by Farahad Zama
‘Poor little fellow. So much trouble at such a young age,’ said Mrs Ali, sympathetically.
‘He has become very silent, amma. I don’t know how much pain he feels any more,’ Leela said.
‘How much will it cost?’ Mrs Ali asked.
‘Thirty thousand rupees,’ said Leela. ‘The doctor said that normally it would be a hundred thousand rupees but, because it is a government hospital, they will pay for most of the things. The doctor is such a good man, amma. He took a long time and explained everything to us in simple language. Also, he is not taking any money for the operation.’
‘Do you have thirty thousand rupees? If they say thirty thousand, you will actually need to have thirty-five or forty,’ said Mrs Ali.
The fear that a family member might fall ill and require expensive treatment was the reason that they had saved so fanatically through the years. It was also why her husband was anxious that Rehman start a career. But, how can poor people save, she thought, when every broken cowrie shell they earned was necessary just to survive?
‘No, amma. That’s what we’ve been doing all morning after coming back from the hospital - counting. My daughter and son-in-law don’t have any more savings after the scan and the tests, but she has the gold earrings I gave at her wedding and the mangalsootram.’
Mrs Ali nodded in understanding. ‘Is your daughter going to sell off her mangalsootram?’ she asked.
The mangalsootram, a chain of yellow thread with two gold coins, is, along with the red vermilion dot on her forehead, the symbol of a Hindu woman’s married status. It is tied round the bride’s neck by her husband as part of the wedding ceremony and only removed on her death or when she becomes a widow. Mrs Ali knew that for a Hindu woman to give up her mangalsootram was a sign of desperation only considered after the couple had exhausted all other possibilities.
Leela said, ‘Yes, amma. She says what could be more important than this? Her husband is taking it to the jeweller’s now to sell it.’
‘A sad business, indeed - a husband selling his wife’s mangalsootram, ’ said Mrs Ali, sighing. ‘What will your daughter wear instead?’
‘She will tie two turmeric sticks on a string round her neck,’ replied Leela unhappily.
‘How much will you get for the jewellery?’ asked Mrs Ali.
‘The earrings are eight grams and the mangalsootram is twelve,’ replied Leela.
Mrs Ali calculated rapidly. ‘Twenty grams; the jeweller will take some of it away as wastage. You will get about fifteen thousand rupees.’
‘I have ten thousand set aside for my second daughter’s wedding. I don’t know what to do. This is important, but I don’t want to do injustice to my other daughter, too.’
‘What is your second daughter saying about using up the money saved for her wedding?’ Mrs Ali asked.
‘She is a good girl. She says that we should spend the money and worry about her wedding later . . . It took us fifteen years to save that money,’ said Leela taking out the dirty dishes and sitting down to wash them. ‘In those days, my husband didn’t drink so much. But now . . .’
Silence hung in the air for a moment between the women. A crow came flying and sat on the wall next to Leela, waiting for her to throw out the leftovers.
Mrs Ali asked, ‘What about the rest of the money?’
‘We can sell off all our steel dishes and our TV, but because it is black and white, we will only get two thousand. We will have to go to a moneylender.’
‘How much will he charge?’ asked Mrs Ali.
‘Three rupees,’ replied Leela, ‘per hundred per month.’
‘Once you fall into the clutches of the moneylenders, you will never get out. They’ll suck your blood dry like hungry mosquitoes,’ said Mrs Ali.
‘What else can we do, madam?’ asked Leela, and gave the pan she was washing an extra scrub with the bundle of coconut coir.
Mrs Ali hesitated a second. She had already discussed this with her husband. She said, ‘So you have about twenty-seven thousand rupees. That leaves you three thousand short. We can give you three thousand rupees. You can keep fifteen hundred and work the other fifteen hundred off at half your salary over the next year.’
‘Thank you, amma. Thank you very much. May God keep you and your family always safe,’ said Leela, tears flowing from her eyes. She added, ‘In that case we can go back this evening to the doctor and tell him we have the money. He said it is better to operate as soon as possible. I will ask the other people I work for, so we have some money to spare if the expenses overrun.’
‘Yes, do that. It will keep you out of the moneylender’s greedy paws.’
That evening, a short, stocky man came to the marriage bureau. Mr Ali greeted him and asked for his details. He was obviously well-to-do, neatly groomed with a pencil-thin moustache.
He introduced himself, ‘I Mr Ramana, civil engineer, PWD. I looking for a husband for my daughter.’
Mr Ali asked him, ‘How did you find out about us, sir?’
‘I seeing your ad for the last few weeks in Today,’ Mr Ramana replied.
‘Please fill up this form, sir. It will give us all the details we need. The fee is five hundred rupees,’ Mr Ali said, and couldn’t resist adding, ‘Not that an amount like that will trouble an official in the PWD!’
The man smiled enigmatically and did not take offence. All infrastructure projects of the government are carried out through the public works department and the department is notorious for its corruption. Mr Ali had heard rumours that contractors had to pay a fixed percentage of the contract value to PWD officials for every project. There were stories that the corruption was institutionalised, with every official getting a specific cut depending on his rank in the department, from the chief engineer down to the peon.
Mr Ramana, civil engineer, took the form from Mr Ali and slowly filled it in. Aruna and Mr Ali continued working on the new list they were preparing. Mr Ramana handed the form to Mr Ali who went through the form, making sure all the details were filled.
Religion: Hindu
Caste: Arya Vysya
Star: Aswini (Gemini)
Age: 23
Bride’s name: Sita
Native town/village: Vijayawada
Education: BA
Height: 4’ 8”
Colour: Wheatish complexion
Current employment: None
Approximate value of bride’s share in family wealth: 50 lakhs Father’s name: Mr Ramana Bhimadolu
Father’s occupation: civil engineer, Central PWD
Brothers and sisters (married/unmarried):
One brother, unmarried. Viswanath, 25 years, BE Civil, working as contractor
Want to marry in your own caste? Yes
First marriage: Yes
Details of the groom wanted:
Education: Graduate, preferably engineer
Age: 25-30
Height: 5’10” or above
Any other details: None
Mr Ali nodded through all the details until he came to the groom’s details. He looked up in surprise and said, ‘Are you sure about the height of the groom you want? There will be more than one foot difference between your daughter and your son-in-law. ’
‘Oh, yes. That’s an important requirement for me.’
Mr Ali nodded, ‘OK, if you say so.’
He took the money and handed the form to Aruna, asking her to give Mr Ramana a list of Arya Vysya grooms. Mr Ali explained how he advertised on his clients’ behalf to get a better choice. Mr Ramana nodded in satisfaction.
Aruna took out the list and gave it to him. She pointed out the membership number she had written at the top and said, ‘When you call us or come in again, please bring this number, sir, and we will be able to look up your details more quickly.’
Mr Ramana left soon after. Aruna smiled at Mr Ali and said, ‘That was a very easy sale, sir.’
Mr Ali smiled back at her. ‘Maybe those stories about PWD are true. He’s probably got so mu
ch money coming in, what’s a few hundred rupees?’
A little while later Mr Ali went into the house and Aruna was alone in the office. A smartly dressed young man wearing a branded T-shirt and jeans came in. He had a full head of hair, well styled, and a neatly trimmed moustache. He wore shiny black shoes that he did not take off when he entered the verandah. He introduced himself as Venu.
He spoke good English but Aruna was not comfortable speaking just in English. As soon as the introductions were complete, she went to the inner door and called out to Mr Ali.
Mr Ali came out and said to the young man in Telugu, ‘Hello, I am Mr Ali.’
He replied in English, ‘I am Venu.’
Mr Ali switched to English. ‘How can we help you?’
‘I am looking for a bride,’ he replied.
‘For whom?’ asked Mr Ali.
‘For myself.’
Mr Ali asked him to fill out the application form. Venu took a few minutes over the form and handed it to Mr Ali. Mr Ali looked through the form and gave it to Aruna. It was all pretty much what she expected, including ‘Caste: No bar’. An educated young man like Venu looking for a bride for himself wasn’t likely to be fussy about the bride’s caste. He was a service engineer for a computer firm in the city. He had completed his engineering degree at a small-town college and moved to the city for work. He was twenty-six years old and had an unmarried sister who was in the second year of her degree course. There was a surprise right at the end of the form when she discovered that the young man in front of her had already been married and was divorced.
‘So you are divorced?’ Mr Ali said.
‘Yes,’ Venu replied. ‘I was married for six months. The girl was totally unreasonable. She was fighting every day with me and I could not find any peace at all in the house. So we got divorced.’
‘Please realise that many people do not want their daughters to marry a man who is a divorcee or a widower. Your choice will be limited,’ said Mr Ali.
‘I know. That’s why I am here,’ said Venu, handing over the fees.
Mr Ali took the fees and Aruna put his application form in the new joiners’ file. She went through the lists trying to shortlist people who did not mind second marriages.
Mr Ali told Venu, ‘We will advertise your details in the newspapers as well. Because you specified that caste is no bar, the ads will actually be cheaper.’
He seemed surprised. ‘Really? I didn’t know that.’
‘Most newspapers in India charge less for matrimonial ads that do not specify a caste requirement. Also, they don’t carry ads that specify dowry,’ said Mr Ali.
‘I am not surprised about the dowry aspect,’ said Venu. ‘After all, it is illegal - even though everybody does it. I just didn’t know about the caste aspect.’
‘What about your parents? Are they still in your native place?’ asked Mr Ali.
‘Yes,’ replied Venu. ‘They are not happy about the divorce. They have said that they will not look for another wife for me and I have to find one myself if I want to get married again.’
‘It cannot be easy for them. Especially if they live in a small town,’ said Mr Ali. ‘Also, you have an unmarried sister.’
Venu sighed and said, ‘They said the same thing: that it will be very difficult to get my sister married if I am divorced. But what can I do? I was not getting along with my wife and I refuse to spend my whole life with an unreasonable woman like her.’
Aruna said to Mr Ali, ‘Sir, there are only five matches that will consider second marriages - they are all widows and much older.’
Mr Ali skimmed through the matches and gave them to Venu. ‘The best bet will be to advertise for you.’
He looked at the list, nodded, and left.
After he was gone, Aruna said to Mr Ali, ‘Such a selfish man, sir - he is only thinking about himself. What must his parents be going through? And his sister as well. How will she get married?’
Mr Ali sighed and said, ‘The world is like that. It is full of all sorts of people and we see them at their worst here.’
At seven in the evening, Aruna helped Mr Ali close up shop and left for home, happy. Two days in a row, she had earned fifty rupees as a bonus.
A young man came in with his parents a few days later. His father was dressed in a shirt and a dhoti. His mother was dressed in a russet-coloured silk sari. The young man, in a T-shirt and black jeans, had a thick moustache. Both he and his father were the same height - five feet and no inches. He introduced himself as Srinu.
Mr Ali asked them all to be seated. He said, ‘Who are you looking for?’
‘Me,’ said Srinu, as his parents both pointed at him.
‘Good. Let me get some details from you,’ said Mr Ali and took out an application form. He asked, ‘How did you find out about us?’
‘We’ve been seeing your ad in Today for the last several weeks.’
Mr Ali gave the form to Srinu and asked him to fill it up. A few minutes passed and Srinu gave the form back to Mr Ali.
‘Is the fee really five hundred rupees?’ asked his father.
‘Yes,’ replied Mr Ali, ‘we do not charge anything more after the marriage is fixed. Our fee is all up front.’
Srinu’s father said, ‘How do we know if you can find us a match? It’s a lot of money to pay when there is no guarantee of a result.’
Srinu looked embarrassed.
Here we go again, thought Mr Ali and said, ‘Nobody can guarantee a wedding, sir. That depends on God’s will and how willing you are to make compromises. But, we will make an effort. We will include your son’s name in a list. We will advertise on his behalf. All this costs us time and money and that’s what you are paying for.’
Srinu said, ‘That’s OK, Dad.’ He turned to Mr Ali and said, ‘I don’t want to marry a traditional girl from a village. I want an English-medium-educated girl from a city.’
‘Hmph,’ grunted his father and sat back with his hands folded across his chest, scowling.
‘From the same caste,’ said Srinu’s mother, speaking for the first time.
‘Yes, Mum,’ said Srinu. This was obviously an argument that had been going on in the family for some time. Mr Ali understood why they had come to him for help.
Srinu took out a crisp five-hundred-rupee note and handed it over. Mr Ali thanked him and put it in his shirt pocket. He skimmed through the application form. Srinu was an accountant in a nationalised bank, earning twenty-seven thousand rupees a month. The family were Vysyas - merchants.
Mr Ali gave the form to Aruna and asked her to take out the Vysya brides list. Aruna took out the list and gave it to Srinu. His father examined the ceiling as if it was the Sistine Chapel. Srinu made a face and went to sit next to his mother. The two of them went through the list.
Srinu took out a ballpoint pen and made small tick marks against the names that looked suitable to him and his mother.
Mr Ali went inside and came back with three glasses of water from the fridge for the clients. Srinu’s father smiled for the first time since he came in and thanked Mr Ali.
Srinu and his mother finished going through the list and handed it back to Mr Ali. He went through it, reading the details of the selected girls. Three of them had numbers in brackets against them. These girls had sent in their photographs and Mr Ali told Aruna, ‘Please take out photos thirty-six, forty-seven and sixty-three.’
Aruna teased out the three photographs from the album and handed them to Mr Ali. One of the girls was dark and a bit fat. The other two girls were quite good-looking. One had had her photograph taken professionally - he could make this out from the way she was posing in half profile against a dark blue background. There was even a hint of lipstick.
He gave the photos to Srinu. He and his mother looked at them with interest. Srinu’s mother took one look at the pretty girl’s photo and said, ‘She is good-looking, isn’t she?’
Srinu nodded numbly. She turned to her husband and said, ‘Have a look at this photo.
’
Srinu’s father grunted but couldn’t resist taking the photo from his wife’s hand. He looked at it for a few moments and silently handed it back to his wife. She evidently took his lack of comment as approval, because she turned to Mr Ali and said, ‘Do you have any more details about this girl?’
Aruna efficiently handed the girl’s file to Mr Ali, before he even asked for it.
‘Her name is Raji,’ Mr Ali said. ‘They are a respectable family. Raji’s father is a revenue officer with the state government. They have two daughters. Her elder sister is married and living in America. Raji has completed her B. Pharmacy. They are living in the city itself.’
He gave them Raji’s father’s phone number and address. Mr Ali said to Srinu, ‘Please bring your photo. We will keep it here and show it to any prospective brides who come here. You will get a better response that way.’
The three of them took their leave and left.
Mrs Ali came out and plucked a few curry leaves from the plants in the front yard. As she was going back, Mr Ali gave her the five-hundred-rupee note and started telling her about Srinu and his family. She stopped him and said, ‘I’ve just put khatti-dal on the cooker. Let me put these curry leaves in it and turn the heat down. I’ll come back again.’
A couple of minutes later, Mrs Ali was back. ‘Did you say the people who came just now were Vysyas?’ she asked.
‘Yes, madam,’ replied Aruna.
‘Didn’t a merchant family come in yesterday looking for a groom?’ asked Mrs Ali.
