2 States The Story Of My Marriage (29 page)

I don’t know why women love commenting on other women’s appearances. I

never noticed the bald man next to me, who snores through the flight.

‘Focus, Ananya. You are dealing with a Punjabi mother-in-law here. You have

never seen anything like this,’ I said.

‘Can’t wait,’ Ananya said, sarcasm dripping from her mouth like the

airhostess’s lipstick.

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ACT 4:

Delhi Reloaded

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42

‘Let go of my elbow,’ I said.

‘Why?’ Ananya said.

‘I see my mother.’

Mother waited at the arrival area. She stood among ten thousand drivers

holding placards with every Punjabi name possible. There were no more Venkats

and Ramaswamis, only Aroras and Khannas.

When people land at Chennai airport, they exchange smiles and proceed

gently to the car park. At Delhi, there is a traffic jam of people trying to hug each
other to death. My mother hugged me tight, and even though it was over the top, I

liked it. No one had hugged me like that in Chennai for the last six months (apart

from Ananya, of course, but that’s a different category of affection). We walked

towards the auto stand. Ananya greeted my mother but it went unnoticed.

‘You are?’ my mother asked me the most important question.

I nodded.

‘What did they serve?’ I noticed she was ignoring Ananya completely.

‘Paneer masala and rice,’ I said. ‘Mom, you’ve met Ananya, remember?’

My mother gave Ananya a fake smile and turned back to me. ‘No rotis?’

‘Mom, Ananya has a one-week stint in her Delhi office.’

‘Where will she stay?’ my mother said, her voice concerned.

‘At the company Guest-house,’ Ananya said.

‘Yes, but she only joins them day after, on Monday. I thought it will be a good
idea if she came home for the weekend.’

‘Whose home?’ my mother asked, aghast.

‘Our home,’ I said. I removed my bags from the trolley at the auto stand.

My mother turned silent. I paid the money at the pre-paid stand.

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We fit ourselves and our bags into the auto. I sat in the middle, with Ananya on
my right and my mother on the left.

‘All set for Minti’s wedding?’ I said.

‘What a boy Minti is going to marry!’ my mother said.

‘Really? Is he good?’ I said.

‘Oh yes, so good-looking. White as milk,’ my mother said, ‘and guess the

budget of the wedding?’

I shrugged.

‘Rajji mama is spending five lakh on the parties alone. Plus they have a big

surprise gift for the boy for the sagan.’

‘What’s the boy’s name?’ I said.

Ananya didn’t participate in the conversation. She turned her face to the

scenery outside. Her hair blew in the breeze and a few strands caressed my face.

‘I forget his real name, but everybody calls him Duke.’

‘Duke? Like British royalty duke?’ I said.

‘Yes, he is an engineer from a donation college. Now he works in Escorts

Software. And his parents are so nice,’ my mother said. ‘Every occasion they

have met your mama-ji, they bring something for me. They’ve already given me

three saris.’

‘Amazing,’ I said.

‘You should see how they give respect. The boy touches my feet every time he

meets me.’

I nodded. I wanted to end the topic. But my mother was in full form. ‘I asked

Rajji mama why he is spending so much. You know what he said?’

‘What?’

‘He said “didi, where do you get good boys these days?” So, I said, if Duke is

getting this, what will Krish get?’

I kept quiet. My mother continued anyway. ‘He said if Duke’s budget is five

lakhs, yours should be ten lakhs, gifts separate.’

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‘Thanks for pricing me,’ I said.

‘I am just saying….’ My mother said.

We remained silent for the next five minutes. My mother shifted in her seat due
to lack of space.

‘You could have booked a car. I would have paid,’ I said.

‘I didn’t know you’ll bring extra luggage from Chennai,’ my mother said.

I showed Ananya the guest-room. She kept quiet as she took out fresh clothes to

take into the bathroom.

‘Hey, I’m sorry about my mother. She’s all talk. Good at heart.’

‘Even murderers are good at heart. I thought you had told her about my

coming.’

‘I wanted to give her a surprise,’ I said.

‘Fuck off,’ Ananya said as she pushed me out of the room.

My father had gone for a business meeting. Ever since he left the army, he had

tried different ventures. These included a property dealership, a security agency

and a freight forwarding agency. None of them worked. According to him,

unscrupulous partners or corrupt officials had led to their failure. According to

me, it was his short temper and inability to come out of his army officer mode.

When you are used to a hundred people saluting you every day, it is difficult to

suck up to uneducated builders to allow you to sell their house. However, my

father kept jumping from one disaster to the next, which kept him out of the

house most of the times. Some even said he had a mistress somewhere, though I

doubt another woman could survive him.

Ananya hadn’t left her room ever since she came. My mother went for her

evening stroll at 6 p.m.

‘What are you doing inside? Come out, mom’s gone for a walk.’

She opened the door, her face still upset.

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‘Should we make love?’ I winked at her.

‘Don’t test your luck, Mr Malhotra, I shall turn violent.’ She pushed me aside

and came to the living room. She switched on the TV.

‘What’s with this attitude, Ananya? You are supposed to win my folks over,’ I

said.

‘You can win over normal people. Not rude, insensitive people who insult

guests,’ she said.

‘So you will stay inside that room and sulk?’ I switched the TV off.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said.

‘If you listen to me, you will be able to navigate her.’

‘I am all ears,’ she said dryly.

‘Dinner,’ I said.

‘Dinner what? Do you guys talk anything but food? What was that? She asked

what they served us on the plane? Like the first thing when you landed.’

I opened the fridge and took out two Frootis. I gave her one.

‘She is going to come back from her walk and prepare dinner. Offer to help

her, it is a good start.’

‘Help her?’ She poked a straw into the Frooti with more force than necessary.

‘You know, make a dish or two. Or if you want to bowl her over, make the

dinner tonight.’

‘What? Are you crazy, I’ve never made full dinner.’

‘Really?’ I slurped noisily at my drink.

‘Don’t “really” me. Did you ever learn to cook?’

‘No, but I studied all the time.’

‘I went to IIMA, too.’

‘Yeah but,’ I said and paused.

‘Yeah but, what? I am a girl, so tough luck, baby. There’s the kitchen,’ she said
and tossed the Frooti carton on the table.

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‘Ananya, I am suggesting ways to win over my mother. You said you will do

whatever it takes.’

‘Fine, can I have another Frooti? I am famished.’

I gave Ananya another tetrapack. The doorbell rang. Ananya stood up too go

to her room.

‘Stay,’ I said as I opened the door.

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43

My mother came back with two plastic bags full of vegetables. I helped her carry

them into the kitchen. She opened the fridge to keep the vegetables inside.

‘Who had the Frootis?’ my mother said.

‘I had one. And Ananya also.’

‘Three Frootis are missing. She had two?’ she said.

I kept quiet.

We came to the living room. My mother brought a giant cauliflower, a plate and

a knife with her. She started cutting little florets with the knife, using her thumb
as a base.

‘Aunty, can I help?’ Ananya said.

‘With?’ my mother said.

‘With dinner,’ Ananya said.

‘Yeah, mom, why don’t you let Ananya make dinner today?’ I suggested with a

heavy smile.

Ananya glared at me. To help is one thing, to prepare a whole meal another.

Still, if Ananya had to make an impression, she had to more than wash the

vegetables.

My mother looked at Ananya.

‘Sure, aunty, why not? It will be fun,’ Ananya said.

Mom shrugged and passed the plate to Ananya. ‘Krish likes gobi aloo. I

thought we will also make black daal, bhindi, raita and salad. Nothing much,

simple dinner.

‘Mom,’ I said, to stop her from increasing the menu.

‘The dry atta is in the drum below the gas stove. Knead some for the rotis,’ my
mother said. ‘Yes, Krish?’

‘Nothing. You want to cook together so it is faster?’ I said.

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‘She can make it if she wants to. I am not that hungry. Let it take time,’ my

mother said and switched on the TV.

Ananya cradled the cauliflower in her lap like a newborn child. She couldn’t

cut it like a pro, with the knife and thumb action. She cut florets one at a time,

using the knife like a saw.

My mother sniggered. I gave her a dirty look. ‘I have a headache. I’ll rest in my
room. Call me when dinner is ready,’ my mother said and left.

‘Ananya, you want help?’ I said.

‘Leave me alone,’ Ananya said, her gaze deep into the cauliflower.

‘Use your thumb, like this,’ I said and mocked the action with my hand.

Ananya tried. Two florets later, she cut herself. ‘Ouch!’ she screamed.

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing,’ she sniffed. ‘Nothing, go rest with your mother.’

‘Is that blood?’ I said. ‘You are hurt!’

‘It’s OK. I said I will do what it takes. What’s a little blood?’

‘This cut is not my mother’s fault,’ I said.

‘Shut up and get me a band-aid. And bring the bhindi from the fridge,’ she

said.

An hour later we had cut the gobi, bhindi, onions, garlic, ginger, tomatoes,

cucumber and green chillies required for the various dishes. Until you do it

yourself, you don’t realise the effort your mother puts into every meal.

We went to the kitchen. I took out the atta in a bowl.

‘I have no clue how to knead this,’ she said.

‘It’s OK, I’ve seen my mother do it. Let me try,’ I said and poured water into the
bowl.

‘And you fry the onions in …this?’ Ananya pulled out a kadhai from the utensil

shelf.

‘Yes, please,’ I said and switched on the gas. I opened the box of spices. She

didn’t know how to use them.

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‘Remember the five constant spices in every Punjabi dish – salt, turmeric, red

chillies, coriander powder and garam masala,’ I said.

Ananya cooked the vegetables while I worked the atta. I had to refill the atta

twice due to too much stickiness. A pungent smoke rose in the kitchen. Both of

us had a coughing fit.

‘What did you do?’ I said.

‘I … don’t … know.’ Ananya coughed uncontrollably.

My mother came into the kitchen. ‘What are you doing?’ she ran to the stove

and lowered the flame. ‘Who cooks on such a high flame? See, the spices have

burnt.’

Ananya backed off from the stove.

‘And you? What are you doing here?’ my mother said.

‘I … I came here because of the burning smell,’ I said.

‘And you hands fell into the atta?’ she said, pointing to my dough-smeared

palms and fingers.

I kept quiet.

‘See, this is how she will use you after marriage. She can’t even make rotis.’

Ananya exited the kitchen. I wanted to go after her, but with mom present, it

didn’t seem like a good idea. I threw up my atta-filled hands in despair.

‘She is South Indian, mom, how can you expect her to….’

‘You said she wants to make dinner. PK, tell her to make dosas if she wants.

Can she make dosas?’

‘Yeah, I am sure. But you need a grinder….’

Ananya came back into the kitchen. ‘No, aunty, I can’t make dosas,’ Ananya

said. ‘And I can’t make a roti either. In fact, I am terrible at cooking anything.’

‘Apart from cooking schemes to trap my boy,’ my mother said.

They exchanged battlefield looks, Ananya left the kitchen in disgust.

‘Mom!’ I said in frustration.

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