2 States The Story Of My Marriage (38 page)

first floor. She paused to catch her breath.

Shipra masi’s expensive sandals could be heard four seconds before she

arrived the first floor.

‘See this stupid sister of mine. She said no to any big gifts,’ Shipra masi said
to me.

‘You did?’ I said to my mother.

My mother looked at me.

‘You will never understand how much I love you,’ my mother said.

I hung my head in shame. My mother smacked the back of my head. I deserved

a slap.

Shipra masi waved her hands as she spoke.

‘You and your mother, both the same – impractical. She tells him, “I sent my

son to do one MBA, I am getting two MBAs in return. Ananya is the best gift,”’

Shipra masi said, ‘OK, she earns a lot, but Kavita, why say no if someone is ready

to give. Why not grab it.’

‘Because we are not that kind of people, Shipra masi,’ I said and gave my

mother a hug, ‘she is all talk. But she can never behave like Duke’s mother.

Never,’ I said.

I came into my hotel room where ten cousins, six aunts and four uncles sat on my

bed. I sat on the floor as space was at a premium. We had twenty rooms to

choose from, but my relatives would rather be cramped together than miss out on

juicy gossip session.

The younger cousins battled for the TV remote. I repeated the schedule to my

aunts.

‘They are big bores. How can they do puja the whole day?’ Kamla mami said.

‘They don’t even have sangeet?’ my mother said.

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‘I think they are trying to save money,’ Shipra masi said.

‘What language will the pujas be in? Madrasi? Another aunt said.

‘Tamil, maybe Sanskrit,’ I said.

‘I am not coming,’ my mother said.

I glared at my mother.

‘Where do we eat?’ an aunt expressed everyone’s concern.

‘The meals are in the dining hall at the wedding venue. Let’s go to bed, we

have to wake up early,’ I said.

We had planned to meet in the hotel lobby at seven-thirty in the morning. We

only left at nine.

‘What is the address?’ Rajji mama said.

I took out the piece of paper Ananya’s dad had given me.

‘I can’t read this,’ Rajji mama said.

I took the paper back. It said:

Arulmigu Kapaleeswarar Karpagambal Thirumana Mandapam

16, Venkatesa Agraharam Street, Mylapore, Chennai

After three attempts of reading it, I had a headache. I counted the letters, my
wedding venue had fifty alphabets in it. Delhi never gets this complicated. One of

my older cousins had her wedding in Batra Banquets, another one in Bawa Hall.

We struggled for twenty minutes on the streets of Mylapore before we reached

the venue. Fortunately, the locals had abbreviated the name of the place to AKKT

Mandapam. From actors to political parties to wedding halls, Tamilians love to

keep complicated names first and then make acronyms for the same.

‘What do you mean breakfast is finished?’ Shipra masi said.

‘Illa, illa,’ a pot-bellied, dark-complexioned, hirsute chef said and shook his hand.

He wore a lungi and a chef’s cap. If he wore the cap no prevent hair in the food,

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he needed a body sheath, given his hairy arms and chest.

‘Orunimishum,’ I said ‘what happened?’

‘Your son speaks Tamil?’ Shipra masi said to my mother.

My mother rolled her eyes.

‘No, I don’t. It’s a common word for wait a second,’ I said.

‘Now he belongs to them. They’ll make him do anything,’ my mother lamented

loudly.

‘Mom, please. Let me resolve this,’ I said.

‘What will you resolve? They will make us cook food also,’ my mother said.

‘Everybody, please sit in the dining hall,’ I said then turned to the chef. ‘Can’t
you make something?’

‘Who will make tiffin then? We have to serve it at eleven,’ the chef said.

I checked my watch. It was nine-thirty. My family would have medical

emergencies if kept hungry for that long.

‘We want something now,’ I said, ‘anything quick.’

‘What about tiffin?’ the chef said.

‘We don’t want tiffin. We’ll only come back for lunch later.’

‘Girl’s side wants tiffin. They came for breakfast at 6.30,’ the chef said.

Rajji mama came up to me. ‘Bribe him,’ he whispered.

I thought about the ethics of bribing at my own wedding to feed myself.

‘Wokay, I go now, I am busy,’ the chef said and mumbled to himself, ‘pundai

maganey, thaayoli koodhi.’

‘Anna, wait,’ I said.

The chef looked at me in amazement. How can a person with a heavy Delhi

accent toss in a Tamil word or two?

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I kept a hundred-rupee note in my hand and shook hands with him. Perplexed,

he examined the currency.

‘We are giving you out of happiness,’ my uncle said.

‘I can make upma fast,’ the chef said.

‘What is upma?’ my uncle said.

‘Salty halwa. No, not upma. Can you make dosas?’ I said.

‘For dosa one by one making no staff now. Then lunch also delayed,’ the chef

said mournfully.

We settled on idlis. There would be no sambhar. However, the chef had drum

full of coconut chutney, enough to pave roads with.

My family sat in the dining hall as servers placed banana leaves in front of

them.

‘We have to eat leaves?’ Shipra masi said, ‘ What are we? Cows?’

‘It’s the plate,’ I said, ‘and there is no cutlery.’

‘They have hardly any expense in weddings, how lucky,’ Kamla aunty said.

Forty of us consumed at least two hundred idlis.

Ananya’s father came when we had finished. ‘There wasn’t breakfast? I am

sorry,’ he said.

‘It’s fine,’ I said, ‘We came late.’

‘Hello, Kavita-ji,’ Ananya’s father said with folded hands, as per Ananya’s

instructions. He took the bucket of idli from the servers and served one to my

mother.

‘Hello,’ my mother responded, a hint of pride in her voice as her sibilings saw
her being served by the girl’s father. This is what grown-ups live for anyway,

considering they have so little fun otherwise.

‘How’s Krish’s father feeling now?’ Ananya’s father said next.

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‘He’s better, he had soup last night and porridge in the morning. He is taking

rest now. He sends his regards,’ my mother said.

Ananya’s father nodded in concern.

‘What are the ceremonies today, uncle?’ I asked for my relatives benefit.

‘First we have the Vrutham, the wedding invitation prayers. We also have

Nischayathartham, the formal engagement ceremony where we set the auspicious

time for the wedding and give gifts to close relatives,’ Ananya’s father said.

My aunts only paid attention to the last four words.

We came to the main hall, the center of action for the next two days. Every

ceremony of my wedding took place in this room. In the middle of the hall, there

was fire urn, not too different from Punjabi weddings. However, in our weddings

people only came around the fire after eating their dinner and dessert. Here,

everyone lived around the fire. I sat down on the floor. Four priests started the

mantras. Close relatives sat on the floor while distant and arthritic ones sat on

chairs in the back rows. The priests at the Vrutham chanted so loud, it scared

some of my little cousins into crying and made it impossible to talk. My aunts

behind me shifted their positions several times.

‘Should we do a city tour later?’ Kamla aunty said.

‘What is there to see in Chennai? If you want to see Madrasis, there are

enough in this room,’ Shipra masi said.

I saw Ananya’s relatives. I recognized few aunts. The younger cousins had

come down from abroad. They sat in traditional Tamil attire, clutching their

mineral water bottles.

‘Ananya didi,’ Minti said as Ananya came inside. She wore a maroon

Kanjeevaram sari with a mustard yellow-gold border. Her tightly braided hair

made her look like a cute schoolgirl. Her face had make up, and Ananya looked

prettier than any girl on any Tamil film poster every made. Her eyes looked deep,

due to kaajal around it. For a few seconds I couldn’t recognize her as my Ananya.

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Was this the same girl I met in the mess line fighting for sambhar?

Our eyes met briefly. She gave me a little smile, enquiring on how she looked.

I nodded, yes she looked more beautiful than she ever had.

The prayers continued for another hour. Smoke filled the room. The priests

kept adding twigs and spoonfuls of ghee to the fire. Ananya and I exchanged

glances and smiled several times. Was it really happening? Was I finally getting

married, with consent from everyone I shared my DNA with?

The priest asked for my father. My mother told him he was unwell.

I thought of dad again.
Why are adults so stuck up?

‘What’s your grandparents’ village?’ Ananya’s dad asked me. There priests

required it for the Nischayathartham ceremony.

I had no idea. I turned to my mother. She turned to my aunts. My aunts debated

what answer to give them.

‘Lahore,’ my mother said, after their discussion.

‘Lahore in Pakistan?’ Ananya’s father said.

He seemed worried; I was scared he’d change his mind again.

‘My grandparents had come to Delhi after the partition,’ I explained to him.

He nodded.

‘Uncle, when is the marriage done? Like it is irreversible and no one can object
to it afterwards?’

‘What do you mean?’ he said.

‘Nothing,’ I said as the priest called me to make a donation.

I gave him a hundred-rupee note. He declined it with full fervor.

‘Don’t give him directly, put it in the thamboolam,’ Ananya’s father said,

referring to the puja plates.

I placed the money in the plate. I decorated it with a banana, paan leaves and

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betel nut. I offered it again and the priest accepted it. He announced the wedding

details - the non-abbreviated name of the venue, the lagnam, the star and

tomorrow’s date.

‘Six-thirty muhurtam,’ the priest said.

‘In the morning?’ Rajji mama said, shocked.

Ananya’s relatives congratulated each other on the formal setting of the time.

My relatives were aghast.

‘This is a wedding or a torture? It’s like catching an early morning flight,’

Kamla aunty said.

Fortunately, Ananya’s mother calmed the ladies by bringing in ten bags full of

gifts.

‘Mrs Kamla,’ she announced, reading out from the first bag. Each gift had the

receiver’s name, relationship with me and a code word for what was inside.

‘Me,’ Kamla aunty said and raised her hand like a child marking attendance in

class. There’s something about presents that turns everyone into kids.

‘We’ll open them in our hotel,’ Shipra masi said after the end of the prize

distribution ceremony.

‘And now, we will have lunch,’ Ananya’s father said, inviting us all to the dining
hall to a meal of rice, sambhar, rasam, vegetables, curd and payasam.

‘We’re trapped. No paneer here,’ Kamla aunty said as we moved to the paneer-

less dining hall.

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61

‘So what’s the plan for tonight?’ Rajji mama said after we came back to the hotel.

‘There is dinner at the dining hall at eight,’ I said.

‘Please, I can’t have any more rice,’ Shipra masi said. The ladies had opened

their Kanjeevaram sari gifts. I had told Ananya to leave the price tags on. My

relatives praised Ananya a little more as they noticed each sari cost three

thousand bucks.

‘What’s after dinner?’ Rajji mama said.

‘The muhurtam is six-thirty. Let’s sleep early.’

‘See Kavita, how your son has become a Madrasi,’ Kamla aunty said and

everyone laughed like she had cracked the best joke in the world.

I made a face.

‘How can we sleep early? It is your wedding,’ Kamla aunty pulled my cheeks.

‘So, what do you want to do?’ I said.

‘We’ll organize a party. Minti’s daddy, come let’s go,’ Kamla aunty said and they
went out.

‘And you go the beauty parlour to get a facial,’ my mother said.

‘Me?’

‘Yes, but be careful. The beauty parlours can make you black,’ Shipra masi

said and my clan found another reason to guffaw like Punjabis can.