You Might Want to Marry My Husband

by Yap Swi Neo

  ‘So you see, Ritesh, everything happens for a reason. You must always remember to pray. Doors are not necessary, what have we got that thieves want? There are no thieves here. Everyone good.’

  ‘In my school, all doors have locks. Even the desks have locks. And in the classrooms, the teacher switches on the fan from 10 o’clock until school finishes at 1.15. There is one fan in the middle of the ceiling. So nice.’

  ‘A fan? Why do you need a fan? The trees give us wind. So nice here.’

  The manager had installed two large generators and every house had electricity from 3 to 6.30 in the morning. The tappers could see clearly when they collected their equipment and got ready for work – no more risk of fires. And lights on again from 6 to 10 in the evening. The manager said this would help students study. As a Deepavali present, he gave every family a Philips portable radio with six AAA batteries. The mandor and the manager’s driver were very clever. Now the radios could run on electricity from the generator. The music blasting from all houses tuning in to the same station in the mornings and evenings reverberated through the trees. Ritesh was again darting between the rubber trees and rambutan trees and banana plants with the girl in the Taj Mahal.

  Daa-daa-jee said, ‘This is good. The gods know we are happy. The manager knows about the radios. He is also happy as he never complained. We think he likes our music. The manager’s house has electricity all day.’ The manager’s ‘big house’ was a 20-minute drive away. One day daa-daa-jee suggested to Ritesh, ‘after you has become a clever boy, you can also work as a manager and everybody will have electricity all day.‘ Ritesh was set on being an airline pilot.

  Ritesh did well in his secondary school. The company paid for his university studies. He became a mechanical engineer, the first graduate from his community. The whole estate celebrated. The manager donated three goats and one hundred bottles of FnN Orange and Sarsi drinks. They had rainbow jellies, Cadbury chocolates with nuts and raisins, but the greatest treat was the Magnolia cup ice cream that came with little splinter paddle spoons. The manager had kept the ice cream in an ice cream cooler in his house until the end, when he and his driver proudly honked their way in. That was the epitome of honour for Ritesh and the community. He made a short speech that the mandor translated: ‘Dear Ritesh, our company is most proud of you. You have brought great honour to your parents, to the community and to the company. You are a model for other children here. Encourage them to study hard and go to university, like you. And for you, please say a few words to your family and community that had supported you. Also what your plans are. Finally, to get you started in your new life, this is a briefcase for you with your name, the name of this estate and today’s date. Always remember your roots.’ The applause was like the thunderous Kunchikal Falls. The gods were smiling down on them.

  Ritesh was both gratified and humbled. He replied in English so the manager could understand. The mandor again did the translation: ‘Thank you very much from the bottom of my heart, Mr Manager, for the scholarship. I never thought I could achieve this. It is through the unconditional love of my family and community and unfailing faith of the company of my abilities that I have succeeded. I want to be an airline pilot so that I can take my grandfather, father and mother to see the Taj Mahal. That is my only wish. I love you all.’ The celebrations continued well after lights out.

  Ritesh wanted a job in an airline company. A promise to daa-daa-jee is a promise. He had to hurry. The promise to maa-maa-jee was lost. When he was finally able to, he took daa-daa-jee to the Taj Mahal. Grandfather was a ten-year-old Ritesh, listening to the wonderful stories of the Taj Mahal: the waters, the trees, every detail. He saw in his mind’s eye the lions and the deer eating grass together, the snakes carrying the rats, the children of the white and black horses, catching fish in the water, caressing the seeds of rubber trees he loved so much. ‘Ritesh, did you bring the bubu? And the rubber seeds? How many fish did you catch? 37! That’s good, we cook them tonight. Ritesh are there any ripe bananas? Please pluck one for me.’ Grandfather was happy, Ritesh was happy. Ritesh finally found his girl in the Taj Mahal. She was the Taj Mahal.

  * * *

  Brother. ↵

  Lily

  Decades ago the prejudice against intermarriage was generally one of race (among Chinese, Indians and Malays) and religion. Families have disowned their children. However, intermarriages with Caucasians were acceptable. This story is based on a personal family tragedy, fictionalised to protect the innocent and the guilty.

  Lily lay in the hospital bed, her face pale, her pulse slow, her spirit waiting to leave. The doctors surrounded her, knowing the flat line was seeping its way in, but still trying their best to revive her when they knew they couldn’t – and, now knowing what she had taken, they knew she wouldn’t want them to.

  ‘We had to pump her, to clean her. She took a lot – most of the pills had dissolved; but the liquids, three different ones, have gone through her system, burnt her organs. The next two days are crucial.’ The doctors were sombre, ‘Mr Low, Mrs Low, Lily slept to the end.’

  Mrs Janice Low sobbed. Even her husband was not sure what or whom the tears were for. For a daughter, too young to give up her life? For the family, losing the only daughter and sister? For herself, a daughter who committed suicide would certainly raise questions from among her social circle ‘Why? How? When? Where?’ The shame she felt that Lily, her first born whom she had raised and loved and nurtured into a beautiful young woman, a most eligible professional woman, from a respectable family, had committed suicide would be most insufferable. If Lily died, how would she explain it, she had asked herself hundreds of times. Well, Lily enjoyed scuba diving, she drowned off the Great Barrier Reef; she fell off the horse on her first ride and broke her neck while on holiday in Mongolia; she suffered a ruptured appendix on an expedition through Patagonia and had to be flown home but it was too late, and several more options. Which of these would be most believable? How to flesh out the story?

  Mr Henry Low intercepted her thoughts. ‘Janice, why did it have to be this way?’ Gentle in voice, he knew why, yet needed to ask the ‘why’ question. He felt guilty, regretted not expressing his feelings and right judgement, and was tormented with longing for a much-loved daughter. Lily had messaged him a day earlier, ‘Daddy, my daddy, I love you so much. Hug William and Jamie and tell them I love them very much too. Tell Mother she wins.’ He did not tell his wife. Mr Low had felt a sense of foreboding. His messages were not replied to. Calls not answered. He went to her flat, no lights on. Rang the bell. No door opened. Called for the locksmith. It had happened. Too late. Lily on the bed, pale, bottles of pills and liquids beside her.

  He recalled with intense sorrow, the happy times he had shared with Lily. The times he carried her on his shoulders, and she had shrieked in delight, ‘Daddy you’re my pony. I can ride very fast, I’ll never fall off.’ The times he taught his three children to swim, from paddling in water to snorkelling. He remembered Lily’s first boy interest. He had invited him to a movie, ’Indiana Jones’, just the three of them. They had tea at Burger King. ‘Lily, we’ll go to Indiana Jones country and ride a horse very fast through the valley at Petra after your final exams, he had promised, and they did. The times he covered her eyes from the kissing scenes on TV. ‘Too young to kiss!’ he had said. And the time he watched over her two days and two nights when she had chickenpox. He moaned, ‘Lily, I love you so much.’

  Janice Low played detective in her mind, ‘Who murdered Lily?’ The family relationship came apart when ‘that person’, Cyril Puticheri, Lily’s chosen life partner came into the picture. Mr Low approved of Cyril, liked the young man for his sense of humour, and his love for Lily.

  After Lily’s private funeral, Mrs Janice Low had sent her maid to ask ‘that person’s’ parents to return the key to her daughter’s HDB flat,[1] to ‘get my daughter’s things’. Janice found the flat pathetic. Cheap local furniture and furnishings. Only one bedroom furnished. Kitch
en nothing much. In the pantry some instant noodles, breakfast foods, and beverages. She screamed, how could anyone start married life and be happy living there? She wept for her daughter’s unhappiness.

  On the dressing table was Lily’s journal. It stunned her to read Lily’s thoughts and feelings.

  * * *

  3 February

  Dear Dairy, I need to pen my thoughts and feelings. Cyril takes Mother so lightly, brushing her off, no relevance in our lives. He’s probably right.

  I pleaded. Mother, why could you not accept Cyril? It is laughable that Mother could say I will be eating curry and chapatti every meal, and I would become dhal![2] She is a racist, calling the children we would have, ‘kopi susu’[3] with unpronounceable names. Several times daddy had tea with Cyril at Komala’s restaurant at Serangoon. Cyril told us funny stories about himself and his family. Daddy, you accept Cyril. Can’t you reason with Mother? I know you want to keep the peace, as you so often say. You feel intimidated, aware that you achieved social status when you married Mother. And Mother never stops reminding you, your Hugo Boss suits, LV shoes and all that. Daddy, I sense you felt trapped. So you know how trapped I feel. Daddy, my daddy, could you, would you talk to Mother? Please.

  * * *

  ‘Janice, I would like a quiet time with you after dinner, please.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Lily and Cyril.’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk!’

  ‘We must. Please.’

  We did talk. What devil had got into Henry to invite ‘that person’ into my house! How could he ever understand ‘that person’ could never be part of my family? His family must have put in something in his food or drink to get him so compliant. Why did he spend time with them? We fought. Surprised Henry would fight me! As always, he was lost for words. Meek as a mouse. I brought him into society, the golf, the private clubs.

  * * *

  10 March

  This evening we asked for your blessings to marry, you wept openly, you wept for yourself. You felt shame that I wished to marry ‘that person’. ‘That person’ has a name, Mother. Cyril Puticheri. Cyril, my classmate is a responsible, loving man. A lawyer like us. Yes, we live in a ‘good class bungalow’, play golf, we go on annual holidays abroad. Yes, Cyril grew up in a four-room HDB flat, has two older married sisters. So what!!!

  His dad is, in your eyes, ‘only a primary school teacher, did not even step into university’, and his mum, ‘What! Part-time child minder?’ Mother, you don’t understand. They are humble, beautiful-in-the-soul people. There is much pride in what they do, what they have, what they have achieved. They are happy. They accept me and love me. And YES! YES! YES! Mother, Cyril and I are happy in our five-room HDB flat in Sengkang!

  Daddy, when we told you we were getting married, you hugged me so tightly, I almost couldn’t breathe. You wouldn’t let me go. You clasped Cyril’s hands in yours, then patted him on both shoulders. You said ‘Take good care of Lily’ and I read in your eyes what you had so often said to me, ‘Any guy who breaks your heart, I’ll break his neck.’ I told Cyril that. He laughed and said you are a funny guy. Daddy, I love you.

  * * *

  Lily, you have shattered my heart, destroyed my family. I cried for you, what would happen to you? Why ask for my blessing when you were already adamant about getting married? Didn’t you realise family ties are a priority to get on in this world? Be somebody. With ‘that person’ you could never be. Just like your Yeh Yeh – a nobody! A nobody! And the smell of the … of that family! Lily, I wanted you to be happy. How could you be happy in an HDB flat? And the housework. You don’t even know how to boil an egg. Or load a washing machine. No maid to clean and cook for you. No Jacuzzi to relax in. I raised you into a perfect image of me, well groomed, right society. Wait till his family bullies you, then don’t come running to me! Your father! A weakling, a mouse, no opinion to stand on. You twisted him round your little finger.

  I couldn’t sleep that night. Henry was reading. Reading 1984! Said he wanted to study the ways of Big Brother. That crap book! I wanted to smash it in his face. We are a democracy, a family and we discuss what is best for our family. By extension, we contribute all our good genes. Peter, Minister’s only child is so madly in love with you Lily. His parents really wanted you as a daughter-in-law. Lily, a minister’s daughter-in-law! What could be more perfect? Now you’ve lost him.

  * * *

  2 May

  Cyril and his parents advised us to get Mother’s blessing, whatever it takes. This morning I asked Mother to plan our wedding with us. She said she was planning on a Mediterranean cruise. I wished her an enjoyable cruise.

  She lambasted me for being an ingrate; said she had provided me with all that I wanted, above all that I needed. What would our relatives say? If he’s a white man, yes, that’s perfectly acceptable. But an Indian! Living in an HDB flat in Jurong? And his family? A school teacher, a part-time child minder, a secondary school teacher daughter, ok a graduate; a social worker second daughter, ok also a graduate. What status is there in social work? And also, they are Christians! ‘That person’ as the only son would have to give most of his salary to them! What is left would not be enough for a Prada wallet at the Salvation Army Thrift Shop! She demanded an answer, what kind of a life is that? I told her it would be a wonderful life of love and simplicity, no pretences and plenty of time to smell the flowers. She was on the verge of slapping me.

  Daddy interrupted us. ‘Lily, you give up Cyril, I’ll never talk to you again.’ Mother screamed all the profanities at Daddy, reminding him he was NOTHING until he married her. Furious, he stomped out of the house, William and Jamie followed him. They were ‘lost’ till the next evening. No, wouldn’t tell where they were. I knew, at Nai-Nai[4] and Ye-Ye, daddy’s parents.

  We had a BIG fight. I accused Mother of being money face, which is absolutely true!

  ‘The best gift for Mummy is to give up ‘that person’. I love you so much. Give up that person and all will be good. I promise.’

  ‘If I don’t?’

  ‘You’ll be sorry. You lose everything, everything means everything. That also means me. I will die of shame, nowhere to put my face. You want mother to die?’

  ‘No, Mother, you won’t die. I don’t want you to die.’ Death is probably afraid of Mother.

  ‘Mother, do you love Daddy? Really, really love him as a man, a husband, a lover, a father? Mother can you tell me what is love?’ She never answered. She loves no one, not even herself!

  * * *

  Prepare for her wedding? What wedding? I will not be part of it. Never! I could see unhappiness written on their faces, oozing out of everywhere. Henry, why did we get married? We were classmates. You were smart, on scholarship, top the class. Of course I had to have you, only the top student for me. You were the most handsome man, the most serene, regal, unassuming. You wanted my social status. I believed we would be a perfect pair, though my parents were not quite so happy. We educated you into society. I was resplendent in my Prada wedding gown. You enjoyed the grooming, the private clubs, holidays abroad all of which you never had till you married me! Your father had to borrow a suit for our wedding! My parents paid for that dinner! Are you a good father? Yes, I suppose. As a husband? Yes, always obliging me. As a lover? We have three children.

  * * *

  4 July

  I’m looking at my favourite photo of Nai-Nai and Ye-Ye eating at the market stalls. They reminded me not to tell Mother we ate at the hawker centre. We could only eat at restaurants and the club cafés. Several times Daddy took us and Ye-Ye and Nai-Nai to various stalls.

  * * *

  So, they conspired behind my back … those … people. Sneaking out to be with them. Henry you cheated on me, you unfaithful man! Now I know why Jamie coughs often – the dirty market stalls! And Lily, I understand now it blasted your brains into wanting to marry ‘that person’. Well, the accident was his karma, seducing my Lily for her status.

  * * *<
br />
  28 July

  Nai-Nai passed away today. She suffered a heart attack, alone at home. I lost my Nai-Nai, the best grandma in the world. I know you are with Jesus, even though you are a Buddhist.

  Ye-Ye lost his wife, his confidante, his best friend. He will never be his laughing self again. He may lose the will to live. He will only wait for Nai-Nai to invite him to join her. Cyril and I will spend every Sunday with him.

  * * *

  Lily, you chose to spend time with them instead of shopping with me?

  * * *

  3 November

  This morning Ye-Ye passed away in the hospital. He fell off his bicycle, hit his head on the curb. The hospital called Daddy and he called me. Cyril and I arrived first. Ye-Ye waited for Daddy, Jamie and William. His firm grip told us he loved us very much. He smiled, let go of our hands and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  They had their lives. They lived the way they wanted. They were never kind to me, not really accepting me into the family. If I had been there, he would have refused to hold my hand.

  * * *

  6 November

  This morning we went to Bright Hill Columbarium. Daddy placed Nai-Nai’s and Ye-Ye’s urns in the niche, together in life, together in death. Daddy was sombre. He clasped my hand, we shared the same thoughts; words were not necessary. William and Jamie sobbed uncontrollably, clinging on to Daddy and me. Cyril had arms long enough to embrace all of us. Mother had a headache and couldn’t come.