by Farahad Zama
“Haven’t you, naanna?” she said again, her voice like flint.
He glanced at the unsmiling inspector and the grim constables holding iron-banded bamboo lathis and gulped. “Yes,” he said. “That match is cancelled. You may go, inspector.”
The inspector sat down on the sofa and said, “May I have a glass of water?”
“Yes, of course,” said Usha’s mother. “I’m sorry, you caught us by surprise.” She rushed into the kitchen and came back with water for all the police.
“Thank you,” said the inspector and took a sip. “It’s obvious that you have worked as a family and sorted out your issues. That is good. Even though I am a police officer, I don’t approve of our force getting involved in domestic issues – some things are best handled within the four walls of a house.”
“That’s good,” said Usha’s father. “As you can see, there is nothing for you to do here.”
“Just because I don’t approve, it doesn’t mean that I won’t get involved if I think there is coercion or violence,” Inspector Verma said. He now looked at Usha. “If the situation changes, let me know any time and I’ll be straight back.”
Usha nodded. “Thanks, Inspector. Sorry for taking up your time. You must be a busy man.”
“Yes, the police are always busy.” He got up and looked at Usha’s father. “Will you see me out, sir?”
Usha’s father got up and they walked out. Usha followed a few steps behind. It was obvious that the inspector wanted to have a chat with her father and she wanted to hear what he had to say.
“Whatever you did to solve the problem yourself was best, sir,” said the inspector to Usha’s father. “A senior citizen like you does not want to get involved in police and court matters. It’s a lot of hassle and will cost you stress and money.”
“Thank you, Inspector. I appreciate your advice,” said her father, his voice more gruff than usual. “I am sorry that you had to come out here for nothing.”
“Oh, we are just doing our job. However, the constables will now have to spend some extra time at the station in the evening catching up with their paperwork instead of enjoying it with their families.”
Her father did not say anything for a long moment and Usha caught her breath. She had understood straight away what the inspector was saying.
Finally, her father waved a hand and said, “Of course, inspector. I am so slow today. What about you? I am sure you’ve had to take some trouble too.”
The inspector looked through the trees with a faraway expression. “No, I am only doing my duty, you know. Just for the constables. A couple of hundred rupees each should be sufficient, don’t you think? Just some tea-and-snack money.”
Usha’s father took out his wallet and counted out ten one-hundred-rupee notes. One of the constables came forward, took the money and saluted her father. The police left and Usha slipped back into the house before her father returned. He did so half a minute later and sat on the sofa.
Usha’s grandmother said, “If I hadn’t come when I did and unlocked Usha, you would be grinding lentils at the police station at this very moment.”
Usha’s father sat silently with his arms folded across his chest and his head bent. Usha’s mother looked ready to burst into tears.
Usha’s grandmother continued, “First, as you agreed in front of the inspector, cancel this match. Tell that Sankar fellow that he doesn’t need to come over. Do you understand?”
“You don’t – ” said her father, looking up.
“Ore…Just shut up and listen to me,” said his mother. Usha’s eyes widened in shock – she had never heard anybody speak to her father like that before. “Even as a boy, you always used to act first and think later, and you haven’t lost that habit after all these years.”
Usha kissed her grandmother on the cheek. The old lady turned on her. “And why are you so happy, little miss? What great task have you done that you are pumping your arms up and down in delight?”
“Er…” said Usha, speechless at the sudden attack from somebody she thought was her ally.
“We may not have a choice, but it doesn’t mean that we have to be happy about it. No woman in our house has ever had a love marriage. What you are hell-bent on doing does not bring any honour to our family.”
“But nannamma…” said Usha.
The doorbell rang and they all looked at each other.
“Is it the police again?” said Usha’s mother, looking like a scared mouse interrupted in its nocturnal travels in the kitchen by a bright light. Usha’s father got up heavily and walked to the door in the hall. His footsteps sounded loud on the marble floor.
Usha heard her father open the door and ask, “Who are you?”
“Is Usha all right?” asked another male voice and Usha jumped up.
“Oh no…” she said in panic and rushed to the front door. Rehman had come over. She almost shouldered her father aside and said in a voice that was almost a hiss, “What are you doing here?”
Rehman jerked his head back slightly. “I was worried,” he said. “I called and you didn’t answer. I left several messages for you. Then I called your office and they said you had left your job. I didn’t know what was going on. I finally managed to get your address and I’ve come straight here.”
“Oh, Rehman,” said Usha, touched at his concern. “I am all right. There’s nothing to worry about. I was going to call you today.”
Usha’s father butted in angrily. “You,” he said. “You are the man who is spoiling my daughter.”
“You’d better come inside,” said Usha, pulling Rehman into the house by his hand. “There is no point discussing family matters where anybody walking past on the road can hear.”
They all walked in. Usha’s father sat on the settee next to her mother. Standing next to Rehman in front of her parents and her grandmother, Usha announced, “Everybody, this is Rehman. Rehman, this is my mother, my father and that’s my naan-namma, my father’s mother.”
“Namaste,” said Rehman, nodding to everybody in the room.
They all stared at him curiously and Usha tried to see Rehman through their eyes. He was tall and good-looking with high cheeks, a long nose and bright eyes. But Usha knew that that’s not what they were seeing. Instead, they were probably looking at his thin beard, his rough cotton ethnic shirt and his trousers fraying at the heels. He was darker than he should be, from the time he spent out in the sun.
“Sit down, Rehman,” she said and pointed to the sofa opposite her grandmother’s. He sat down gingerly on the edge.
“What happened? Why have you left your job?” he asked her.
“Never mind that. How dare you come here?” said her father and tried to get up. Usha’s mother put a hand on his arm and stopped him.
“So,” said Usha’s grandmother. “You want to marry my granddaughter?”
“Yes, madam. I wish to marry Usha,” he replied in a soft voice.
Usha could sense her father barely controlling his temper, just from the way his feet tapped on the floor, and she didn’t look at him directly.
“What do you do?” her grandmother asked.
“I am a civil engineer, madam.”
“Civil engineer, pah! You look like a mason to me. Are you sure you did not hide your trowel and plumb line in the bushes outside before ringing the bell?” said her father.
Rehman looked at Usha’s father but said nothing. Usha was glad to see that Rehman was keeping his cool and not reacting to her father’s comments. Her grandmother raised her hand and frowned at her son. “Usha’s father is a little upset but I can see where he is coming from. Most engineers I know dress in smart clothes and drive jeeps or cars. How come you are dressed like a worker?”
“Stop it, all of you,” said Usha, before Rehman could reply. “Rehman works on social projects. He is not interested in money.” She turned to her grandmother. “I wrote to you in the letter – Rehman is the man who started the campaign in Royyapalem against the land seizures.
”
Her grandmother nodded and said, “That’s very good, young man. I met many freedom fighters when I was a teenager and they were like you. They could have been successful lawyers or industrialists but they gave it all up and followed Gandhi and Nehru in the struggle against the British. But do you know what happened to most of them?”
“What, madam?” Rehman said.
“Once we got freedom, they were pushed back into obscurity, surviving on meagre pensions. They had to run from pillar to post, mounting an even bigger struggle than against the British to secure those small payments. Those who rose to the top and were in a position to change our nation were the politicians who could command vote banks by caste, money and thuggery.”
“That’s a very cynical view, naannamma,” said Usha. “Nehru was not corrupt, nor Patel nor Azad. Lots of good people held power after Independence.”
“You are still young,” said her grandmother. “When you get to my age, what you now call cynicism, you will begin to call realism. Yes, Nehru and a few others stayed good but most of the others…” She shook her head. “Mera Bharat Mahaan – my India is great; Saare jahaan se accha Hindustan hamara – Our Hindustan is the best in the world…Songs and slogans…In reality all around is corruption, intolerance and poverty.”
“Madam, that is unnecessarily pessimistic. We still have a number of problems but things have improved a lot in the last few years,” said Rehman.
“Enough of these political debates,” said Usha’s father. “I want this marriage stopped and this…this interloper…thrown out.”
“Has anybody asked your opinion?” asked Usha’s grandmother, rather rudely. “Your daughter is an adult and can make her own choice. We can only guide her, not force her.”
“Hear, hear!” said Usha, clapping her hands.
“The reason I brought up the political discussion is simple – in this life, idealism is not enough. We need some worldliness too,” the old lady said. “Our Usha has grown up in comfort and wealth. She has never experienced want or difficulty. How then can we give her away to somebody who cannot look after her in the manner that she is accustomed to?” She looked at Rehman with her eyebrows raised.
Rehman said, “Yes, madam. I understand.”
“You were a bachelor until now and you did as you pleased. And that’s OK, that’s good. But marriage means responsibility. How will you look after my granddaughter?”
“I – ” began Rehman.
Usha interrupted him. “I don’t need anybody to look after me. I have my own career. I earn enough money.”
Her grandmother shushed her and turned to Rehman. “She will get pregnant and may have to stop working. You cannot rely on a woman’s income. And even if you could, do you really want to live on your wife’s earnings?”
Usha tried to speak again and her grandmother raised a hand to stop her.
“What are you going to do about it?” she asked Rehman. “I am not saying that you have to give up all the social work you are doing, but you need to balance that with earning enough money to support a family.”
Rehman nodded. “I understand,” he said.
“You can marry Usha. But there are some conditions. I want you to change to and stay in a well-paying job.” Usha’s grandmother looked at him sharply and continued, “Is it true that you live with your parents?”
Rehman nodded and said, “At the moment, yes.”
“That won’t do. You need to have your own flat in a nice area. And you should own a car. We will wait a reasonable length of time while you arrange all this and show that you can consistently earn money. Come to us again when you satisfy these conditions and we will place Usha’s hand in yours with our blessings. Do you agree?”
Rehman looked at Usha but she just bit her lower lip and didn’t say anything. Rehman looked at the ceiling for several seconds and then said, “What you are asking is reasonable. I will work on it and come to you again.”
Usha smiled at him and came over to sit next to him. Her mother stifled a quick sob and dabbed her eyes with the edge of her sari. Her father shook his head like a penned bullock that is being provoked by a man wearing a red shirt.
Her grandmother said to Rehman, “Have you told anybody about your engagement with Usha?”
“Only my cousin.”
“Please keep it that way,” said the old lady. “This is for both of you. I know that young people nowadays seem to take it very lightly, but a woman’s reputation is extremely important. I don’t want anybody talking loosely about Usha and casting aspersions on our house. Until you come to us formally again, neither of you will tell anybody else about this engagement. In fact, you shouldn’t meet again until that time.”
“That’s ridiculous, naannamma. We won’t tell anybody else, but you are going too far by asking us not to meet at all.”
Her grandmother sighed. “All right,” she said. “But I expect you both to be discreet. I don’t want you to meet too often and I would expect you to act like two friends, not as a couple.”
Usha nodded and said, “Fair enough.”
Usha’s grandmother turned to Rehman and said, “You look like an honourable man. I want you to promise me that there will be no physical relationship between you and Usha until you get married.”
Rehman blushed and looked at the ground. Usha’s cheeks reddened and she said, “Naannamma…”
Her grandmother ignored her and stared at Rehman with unblinking eyes. After a few moments, Rehman looked up and said, “Of course, madam.”
“Promise me. Swear on your god…Allah.”
Rehman looked at her steadily and said, “I swear by Allah, the all-seeing, all-knowing.”
Rehman left soon after and Usha and her family sat down for lunch. They had barely started eating when the doorbell rang again. Usha’s father got up angrily from the table and threw his napkin on the floor. “Is this house a temple that people just keep ringing the bell?” he said, looking disgusted.
The ladies listened as Usha’s father opened the door and spoke to the visitor.
“I am sorry, Sankar. We have decided not to go ahead with the marriage.”
“Do you think you can decide and un-decide and I’ll just accept it quietly? Do I look as if I am wearing bangles? You promised me gold, money and land. I am friends with important people and I know how to enforce my rights.”
“What rights?” said her father, his voice rising to match the other man’s. “She is my daughter and I will decide whom she marries. We just had a discussion, that’s all – there were no promises involved.”
Usha was tempted to go to the front door and tell Sankar where he could stick his important friends, but she controlled herself. Sankar would not be so easily shaken off. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she was scared of Sankar. She shied away from that thought and muttered, “Naanna has brought this problem on himself – let him solve it on his own.”
“What did you say?” said her grandmother.
“Nothing, naannamma,” she said, smiling. “Here, take some more potato curry.”
Thirteen
One evening two months later, Rehman was waiting at Ramakrishna Beach. Now that winter had gone and the days were heating up – the temperature was touching the mid-thirties daily – the beach in the middle of town was buzzing with people. College students, newly married couples, entire clans from grandmothers to babes-in-arms, groups of nervous, shrieking tourists from the interior who had never seen the sea before, peanut pedlars, balloon blowers, seashell sellers, a rusty hand-powered merry-go-round and even a couple of nags offering kids a ride on the sand – all made for a busy scene. Rehman sat on the low beach wall, taking it all in and listening to the sound of the surf pounding the shore.
His work with the housing charity had wound down and he had started a job with a big builder in the city. It is not real work, he thought to himself, just going round the offices of the planning department and the urban development authorities, trying to get thei
r signatures. Actually, his job was even worse than that. It was almost meaningless. Initial plans showing the set-asides on all sides of the plot and the height of the building, labour safety certificates, electricity and water connection permits, fire safety certificates and many more documents are required when constructing a commercial building. Unfortunately, the people in the various agencies who issue these permits invariably demanded bribes to do their work. When challenged, they said, “You will make so much money once this building is completed; don’t be greedy and deny us our cut.”
What was worse was that the certificates were ends in themselves. Once the plan was approved, developers routinely overbuilt on the land or put in an additional floor; once the electricity connection permit was obtained, a transformer was either not used or one of a lower power capacity was substituted. As for fire safety, Rehman despaired. In the past, the kind of projects he worked on meant that he was spared the ordeal of dealing with all these demands, but now…
He shook his head. He had been working with the builder for just under a month now and he had already had to stop himself at least twice from chucking it in. His boss was very harsh with the workers and didn’t treat them properly. He had very little respect either for the law or for the building regulations, seeing them all as challenges to overcome rather than as guidelines for a peaceful society. Only the thought of Usha and her grandmother’s challenge had stayed his hand and kept him in the job. He knew why he was going against his principles and turning a blind eye to corruption and illegality. Love. Love and a happy life with a fantastic woman. Was it selfish to want them?
Somebody tapped him on the right shoulder. He looked behind him but nobody was there. A tap on the left shoulder followed and he quickly turned around to see Usha giggling. He dusted the place next to him and she sat down on her jeans, flipping the bottom of her kameez out of the way.
“Oh, what a big frown you had there,” she said.
“It’s good to see you. You are looking great.”
Usha smiled. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Almost a fortnight had passed since they had last met, though they often spoke on the phone. She shaded her eyes with her hand and started scanning the heavens.
