by Farahad Zama
“What are you doing?” asked Rehman, looking at the clear blue sky himself.
“I am looking for clouds,” she said.
“Why?”
“I believe you’ve complimented me on my looks. It’s so unusual that I am checking for signs of rain.”
Rehman laughed and Usha joined him. They were still deeply in love and the restrictions placed on them by Usha’s family had done nothing to diminish their feelings for each other. “Has your grandmother gone back to her village?”
“Yes, last night. We asked her to stay for a few more weeks but she had already made her arrangements. The family joke is that her travel plans are more fixed than those of the Queen of England.”
Rehman smiled and said, “She is one scary lady.”
“You actually came out of meeting her all right. My cousin was once discovered going to a cinema with friends before some important exams. By the time she finished with him and his friends, they were all crying.”
They stared at the colourful bazaar of people on the beach for several minutes, enjoying the salty, cool breeze off the sea.
“How’s the job?” asked Usha.
Rehman sighed. “Painful…boring…”
“Don’t look so glum, darling,” said Usha.
“Sorry, I am being such a grouch. Do you know what happened today?”
“What?”
“This morning, I went to the Municipal Commissioner’s office and the clerk couldn’t say when the approval would be ready. I told him that we had followed all the rules and the signature should be a formality but he just kept humming and hawing. Finally I left and told Mr Bhargav.”
Usha nodded. Mr Bhargav was Rehman’s employer – a real-estate developer and an old friend of Usha’s father, though Rehman had only found this out later.
Rehman continued, “Mr Bhargav sent his nephew after lunch and, guess what, he came back within the hour with the papers. It seems that some people are more persuasive than others.”
Usha shrugged. “Yes, and a bundle of notes is even more convincing,” she said.
“True, true.” They were both silent for a moment. “How’s your job?”
“Going well,” she said.
Usha had got back her old job at the TV station by arguing that, as she had never submitted a resignation letter, she should never have been struck off the rolls in the first place.
Usha stood up. “Let’s go along the water,” she said.
They walked at the edge of the shoreline, very close to each other, but not actually touching except for the occasional brush of the backs of their hands, soft as a feathery kiss. “Do you think the waves ever get tired of going up and down the beach?” said Usha.
“An ancient Arab poet once described the sea as a lover and the city as its beloved. He said that the sea rushes up to meet its darling and then falls back when it sees its love’s guardians.”
“I guess he was saying that true love never wearies,” said Usha, and Rehman laughed.
“Don’t laugh, you brute. What is it with men?”
They continued walking. “Can you come next week to Vasu’s village?” he asked after a moment.
“No,” she said. “I have to do a special report.”
“Now who’s being unromantic?” said Rehman.
“Is it really true what you told me about the wedding that the villagers are planning? I’ve never heard anything more absurd!”
“Apparently so. That’s why Pari is coming as well. It isn’t normal for a…woman…like her to be able to participate in all the wedding ceremonies, so she doesn’t want to miss it.”
They walked along the beach until the crowds thinned away, before sitting on the sand to watch the ceaseless ebb and flow of the sea. Her feet burrowed in the warm sand like a pair of frolicking rabbits. Rehman found the fawn-coloured grains of sand on her golden skin and pink toes an incredibly erotic sight. He wanted to hug his fiancée and bind her to his own body but he could not forget the promise he had made to her grandmother. Rehman sighed. Life was difficult – at work and here as well.
♦
On Sunday, a couple of days later, Aruna fielded phone call after phone call. An advertisement for the younger son of a rich goldsmith had appeared that morning in Today, and both she and Mr Ali were busy answering the many people who called in response.
“Yes, sir,” she said on the phone. “The boy is getting his own shop. The elder son will take over the father’s shop but a new shop is being built near Dwaraka Nagar for the younger son.” She listened for a bit longer, put the phone down and wrote the details on a sheet of paper.
Mr Ali was dealing with a couple who had come with a photograph of their daughter in response to the ad. He saw them out and mopped his brow. “I didn’t know there were so many goldsmiths in this town,” he said.
“And I think every single one of them has called this morning.” The phone rang again and Aruna picked it up. “Mr Ali’s marriage bureau.”
By eleven-thirty, the phone calls died away and Mr Ali went into the house, saying that he needed a snack. Mrs Ali came out with a glass of lemonade for Aruna and sat down in her usual chair by the gate. Aruna took the glass with thanks and drank a deep gulp.
“I was so thirsty,” she said.
“I am not surprised,” said Mrs Ali. “You’ve been on the phone continuously. Were the calls for the goldsmith’s son?”
“Yes, madam,” said Aruna. She took another sip and stretched her neck to remove a kink.
“I thought that would be popular,” said Mrs Ali. “How are things at home?”
Aruna shook her head. “Not so good. I just cannot seem to do anything right. I don’t mind hearing complaints from everybody else but even my husband finds fault with my actions and that’s painful.”
“Things will get better,” said Mrs Ali. “You know in your heart that you are not doing anything wrong. Just hang in there.”
Aruna nodded. “You are right. It’s got to the stage where I’ve started doubting myself. I keep thinking that maybe I do resent my sister-in-law in my heart and that’s why things are like this. But I know that’s not true. I genuinely bear no ill will towards her. I want the best for Mani and her son. I just have to convince everybody else around me about it.”
Aruna had finished the drink and Mrs Ali stood up and took the glass from her. “I am sure it will be fine. Stay strong and don’t despair.”
Aruna started filing away the morning’s letters. She looked at the clock on the wall before remembering that she wore a watch. She wasn’t fully used to it yet. Another hour before lunch, she thought. The gate opened and a man walked in with long hair combed over from the side to cover his bald crown. Aruna said, “Namaste, Mr Reddy.”
Mr Ali came out and nodded to him. Aruna could see that Mr Ali did not recognise the visitor. She took out Mr Reddy’s file from the wardrobe that acted as their filing cabinet and handed it to Mr Ali. He quickly skimmed through the file and looked up.
“Ah, Mr Reddy!” he said, smiling. He asked Aruna for the photo album and flipped to the photo of a young man standing in front of the tall, wrought-iron gates of a power plant, framed by gnarled ganneru trees with white flowers in bloom. “The last time you came here, we spoke to this young man’s father and you were very happy with the match. Has everything been finalised?” he said.
Mr Reddy shook his head. “I wish it was,” he said. “He looked fine until I found out that he has been to a private college for his engineering.”
“So?” asked Mr Ali. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you know what that means? People only go to private engineering colleges if they cannot get seats in government universities. He is obviously not as good at his studies as my own two children. I cannot countenance such a match.”
“But, Mr Reddy, the young man has a good job, he is good-looking and his family is local. If everything else is suitable, what does it matter how he wrote an entrance exam when he was eighteen years old
?”
“No, Mr Ali. I didn’t come here to talk about a match I’ve already rejected. I came to find out if you had a new list.”
Mr Ali turned to Aruna, raised his eyebrows and shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Please give Mr Reddy the new Kapu list,” he said.
Aruna took out the list and gave it to Mr Reddy, who looked through it immediately. “This one,” he said, taking out a pen from his shirt pocket and circling an address. “Do you have any more details?”
Aruna looked at the entry halfway down the list, circled in blue, and took out the appropriate file. She had a quick look at the file and handed it to Mr Ali. “I haven’t seen these people. Did you meet them or was it a postal application?” she said to her boss.
Mr Ali glanced at the file and said, “I remember them.” He turned to Mr Reddy and said, “They joined less than a month ago. The boy is a lawyer in Hyderabad. It’s a very good family, sir. The father’s a simple man who owned a video cassette shop and the mother’s a housewife, but their children…” Mr Ali shook his head in amazement. “Three boys and two girls, and each of them is highly educated and well settled – two doctors, two engineers and this boy, the youngest, a BA, LLB, a lawyer.”
Mr Reddy looked impressed. “Do you have the boy’s photo?” he asked.
“No,” said Mr Ali. “But I’ve seen him when he came here with his parents and he is a pleasant chap.”
“Thanks,” said Mr Reddy, standing up to leave. “The family sounds very promising. I’ll follow it up.”
“What a strange man,” said Aruna after a few minutes, when they were alone. “He had a good match and rejected it because of the boy’s college.”
Mr Ali ran his hand through his hair. “Some people are like that – always searching for something better, never satisfied. Makes you wonder if they ever get a good night’s sleep. They must toss and turn, dreaming about a softer mattress or a plumper pillow.”
Aruna laughed. “You know the saying, sir: each man’s obsession is his joy.”
♦
Rehman and Pari got down from the three-wheeled auto-rickshaw and went into a busy restaurant. Rehman ordered a plate of idlis, steamed lentil and rice cakes, with sambhar and coconut chutney. Pari declined but ordered a coffee when Rehman insisted. When the waiter went away, she said, “Why are we here? We had breakfast less than two hours ago. We should have gone straight to the bus station.”
Rehman looked around the café and said, “How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?”
Pari waved her hand in front of her face and frowned. “Don’t quote Iago at me when I am asking you a question,” she said.
Rehman laughed. “Nobody can doubt your knowledge, at least. Did you know that since you’ve come to Vizag, I’ve shaken the dust off my old Complete Works of Shakespeare and started reading it again?”
“Rehman!” said Pari. “Will you tell me or not?”
The waiter came back with the idlis, coffee, a pair of glasses and a jug of water. Rehman ignored the look of impatience on his companion’s face and poured the hot sambhar over the steaming idlis until they were completely covered. He then took a spoon and dug it into the soft food, took a leisurely bite and chomped it thoroughly before looking up into her face. “Aren’t you having your coffee?” he asked.
She bent her head and he put his hands up to shoulder height in mock-surrender, saying, “OK, OK, I give up. Usha wanted to meet us before we went to the village, so we are waiting for her.”
“What?” said Pari, in a high-pitched squeak. Her hand brushed through her hair and she looked at him. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Rehman shrugged. “What’s the matter?” he said. “It’s just Usha. I know you two haven’t met before but I’ve told each of you about the other.”
Pari took a deep breath. “You are such a buddhoo…”
“Hi,” said a female voice next to them.
Rehman pushed his chair back and stood up.
“Hello Usha,” he said. Pari stood up as well and he introduced the two young women to each other. They smiled in greeting. Usha was wearing a casual-looking, but expensive, dark-green soft silk top over a churidar, tight silk trousers, in a paler blue. A riff of small white lace flowers ran in two lines down the front of her top. Pari had dropped her mourning monochrome and wore an orange-coloured sari. She also had on her mother’s antique silver jewellery.
“Why were you calling my fiancé a fool?” said Usha. “I am not saying that he isn’t, but – ”
Paris cheeks coloured red. “You heard that…Sorry, but my devar, brother-in-law, is a simple-minded fellow.”
“That’s why he needs an intelligent girl to guide his life.”
The waiter came over and Rehman was glad of the distraction. He didn’t like the way the conversation was going. “Are you sure you cannot come with us?” Rehman said to Usha.
“Unfortunately, no. My controller’s just confirmed the interview with the Superintendent of Police for the special report,” Usha said.
“Do you want tea?” said Rehman.
She shook her head and simply watched while the other two finished their food and drink.
“Well, have fun,” said Usha finally when Rehman pushed his plate away from him. “Are you guys really going by bus?”
“Yes,” said Rehman. “We’ll go to the RTC complex from here.” RTC was the government-run Road Transport Corporation.
“You don’t have to. Our driver will drop you off in the car. He cannot stay the weekend, though. Naanna needs the car in the evening.”
“That’s not necessary. He’d have had to drive for a couple of hours and then come back again straight away. It’s a waste of petrol and his time.” Apart from the reasons he had given, Rehman really didn’t want to spend a couple of hours under the beady eyes of Usha’s driver, Narsi.
“Naanna can afford the fuel,” Usha said. “And as for the driver, we have to pay him whether he is driving or simply sitting outside our house, waiting to take one of us out.”
Rehman gave in. When they came out of the café, Usha took them round the corner into a side street. They walked up to her car and found it locked. Usha looked around in irritation as a young man in grey cotton shirt and trousers came running up to them.
“Sorry, madam. I was just talking to the stall-owner over there,” he said, pointing to a push-cart selling home-made cool drinks.
Rehman didn’t recognise the driver. “What happened to Narsi?” he said.
Usha shrugged. “I got rid of the wife-beating slime ball. He was the one who carried tales about us to my parents.”
“Oh!” said Rehman. “I thought he had been with your family for a long time.”
“More than ten years. After his words had no effect on me, he sent his wife to plead his case. Can you believe that?” said Usha. “I gave her five hundred rupees and told her to leave him.”
The driver took their bags from Rehman and put them in the boot. They got into the car.
“I’ll get out at my office and then Srikanth will drop you off,” said Usha. Then, to Rehman, “Don’t look at me like that. Sometimes in life you have to ignore your emotions and make hard-headed decisions.”
♦
Less than two hours later, they were travelling down a narrow lane between mud-walled huts and a two-storey pukka building. Vasu came running from inside one of the huts and hugged Rehman.
“I knew as soon as I heard the car sound that it was you,” he shouted. The boy turned to his companion and said, “Namaste, Ush – ” He looked into Paris face and stopped suddenly. He gripped Rehman’s hand and said, “But you are not…”
Pari laughed and said, “No, I am not. My name is Pari Aunty.”
“How many aunties do you have?” Vasu said, looking up at Rehman.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Rehman, tousling the boy’s hair. He turned to Vasu’s grandfather, who had just walked out of the hut, and said, “Namaste,
Naidu gaaru.”
After the introductions, the driver lifted out their bags, refused an offer of drink and got back into the car. He would have to reverse fifty yards in the lane before he could turn around for the return journey. Rehman was suddenly glad that Usha had not come with them. He could not imagine her being able to spend the night on a floor of dried and polished cow-dung in a thatched hut.
As if Mr Naidu had read his thoughts, he pointed to the two-storey house next door and said, “I’ve arranged for the lady to sleep in my cousin’s house. You’ve met his daughter-in-law, haven’t you?”
“Sitakka, the one with six fingers on both hands and legs,” said Vasu, with his hand cupped around his mouth as if he was telling a secret, but in a boy’s voice that carried.
Rehman laughed and nodded.
“They’ve come over as well and your sister-in-law can sleep with the ladies,” said Mr Naidu. “It’s also the bride’s house.”
They left their shoes by the door and got out of the sun, bending at the waist to pass under the low eaves. The inside of the house was one large room, dark and cool, with few decorations other than a framed photo of Vasu’s parents and pictures of various Hindu gods hanging on one wall. The floor was grey-green in colour and polished to a sheen, while the roof was high and thatched with palm leaves between beams of roughly hewn, fibrous palm-tree trunks.
“You must excuse the condition of my house,” said Mr Naidu to Pari, pointing at the many dusty cobwebs between the beams and the leaves, above head height. “As you can see, no woman has lived here for many years and there is only so much I can do.”
Prosperity is said to stay away from a house with cobwebs in it. A woman who lets cobwebs into in her house is considered a slattern and one who brings destitution to the family.
Pari said, “I don’t mind. If you want, I can help you spring-clean the house while I am here.”
“No, I cannot let you do that. You are a guest in our house and you have come here to enjoy yourself,” said Mr Naidu firmly.
