“What are you two young ladies whispering about?” Kamala inquired, one shapely brow elevated. Then she gave Mala a hug. “Happy birthday, my dear. You are a big girl today, aren’t you? I have something special for you, putti.” She presented Mala with the gift and beamed with pride.
The woman looked elegant in her peach sari. Diamonds glittered in her ears and at her throat. Rows of gold bangles jangled at her fair wrists. Her nails were perfectly manicured and painted a peachy pink. One slim, long finger showcased an obscenely large diamond ring better than any velvet-lined jewelry box. She was the rich one in the family. She was also a very good-looking woman, graceful and classy. Once again Megha could tell from whom Kiran had inherited his tall and refined looks. Suddenly her own apparel seemed cheap and gaudy when compared with Kamala’s fine getup.
Mala put on her best faux smile and thanked her aunt. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”
“Of course you will. I had it brought in from Mumbai just for you,” said a pleased Kamala. She gave Megha a polite smile and a casual once-over. “You look very pretty this evening, Megha.” Then she moved on to the others in the room.
Mala and Megha let out sighs of relief and stood in their corner to study the other guests pouring in, mostly family members. The extended family added up to at least fifty people: Devayani’s cousin Padma and her family; Padma’s brother-in-law, Jayant and his brood; Amma’s uncle Sadanand and his children and grandchildren; second cousin Raghvendra and his entire clan of six married offspring and their respective families. It went on and on. Megha nearly got dizzy trying to remember all the names. The family rule was that if one relative was invited, the rest had to be invited, too, or it could lead to bruised egos, family feuds and bad blood. So the safe thing to do on special occasions was to invite everyone.
A couple of the Raos’ neighbors and close friends showed up as well. By late evening the house was packed to capacity. Some of them placed their gifts on a growing pile in the corner of the drawing room. Others insisted on coming up to Mala and handing their gifts in person, making Mala more uneasy than she already was.
Drinks and appetizers began to appear and took up the next couple of hours. Megha stayed with Mala as she had promised. Running out of things to talk about with Mala, she looked at the wall clock. It was nearly dinnertime—a grand catered affair with many succulent dishes, no doubt. The caterers had made the delivery earlier and the aromas from the kitchen were drifting into the drawing room.
Megha noticed when Kala decided to put in a late appearance, just in time for dinner. She emerged from her bedroom and came downstairs dressed in a pumpkin colored salwar-kameez, her face a picture of bored contempt. She stood at the base of the staircase for a long moment and surveyed the scene before she moved to a quiet spot, as if she couldn’t find a single individual worthy of her attention.
Kala looked like a round pumpkin in every way. She had a nervous habit of rolling her long hair into ringlets around one stubby finger. She was not a friendly individual, and certainly not a happy one. Megha had yet to see her smile or laugh. The few words she chose to bestow upon people were usually full of venom. She vaguely reminded Megha of someone else: Amma. Did she resemble Amma, too? Was Kala another Amma in the making? It was a frightening thought.
“Ah, here comes Tamarind Woman,” hissed Mala, using the cliché about the tart tamarind fruit to describe people of a cheerless nature. Observing her sister’s progress from the staircase to the drawing room, she added, “I would gladly give her ten rupees each time she gave up the sour face and smiled.”
Megha pressed her arm. “Didn’t I tell you not to say such things about your sister?”
“She doesn’t have one nice thing to say about me.”
Changing the subject, Megha said, “I’ll go help your mother with the food.”
Megha couldn’t help feeling sorry for Mala. The girl needed companionship and looked to her for support. Mala loved fashion magazines and movie-star gossip, the latest in clothes and American music. She had nobody to talk to although she had a sister nearer her age than Megha. Mala didn’t seem to have any close friends either. Megha was the only one in the family who showed any interest in any of her favorite subjects. The two of them got along well. Somehow, at all the crazy family parties and frequent get-togethers, they gravitated towards each other. Kiran would join them when their talk turned to sports and movies. The three of them made a good team. Too bad they weren’t all siblings.
As Megha assisted Devayani in setting up the table, she saw movement at the front door from the corner of her eye, and looked up to see Kiran striding in. He was very late. In fact, he was probably the last guest to arrive. As always, he looked striking in well-pressed tan slacks and a tobacco-brown, open-neck shirt. He stood on the threshold and let his eyes sweep over the crowded room until they fell on Megha. A smile touched his face. She nodded and looked away.
Dinner was elaborate. Several varieties of vegetable curries, rice, breads, pickles, salads and desserts graced the table. A long line formed at the buffet. Devayani beamed at all the guests. “Everybody, eat well and come back for seconds and thirds, okay?” she urged, in keeping with old-fashioned Hindu hospitality.
The ice cream cake was brought out last, a huge rectangle with thirteen pink candles and one white one for good luck. Devayani dragged a scowling Mala toward the cake and the guests formed a circle around her. After the birthday song and the candle-blowing were over, Devayani clapped her hands to silence the chattering crowd. “Thank you, all, for coming today. It is a very special and significant day for the Rao family. It is very sad that my mother-in-law, Mala’s grandmother, is still in the nursing home and cannot join us in the celebration. Our little Mala is not only thirteen today but she is now officially a young lady. Please enjoy the party and the cake will be served as soon as we cut it up.”
Mala’s hand trembled and her face turned an angry red. Abruptly bursting into tears, she pushed through the crowd and scrambled up the stairs.
The guests fell silent and gaped, watching Mala’s back as she raced up the steps and disappeared over the landing. Nobody spoke for a full second. Devayani broke into a taut smile. “Mala’s a bit nervous, no? Everybody, come on, have some cake before it melts.”
The anxious looks and strained clearing of throats stopped. The folks went back to their original places and the party continued on.
Megha quietly slipped away upstairs. She knocked on Mala’s door and found it unlocked. “Mala, are you okay?” she whispered. There was no response. She knew Mala wasn’t asleep—the sound of sniffling said so. So she proceeded inside and shut the door, then sat on the edge of the bed where Mala lay on her stomach, her face buried in a pillow. “Mala, it’s okay. Everyone has forgotten about it already. They’re all eating and socializing like it never happened.”
Mala’s round body slowly turned over and she lay on her back, facing Megha. Her tear-stained face looked puffy. “I don’t want to go back there.”
Megha’s heart ached to see this young girl crying because the world knew her secret. Some customs were so humiliating and unnecessary. “I’m sure they’ll understand if you don’t return.” Megha smiled conspiratorially. “You know what?”
“What?”
She pushed the damp hair off Mala’s face. “One good thing about this is that they’ll expect you to behave a bit strangely. Hormonal changes in a woman are an excellent excuse for any kind of odd behavior.”
She was relieved when Mala, instead of pouting, snorted a laugh. “That’s good then. Tell them I’m tired and I want to sleep.”
Megha rose from the bed. “I’ll tell your mother that. Do you want me to get you anything before I go downstairs? Do you have any cramps or anything?”
“Not anymore. I had them earlier and I took some pills.”
“Maybe you can come visit us sometime this week. Remember, you had asked if I could help you with your essay on India’s democratic election process?”
&n
bsp; Mala nodded. “After school on Thursday? I still need help.”
When Megha went back downstairs, a frowning Devayani cornered her. “Megha, did you talk to her?” When Megha nodded, she asked, “Is she okay?”
“She’s all right.”
“What did she say?” Devayani still looked anxious.
“She’s a bit tired from the excitement and a little overwhelmed by all this.” Megha gestured to indicate the drawing room. “She said to tell you she wants to sleep and doesn’t want to come downstairs.”
Devayani bit her lower lip for a second, her brows drawn in contemplation. Then she turned around and went back to the drawing room.
Megha watched her make her way toward Amma and Kamala. The three women huddled to whisper. As Megha looked on, she felt that familiar, eerie feeling creep up her neck. The women took turns taking covert peeks at her and went back to whispering. They were talking about her again. It hurt so much when they did that—alienated her and whispered about her, right there where she could see them. For some reason she had never fitted in with the family. After spending a year in their midst, she still felt it was her against them. Or was it them against her, the oddity that didn’t belong?
Feeling a deep need for some fresh air, Megha made her way to the kitchen, slipped out the back door and into the garden. The atmosphere in the house was stifling. The lingering food odors and the heat and noise from so many bodies crammed into a limited space were beginning to bring on a headache. Her stomach seemed to be a bit on the rebellious side, too. She walked around the side of the house to the flower garden in the front.
The night air felt refreshing and fragrant with the scent of Devayani’s roses, champak and jasmine. The nearby streetlight cast a cool glow on the tiny, white, night-blooming jasmine clusters. But Megha felt worn-out. She was always tired lately. By the middle of the afternoon she felt like every ounce of strength was drained. The evenings seem to drag and at night she collapsed into bed from exhaustion.
Strolling up to the wrought iron fence, she crossed her arms over the rail. It felt slightly damp from the ever-present fog. Inhaling the cool, scented air made her nausea recede a bit. There was a slight breeze and the champak tree’s leaves rustled. She gazed at the moon, which looked pale tonight. There was a hazy ring around it, lending it a mysterious air. It was not a night for loneliness and sighing over silly wishes. It was a perfect night for lovers—to link arms, to laugh and moon-gaze together. But then, she was always a hopeless romantic. Appa was probably right—her brain was influenced by too many sentimental movies and novels.
Suresh would probably snort in contempt at her silly notions if she ever suggested anything remotely romantic like a walk in the moonlight. They’d never even had a honeymoon. They had gone to Tirupati for two days immediately after the wedding, but that was mainly to pray for Lord Balaji’s blessings at the famous Tirupati Temple.
Naturally Amma, Appaji and Shanti had tagged along. It was the old-fashioned way—the family accompanying the newlyweds. The only privacy Suresh and she had been accorded during those two days was a private room in the hotel where they had stayed. Thank goodness, at least Amma hadn’t invaded their nights. If she had, Megha would most likely still be a virgin.
“Hello, Megha.” The voice came from behind her.
Jolted out of her reverie, Megha stifled a cry of alarm and pivoted around.
It was Kiran. “You needed to get away from that madhouse, huh?” he said.
She swallowed in relief. “Kiran, y-you scared me to death!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Have you been standing there long?” He stood a few feet away, beside the burly trunk of the champak tree, hands in his pockets. The dense shadow cast by the branches made him nearly invisible. No wonder she hadn’t noticed him earlier.
“Only about a minute. I was on my way out to my car and noticed you gazing at the moon. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb you right away.”
“That’s okay.”
“I’m not in the habit of watching women on the sly, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Of course not! I was a little startled, that’s all.”
“Are you all right?” His voice took on a concerned note. “You look a little…tired.”
“I have a headache and needed some fresh air.”
“Would you like me to get you a painkiller from the house? For the headache, I mean.”
She shook her head. “No thanks. I’m feeling better already.” He was so kind and thoughtful, it amazed her. Suresh had never made her such an offer.
Apparently satisfied with her answer, Kiran moved on to another subject. “Poor Mala looked mortified.”
Megha shrugged. “Antiquated Hindu customs…you know. They can be crude at times.”
“I wonder why people continue to follow such ridiculous traditions.”
“In the olden days, it was more or less an announcement to the world that a certain young girl was healthy and normal, and ready to take on the responsibilities of marriage and motherhood, an invitation of sorts to the families of eligible young men to come bride-hunting. But in this day and age it’s unnecessary.”
“I agree. And how do you know so much about such things, Megha?”
“One of my subjects in college was sociology. I like to know what different societies around the world do and why. Many other cultures celebrate this coming-of-age milestone, especially tribal cultures.”
Kiran smiled. “I see you have a curious mind.” He inclined his head at the house. “Is Mala still upset?”
“She seems okay now. I checked on her before I stepped out.”
Kiran came to stand beside Megha. “You’re a kind girl, Megha. I’m sure you were the only one who offered her support.” His eyes traveled boldly over her for a second. “By the way, you look very pretty this evening.”
She was surprised by her own sharp intake of breath. “Th-thank you, Kiran…but—”
“But what?”
“You shouldn’t say things like that. I’m your cousin’s wife—your sister-in-law in essence.”
He laughed. “My cousin’s wife happens to be a beautiful woman and I’m merely stating a fact. Anything wrong with that?”
She fidgeted with her bangles. “Maybe in America such things are acceptable, but it’s not right. It…it’s not really wrong, I suppose, but it’s just that other people won’t think of it like that. If Amma heard you, I’d be dead.”
He chuckled again. “Why?”
“She won’t chastise you for making a forward statement. She’ll automatically think I’m encouraging you to say things like that.”
Kiran dismissed her comment with an exasperated wave of a hand. “Forget Amma, will you? Who cares what she thinks?”
“I do, Kiran. I have to. She’s my mother-in-law. If I make her unhappy, I have to pay the price.” Her eyes darted about, brimming with nervous apprehension. “I better go back inside before they notice we’re both missing. Those sharp female eyes and ears are likely to draw the wrong conclusion. They’re already busy gossiping about me.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You mean my aunts and my mother?”
“Exactly.”
“Did you get a chance to hear what they were saying?”
“No. If they’re talking about me they’re not likely to do it when I’m within hearing distance, are they?”
“You’re sure they were talking about you?”
“Very sure. They kept throwing quick glances at me every now and then while they whispered. You know what I mean, Kiran. You can tell when someone’s talking about you.”
“So, the old ladies are at it again.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you mean again? You know something about it then?”
He shook his head. “Not really. If I did, I’d tell you.”
She shot him a wary look before turning to go back inside the house. “I better go in before A
mma comes outside looking for me. Goodnight, Kiran.”
“Megha, wait a second.” He stretched his arm and plucked a champak flower off one of the lower branches of the tree—a pale yellow blossom with long, tapered petals. “Here, smell this. It has the most amazing scent.” When she didn’t make a move he picked up her hand and placed the flower in it.
A faint gasp escaped her throat once again. “Oh…I can’t accept flowers from you, Kiran!”
“Stop fretting, Megha. It’s not a gift or anything. No need to panic.”
She stared at her palm for a second, looking undecided. Then she turned on her heel and ran all the way back inside the house, conscious of Kiran’s eyes following her.
Setting aside her memories of their unplanned but interesting conversation on that moonlit night, Megha stole a glance at Kiran as he drove her home from her emotional meeting with Harini. Did today’s flowers remind him of that scene in his uncle’s garden? Was that why he had bought them for her? She couldn’t tell because his eyes remained on the crowded road ahead.
She sent him a grateful smile. “I appreciate the flowers. Where did you get them?”
“I bought them from the young man who sells them on the corner.”
“The blind boy who sits outside the tailor shop, you mean? I often bought flowers for Amma’s puja from him. His name is Shashank.” What a coincidence, Megha thought. Or was it deliberate on Kiran’s part? Shashank meant moon, and she knew Kiran was aware of the fact. Was he trying to send her some sort of message?
“Shashank, huh?” Kiran turned his head briefly to glance at Megha. “Interesting, isn’t it?” And the expression in his eyes said he remembered their encounter in the moonlit garden all too well.
Chapter 17
Panic swept over Megha as she heard footsteps approaching the front door. She had been living in Kiran’s flat in relative safety for a few weeks and she had just now begun to relax. Life had fallen into a semi-comfortable pattern. Kiran was away at work most of the day and came home quite late on most evenings. She cooked, cleaned and dusted the flat, and did the dishwashing and laundry. To keep his parents from suspecting anything, Kiran religiously continued with his weekly visits to their home and also to the nursing home to visit his grandmother.
The Dowry Bride Page 19
