by Farahad Zama
Aruna was silent for a moment, her natural reticence warring with her need to tell somebody. Mrs Ali just sat quietly next to her.
Finally, Aruna said, ‘Do you know Ramanujam, madam? One of our clients.’
Mrs Ali thought for a moment and said, ‘Yes, I remember. He is a doctor, isn’t he?’
‘That’s right, madam.’
Aruna didn’t say anything else and after a couple of seconds, Mrs Ali prompted her, ‘What about him?’
Aruna said, ‘He proposed to me, madam.’
Mrs Ali laughed and said, ‘What is there to cry about that, my dear? You should take it as a compliment.’
‘I said no, madam. I refused,’ said Aruna. She started to cry again.
‘Have you talked to anybody about this?’ Mrs Ali asked.
Aruna shook her head through her tears. Mrs Ali put her arm round the young woman’s shoulders and said, ‘You shouldn’t bottle these matters up. Talk to me. Tell me, do you like him?’
Aruna nodded. ‘God forgive me, yes, I do. I like him. After I said no, I thought the pain was only temporary. I thought that I would be all right again in a few days. But, no! The pain has only got worse. It’s just consuming me and I don’t know what to do.’
Mrs Ali stayed silent and hugged her while Aruna cried herself out. After a little while Aruna stopped crying and wiped her eyes on her dupatta and looked up, embarrassed.
‘Sorry, madam,’ she said.
‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. You needed a good cry. So, tell me, if you like him so much why did you refuse him?’
‘Think about it, madam. You know what kind of girl his family is looking for. I’m not suitable at all. They are looking for a beautiful girl from a big family. I’m not beautiful. We are a very ordinary family - not millionaires like them.’
‘Don’t run yourself down, my dear. Money isn’t everything. Knowledge and character are more important, and in these matters your family is no less than any other family in this land.’
‘But that’s not all, madam. My family needs me right now. My sister is in college and my father’s pension has been cut. It will be difficult for them to manage just on that pension. I need to work and support them until my father’s pension recovers and my sister finishes her education. Ramanujam’s family doesn’t want a working woman as a wife. And even if I worked, what husband would agree to let me give my earnings to my parents? I cannot think of marriage for another three or four years, at least,’ said Aruna.
Mrs Ali said, ‘Aruna, sometimes in life you have to be selfish. Your family will manage somehow. Ramanujam is not going to wait three or four years to get married. His parents won’t allow that. Think about yourself too. It is well known that it is more difficult for girls to get married as they get older. In a few years’ time, your sister will get married and go away. Your parents are old - who knows how long they will be around? You will become lonely and embittered. Your sister will start resenting you, because human beings cannot remain grateful for long, you know. I have seen cases like this - and it always happens to the best girls, just like you. Ironically, girls who don’t think so much about their family and are a little bit self-centred are not only happier themselves but also maintain good relationships with their families.’
Aruna said, ‘I know you are wiser than me, madam. But I’m not sure if I can do anything different. Also, he is a rich man and we are quite poor. As a son-in-law he will come sometimes to my parents’ house and expect to be treated properly. How can my parents afford that? And if he insulted my parents because of our small house or our poverty then I couldn’t bear it.’
Mrs Ali said, ‘If he was so boorish as to do that, then he is not the man for you. But Ramanujam doesn’t look like a man who will act that way. Don’t forget that you are both from this town. It’s not as if he will ever need to stay overnight at your parents’ place. He will come for short visits and I’m sure he will give your family the courtesy they deserve.’
‘How do we know, madam? He has always been rich, so how does he know how to handle poor people? Anyway, this is all moot. I insulted him by refusing his hand in marriage and I doubt if he will look at me again. His sister called just now and asked us to advertise once again for more matches. Men are proud, madam, and they cannot take a rejection sanguinely.’
A few minutes later, Aruna got up from the settee and said, ‘Please don’t tell sir about this. It is very embarrassing.’
Mrs Ali nodded and said, ‘You’ve done nothing wrong to be ashamed about, my dear. But if that’s what you want, I’ll keep it to myself.’
Aruna smiled softly and said, ‘Thank you, madam.’
That afternoon, after lunch, she went to her father and agreed to take a week’s leave and accompany him to his brother’s place in the temple town of Annavaram.
Aruna’s absence was a shock to Mr Ali’s system. He realised just how much help it was to have an efficient assistant. He had to curtail his walks, and quite often, his afternoon naps. Luckily, it was so hot that few clients came until after five in the evening. But all it takes to break a siesta is one client, he thought sourly.
On Wednesday, all the clients had gone and he was just about to close up when in walked an old client - Sridevi, the florist divorcee.
‘Namaste,’ she said, folding her hands.
Mr Ali returned her greeting and said, ‘Did you get the details of Venu, the computer service engineer that we sent? Are you looking for more matches?’
‘No,’ laughed Sridevi, ‘I am getting married again, and I was in the area so I’ve dropped in to say thanks,’ she said.
‘Really . . . that’s great news. So, did you manage to get in touch with Venu?’ asked Mr Ali.
‘No. I am not marrying him or anybody you gave me the details of, but I would still like to thank you,’ she said.
‘How come?’ asked Mr Ali, puzzled. ‘Please take a seat,’ he added, realising that she was still standing.
She took a seat and said, ‘It’s probably easier if I tell you the whole story.’
Mr Ali nodded and put his pen down, giving her his full attention.
‘As you know, after I got divorced, my family boycotted me. They wouldn’t speak to me or invite me to any family functions. It was as if I had never existed. That was hard to bear. Anyway, I kept busy with my business and that was some compensation. I finally decided to make a clean break and get married again. That’s when I contacted you. Do you remember I said that my younger uncle was coming for dinner when you called about Venu?’
‘Yes, I remember,’ said Mr Ali.
‘He is my father’s youngest brother. He stayed with us while he was at university and I was a child. I’m his favourite niece. He had gone to Oman just before I got married and he was really upset that he could not attend my wedding. Anyway, he’s done well in the Gulf and has come back a rich man. He bought lots of gifts for everyone including me and found out that the family had cut me off. He contacted me straight away and came round to lunch.’
Mr Ali nodded.
‘At lunch, I couldn’t stop talking and finally started crying. He consoled me and left. I thought that was the end of it, but then, two days later, he came to my shop at the hotel and said he felt like eating Chinese food. I was surprised because it was three in the afternoon. He took me to the restaurant in the hotel itself. The restaurant was completely empty except for one man in a corner table. It was my ex-husband. I wanted to leave, but my uncle stopped me. As you can imagine, the atmosphere between my ex-husband and me was very stiff in the beginning, but slowly we relaxed. We had always got on well together except for a few specific issues. My uncle got a phone call on his mobile after a while and he ducked out, leaving us alone. We started talking and I found out that he had not remarried, which surprised me because I would have expected his parents to get him married off to some poor girl as soon as we were divorced. My ex-husband even knew that I owned the florist’s in the hotel. After some time my uncle came back. H
e saw how we were getting along and told us that he had booked and paid for dinner for two at another restaurant that weekend but his friend had dropped out. He wanted us to go in their place. I suspected a rat and said that he could not possibly expect me to go out with a man who was not my husband,’ said Sridevi, stopping and looking up at him.
Mr Ali nodded and waved his hand, asking her to go on.
Sridevi continued, ‘My uncle laughed and said that Hinduism does not recognise divorce. So, even though the law might say that we were not husband and wife, in front of God we were still married. My ex tried to interrupt him but my uncle had just got started. We are not Muslims, my uncle said, whose religion allows them to divorce, nor even Christians who vow till death do us part. We are Hindus and you were married with the sacred fire as witness; you went round the fire seven times as part of the wedding ceremony and you are bound even beyond death - seven lifetimes together, in fact.’
Mr Ali nodded in understanding. ‘What happened then?’ he asked.
Sridevi continued, ‘We went out a few times and found that we actually got along quite well and I warmed up to the idea of getting back together with him again. However, my ex wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to move forward until I mentioned to him and my uncle that I was considering the match you sent me. Once I said that, my ex was suddenly a man in a hurry. Apparently, he did not like the idea of me marrying anybody else! Suddenly, he was the one pushing for marriage and I was the one holding back. Anyway, because I was now in a position of strength, I negotiated what I wanted - we would move out of his parents’ house and set up on our own. I will continue to run my business and any money that I earn will be mine to keep and spend as I want. I told him I planned to hire a full-time maid with the money I was earning so there would be no more complaints about the cooking or the housekeeping. So, all’s well that ends well and I’m getting married in a fortnight at the register office.’
‘That’s fantastic news,’ said Mr Ali. ‘Best news I’ve heard all week.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said.
Mr Ali said, ‘I’m now talking as somebody elder to you, so don’t take this amiss. Marriage is all about compromise. I always say that most people become my clients because they are not flexible enough. They want everything - a tall son-in-law in a good job who is the only son of a wealthy family when their daughter is rather plain and they are not willing to pay a large dowry, or they want a beautiful, well-educated daughter-in-law in an executive position when their own son is a tenth-class failed loafer. To find a partner, you need to compromise. But the need for compromise doesn’t end there. Married life is the greatest pleasure - if you compromise; otherwise it is hell on earth. You are a very lucky woman. Due to the grace of God and your uncle’s efforts, you are being given a second chance. Don’t throw it away. Certainly, the money you earn is yours - but don’t flaunt it. Give your husband a share of your earnings every month so he can use it to run the household. Don’t make him ask for the money. Ask his advice on how to invest your money. He has agreed to separate from his parents. Go with him to visit his parents regularly - once a week or fortnight. Keep them on your side - ignore any snide remarks they make, give them little gifts now and then. Sure, you will hire a full-time maid, but give the maid an occasional day off and cook dinner for your husband. I am not saying that you should be the only one to compromise, but you are the only person you have control over.’
Sridevi nodded and said, ‘Thanks for your advice, uncle. I’ll definitely keep it in mind. You are right. I am a lucky woman who has been given a second chance.’
As he was showing Sridevi out, Ramanujam’s sister came in.
‘Hello. Please sit down,’ he said. ‘Aruna told me that you called.’
She sat down on the sofa and said, ‘We are not getting any more matches. I think we should advertise again.’
Mr Ali nodded and said, ‘That’s probably not a bad idea. I’ve already prepared an ad. Let’s concentrate on English newspapers this time. It will cost more however. Our fees don’t cover the cost of a second advertisement in the English papers. It will probably cost another two or three hundred rupees.’
‘That’s no problem,’ said Ramanujam’s sister and took out three hundred rupees from her purse.
‘Let me see if we’ve received any Brahmin matches recently,’ said Mr Ali. He went through the new joiners’ list and came across one almost at the end.
‘This came in about ten days ago. I don’t think we’ve sent it to you,’ he said. ‘The girl’s name is Sita - ideal for somebody called Ram!’
Ramanujam’s sister smiled and Mr Ali continued, ‘She is twenty-four years old and five feet seven inches high.’
She looked up at him and said, ‘Perfect height.’
Mr Ali nodded and said, ‘Home science graduate; doesn’t want to work after marriage; fair. They own several houses in town and are willing to give a large dowry. They haven’t said how much, but they’ve told me that for the ideal match, money is not going to be a problem. She has a brother who is a doctor in America.’
Ramanujam’s sister said, ‘The match sounds very good. Do you have a photograph?’
He looked at the form again and said, ‘Yes, we do have a photograph.’
He took out the photo from the wardrobe and gave it to her. She looked at the picture intently and said, ‘She looks beautiful - so fair and slim.’
Mr Ali copied the details out on to a piece of paper and gave it to her. She folded the paper and put it in her handbag. ‘Can I take the photograph as well?’ she asked.
Mr Ali hesitated. ‘Normally, we don’t allow photos of girls to be taken away.’
She replied, ‘I understand, but I promise to send it back. The match is so good that I don’t want to waste any time.’
Mr Ali nodded and said, ‘All right, but please take care of the photo and make sure we have it back in a couple of days.’
She nodded and stood up, ready to go. Mr Ali got up as well and saw her to the door.
She asked, ‘Where is your assistant? Is it her day off?’
‘No, she was not feeling well, so she’s taken a week off,’ said Mr Ali and closed the gate behind her.
The next day, Mrs Ali was making dosas, black gram crêpes, for breakfast while Mr Ali was shaving. As usual, he had the radio on a high volume and was listening to the news.
The newsreader said, ‘At an early morning briefing today, the state government has announced that land acquisition will stop at Royyapalem. The chief minister said that his government was not against farmers and that they would consult more widely on the locations for special economic zones. The government will also take another look at the compensation packages that are being offered and see if at least one member of any displaced family could be guaranteed a job in the economic zone. The announcement follows days of widening protests across the state that have shaken the government and brought its very survival into question.’
Mrs Ali screamed in joy and Mr Ali jerked his head up and said, ‘Oww!’ He had nicked himself with the razor. Blood flowed from his chin and Mr Ali dabbed at it with a towel. He washed the shaving foam off his face and came into the kitchen. His chin stung.
‘Did you hear that? Isn’t it great news?’ asked Mrs Ali and peered at him more closely. ‘Why is there blood on your chin?’
‘Because you screamed,’ said Mr Ali.
‘The news is worth screaming about. I cannot help it if you cannot shave without cutting yourself even after practising every day for the last fifty years,’ said Mrs Ali.
‘It is good news,’ said Mr Ali. ‘But my views haven’t changed. If Rehman didn’t come home when we asked him to, then he need not come here ever again.’
Mrs Ali’s smile faltered. ‘Leave it be,’ she said. ‘It’s not important now. Let the past go.’
‘I can’t let it go,’ said Mr Ali. ‘I didn’t tell you this before, but I called him again after we came back to town. I told him that you were dep
ressed and that you were not getting out of bed. He still refused to budge. I have no time for a son who does not care for his parents.’
Mrs Ali started to say something. Mr Ali raised his hands. ‘I don’t want to hear any more. My decision is final. Don’t argue.’
Mrs Ali was not happy, but she knew her husband well. Once he made up his mind, it was difficult to change him. She sighed and went back to her cooking.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
On Monday, Mr Ali was talking to a Christian man about a bride for his younger brother when Ramanujam came in. Mr Ali greeted him and said, ‘Hello. Your sister came in the other day and took the details of a match.’
‘She told me,’ replied Ramanujam. ‘Please finish with this gentleman first. I will wait.’
Once the other client left, Ramanujam took out Sita’s photo from an envelope and gave it to Mr Ali. ‘Thanks for sending the photo with my sister,’ he said.
Mr Ali put the photograph away and turned back to Ramanujam. ‘What did you think of the match?’ he asked.
Ramanujam said, ‘I heard Aruna is not well. Is she all right?’
Mr Ali was surprised by the change of topic, but replied, ‘She was very listless the last two weeks. So, she’s taken a week off and her father has taken her to Annavaram. I hope the change of scene will do her good and she will come back to her normal self.’
‘I have a confession to make,’ said Ramanujam, ‘I’m actually quite happy to hear that Aruna is feeling like that.’
‘Really? And why would that be?’ asked Mr Ali sharply. The smile slipped from his face. He looked on Aruna like a daughter and Ramanujam’s remark took him by surprise.
‘It’s not like that,’ said Ramanujam. ‘I like her a lot. You see, I’ve met Aruna a few times here and outside, and I’ve had long chats with her and I don’t know . . . I think of her all the time. I might be seeing a patient and suddenly, I remember Aruna’s smile or the way her eyes shine when she is looking at me. I can hear her voice mocking me gently or laughing at something I’ve said. I don’t know if this is love; all I know is that I’ve never felt like this before.’
