‘I have been thinking about that myself,’ he replied, ‘but houses like that cost a lot. I’m not sure we’ll have enough even with your dollars to buy such a large house in a good neighbourhood. I will get in touch with property dealers straightaway. So can I tell Lalaji that we are agreeable to the match?’
I nodded my head.
I could see my father was bursting with desire to convey the news to Achint Ram but he held himself back. He told me he would first go to Gurudwara Bangla Sahib to seek the blessings of the Sikh Gurus and then to the Sai Baba temple before talking to anyone. He was gone for many hours and come back with prasad from both places and ordered me to eat it. He picked up the phone and got Achint Ram on the line. ‘Rai Bahadurji, my son and I are agreed that he and Sonu would make a very happy couple. A hundred thousand felicitations to you and Bhabhiji.’
Rai Bahadur told his wife. She came on the phone. My father repeated the same words to her. ‘And Bhabiji we are looking for a nice house for the daughter of a noble family. Our flat is not good enough for her. We hope to find one soon.’
She handed the phone back to her husband. My father told him about looking for a nice house and assured him that we had enough money to buy one. ‘But of course, Rai Bahadurji, if we need any help, who else will we turn to? But right now it is all under control, I am contacting property dealers for the best possible deal …’ He was going on and on. He put his hand on the mouthpiece and said to me, ‘He’s asking his wife about something.’ Achint Ram came back on the line, and father said, ‘Oh, shagun! You consult your astrologer and fix a suitable time and date. Give us a week or ten days to get things for Sonu. Perhaps we should have the same astrologer examine both Mohan’s and Sonu’s horoscopes. I’m sure they will match.’
I was suddenly transported from a world in which men and women bedded each other if they so desired into another where they sought the guidance of palmists, astrologers and soothsayers before taking off their clothes. I decided to go along with everything my father wanted. Perhaps I should not have, but I hate discord and unnecessary complications in life. Father and Rai Bahadur could do what they liked; Sonu was beddable enough, how the marriage was conducted was not important.
Finding a new house proved surprisingly difficult. I had no idea how exorbitant property rates were in Delhi. Father was right; even after selling his flat and using up all the dollars I had saved, we would not have enough money to buy the kind of house I wanted. Besides, every one insisted on more than half the money in cash which would not be shown in the papers. Neither my father nor I had any black money. Lala Achint Ram let us exhaust ourselves and cleverly waited till my father was frustrated and hinted to him that his daughter might have to suffer a small house for a couple of years after marriage till we found a larger one. Then the Lala acted—he bought a three-bedroom flat in Maharani Bagh jointly in his daughter’s and my names. Again, I allowed Father to persuade me into accepting the deal. Though to be honest, I too was relieved to be out of our depressing, poky DDA flat.
Once again an astrologer was consulted, prayers offered at Hindu and Sikh temples, and the date and time fixed for a change of residence. We spent the morning of the chosen day helping labourers load our furniture onto trucks. My father oversaw the packing in the old house, I received the furniture at the other end. The new house had been well looked after by the widow who owned it before us and she kindly assisted me in arranging the carpets, sofas, tables and chairs. By the time my father arrived on the last truck carrying odds and ends, the new house looked lived in. He came armed with a Sikh granthi and a Hindu priest. The bearded granthi recited a short ardaas; the pandit chanted shlokas in Sanskrit. We distributed halwa to everyone present, including the truck drivers and labourers.
There were lots of hassles to be overcome before we could settle in comfortably. The telephone number had to be transferred from the old to the new residence; electricity and water bills to be directed to us. And much else. My father knew how to go about such things. He simply paid the linesmen and meter readers more than they expected and they sorted out the details.
A date and time for the shagun was fixed. We, father and son, would go to Rai Bahadur Lala Achint Ram’s home at the appointed time with gifts for the family. Sonu and I would exchange rings after which I would be allowed to visit her in her home. The date for the wedding would be fixed by mutual consent, as also details of how many people would come with the bridegroom’s party and who would be invited for the wedding reception.
It was a different Sonu I saw when I went with my father for the shagun. She looked radiantly happy; as if she had passed the most important exam in her life with flying colours. Father had brought a suit length for the Rai Bahadur; a sari for his wife; metres of silk for Sonu’s salwar-kameez and a gold necklace my mother had worn; suit lengths for the sons. I carried a gold ring in my pocket. After I had touched her parents’ feet and shaken hands with her brothers, Sonu asked me saucily, ‘Aren’t you going to shake hands with me?’ I shook her by the hand, put my arm round her shoulders and embraced her. She blushed. Her mother remarked, ‘What a lovely couple you make! May both of you live long and have seven sons!’
Sonu went red in the face. ‘O shut up, Mummy. No one is allowed to have more than two.’
It was a cordial union. Sonu and I sat on the same sofa. I took out the gold ring I had brought with me and slipped it on her finger. My father put the gold necklace round her neck. Her mother handed her a ring with a diamond. She took my left hand and slipped it on my finger. Presents were exchanged: suit lengths for my father, a suit length and a gold watch for me. Father gave them what he had brought for the family. After another round of embraces, tea was served. Sonu poured out cups for my father and me. She addressed him as Pitaji; me as Mohanji. ‘You must tell me about your college days in America,’ she said. ‘Come out with me this evening,’ I replied, ‘and I’ll tell you all,’ to which her mother said, ‘Puttar, you come here any time you want to talk to Sonu. We can’t allow you to go out together yet; people begin to talk.’
After the ceremony was over, we were driven back in the Rai Bahadur’s Toyota. My father was still riding on cloud nine. ‘We are very lucky to have made such a good alliance. Your future is assured.’ I brought him down to earth. ‘Papa, I don’t mean to live on Sonu’s money. You have already made me accept the house they bought for us. I can’t take any further obligations from my father-in-law. I don’t intend becoming a ghar jamai. I have to set up my own business and earn my own livelihood.’
The question of my future was in the Rai Bahadur’s mind as well. When I visited their house the next day to spend some time with Sonu, he took me out to his garden and asked me, ‘Puttar, what are your plans?’
I told him that I meant to buy some running concern which was not doing well or set up one of my own. I was looking for space to set up my office. ‘What kind of business?’ he asked. ‘I have many going concerns, you could pick up one of them with office and staff provided.’
‘Pitaji, if you don’t mind I would rather have an independent business of my own. Import-export, manufacturing car parts, or machinery. I’m a computer expert; I can handle accounts and staff. I can handle anything.’
He was impressed by my self-confidence. However, eventually it was through him that I got in touch with a couple of society women who were running a garments export outfit on a very modest scale. It brought them more headaches than money, and they readily agreed to sell me their stock which was mostly junk and their goodwill which was worse than junk. They were also willing to give me the list of their clients abroad. I signed a deal with them. Again it was through the Rai Bahadur’s influence that I was able to rent two floors of a high-rise building in Nehru Place. I put in advertisements for clerks and accountants and personally interviewed every applicant, offering higher salaries than the going rate in the employment market. I had my firm registered and stationery printed. It was hard work running from one government office to anoth
er. I spent a fortune on taxi fares till I bought myself a secondhand Fiat. I was quick to learn the tricks of the trade, the most important being: when you run into an unsolvable problem, use grease liberally; it opens all doors.
I made it a point to drop in at the Achint Ram residence regularly and inform them of the progress I was making. Sonu started nagging me. ‘So you found a few minutes to see me as well?’ would be her opening remark. I tried to reassure her: ‘It is for you, us, that I’m slogging day and night. I want you to have the same comforts you have enjoyed in your parents’ home.’ She had the last word: ‘As if money is everything,’ which, considering her lifestyle and the things she expected—cars, servants, jewellery—was a stupid thing to say. But I did not tell her that.
My business picked up very fast. In addition to readymade garments of high quality, I started exporting semi-precious stones, leather goods, spices and basmati rice. I imported nothing, and I earned foreign exchange for my country. The Rai Bahadur made it easy for me to become a member of Delhi’s top clubs—the Golf Club, the Gymkhana and the India International Centre. He was keen that I become a member of the Rotary Club of Delhi as well. ‘You’ll make good business contacts,’ he assured me. ‘All Rotarians are leaders in their respective fields: top industrialists, doctors, engineers, professors—the cream of Delhi society. You have established yourself as an entrepreneur, you should make it easily. If you like I can speak to the chairman of the South Delhi Rotary. I was chairman twenty years ago.’
I avoided giving a straight answer; ‘Let my business pick up a little more,’ I said. The fact was that I did not have the slightest wish to join a club like the Rotary or the Lions club. I had attended a few Rotarian lunches in the States and found them uniformly puerile and boring. They followed a ritual which made no sense. The chairman wearing an insignia round his neck clanged a bell to declare the meeting open. They got down to eating a tasteless meal. The chairman proceeded to welcome new members. A big hand for each. He named members who had celebrated their birthdays that week. Another round of clapping. The hero of the function was the fellow who had not missed a single luncheon meeting. The biggest hand for him. And finally, the guest speaker was asked to deliver a speech. No more than fifteen-twenty minutes, just enough time for the gentlemen of the Rotary to let their gastric juices dissolve what they had consumed or to release gases that had accumulated in their bellies. They were constipated with self-esteem and considered themselves good citizens who performed their civic duties: arranged blood donation camps, and free eye operations, put benches in parks and at roadsides, raised contributions for some charity. I could do all that without lunching every week with the champion bores of the city.
Barely a year after my return from the States, I had acquired, or was well on my way to acquiring, the essentials that a successful businessman should have. The only thing that I did not have was the company of a woman. And sex. I was ready to get married. Father was beginning to get impatient. The Rai Bahadur and his wife were also anxious to fix a date for their daughter’s marriage. ‘Long engagements are not good,’ pronounced Sonu’s mother, ‘and you have been engaged for over seven months.’
Consultations followed. An auspicious day was found in the Hindu calendar. Fancy wedding cards with an embossed figure of Ganpati were printed by both sides. My father did not have many friends but the news that his son was to marry Rai Bahadur Achint Ram’s only daughter revived many old friendships and relations. We were able to muster nearly a hundred people to join the bridegroom’s party. For Rai Bahadur it was an occasion to display his wealth and high connections; ministers, governors, judges, senior bureaucrats and over a thousand others of the elite of the city accepted his invitation. I rode from my house to Sonu’s on a white horse which had half its body covered with gold cloth. Strings of jasmine buds covered my face. In front of me a brass band played the latest hits from Hindi films, behind me a dozen fat men and women danced the bhangra—amongst them my aged father in a pink turban. He threw handfuls of coins over the crowd. Street urchins dashed in and out from under people’s legs to collect them. Dozens of men carrying neon lights on their heads marched along on either side. At another time I would have thrown up on seeing such a garish display of vulgar opulence, but I had to remind myself that I was the central figure of this charade; the bridegroom.
Rai Bahadur’s mansion was aglitter with coloured bulbs; red and yellow lights shone on the walls, over the shrubbery in the large garden, even in the trees lining the road leading up to the bungalow. Two shehnai players with tabla accompanists sat on a platform playing wedding melodies. As soon as our party arrived at the gate they stopped. An army band struck up. All around us were offical security guards with guns slung from their shoulders. Clearly the ministers and governors had arrived. I dismounted from my horse and was pushed forward to be received by my in-laws to be. I put a garland of flowers round Sonu’s neck; she put one round mine. Rai Bahadur conducted me to the lawn to introduce me to his innumerable guests. I shook hundreds of hands and received hundreds of congratulations. The auspicious hour was near. I was taken to a small square pit in which the sacred fire burnt. Sonu and I were seated side by side. Our respective pandits confronted each other and cross-checked our credentials. Sonu’s pandit recited shlokas and every few minutes asked Sonu and me to take a handful of rice, sesame seeds and incense to throw into the fire. Every time we did so he chanted ‘Swaha’. This went on for more than half an hour. Then he made us walk round the fire seven times. We sat down again. There were more swahas. He put Sonu’s hand in mine and pronounced us husband and wife.
The Rai Bahadur had on display the dowry he was giving his daughter. Stacks of expensive Banaras and Kanjeevaram saris, gold bangles, a diamond necklace, diamond ear studs and a diamond nose pin. Capping them all was a brand new Mercedes Benz decked in flowers in which I was to take away my bride. He asked the most senior Union Minister who was at the wedding—the Finance Minister—to hand me the keys of the car. It was as dazzling a display of wealth as any I had seen.
After everyone had eaten the sumptuous dinner laid out on the lawn, it was time for me to take Sonu to her new home. There was much sobbing and crying. Her parents wept as if they had lost their only child. Even her brothers cried as they bade her farewell. Sonu sat in front with me. My father took the rear seat. We drove in silence to our flat in Maharani Bagh. My father had had it festooned with coloured lights. In the absence of female relations, he had done up my bedroom. Garlands of marigold hung from the ceiling fan. Jasmine petals were strewn on our bed. For some time we sat in the sitting room. We had nothing much to say to each other. At last my father got up and said, ‘You must be very tired; I certainly am. I will go to bed. You take your time and retire when you like.’ Both of us got up. He put his hands on our heads and said, ‘May you be happy for ever and ever.’
Sonu and I sat for a while holding hands. She was bewildered by her new surroundings. And apprehensive of what was to come. She had heard much about the suhaag raat—the first night of marriage. She later told me that her friends had ‘warned’ her that being deflowered was painful and bloody. Thereafter, they had said, the same act became something one wanted to be repeated again and again. Sonu dreaded the initiation the way some people dread a doctor’s needle.
I escorted her to our bedroom. ‘Take off all your jewellery and get into something comfortable,’ I told her.
She stood in front of the dressing room mirror and slowly divested herself of the gold teeka dangling on her forehead, the earrings, gold bangles and the necklace. She did not remove the ivory bangles which covered her forearms: a bride has to wear them for at least a fortnight. She went into the bathroom and changed from her sari into a diaphanous dressing gown. I sensed her nervousness and tried to reassure her. ‘You are a beautiful girl,’ I said. She looked down at her breasts, belly and legs. ‘You think so? Nobody has told me that before. Only my mother.’
‘I’m telling you, that should be enough.�
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I sat down on my bed, still wearing my wedding attire of sherwani and churidars. I took her by the hand, seated her in my lap. ‘Are you going to hurt me?’ she asked.
I kissed her on the back of her neck and replied, ‘It hurts a little the first time.’
‘Can’t you put it off for a few days? I’m not ready for it.’
‘As you wish. There’s no hurry. We have a lifetime ahead for it. But you will let me kiss you, won’t you? And lie with me for a while?’
She turned her face towards me and pecked me on the nose. ‘Not like this,’ I told her, as I laid her head on the pillow and pressed my lips on hers. She clenched her mouth. I put my arms round her and held her close to my body. She went stiff. I gently massaged her back till she relaxed. I put my hand on her bosom. She went stiff again and brushed away my hand. ‘Enough for the first night,’ she said peremptorily. ‘Now you sleep in your bed, I will sleep in mine. I have never shared my bed with anyone before.’
She got up and lay down on her bed. I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and got into my night clothes. I was aching with lust, desperate to deflower her. That was what the suhaag raat was meant for. It would have to be postponed for a day or two. I switched off the light. And fantasized about Jessica and the other women I had laid, most of all the fat Yasmeen Wanchoo with buttocks like overripe pumpkins pounding away on top of me.
The day after our marriage we left for our ten-day honeymoon. The Rai Bahadur had suggested a new hotel, Timber Trail Heights, in the Shivalik Hills on the way to Shimla. He had spent many weekends there and made friends with the proprietor, Ramesh Kumar Garg and his wife, Swaran. Garg was an enterprising man who had built one hotel along the main Kalka-Shimla highway and another on top of a hill across a valley and connected the two by cable car. It started doing well from the day it opened its restaurants and rooms to visitors. The hotel along the highway was always crowded with holiday makers from Chandigarh, Ambala, Patiala and other towns of Punjab, Haryana and Himachal. Timber Trail Heights was quieter. It was near village Bansar across the valley of the Kaushalya, at a height of 5000 feet, and had become the favourite resort of honeymooning couples. After sunset there was no one there besides the hotel staff. The special bridal suite had been reserved for us.
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