by Farahad Zama
Aruna immediately looked up the new joiners’ pad.
‘Yes, madam. Arya Vysyas - the girl’s father is in PWD,’ replied Aruna.
Mr Ali said, ‘Yes, I did think of them, but the father was adamant that he wanted a tall son-in-law. Srinu is only five feet tall.’
‘It is worth trying, though. Why don’t you give him a call?’
Mr Ali nodded in agreement and pulled out their details.
‘Mr Ramana? Hello, sir, this is Mr Ali from the marriage bureau.’
‘Hello, Mr Ali. Do you having match for my daughter?’
‘Yes,’ replied Mr Ali. ‘A Vysya family just became members. They are a respectable family, sir. The father used to work in the state government. The son is working in a bank. Good salary and bright prospects. He is a very smart-looking guy and wants an educated girl like your daughter. It will be a very good match.’
‘Sounds interesting,’ said Mr Ramana. ‘What other details do you have?’
‘There is one issue, sir. The boy is just five feet tall.’
‘I told you, Mr Ali. I wanting a tall son-in-law. I not interested in somebody who is only five feet tall.’
‘Please think again, sir. It is a very good match in all other respects. They have already shown interest in another match, but yours might be better. I can talk to them and convince them,’ said Mr Ali.
‘No, no . . .’
‘Don’t be so hard-hearted, sir. After all, your daughter is short, too. It would make a perfect match,’ said Mr Ali.
‘I not being hard-hearted at all. I being kind to my grand-children. I don’t want them to go through life being teased about their height. If I marry my short daughter to a tall man, hopefully their children will be at least medium height.’
CHAPTER SIX
Two days later, Mrs Ali was making pesaratt, spicy mung bean crêpes, for breakfast when Leela came in. She hadn’t come to work the previous day.
Mrs Ali asked her, ‘How is Kush? Is he all right?’
Leela looked tired. There were dark circles round her eyes as if she hadn’t slept all night. She replied, ‘Yes, madam. I think he will be all right. The doctor told us that he couldn’t say anything until Kush woke up. He was unconscious all day yesterday and woke up very early this morning. He recognised his mother, and the nurses say that is a hopeful sign.’
‘Thank God,’ breathed Mrs Ali.
‘Yes, madam. The doctor told us that he would do his best, but in a case like this involving the brain, it is ultimately in His hands,’ said Leela, looking up at the sky with half-closed eyes.
After some time, she told Mrs Ali: ‘I can’t come to work this evening again, amma. We are going to the Sitamma Neem Tree to thank Sitamma and ask for her blessings.’
‘I understand. I don’t think I’ve heard you talk about going to that temple before,’ said Mrs Ali.
‘We normally pray to Ammoru. But when they wheeled my grandson out of the operation theatre and he didn’t wake for many hours, I was scared. So I went out of the hospital for a walk and on the way I saw a neem tree. I stopped in front of it and made a vow that if he woke up, we would go to the holy neem tree and make our offerings to Sitamma.’
‘I plucked a couple of hibiscus and some jasmine flowers from the plants today. You can take them to the temple if you want,’ offered Mrs Ali.
Leela said, ‘Thank you, amma. In that case, I just need to buy a coconut and a few bananas.’
She carried on with her work and Mrs Ali continued cooking breakfast.
The days went past. As Mr Ali and Aruna were packing up on Friday, Mrs Ali came out to the verandah and said, ‘Aruna, you said that you would let us know after a week whether you will continue to work here or not. The time is up today. What have you decided?’
Mr Ali looked up in surprise. He had got so used to the young girl working with him that he had forgotten that Aruna had said that she would try the job for a week before making up her mind. He could not believe that it had been such a short time since Aruna had started working in the marriage bureau. It felt as if she had been there for ever.
It had been a good week, thought Mr Ali. Sixteen people had joined that week and Aruna had taken home four hundred rupees in bonuses. If it carried on like this, she would earn a lot more than she did in Modern Bazaar.
Aruna said, ‘Yes, madam. I really like this job. I will stay here. The hours are a lot better and the work is also more interesting.’
Mr Ali and his wife broke into smiles.
Mr Ali said, ‘Excellent. You won’t regret it.’
Aruna took her leave and left. Mrs Ali turned to her husband and said, ‘You owe me a dinner.’
‘We can go to Sai Ram Parlour. They have a new family room which is air-conditioned,’ said Mr Ali, half joking.
Mrs Ali replied, ‘No! I told you before. I am not being fobbed off by idli sambhar; steamed rice cake and lentil soup is for every day. Now, I want to go to a proper restaurant and eat chicken.’
After dinner, Mr Ali switched on the television in the living room and lazily flipped through the channels until he came to one showing the local news. The newsreader was saying, ‘. . . the protest at Royyapalem has entered its sixth day . . .’
He sat up straight and looked at his wife who stared back at him with big eyes. He turned back to the television.
An attractive young female journalist holding a microphone stood in front of a dark, stocky man with a vast belly wearing white cotton clothes, and a Gandhi cap on his head. She asked, ‘What do you think of the protests against the special economic zone at Royyapalem?’
‘The protestors are politically motivated and are acting against the interests of the people of Royyapalem and our state. We have negotiated the best possible compensation package on behalf of the villagers which is totally in line with central government regulations. The people were happy with it until outside elements came in and incited them.’
‘Will you negotiate with the protestors?’ asked the interviewer.
‘Absolutely not. These people are holding up the economic progress of our state. In the Cabinet meeting earlier today, the chief minister has taken a personal interest in the matter. We will be ordering the police to take stern action against the protestors.’
The newsreader cut in and said, ‘That was Sun TV talking to the state industry minister. Now, let us go to Bhadrachalam where—’
Mr Ali switched off the TV and looked at his wife, who was holding her hand to her mouth.
He said, ‘I told the fool. I told him . . . we both told him not to go. Now look what has happened. Why does he go against our explicit words? Did we make a mistake in bringing him up? Should we have been stricter when he was a boy?’
‘Don’t worry about that now,’ said Mrs Ali. ‘What can we do to help Rehman?’
‘You are right,’ said Mr Ali, and thought for a moment. ‘Let’s call him. He must have taken his cell phone with him.’
Mr Ali called Rehman’s number. The phone rang several times before Rehman picked it up. ‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Rehman, we just saw the interview with the industry minister on television. Is everything all right?’ asked Mr Ali.
‘Yes, abba. It’s going great here. The villagers are really supportive and we are attracting more attention every day.’
‘The minister said that they would send the police in to clear you all out. Your mother and I both think that things will get ugly. You’ve highlighted the problem as you wanted, now leave the place and come back,’ said Mr Ali.
‘Abba, I can’t do that. The people are depending on us. Anyway, I don’t think the police will dare to move against us. We’ve been here for almost a week and they haven’t done anything. ’
‘Don’t be silly, Rehman. You are holding up a major project. It won’t go on like that. Come back now and give up this foolishness, ’ Mr Ali said.
‘No, abba. I cannot do that,’ said Rehman.
Mr Ali gave the phone to Mrs Ali
and sank down into a chair, holding his face in his hands. After some time, he heard Mrs Ali hanging up the phone. He looked at her. She didn’t need to tell him that she had failed to convince Rehman as well.
Aruna was at home, sitting on a mat in the kitchen, dicing brinjals into a bowl of water. Her mother washed three cups of rice in a saucepan and drained the water away. She measured four and a half cups of water into the rice and put the saucepan on the gas stove. She said, ‘It’s good you got the vegetables. There were no vegetables in the house, and when I asked your father to get them, he shouted at me saying that he didn’t have any money.’
Aruna smiled. ‘You know how naanna gets towards the end of the month. His pension is probably running out and he must be getting worried about it.’
Her mother nodded and replied, ‘I know . . . but the house still has to run - we have to eat. What’s the point of shouting at me? It’s not as if I am asking him to buy me jewellery.’
Aruna sighed. Of late, as their financial situation deteriorated, her parents seemed to be rowing more.
They lived in a small house: one room, kitchen and bathroom. The main room served as their living room in the day and bedroom at night. It had a bed against one wall and a tall, dark green, metal wardrobe against another wall. She could see the wardrobe from where she was sitting in the kitchen. It had seen better days and was dented in a few places.
Not surprising, thought Aruna. It had come into the household as part of her mother’s dowry and was older than Aruna. There were a couple of metal folding chairs next to the wardrobe. The framed picture of Lord Venkatesha that hung on the wall facing the front door with a garland of white plastic flowers round it was not in her view.
The tiny kitchen held a two-ring gas hob, three brass pots with water for cooking and drinking and an open wooden cupboard for their provisions. One of the shelves of the cupboard was enclosed with a fine mesh door and held milk, sugar and ghee. Everything in the house was old but scrupulously clean.
Aruna’s mother lit the second ring of the gas hob and put an aluminium pan on it. She poured a couple of tablespoons of oil into it. When the oil was hot enough, she took out an old, round wooden container. She slid the lid open on its hinge. Inside, there were eight compartments, each holding a different spice. She took a pinch of mustard seeds and put them in the oil. When they started popping, Aruna’s mother dropped cloves, cardamom pods and a cinnamon stick into the hot oil. She added a small plate of chopped onions to the pan. The lovely smell of frying onions filtered through the kitchen and into the rest of the house.
Aruna finished cutting and joined her mother at the hob. When the onions were brown, she lifted the brinjals, letting the water drain out between her fingers, and added them to the pan; they sizzled loudly. Once they had all been added, her mother stirred the vegetables round. Aruna got an old Horlicks bottle holding chilli powder out of the cupboard. She took out a spoonful of the dark red powder and mixed it into the onions and brinjals.
She closed the bottle, put it back in its place and said, ‘Amma, the chilli powder is almost finished.’
Her mother said, ‘I know. The chillies from Bandar are in season. I am waiting for your father’s pension next week to ask him to buy five kilos. If we wait too long, the best chillies will be gone from the market and we’ll have to buy a late-season variety which are not as good.’
Aruna said, ‘I got some money today. We can go and buy them tomorrow.’
Mr Ali had given Aruna her commission for new members each day. She had not told her family about this money and had been feeling guilty about it as she watched her father getting more and more irritable as the end of the month drew nearer and his pension slowly ran out.
Her mother was surprised. ‘Where did you get the money? You haven’t been there a month yet.’
‘This is not my salary. This is the commission for new members. ’
Aruna’s mother nodded. Aruna could see that she didn’t really understand but she didn’t ask any more questions.
Aruna and her mother worked well in the kitchen together from long practice. They divided the work silently without talking about it and soon dinner was ready. They went into the main room of the house and sat under the fan on the bed which did daytime duty as a settee. Aruna’s younger sister, Vani, came home from college and changed. Her father was sitting outside and Aruna called him in. Vani unrolled a mat in the living room and her mother got the dishes from the kitchen. Aruna got the plates and glasses and they all sat down for dinner.
‘Vani, why did you come back so late?’ asked Aruna’s father.
‘I went to the library with my friends. I told you this morning that I would come back late today,’ replied Vani.
‘Hmph . . .’ grunted her father, resuming his eating.
‘Your sister got some money today,’ said her mother to Vani.
‘Really, akka? Cool. How much did you get?’ Vani asked Aruna.
‘Four hundred rupees,’ replied Aruna.
‘Wow. That’s great. Can you give me a hundred and fifty rupees? I saw a great piece of material for a churidar the other day. Next-door aunty said she will help me stitch it in the latest fashion if I get the cloth.’
Aruna thought for a moment and said, ‘OK . . . I will be getting three weeks’ salary from Modern Bazaar as well, so that’s fine.’
‘Fantastic. Let’s go tomorrow and buy it,’ said Vani, obviously excited. ‘I will go and tell next-door aunty straight after dinner.’
‘Her husband will be back by then. Go tomorrow after he has left for the office,’ said her mother.
‘Ohh . . . I can’t wait,’ said Vani. Aruna looked amused by her younger sister’s suddenly miserable face.
‘It is such a waste of money. You have enough clothes,’ said her father.
‘Leave it be. They are young girls and they are not even asking you to pay. What’s your problem?’ said their mother.
‘Doesn’t matter whose money it is. It is still a waste,’ her husband replied.
‘Naanna! All the other girls in the college wear different clothes for different occasions. I am the only one who wears the same clothes again and again,’ said Vani.
‘You should have gone to the government college. There would have been other poor girls like you there. Who asked you to go to the corporate college?’
‘But, naanna, the corporate colleges are much better and they gave me a seventy-five per cent discount because I got such good marks.’
Her father turned to Aruna. ‘How come you’ve got money now? Have they already paid your salary?’
‘No. Don’t you remember? Sir said that he would give me twenty-five rupees for each member who joined. Well, it’s been a week and sixteen members have joined, so he gave me four hundred rupees,’ replied Aruna.
‘You shouldn’t waste the money on frivolous things,’ said her father.
Her mother replied, ‘Aruna bought the vegetables today and is getting Bandar chillies tomorrow for the house. Don’t grumble.’ She turned to Aruna and said, ‘When you get the money from Modern Bazaar, buy clothes for yourself as well.’
Aruna smiled and nodded in agreement. ‘Tomorrow, when I come home in the afternoon, I will go to Modern Bazaar, resign and ask for my money.’
‘I will come back early and we can go to the shops,’ said Vani.
‘I don’t know how long it will take me to get the money from the store. Let’s do it on Monday because that’s my day off,’ said Aruna.
Vani agreed, obviously deflated at the delay.
‘Hmph . . .’ grunted their father, but everybody ignored him.
While eating, Aruna looked covertly at her mother. She was thin and she didn’t have any jewellery except her mangalsootram and two thin earrings. She was wearing an old cotton sari, much faded from repeated washing. Just like Mother herself, thought Aruna. Genteel poverty had slowly ground her mother down, but Aruna could still make out the pretty woman she must have been at one time.
> Aruna was surprised at how forcefully her mother was standing up to her father. This was unusual because she was usually quite docile. Something about her daughter earning money was making her ready to stand up to her husband, thought Aruna.
On Monday, Vani didn’t feel well in the morning. But by mid-morning she was chirpy again. Aruna thought that her sister’s illness was very mysterious - striking just in time to prevent her from going to college and then vanishing conveniently so they could go shopping. The girls got ready and left. They took a bus and went to the town centre. They spent some time looking through various shops but finally went to the shop where Vani had seen the cloth for the churidar, and bought it.
‘Thank you, akka. This is going to be lovely. What shall we do now?’ asked Vani.
‘I was thinking of buying a sari for Mother. She didn’t buy one for the last festival because Vishnu-uncle died, remember?’ said Aruna.
‘That’s a great idea. Let’s go to Potana’s. They have a good collection. We also need to buy something for you. Remember, amma told you to,’ said Vani.
The two sisters made their way to the sari shop. They left the bag with the churidar cloth with the girl outside the sari shop and were given a token. They asked for directions and made their way to the second floor. The whole floor was covered wall to wall with thick mattresses. They took off their shoes by the stairs and walked past the open wiring and disconnected water sprinklers on to the mattresses to a salesman who was free and asked him if he could show them silk saris. The man nodded and indicated the floor in front of him.
They sat down on the mattress, folding their legs under them. The salesman turned to the wall and took out ten different saris without even speaking to them. He spread them in front of them, showing a bit of the border and some of the main part of each sari.
Aruna and Vani looked through them, whispering to each other.
‘Which ones do you like?’ asked the salesman.
Vani pointed out three. ‘We like the green colour of this one, the blue border in that one and the mango-seed motif on that one.’
