2 States: The Story of My Marriage

by Chetan Bhagat

  ‘If you promise to take care of my daughter,’ Ananya’s father said, ‘then it is a yes from me.’ He bent forward and picked up his box.

  Ananya hugged her father. ‘Thanks, dad,’ she said, ‘I love you.’

  Ananya’s father blessed her with a hand on her head.

  Ananya’s mother said, ‘It is not that we don’t like you. But our communities. . . .’

  ‘Mom, c’mon,’ Ananya interrupted her.

  Ananya’s mother took a minute to respond. ‘I know he will take care of you. But will Krish’s parents treat my daughter with respect?’

  ‘We’ll work on that, too,’ I said, aware another challenge awaited me in Delhi. ‘If they do, then?’

  ‘Then it is a yes from me,’ Ananya’s mother said.

  ‘Yay!’ Ananya cheered. Aunty took her ring and Ananya planted a kiss on her mother’s forehead.

  ‘Akka, you haven’t picked yours,’ Manju said as the mother-daughter affection continued. When they separated, both had tears in their eyes.

  ‘Oh, of course, where is it?’ Ananya picked up her ring.

  I came back to my seat.

  ‘Sir, did you enjoy your meal?’ the waiter said as he cleared the plates.

  ‘You bet I did,’ I said, tipping him more than the bill that night.

  41

  ‘I will miss you,’ Bala said as he handed me my transfer papers in his office.

  ‘I wish I could say the same,’ I said. Bala’s chin dropped. ‘I am kidding, cheer up. I won’t be there to blackmail you anymore,’ I said.

  Bala had agreed to make my case with Anil Mathur for the same reason. My transfer to Delhi took two months to execute. I wanted to be home soon. After all, I had finished my Chennai job. Of course, we had a few more battles to win. Ananya would have to deal with the full force of Punjabiness. However, life is best dealt with one disaster at a time.

  Operation Delhi would have to be quick. Ananya convinced her bosses to send her to Delhi for a week. After all, every HLL manager must have North India exposure, Ananya had argued. Ananya’s parents came to drop us at the airport. Ananya’s mother worried about Delhi, given its status as the worldwide capital of eve-teasing.

  ‘Mom, the HLL guest-house is safe. I won’t be out much,’ Ananya said.

  Ananya’s dad had his own concerns. ‘Remember, we have said yes. But you are not married yet. Don’t embarrass us,’ uncle said to me as he bid us goodbye.

  ‘Of course, uncle,’ I said, trying to figure out what he meant. No sex, I guess.

  Ananya and I went inside the terminal. She grabbed my arm as her parents melted out of sight. The flight took off. I brought out my notebook to explain the next stage to Ananya – Operation Delhi.

  ‘So, I have to agree with your mom, whatever she says. Like whatever,’ Ananya said, twenty minutes into the flight and thirty thousand feet high in the sky.

  The plane passed through an area of turbulence.

  ‘Yes, never disagree,’ I said, tightening my seat-belt, ‘and the timing of your trip could not be better. My cousin sister Minti is getting married next week. You’ll come to the wedding, meet everyone, bingo, done.’

  Ananya lifted the armrest to hold my arm tight. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine with you.’

  ‘See, you have to win over my mother. My father won’t agree ever, so he is not part of the equation. Make mom happy, OK?’

  ‘Lower the armrest, it is not safe,’ the flight attendant said in a strict voice as she passed the aisle.

  When you are part of a couple, you don’t realise how cheesy your affections are to the outside world.

  ‘Who does she think she is?’ Ananya huffed.

  ‘My mother?’

  ‘No, the airhostess. What’s with the thick red lipstick? Is she a flight attendant or an item girl?’

  I don’t know why women love commenting on other women’s appearances. I never noticed the bald man next to me, who snored 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.

  Act 4:

  Delhi reloaded

  42

  ‘Let go of my elbow,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’ Ananya said.

  ‘I see my mother.’

  Mother waited at the arrivals 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 ate?’ 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.

  We fit ourselves and our bags tight 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?’ I said.

  ‘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 lakh, yours should be ten lakh, gifts separate.’

  ‘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 baggage from Chennai,’ my moth
er 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.

  ‘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 about 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.

  ‘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 to go to her room.

  ‘Stay,’ I said as I opened the door.

  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 hearty 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.

  ‘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.

  ‘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 because of the burning smell,’ I said.

  ‘And your 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. OK, 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.

  ‘What? What else is this?’ my mother said. ‘You are under her spell. You bring her home. You knead atta for her. You give her two Frootis I had brought for guests. You are so worried about her. What about me?’

  ‘What about you, mom?’

  ‘What is she doing here?’

  ‘Mom, she can hear you.’

  ‘See, you only care about her. Go, be with her.’

  My mother rearranged the plates in the kitchen. She threw the old spice mixture and made a new one as I left.

  ‘Get me to the guest-house, I want to leave,’ Ananya said, her face wet with tears.

  ‘No,’ I said and wiped her tears. ‘No, you can’t.’

  ‘I can’t do this,’ she said. ‘I thought convincing my parents would be enough. You said your mother is sweet. Sweet? If your mom is sweet, then Hitler is a cuddly toy.’

  ‘Take a shower, Ananya,’ I said. ‘Let’s all eat dinner together.’

  We sat down for dinner. My mother served me. Ananya took the food herself.

  I chose a safe topic. ‘What are the important ceremonies for Minti’s wedding?’

  ‘I have to go every day,’ my mother said, chewing her food. ‘There is a puja, then a sangeet. Of course, the important ones are the sagan and the marriage, next Friday and Sunday. You’ll come, no?’

  ‘Sagan and marriage, of course. I’ll bring Ananya, too.’

  My mother gave me a dirty look. She didn’t want to talk about it with Ananya present.

  ‘Don’t avoid the topic, mom. I’ve brought Ananya here so you and the family get to know her.’

  ‘I already know she can’t cook dinner,’ my mother said.

  ‘I’m sorry, aunty,’ Ananya said. I didn’t expect it but felt relieved that Ananya apologised.

  ‘It’s fine, you modern girls are like this. That is why I want Krish to marry. . . .’