by Farahad Zama
‘Who are the saris for, madam?’
‘One for our mother and one for my elder sister,’ said Vani, pointing to Aruna.
The salesman pushed the seven saris that the girls had rejected to one side and went back to the wall and selected ten more and spread them out.
This time they were much more to the girls’ liking. They took longer to decide. Aruna discreetly looked at the price slips stapled to the bottom of the saris. They selected four in this round. The salesman cleared away the ones they did not like and took out five more saris from the wall, but Vani shook her head, not liking any of them. He turned to take out more but Aruna stopped him.
‘Enough! I think we’ve seen all we need. We’ll decide on one of the ones here.’
‘No problem, madam. If you want to see more, just let me know,’ replied the salesman.
Vani went through them saying, ‘Yes, no, no, yes, no, yes . . .’
He added the saris that Vani did not like to the big pile on the side. They were now left with four. Aruna and Vani talked about them some more and selected two - a plain light green sari with a dark green border and a reddish brown one with a traditional mango print.
Aruna pointed them out to the salesman and said, ‘I like the plain green one for myself, but I am not sure about the other one for amma.’
‘Good choice, madam. The green sari is machine loom - easy to maintain for a young lady like you. The red one is slightly more expensive, but it is a handmade Kalamkari print from Bandar.’
Aruna’s ears pricked up at the name of the port town. ‘We cannot get away from the town!’ she said.
‘Pardon, madam?’ he said, puzzled.
‘Oh, nothing. We just bought Bandar chillies the other day.’
‘The best variety, madam. This is from the same place. Very traditional design. Your mother will like it very much.’
The sisters looked at each other and nodded. Aruna said, ‘OK, pack them up.’
The salesman quickly folded the selected saris, pointed to Vani and asked, ‘Anything else, madam? What about for the young lady?’
‘No, that will be all,’ replied Aruna.
The salesman took out a receipt book and wrote out a bill for them. As Aruna took the bill, she asked, ‘Do the saris have blouse pieces attached to them?’
‘Not for the green sari, madam. You will have to buy that separately. ’
They got up and walked across the mattresses to the stairs. As she was putting on her shoes, Aruna saw the man folding all the saris they had rejected and putting them back in their place. She was glad she wasn’t working in Modern Bazaar any more. Working on a shop floor was hard work. Aruna and Vani made their way down to the ground floor and went to the cash counter and queued up. The cashier stamped the bill ‘Paid’ and returned it to them. The girls then went to the next counter where a security guard was standing. He took the bill and picked out the saris which had made their way down and put them into a bag, stamping the bill ‘Delivered’.
The girls came out with the bag, exchanged the token for their earlier purchase and made their way home.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning, just after eleven, the sun was high in the sky and Mrs Ali came out to the verandah with a glass of water from the fridge. Mr Ali had gone out and Aruna was managing the office alone. She offered the glass to Aruna who drank it without the glass touching her lips.
‘Thank you, madam.’
‘No problem,’ replied Mrs Ali. ‘You’ve been busy all morning. I didn’t hear you stop talking to clients since you came in.’
‘Yes, madam. It was really busy today. And sir had to go out, so there was no respite at all. Anyway, there are no clients now, so it is good to get a bit of rest,’ Aruna said.
Mrs Ali sat down in one of the chairs. Aruna went back to her typing. After a little while, Mrs Ali said, ‘Did you buy the clothes for your sister?’
‘Yes, madam. We bought the material for a churidar. Our neighbour says she can help Vani make the dress.’
‘It’s funny. Not that long ago, only Muslims used to wear churidars. Now, even Brahmin girls like you and your sister are wearing churidars,’ said Mrs Ali.
‘Yes, madam. My sister wears half saris sometimes, but she finds churidars more convenient.’
‘I agree. Did you buy anything for yourself?’ asked Mrs Ali.
‘Yes, madam. I bought a machine silk sari for myself.’
‘What colour is it?’ asked Mrs Ali.
‘Green,’ replied Aruna. ‘I also bought one for my mother.’
‘Oh, that’s very good of you. What kind of sari did you buy her?’
‘A handmade silk one, madam. It is a reddish brown, Kalamkari print.’
‘That’s nice. I like those traditional designs. What did your mother think?’
‘She was very happy,’ said Aruna. After a pause, she added,
‘Amma actually cried for a while.’
‘It is a big thing when your children buy you something. It is good that you care for your parents. So many children nowadays just ignore their parents.’
Aruna blushed at the compliment and didn’t say anything. Aruna typed some more addresses onto the list.
‘Did your mum wear it?’ asked Mrs Ali.
‘Not yet, madam. We are going to attend a cousin’s wedding next month and she wants to keep it for that.’
Mrs Ali watched Aruna as she went about her work. She is pretty, thought Mrs Ali, but not actually beautiful. Aruna had a light brown complexion. Her face was oval shaped and her hair parting was straight down the middle in traditional style. Her eyelashes were long and well defined. She had a pink bindi on her forehead. On one hand she had an old wristwatch and on the other, she wore a dozen dark green glass bangles that clinked musically when she moved her hands. They were lucky to find an intelligent and hard-working girl like Aruna. Mrs Ali knew that her husband would never see it but Aruna also had an air of melancholy, even when she was smiling and laughing. There is a mystery behind this simple-looking girl, thought Mrs Ali. I wonder what it is.
‘How tall are you?’ asked Mrs Ali.
‘Me, madam?’ said Aruna. ‘I am five feet three inches.’
‘Your father is already retired, isn’t he?’ said Mrs Ali.
‘Yes, madam. My mother says we were born late. She was almost thirty-five years old when I was born and it was another five years before my sister came along.’
‘It must have been such a shock to your mum to find out that she was pregnant at that age,’ said Mrs Ali.
Aruna laughed and did not reply.
‘It must be such a worry for your parents - having two girls to marry off after your father has left service,’ said Mrs Ali.
‘That’s the big problem in our house,’ said Aruna.
Mrs Ali nodded sympathetically and slowly drew Aruna out of her shell as they made conversation until the next member came in and Mrs Ali went back inside the house.
A few weeks later, Aruna was working alone in the office when a couple walked in. She recognised the couple and greeted them. ‘Hello, Mr and Mrs Raju. Have you come looking for more matches for Soni?’
Mr and Mrs Raju had been one of the first clients that Aruna had come into contact with when she started working here. They had been looking for a groom from a small family for their daughter.
The couple smiled and said, ‘No, we don’t need to look any more. The match that Mr Ali found for her - Bodhi Raju, the advocate - was perfect. We finalised the engagement yesterday.’
‘Congrats!’ said Aruna, pleased for them. ‘Sir had to go out. I will tell him when he comes back. He will be pleased too.’
‘Yes, it’s unfortunate that he is not here. Anyway, here are some photographs of Soni’s engagement function. Do you want to have a look?’ asked Mrs Raju.
‘Of course,’ said Aruna and took the album from her hand.
Soni was a good-looking girl and she looked really beautiful in the bright orange sari.
She was wearing a gold nose ring with a chain that went over her cheek and linked to her left ear.
Aruna was surprised. She looked up and said, ‘I didn’t think your daughter had a pierced nose.’
Mrs Raju replied, ‘It’s a clip on.’
Aruna nodded and said, ‘It really suits her. She looks beautiful.’
There was another photograph of Soni and her fiancé standing next to each other in a formal pose. Soni was holding a bouquet of red roses and Bodhi Raju was in a dark suit.
‘Can we keep this photograph for our records?’ asked Aruna.
Mr and Mrs Raju looked at each other for a moment. Then Mrs Raju turned to Aruna and nodded.
‘Thanks,’ said Aruna. She got up, looked through the files and took out a photograph of Soni that her parents had given Mr Ali when they became members. She handed it back to Mrs Raju.
‘Thank you. Please tell Mr Ali that it was a pleasure to do business with you all. We are very happy with the service.’
When they left, Aruna looked at the wall which held the photograph of Mr and Mrs Ali’s son with a couple and their son. An idea had been forming in her head for a few days - she took a strip of Sellotape and stuck Soni and Bodhi Raju’s photograph below that photograph. It’ll make a good collage and be a great advertisement tool, she thought.
The next day, Aruna watched as a tall, smartly dressed young man came in, accompanied by two women. One of the women was older - dressed in a traditional Kanjivaram silk sari and looked like his mother. She had at least ten gold bangles on each wrist. She had diamond earrings and a diamond necklace. Her mangalsootram had tiny diamonds that caught the light and sparkled. The other woman was younger and dressed less formally in a bright printed sari. She didn’t have as much jewellery as the older woman but what she wore looked expensive. She too had a mangalsootram with diamonds in it. The man turned and pressed a button on his key fob and the white car outside beeped once as it locked itself.
It was almost noon and Aruna wanted to go home. But she smiled and greeted them in the traditional Hindu way, ‘Namaste.’
‘Namaste. Is this the marriage bureau?’ asked the man.
‘Yes, sir. Please take a seat. My name is Aruna. What can we do for you?’ she replied, standing up behind the table.
The three visitors looked at each other, obviously at a loss about how to proceed. Aruna waited a moment and asked, ‘Who are you looking for?’
‘It is for my brother,’ replied the younger woman, pointing at the man.
‘That’s fine, madam. You look like Brahmins, is that correct?’
‘Yes, we are Vaishnava Brahmins. Do you have any matches in our community?’ said the older lady.
‘Oh, yes, madam. We have lots of Brahmin matches. Please fill in this form, so we can find the right match for you,’ said Aruna.
The young man took the form from her and said, ‘Thank you.’
He really is quite handsome, thought Aruna. The man was tall, as she had already noticed - definitely a six-footer. He was fair, had a strong chin and a bushy moustache. His voice was soft, but rich. His eyes sparkled when he smiled.
The man filled in the form with a silver fountain pen and handed it back. His name was Ramanujam Prabhu Rao - twenty-eight years old and a doctor: a surgeon at the King George Hospital - the city’s main government hospital. Their family was very well off, worth over five crores, fifty million rupees.
Aruna wondered why such a qualified man needed to come to the marriage bureau - especially as he wasn’t old or divorced either. He didn’t raise a quibble about the fees and quietly handed over a five-hundred-rupee note to Aruna. She took out the list of Brahmin brides and handed it to the man’s sister. The two ladies bent their heads together over the list and started going through it.
Mr Ali came back home. He said, ‘Oh! You are still here. Go home for lunch, Aruna. I will look after these people.’
‘That’s all right, sir. I will go a bit later. This is Mr Ramanujam Rao. They are looking for a bride for the gentleman,’ she said and handed him the filled in form and the five-hundred-rupee note.
The ladies were still busy going through the list. Mr Ali turned to Ramanujam and said, ‘Hi, I am Mr Ali. Were you named after the mathematician or the sage?’
The young man chuckled. ‘Neither! I am named after my grandfather.’
Mr Ali laughed along with Ramanujam and said, ‘If you tell me what exactly your requirements are, we can help you better.’
Ramanujam’s sister looked up and interrupted, ‘As you can see, my brother is a very qualified man. We are looking for a beautiful, educated girl. She must be tall, fair and slim. Good family. And they must pay a dowry of at least one crore.’
Ramanujam looked embarrassed at the mention of the dowry but didn’t say anything.
Mr Ali nodded and said, ‘I see. We have some matches that might be suitable. Let me show you one.’
He stretched his hand out and asked for the list they were looking at. He skimmed down the list and pointed out one. ‘These people are very well off. Her father is an IAS officer - a very senior bureaucrat. They are from here but they live in Hyderabad. I have seen the girl when she visited us and she is really beautiful. But . . .’ Mr Ali’s voice trailed off.
Ramanujam’s sister looked interested. ‘But what?’ she asked.
‘I think . . .’ muttered Mr Ali and opened the wardrobe. He went through the files until he found the one he wanted and took it out. He also took out a photo album and riffled through the pages until he found the one he wanted.
‘Here, this is the girl.’ He handed the open album to Ramanujam’s sister. All three of them looked at the girl’s photo with interest. As Mr Ali had said, the girl was really good-looking. She was photographed standing in a dark maroon sari that really showed off her fair skin. She had an angular face with high cheekbones and full lips artfully enhanced by lipstick. The sari was tied below her belly button and showed off her narrow waist. Aruna had seen the photo before and watched their reactions with interest. It was obvious that the girl in the photo was to Ramanujam’s liking.
‘Beautiful,’ said Ramanujam’s mother. ‘And you said her father is an IAS officer?’
‘Yes. But there is a problem, said Mr Ali who had been looking through the file. ‘I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure, but here it is. They are looking for a groom in America.’
‘Oh! We don’t want to send our son abroad,’ said the older lady.
Mr Ali said, ‘Why don’t you have a chat with them? Your son is handsome and well qualified. The pair will look very good together. He is exactly what they are looking for in all other respects. It is worth pursuing this, they might change their minds.’
‘We will do that. Do you have any more matches?’ asked Ramanujam’s sister.
‘Nobody that perfect. There is another girl whose father is a university professor. Very good girl, but they cannot pay that much,’ said Mr Ali.
‘Let’s have a look,’ said Ramanujam.
Mr Ali pointed out the details of the professor’s daughter on the list and said, ‘We do not have their photo. They wouldn’t give it to us.’
They talked for a while longer and the three of them thanked Mr Ali, took their leave and left. Aruna helped Mr Ali put everything away and went home for her lunch.
That afternoon, Aruna was again alone in the office. Mr Ali had gone to the post office. A man in his late twenties came in. She had seen him before and remembered his name. She said, ‘Hello, Mr Irshad. We sent you a list just the other day.’
‘Yes, I got the list. But what is the point? It is totally useless. I contacted so many people, but nobody even responds to my letters. I am now beginning to wonder whether the addresses are real or made up,’ replied the man.
‘Of course they are real, sir. We don’t make up any addresses here. See, we get letters every day and these are the addresses we put on our lists. Look at that photograph on the wall. Those two got engaged because of us. How can y
ou say that we make up these addresses?’ asked Aruna.
‘I don’t care what you say. I think you are all frauds. How is it possible that I do not get even a single response?’ he said loudly.
‘Sir, please don’t shout.’
‘I will shout if I want to. I paid five hundred rupees and it is all a waste. I have a good mind to complain to the police,’ said Irshad.
Aruna was getting upset, but before she could reply, Mrs Ali came out.
‘Aruna, what is going on?’ asked Mrs Ali.
‘This—’ started Aruna.
‘I will tell you, madam. This place is a fraud. You just take money and have no intention of providing a service,’ shouted the man.
‘Please don’t shout,’ said Mrs Ali. ‘Remember that I am your mother’s age.’
Aruna was impressed by how calm Mrs Ali sounded. The man looked a bit abashed but still had a mutinous look on his face.
‘You will have to wait until my husband comes in. He will be about ten or fifteen minutes. You can take up your complaint with him. There is no point shouting at us ladies. If you wish, you can wait here silently or you can leave and come back a bit later,’ said Mrs Ali to the young man.
Irshad nodded quietly and said, ‘I will wait.’
Mrs Ali turned to Aruna and said, ‘Please get on with your work. Call out if you need me.’
Mrs Ali came back with a glass of cool water and handed it to Irshad. He nodded his thanks and drank half the water in a single gulp. Mrs Ali went inside the house. Aruna didn’t really have any immediate tasks but she started going through all the old files so she could look busy. She avoided any eye contact with Irshad. Soon all was quiet except for the whir of the fan on full speed and the traffic outside. After a little while, she saw Irshad mop his brow with a handkerchief. He was slightly overweight and perspiring. Mr Ali returned soon, to Aruna’s relief.
When he saw the young man sitting on the sofa, Mr Ali said, ‘Hello, Irshad. Back again so soon? We don’t have any lists of Muslim brides more recent than the one we sent you a few days ago.’
Aruna was surprised when Irshad meekly said, ‘I don’t know, sir. You send me all these lists and I write or call up quite a few of them, but nobody replies. When I joined, you said that I might get contacted by other people because my name will also be on a list, but that hasn’t happened either. I just don’t know what to do.’
