The Story Hour

by Thrity Umrigar

  Now Lakshmi felt her father’s absence. Because the girls were almost done with their drinks, but the men lingered. She was amazed that none of the other four seemed to have noticed. The shameless man’s eyes were almost sticking out of his head as he dirtied her beautiful sister with his looking. Again she situated herself between the two of them, feeling his eyes drilling holes into her walled back.

  When she turned around again, they were gone. Lakshmi looked left and right, unable to believe her luck, but couldn’t see them. Wait, now she spotted them, walking briskly away, the tall man in the blue shirt stooping slightly to hear what his friend was saying. “Go, go,” she said silently to herself. “Take your dirty rubbish somewhere else.”

  “Ae, Didi, kya hua? What for you looking like you drinking sour milk? This juice is sweet, no?”

  The other girls giggled, and Lakshmi allowed herself to be pulled out of her outrage. The man was a foreigner, obviously a city fellow. Lakshmi had heard that city people did not have good manners. Nobody had taught the stranger that men from good families did not stare at unknown women as if they wanted to . . . Lakshmi blushed and shook away the picture forming in her head.

  “Let’s go look at the stall where they selling bangles and all,” Shilpa said, and Lakshmi readily agreed.

  By the time the fair ended that night, she had forgotten about the stranger and his rude foreign manners.

  Her stomach lurched when she saw him again. Sitting next to Dada on the rope bed in front of the house. The late-afternoon sun glinting off the big gold watch that he wore. Lakshmi, who had come home after spending the day tending to Menon sahib’s accounts, suppressed a shudder when she saw the thick wrist upon which the watch sat, and below it, the fat short fingers.

  “Arre, beti, come,” Dada said. “Come, we have some good news to share.”

  The man rose from the bed and folded his hands. “Namaste ji,” he said, a slight smirk playing on his lips, as if they were sharing a joke that excluded Dada.

  Lakshmi gazed at Dada, who looked happier and less burdened than he had in years. Was this stranger a jadoogar, that he could make her father look ten years younger? She raised her eyebrow in silent inquiry at her father.

  “Beti, come sit,” Dada said, patting the bed, but Lakshmi continued standing. After a moment, Dada continued, “Achcha, stand then. But—”

  “You said you had good news,” she interrupted. “What is it?”

  Dada laughed. “We have a proposal,” he said. When she looked at him blankly, he added, “A marriage proposal, I say. For our Shilpa.”

  “Who from?” Lakshmi asked, wondering whether Dilip had found the nerve to ask Dada. But why hadn’t he told her first?

  “Arre, wah. What kind of question is that, beta?” Dada glanced at the man who sat beside him. “From this young man, of course. His name is Adit Patil, of Annavati district. And he come to us all the way from Am’rica.”

  The man folded his hands and said namaste once again, but Lakshmi ignored him. Did Dada have cataracts, she wondered, that he thought this mountain sitting beside him was young? “He almost your age, Dada,” she said. “How he can marry our little Shilpa?”

  Patil shot her a venomous look. “I only thirty-nine years old,” he said.

  She ignored him. “Plus, what our Shilpa wanting with the Am’rica?” she continued. She lowered her voice. “They say all people there eating beef.”

  “’Scue me,” the man interrupted. “I owning famous restaurant in Am’rica. And we never serving the beef.” He smirked again, as if he had trumped Lakshmi, and she stared back, not afraid to let her distaste show on her face.

  “See, Lakshmi?” Dada said eagerly. There was an appeasing quality in his voice that embarrassed her. “This is a good man. He come highly recommended by Vithal, from our village.”

  She felt a flash of irritation at her father and, in order to hide it, asked, “Where’s Shilpa?”

  “She go over to Jyoti’s house to study for tomorrow’s exam.” Dada turned to face the stranger. “My little daughter very smart. She working as stenographer but now taking computer course. Both my daughters smart. Both my daughters go to the school.” He pointed at Lakshmi with his chin. “But this one had to stop after her mother get sick.”

  The man barely raised his eyes to look at Lakshmi, who felt her face burn. Why for Dada had to tell about her life to this stranger? She opened her mouth, but the man beat her to it. “Your Shilpa can go to the college in Am’rica,” he said expansively. “I myself will pay for the fees.”

  Dada beamed. “My daughter going to college? I wish my Shilpa’s mother was alive to witness this day, beta.”

  The man shot Lakshmi a triumphant look. “And as I mentioned earlier, uncle,” he said in a loud voice that Lakshmi was sure was for her benefit, “I will not be requiring a dowry. In Am’rica, we don’t believe in dowry-fowry.”

  That explained the look of relief on Dada’s face. What father wouldn’t be relieved at a suitor not wanting lakhs of rupees or a car or at least a refrigerator and a stove for the favor of taking his young unmarried daughter off his hands? For a moment Lakshmi softened. Perhaps she had misjudged this man. But the next second, she remembered Dilip, and her heart sank. Shilpa would never agree to this proposal. And what then? Would Dada actually force her, marry her off against her wishes?

  “Beti, are you going to stand around like a statue, or will you go inside and make us some tea?” Dada’s voice was teasing, but his eyes were serious. Her rude behavior was not going unnoticed.

  She nodded and ducked her head low to enter the house. She fired up the old kerosene stove, pulled out the dented pan, measured two cups of water, and added the tea leaves. As she waited for the water to boil, she could hear the two men outside, heard their laughter and the murmur of their voices rise and fall. “I’s sorry, beta,” she heard her father say. “My Lakshmi raise her sister after their mother’s death. She like a tigress when . . .” She couldn’t hear the rest of her father’s words as the man spoke over them. Lakshmi could make out only “my elder sister” and “women are like that.”

  She lingered in the kitchen a moment longer than necessary, reluctant to join the two men, but at the last minute, some ancient propriety made her grab a small plate and place six Glucose biscuits on it, to serve with the tea. Balancing the two cups and the plate, she went back out, and when the man saw her, he jumped to his feet and took one of the cups out of her hand. His fingers grazed hers as he removed the cup, and she jumped back, spilling a few drops from her father’s cup. She hoped the man had not noticed, but he had, and he raised his right eyebrow slowly, as if puzzled by her obvious dislike of him. “Thank you,” he said in English. “Good tea.”

  In response, she turned to her father for guidance. They had never received a marriage proposal, and she had no idea whether to participate or leave the negotiations to the two men. But apparently, they were done talking, because after a few more sips, the man set down his cup on the ground below the rope bed and said, “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I am leaving for Mumbai tomorrow for a few days, but my oldest sister get in touch. She will bring you the horoscope and anything else that you need. My only request is that if you accept my proposal, we plan for the shaadi in two weeks, ji. I needing to get back to my restaurant, you see.”

  Dada looked startled. “Two weeks to plan a shaadi? Beta, how to plan so quickly-quickly? Beside, I have to see about my Lakshmi. How it look if younger daughter get marry before older one?”

  The man’s eyes flickered dismissively over Lakshmi’s face. “Times different now,” he said to Dada. “If good proposal come first for younger daughter, what can you do?” He leaned toward the older man. “Not too many mens not wanting dowry, uncle. Even my own family angry with me. Saying I come back from Am’rica with modern ideas. But with money you save, you can give this one a big dowry.” Lakshmi flushed, hearing what the man insinuated but didn’t say—that with her plain looks, she would need it.


  Dada nodded slowly. “You are talking sense, beta.” He blinked a few times. “I just wasn’t ready to losing my Shilpa so soon. Ever since their mother died—”

  “Uncle. If you like, even after marriage, she can stay with you. Of course, custom is that after wedding day, the girl moves to live with her husband’s relations.” He sighed heavily. “But you a widower. I understands. So she can stay here. Getting her visa for Am’rica will take a few months, no? That time, she can spend here.”

  Despite herself, Lakshmi found herself admiring the man’s tenacity. He had an answer for everything, this one. How else he could have big, famous restaurant in the Am’rica?

  The man rose to take his leave. “My sister drop off the horoscope tomorrow. We will wait for your reply then.”

  Shilpa wasn’t studying at her friend’s house, as Dada believed. Lakshmi knew exactly where she was—at the cinema hall two towns over, with Dilip. For the last year, any chance she got, Shilpa spent with that young man. Lakshmi missed spending time with her baby sister, but she understood. She liked Dilip. The owner of a small auto repair shop that he had opened two years ago, Dilip was hardworking, honest, and best of all, always quick with a laugh. When they were together, he and Shilpa acted more like brother and sister, always laughing, joking, pinching, teasing. Dilip had just one black mark against him: He was poor. On his mechanic’s income, he supported his parents and three younger siblings. Lakshmi knew what that meant—Dilip’s parents would look to marry off their only son to a woman who came with a big dowry. Dada could maybe afford a good dowry for one of them. But both? Even if he mortgaged the house, there was not that much money. Not that either one of his daughters would allow him to do so; just a few months ago, when Lakshmi had urged Shilpa to tell Dada about Dilip, Shilpa had insinuated as much. “I know Dada can’t afford dowry for both of us, Didi,” she’d said. “Dilip and I, we young. We not hurrying to get married. We wait.” What Shilpa left unsaid was obvious: We wait until someone proposes marriage to you. We wait until we know how much of a dowry they’ll demand to marry a twenty-six-year-old woman with a face as brown and plain as a chapati. And then we’ll know how much money is left over for me.

  Now there was this complication. Or was it an opportunity? It was almost unheard of—a man owning a famous restaurant in Am’rica, proposing marriage to a woman without even checking to see if the horoscopes were compatible, and as if that were not enough, refusing a dowry. All because he had lost his heart to her at a mela. It seemed like a miracle, something that would happen in a Hindi film. Except the man doing the proposing was no Sharukh Khan or Abhishek Bachchan. He was a bulky, serious-looking man with thin hair, wanting to run away with her young, beautiful sister. She could never imagine Shilpa punching this man playfully on the arm as she did Dilip, couldn’t imagine him laughing at Shilpa’s silly jokes the way Dilip did, couldn’t picture the two of them singing out loud as they rode on a scooter.

  Lakshmi’s head jerked up at the thought of Dilip’s scooter. She knew the spot where Dilip usually dropped Shilpa off on the far side of the field, so she could pretend she was returning from Jyoti’s house. Her father looked up as she rose from her cot, turning his gaze from the old TV that Menon sahib had given them. “You going somewhere, beti?”

  “Thought I’d walk the little one home from Jyoti’s. You know how she is about walking home alone.”

  Dada nodded. “Go get her, beti. She always was afraid of darkness.”

  Even though it was dusk, she walked across the familiar land swiftly, her feet knowing each rut and ridge in her father’s field. She had just reached the small side road when she heard the sound of Dilip’s scooter. “Didi,” Shilpa said breathlessly, her brown eyes worried as she slipped off the scooter, “What is it? Is Dada . . . ?”

  “He fine. Everyone fine. I just wanting to take evening walk.”

  Dilip leaned over, his usual smile a little broader today. “We have some good news for you, Didi.” He rumbled the engine of his scooter. “Shilpa will tell you,” he said. “Achcha, chalta hu. Bye.”

  They waited until they couldn’t see Dilip’s silhouette, and then they linked their arms around each other’s shoulders the way they always did and began the walk toward home.

  “So what’s the good news?” Lakshmi asked.

  “Yes, yes, Didi, wait, na, I was just going to tell.” Shilpa stopped walking and turned so the two women were facing each other. “You know Roshan? He working in Dilip’s garage? Well, Didi, he tell Dilip that he like you. But he ascare of you, since you work in Menon sahib’s shop and all. He think you a big shot.”

  Lakshmi felt her face flushing. Roshan had been in school with her. Even as a boy, he had been polite and soft-spoken. And nice-looking. To cover up her embarrassment she asked sternly, “Why for Dilip talking about me to strange men?”

  “He didn’t, Didi. Roshan only came to him. For the advice.”

  A flock of birds flew overhead, making their way home in the dying light of the day. Lakshmi traced their frenzied flight, and as she looked skyward, her eyes filled with tears. Ae bhagwan, she thought. Why you playing such tricks on your Lakshmi? She had always admired Roshan but had never imagined that he had so much as noticed her. But he had, enough to talk to Dilip about her. Even the fact that she was long past marriageable age had not stopped Roshan from liking her.

  But what use? she told herself fiercely. If she were to even consider marriage, where was money going to come for Shilpa’s wedding to Dilip? And as long as she, the oldest, remained unmarried, how could Shilpa marry?

  “Didi? Are you happy that—”

  “I have news, too,” she interrupted. “Somebody came to the house today. With marriage proposal. For you.”

  “Big joker, you are, Didi.” Shilpa began to giggle but stopped abruptly because of what she saw on Lakshmi’s face. “Didi?”

  “No joke,” Lakshmi said, shaking her head. “No joke. He from Annavati district,” she continued. “He seeing you at the mela and making inquiries. He came and talk to Dada today. Say he wanting to marry you in two week, tops. Then he return to Am’rica, where he stays, and make the visa for you. You goes few months later.”

  Even in the gathering dark, Lakshmi could see the fear on Shilpa’s face. “And what did Dada say?”

  She shrugged. “What can Dada say? We will make inquiries also, to see what kind of khandan he come from. Husband family more important than husband, Dada saying. Tomorrow he sending his horoscope to match with yours.”

  Shilpa’s voice was quiet, but there was a quality to it that scared Lakshmi. “And you, Didi? What did you say?”

  The heat rose in Lakshmi’s face. Why did Shilpa sound like she was accusing her of something? “What can I say? I’s a woman. Who ask me? This between the menfolks, Shilpa.”

  “I love Dilip. You know that, Didi. Still you didn’t say anything?”

  They were close enough to the house that they could see the blue glow of the television through the window. Still, Lakshmi didn’t bother to keep her voice down. “Yesterday you begging me not to tell Dada about Dilip. Today you angry that I keeping my mouth shut. What you want from me, Shilpa? What you want?”

  In reply, Shilpa quickened her pace. “Wait,” Lakshmi called. “Listen to me.” But the younger woman only walked faster.

  Their father greeted them at the door. “Did you give our munni the good news?” he asked.

  “Dada,” Shilpa said. “I don’t want to marry the man from Am’rica. I am happy here in our little village.”

  The old man shook his head. “Arre, Munni, beti, you just ascare. We will make inquires, but if horoscopes match and if what we hear about his family is good, then why wait, beti? We poor people. How many good offers we going to get? I want to see my daughters settle in life before I die.”

  “Then marry Lakshmi first. She’s older.”

  A look of embarrassment came over Dada’s face. “What to do, beti? The offer is for you. And with not havin
g to pay dowry for you, maybe I can find good match for Lakshmi.”

  Shilpa looked sharply at Lakshmi and then back at her father. “What you mean, no dowry? He not wanting dowry?”

  Dada looked incredulous. “You not tell her that? Best part you not tell her?”

  “No chance I’m having to say anything. She just—”

  “So I am the bakri here? The goat who has to be killed so Lakshmi has money for dowry?”

  Lakshmi shut her eyes, afraid that the hurt would leak out of them. In all her days, she had never heard Shilpa talk like this. She shook her head, trying to focus on what Shilpa was saying.

  “Dada, listen. I am going with someone. I didn’t want to say until. But his name is Dilip. And we having feelings for each other. We wanting to marry, Dada.”

  The old man looked confused, then stricken. “Dada, come sit,” Lakshmi said, steering him to the cot. She ignored his accusatory “You were knowing?” and hurried into the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water.

  “Now you telling me this?” Dada was saying when she returned. “After I invite that poor man into our house and welcome his proposal? Do your father’s name and izzat mean nothing to you, beti?”

  Shilpa was crying now. “I knows, Dada. I am sorry. Dilip was wanting to save some money before coming to you. His car repair business new, Dada. He supporting his whole family. We just trying to—”

  “Wah, wah. So we spit on offer from rich businessman from Am’rica to wait on some fool mechanic to save money,” Dada said viciously. “One time God sending good luck to our house, and we telling God to please get out. Shabash, beti. Well done.”

  “Dada. I loves Dilip. We wants to marry.” Shilpa shot an angry look at Lakshmi. “Didi. Why you not saying anything?”