name.’

‘Thanks, and she is nice, too. And I am involved. I am sorry my mother

dragged me into this.’

‘But you said you haven’t even kissed her.’

‘I lied. We lived together for two years. But please don’t tell anyone this.’

‘Lived together?’ Her eyebrows peaked. ‘Like together? You mean, you have

done everything?’

‘That’s not important. I only told you so you don’t feel bad about my lack of

interest in you.’

‘Two years? She didn’t get pregnant?’

‘Dolly, stop. Thanks for the coffee.’

‘I can make you forget her,’ Dolly said as she opened out her waist length hair.

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‘What?’

‘I know what guys want.’

‘You don’t. And try to stay away from wrong numbers.’

We left Barista and drove back in her spacious Honda. I realised this Honda

could be mine if only I didn’t believe in stupid things like love.

‘What should I tell my mother? Dolly asked.

‘Say you didn’t like me.’

‘Why? She’ll ask.’

‘It’s easy to slam an IITian down. Say I am a geek, boring, lecherous,

whatever,’ I said.

‘She doesn’t understand all that,’ Dolly said.

‘OK, tell her Krish has no plans to continue in the bank. He’ll quit in a few

years to be a writer.’

‘Writer?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are too hi-fi for me,’ she said as we reached her house.

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14

‘I can’t believe you said no to Dolly,’ my mother said. ‘There has to be a reason,

no?’

She had brought up the topic for the twentieth time three days later. My father
didn’t come home until late so my mother had taken the risk and invited her sister

home for lunch. Some Indian men cannot stand any happiness in their wives’

lives, which includes her meeting her siblings.

‘Pammi is buying one more house in the next lane. She told me it is for her

daughter,’ Shipra masi said, rubbing salt into my mother’s wounds. My mother

hung her head low.

‘You are making the same mistake again. You chose an army person for your

own marriage. You said they are sacrificing people. We have seen how much. You

have spent your whole life in misery and poverty.’

My mother nodded as she accepted her elder sister’s observation. Shipra masi

had married rich. Her husband, a sanitary-fittings businessman, had struck gold

building toilets. My mother had valued stupid things like virtue, education and

nature of profession, and suffered. And according to Shipra masi, I planned to do

the same.

‘How much will that Madrasin earn?’ Shipra masi inquired. ‘Dolly would have

filled your house. When was the last time you bought anything new? Look, even

your dining table shakes.’

Shipra masi banged on the dining table and its legs wobbled. I pressed the top

with my palm to neutralize her jerks.

‘I say, meet Pammi once again and close it,’ Shipra masi suggested. ‘What are

you thinking?’ she said after a minute. ‘Do you know Pammi bought the phone,

the one you can walk around with everywhere?’

‘Cordless….’ My mother said.

‘Not cordless, the new costing twenty thousand rupees. You can take it all

over Delhi. Pass me the pickle,’ Shipra masi said. She ate up fast to catch up the

lost time she spent on her monologue.

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Cell-phones had recently arrived in India. A minute’s talktime cost more than a
litre of petrol. Needless to say, it was the newest Punjabi flaunt toy in Delhi.

‘And what is this writer thing? Dolly said you will leave the bank to be a writer
one day.’

‘What?’ my mother gasped.

‘In time, after I have saved some money,’ I said and picked up my plate to go to
the kitchen.

‘This is what happens if you educate children too much,’ my masi said.

‘I have no idea of him becoming a writer. When did this start?’ my mother

turned to me as I returned from the kitchen.

‘The South Indian girl must have told him. They love books,’ Shipra masi said.

I banged my fist on the table. The legs wobbled. Maybe we did need to change

it.

‘Nobody asked me to be a writer. Anyway, it is none of your business, Shipra

masi.’

‘Look at him, these black people have done their black magic,’ Shipra masi

said. ‘Don’t be foolish, Kavita, tell Pammi he will remain in Citibank and make a

lot of money. Get his price properly.’

I glared at everyone at the table, went to the living-room sofa and picked up

the newspaper. The matrimonial page opened out. I threw it in disgust.

‘Let’s look at some educated girls. You want to see educated girls?’ my mother

threw a pacifier at me.

‘I have an educated girl. I like her. She has a job, she is pretty, decent, hard-working and has a lot of integrity. What is your problem?’

‘Son,’ Shipra masi said, her voice soft for reconciliation, ‘that is all fine. But
how can we marry Madrasis? Tomorrow your cousins will want to marry a

Gujarati.’

‘Or Assamese?’ my mother added.

‘My god!’ Shipra masi said.

‘So what? Aren’t they all Indians? Can’t they be good human beings?’ I said.

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Shipra masi turned to my mother. ‘Your son is gone. I am sorry, but this boy

belongs to Jayalalitha now.’

The bell rang twice. Panic spread in the house as my father had arrived earlier
than usual. I never welcome my father home. However, I was happy as it meant

Shipra masi would leave now.

‘Hello Jija-ji,’ Shipra masi said as my father entered the house.

My father didn’t answer. He picked up the newspaper thrown on the floor and

folded it.

‘I said hello Jija-ji,’ Shipra masi said and smiled. She didn’t give up easily.

‘I like your goodbye more than hello,’ my father replied. No one can beat him in
the asshole stakes.

‘My sister has invited me,’ Shipra masi said.

‘Useless people invite useless people,’ my father said.

Shipra masi turned to my mother. ‘I don’t come here to get insulted. Only you

can bear him. The worst decision of your life,’ Shipra masi mumbled as she

packed her handbag to leave.

‘I would appreciate it if you don’t interfere in our family matters,’ my father said
and gave her a brown bag. It was mithai Shipra masi had brought for us. They

exchanged glares.

‘Take it or I will throw it in the dustbin,’ my father said.

I stood up to argue. My mother signalled me to back off. Shipra masi reached

the main door. I came with her to shut it. I touched her feet, more out of ritual than
respect.

‘Son, now don’t make foolish decisions like your mother. Marry a good Punjabi

girl before they find out about your father. Dolly is good.’

My father’s ears are as sharp as his tongue. ‘What is going on? Who is Dolly?’

my father shouted.

Shipra masi shut the door and left. Nobody answered.

‘Are you seeing girls?’ my father demanded of my mother.

My mother kept quiet.

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‘Did you see a girl?’

‘Yes,’ I said. I was kind of glad I did, just to piss him off.

‘I will….’ He screamed at my mother, lifting his hand.

‘Don’t even fucking think about it!’ I came close to him.

‘In this house, I make the decisions,’ my father said. He picked up a crystal

glass and smashed it on the floor. The violence intended at my mother had to

come out somehow.

‘You sure seem mature enough to take them,’ I said and moved towards

kitchen.

‘Don’t walk barefoot,’ my mother called out. She bent to pick up the splintered
shards. Anger seethed within me. Not only at my father but also my mother; how

could she let him get away with this and start cleaning up calmly?

‘I don’t know why I come to this house,’ my father said.

‘I was thinking the same thing,’ I said.

‘Bastard, mind it!’ he shouted at me like he did at his army jawans ten years

ago.

‘Krish, go to the other room,’ my mother said.

‘He can’t be my son. Nobody talks to their father like this.’

‘And no father behaves like this,’ I said.

My mother pushed me towards the bedroom. My father looked around for new

things to shout at or break. He couldn’t find much. He turned around and walked

out. The loud sound of the door banging shut sent a sigh of relief through the

whole house.

My mother came to my room after cleaning up the glass in the living area. She

came and sat next to me on the bed. I didn’t look at her. She held my chin and

turned my face towards her.

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‘You let him do this, so he does it. Why did you have to start cleaning up?’ I

sulked.

‘Because he’ll break the other glasses, too. And then we will have no more

glasses left for guests,’ my mother said. ‘Don’t worry. I can manage him.’

I looked at my mother, a tear rolled down her eye. I flt my eyes turn wet, too.

‘You have to leave him,’ I said after we composed ourselves.

‘It’s not that simple,’ she said.

‘I will earn now,’ I said.

‘I am fine. Ninety percent of the time he is not even here. He goes to his army
mess, he visits his partners with whom he tries his harebrained business

schemes.’

‘What? Like that security agency?’ I scoffed.

‘Yes, but he picks up fights with customers at the first meeting. Doesn’t

exactly make them feel safe,’ my mother said.

I laughed.

‘I can handle him. It is you who gets angry and fights with him,’ my mother

said.

‘He starts it. What was the need to insult Shipra masi?’

‘He won’t change. Shipra is used to him. I worry how you will stay with him

when you work in Delhi. Maybe you should take the company accommodation.’

‘Or maybe I should not be in Delhi.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I can’t stand him.’

‘Where are you planning to go?’

‘I don’t know, mom. I can only give a preference to Citibank. It’s no guarantee.

Plus, you get posted out after two years.’

‘You chose Delhi, no?’

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I didn’t answer. Somehow the thought of being in Delhi and seeing ditzy

Punjabi girls by day and dad at night didn’t seem terribly exciting.

‘You come with me wherever I go,’ I said.

‘Where? I can’t leave Delhi. All my relatives are here. You will be in office all
day. What will I do in a new city?’

;I want to go to Chennai,’ I said.

‘Oh God!’ my mother’s mellow mood shifted gears to overdrive. She got up

from the bed. ‘I find this harder to deal with than your father. Are you mad?’

‘No, I like Ananya. I want to give our relationship a shot.’

‘You’ll become a Madrasi?’

‘I am not becoming. I’m only going there to live. And Citibank transfers you in
two years.’

‘I should meet an astrologer. I don’t know what phase you are going through.’

‘There is no phase. I love someone.’

‘Love is nothing, son,’ my mother patted my cheek and left the room.

I didn’t submit the Citibank form until the last date. I kept taking my pen to the

‘location preference’ question. It had asked for three choices in order. I couldn’t

fill it.

‘You’ve sent your form?’ Ananya asked on the phone.

‘I will. Almost ready,’ I said

‘Are you crazy? It is the last day. You put Chennai, right?’

‘Yeah,’ I said and hung up.

I gave one final glance at the form. I looked at God above and asked him to

decide my love-life. I filled up the form:

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Location Preference:

1.
Chennai or Delhi (equal preference)

2.
–

3.
–

I sealed the form and dropped it off at the bank branch. In my bed I opened

Ananya’s letter from last week. I read it every night before going to bed.

Hello my Punjabi hunk,