2 States The Story Of My Marriage (7 page)

‘Krish Malhotra, this better be important. What’s up?’ she whispered, loud

enough for the panel to hear.

‘Ananya Swaminathan, I, Krish Malhotra, am deeply in love with you and want

to be with you always. Apart from where we go to office, of course. Will you marry

me?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com

Ananya’s mouth fell open. She alternated her glance between the panel and

me. “Krish,’ she said. She tried hard but a tear slipped out of her carefully eye-

lined eyes.

‘Everything OK?’ one panel member asked as he noticed Ananya’s

restlessness. ‘It’s not bad news, I hope.’

Ananya shook her head as she took a sip from the glass of water in front of

her. ‘No, it’s not bad news at all. It’s good.’

‘Ananya,’ I whispered again. My knees hurt as they rubbed against the rough

classroom floor.

‘What now?’

‘Is that a yes? Will you be with me, always?’ I asked.

She tightened her lips to hide a laugh. ‘Yes, you idiot. I will be with you. Just
not right now. So, go!’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com

9

‘Wow, this feels special,’ Ananya said.

She opened her HLL offer letter for the third time at Rambhai’s. I had collected
mine from Citibank the day before and, after confirming the salary, had dumped it

in my cupboard.

‘It’s an invitation to be a slave, don’t get so excited,’ I said as I ordered a
samosa sandwich.

‘Aw, don’t be morbid. They are thrilled about hiring me. HLL has a serious

South India strategy.’

Rambhai’s minions served us tea. During placement time, tips peaked for

them.

‘Do you go to school?’ Ananya asked the thirteen-year-old boy who served us.

‘Yes, Rambhai sends me,’ the boy said.

‘Good, because if he doesn’t, report him to the police,’ Ananya said and gave

the boy a fifty rupee note.

‘They will post you in South India,’ is aid, ‘in one of those unpronounceable

places without an STD code.’

‘No, they won’t. And if they do, my husband will come and rescue me.’ She

winked.

‘Ananya, you don’t get it. We have decided to get married. Our parents haven’t

approved – yet,’ I reminded her.

‘C’mon, mine are a bit conservative. But we are their overachieving children,

the ultimate middle-class fantasy kids. Why would they have an issue?’

‘Because they are parents. From biscuits to brides, if there is anything their

children really want, parents have a problem,’ I said.

‘Your parents will have a problem with me?’ Ananya pulled her hair back to tie

it in a loose bun. She clenched a pin in the middle of her teeth.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com

‘They’d have a problem with anyone I choose. And you are South Indian, which

doesn’t help at all. OK, it’s not as bad as marrying someone from another

religion. But pretty close.

‘But I also aced my college. I have an MBA from IIMA and work for HLL. And

sorry to brag, but I am kind of pretty.’

‘Irrelevant. You are Tamilian. I am Punjabi.’

Ananya folded her offer letter and rearranged things in her bag.

‘What? Say something?’

‘Can’t be part of this backward conversation,’ she said. ‘Please, discuss your

woes with the Punjabi brethren.’

She stood up to leave. I tugged her down by her hand. ‘C’mon Ananya, aren’t

your parents going to flip out when they find out you have a Punjabi boyfriend?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Have you told them?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Waiting for the appropriate time. The convocation is in two weeks. They’ll be

here, I will introduce you. Tell them what you have done in life, not where your

ancestors were born. They can meet your parents. They are coming, right?’

‘My mother, yes. Father, I don’t know.’

‘What’s the deal?’

‘Let’s not talk about it.’

‘You won’t tell your future wife? Have you invited him?’

‘No.’

She stood up, I followed suit. ‘Let’s go to the STD booth,’ she said.

‘Now?’

‘This strong and silent warfare between you and your dad is becoming too

much.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com

‘It’s peak hour rates.’

‘I don’t care.’

We walked to the STD booth near Vijay Char Rasta. I called home. ‘Hi, mom, it

is me.’

‘Krish, we should book tickets. I am coming, Shipra masi wants to come, Rajji

mama and Kamla aunty, too.’

‘Mom, is dad coming?’

‘No,’ she said and fell silent.

‘It’s my convocation,’ I said.

‘He said he has work.’

‘He’s retired. What work?’ the meter rode up twenty rupees.

‘You talk to him, he expects a personal invitation,’ my mother said.

‘I won’t. Doesn’t he want to come by himself?’

‘No, why don’t you ask him to?’ She prepared to put me on hold.

‘Mom, no. I don’t want to call him if he doesn’t want to come.’

‘Fine. Can masi and mama come?’

‘Don’t get any relatives,’ I pleaded.

‘Why? They love you so much. They want to see you….’

‘I want you to meet someone, mom.’

‘Who?’

‘You’ll find out,’ I said.

I came out of the booth. Ananya and I walked back. Which father needs an

invitation from his son to attend his convocation? Screw him, I said to myself.

‘You invited him?’ Ananya asked.

‘Dad’s not coming,’ I said.

‘Why?’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com

‘We have no relationship, Ananya. Don’t try to fix it ever. OK?’

‘What happened though?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Standard answer.’

‘Yours was a standard question.’

‘You do care for him. You are upset.’

‘I’m upset about paying peak hour rates. Now listen, I’ve fended off my aunts

with great difficulty. It’s only my mom. You have a plan, right?’

She skipped ahead of me. ‘Let’s make it a great first meeting of the families.

We should do something fun together.’

‘Like shoot each other?’

‘Shut up. It’ll be fine. They’d love it that my boyfriend is from IIT.’

‘They won’t ask my grades, right?’

‘They might. But who cares, you will be in Citibank. Listen, we organize an

outing for them?’

‘I am not so sure if our families would like to spend so much time together.’

‘Of course, they would. You leave it to me. Your mom will love me more than

you after this,’ she said as we reached the campus gates.

I received my mother at the Ahmedabad railway station a day before the

convocation. Ananya’s parents flew down, her father using his LTC that allowed

him to fly once every four years. My mother arrived with two suitcases. One had

her clothes and the other contained mithai boxes sourced from various shops in

Delhi.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com

‘I’m in college for five more days. Why so many sweets?’ I asked in the auto

back to campus.

‘We will eat them, no? And we might meet people. They will say her son is

graduating and she has nothing to offer us. I almost brought packed meals. I

don’t want to eat the Gujarati daal with sugar. Is it really sweet?’

‘It’s not that sweet. Anyway, I want you to meet someone, mom,’ I said as the

auto struggled to penetrate the narrow lanes near the railway station.

‘Who?’

‘There’s this girl,’ I said.

‘You have a Girlfriend? Girlfriend?’ she asked as if I had contacted AIDS.

‘A good friend,’ I said to calm her down.

‘Good friend? What, you have bad friends also?’

‘No, mom. We used to study together. We did a lot of projects together.’

‘OK. Did she get a job?’

‘Yes, in HLL. It’s a good job.’

‘HLL?’

‘The company that makes Surf. And Rin and Lifebuoy and Kissan Sauce.’ I

named products, hoping that one of them would impress her.

‘Kissan Jams also?’ she asked after thinking for thirty seconds.

‘Yes. She is in marketing. It’s the most prestigious marketing job.’

‘She will get free jams then?’

‘I guess,’ I said, wondering how to bring the conversation back on track. ‘But

that’s not the point.’

‘Yes, it’s not. So, should we stop for lunch before we go to your college or do
we eat in college? Bhaiya, any good restaurants here?’ she addressed the auto

driver.

‘Mom, stop. I am talking about something important.’

But my mother said, ‘These auto drivers always know good places.’

DX @ www.desibbrg.com

‘Stopping is extra, madam,’ the auto driver said, ignoring me along with every

speed-breaker on the road.

‘What?’ my mother said as I continued to stare at her to get her attention.

‘Her name is Ananya. Her parents are also here. I want you to meet them and

be nice to them.’

‘I will meet whoever you want me to meet. And when am I not nice? We are

nice people only.’

‘Mom…..’ I said before she interrupted me.

‘Let’s take some Nice biscuits on the way. They are good with tea.’

‘Mom,’ I screamed. ‘This is what I don’t want. I want you to meet them properly
and not obsess about meals or snacks or tea or whatever. They should have a

good impression.’

My mother gave me a dirty look. I didn’t respond.

‘Bhaiya, turn the auto. I am going back,’ my mother said. ‘One, I come all the

way from Delhi to attend your convocation, get mithai from four different shops,

and now I can’t make a good impression. It’s OK, if we can’t make a good

impression then we won’t come.’

My mother kept mumbling to herself. She had officially entered her drama

mode. The driver stopped the auto.

‘What? Why have you stopped?’ I asked, exasperated.

‘Madam is telling me to turn back.’

‘Mom,’ I said as she continued to sulk.

‘So, you remember I am your mother? I thought you only cared about your

friend’s parents?’

Anger filled my mother’s voice. I had to take emergency measures.

‘There is an excellent pao-bhaji place round the corner. Bhaiya, just take us to
Law Garden.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ my mother said.

‘Only for tasting,’ I said. I tapped the auto driver on his shoulder. The driver
turned towards Law Garden.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com

I ordered paneer pao-bhaji with extra butter and lassi on the side. Nothing

soothes an upset Punjabi like dairy products.

‘Who is this girl?’ she asked after finishing the lassi.

‘Nobody important. She wanted to meet you after I told her how much trouble

you took to bring me up because of dad,’ I lied.

Maybe it was the extra butter or my words. My mother calmed down. ‘You told

her everything?’ she asked.

‘No, only a little. Also, her parents may be a bit formal. That’s why I spoke

about making a good impression. Otherwise, who wouldn’t love to meet you?’

‘What do Gujaratis eat for dessert? Or do they put all the sugar in their food?

My mother picked up the menu again.

DX @ www.desibbrg.com

10

The next morning, two hundred fresh MBA graduates and their insanely proud

parents sat in the Louis Kahn Plaza lawns for the convocation. The cief guest, a

third generation silver-spoon-at-birth industrialist, told students to work hard and
come to the top. He also had the tough job of handling out degrees and posing

for pictures with two hundred students. Today, we had to collect our post-

graduate diploma in management, a ticket to a lifetime of overpaid jobs. Ananya

wanted everything to be perfect. She had reached the venue half an hour earlier

to secure six seats for her family and mine.

My mother wore her best sari. I wore graduation robes rented for thirty bucks.

‘Mom, this is Ananya. Ananya, my mother,’ I said when we reached the

premises.

Ananya extended her arm to shake my mother’s hand. My mother looked

shocked. While Ananya touching her feet would be too much, I felt Ananya

should have stuck to a Namaste. Anything modern doesn’t go down well with

parents.

‘Hello, aunty. I have heard so much about you,’ Ananya said.

‘Actually, since I have arrived I am only hearing about you.’ My mother smiled,
making it difficult to spot the sarcasm.

‘Let’s sit down. Ananya, where is your family?’ I asked as we sat down.

‘My mother takes forever to put on her sari. I came first to get good seats.’