Meetings and Partings by Nidhi Srivastava Asthana

Madhu flatly refused to meet Shyam after having met Deepika Aunty. Imagine having her turn into Mummy! She could not bear the thought. How can a gut reaction be put into words and explained? Even Madhu’s parents couldn’t understand why she had refused to meet him. Since they couldn’t connect with her decision, they were deeply disappointed.

Sometimes it’s not just about dramatic happenings, but simply about how you think.

***

‘You understand na, Bhabhiji, what we are looking for?’ had said Deepika throwing a look at her backyard through the big window, yet not registering the image.

‘Yes’, had responded Komal calmly from Delhi. ‘It’s almost as if Deepika has sworn never to change the image of India that she carries in her mind’, Komal had told herself. ‘So, when are you flying in Deepika? Yes, yes we’ll speak with them and arrange a meeting. Is Shyam coming too? No!’

A final shrill ‘Achha Bhabhiji, namaste’, and Deepika had hung up.

Shyam not to be around? Strange! Well, not quite, considering Deepika and her ways. She seemed to be frozen in a time capsule. Unfortunately, it was a capsule of 30 years ago inspired by many preceding decades and even centuries. ‘Today an “arranged marriage” is not as passive a thing for the parties involved: for the prospective bride and groom. But what is the point of telling Deepika, who would use it to vindicate her stand that “the youth of today are losing their morals”?’ Komal had thought. A potential couple in question have begun to be viewed as the main parties involved, even in an arranged match, had mused Komal. ‘What a shift!’ she had exclaimed.

All Komal had seen of Deepika’s brother, before her own marriage to him, was a tiny passport-sized photograph: probably taken for an examination admit card. No, she hadn’t particularly cared for this Charlie Chaplin-moustache character; but all she could do was cry. The families had decided that it would suit everyone if Komal became a part of the Singh clan, and ‘her family had married the Singh parivar’.

The flow of thoughts is generally along related channels, and Komal’s thoughts had then dwelt upon her daughter’s wedding: 28 years after her own and arranged just as hers had been. But Rekha got to see more than Rahul’s snap before the final decision. True, some prior research about him was carried out by the joint efforts of the Singh clan. But Rekha did get to meet Rahul and talk to him. ‘By God’s grace my Rekha has been happy’, Komal had conceded, as she had got up to make a cup of tea for herself. Despite the young man having seen her, Rekha had been under no pressure to say yes. Which was also progressive, going by the values held by the family in the previous generation.

Rekha’s Badi Buaji, Komal’s other sister-in-law, had unintentionally been ‘seen’ by one of Tauji’s – her elder brother’s – friends with her head and legs uncovered as she happily waded into the waters of the shallow local pond and had a great time splashing around. Bade Baoji was livid with rage and had decided there and then to offer her hand in marriage to the friend (‘If he will accept the shameless one!’). The fact that he was unemployed did not deter Bade Baoji. Through family connections, the minor detail was taken care of. It also worked out because the scandalous happening was never mentioned to the boy’s conservative family: as they were automatically expected to be as shocked and revolted as the bride’s father and would have rejected her.

Ten years later, there was a tiny change; it could have had something to do with Deepika being a graduate and a doctor to boot: very rare in those days. Bade Baoji was no more. So Mataji, in consultation with Deepika’s brothers, had chosen for her even though it would mean heart-break for many of her admirers in her college. What was progressive about the whole thing was that Dr Girish was allowed to take her out for a movie. But a ‘mythological’ it had to be. And a family elder, along with all the children in the extended family, had to be present too. Thus they sat in Gayatri Talkies: Girish next to Chunnu, who sat beside Devi; then Rani and Munni; next to Munni sat the eldest Bhabhiji flanked by Deepika at the other extremity! Deepika had liked Dr Girish the moment she had set her eyes on him. No one thought it odd that two individuals who had seen hundreds of naked bodies – both male and female – during their studies and training were being forced into compulsory prudery in what they watched and where they sat. And both the medicos had simply gone along.  

What was it that Deepika had now wanted in a daughter-in-law? A girl of not more than 25. Yet the girl had to be a professional. An older girl would be ‘too set in her ways and not adaptable’. ‘Adaptable’? Didn’t she want traditional? So, adaptable to tradition as defined by Deepika: with her values of 30 years ago. In other words, someone willing to go into the Middle Ages.

‘Imagine going to America turning out to be this for some poor girl!’ Komal had smiled and then had a fit of sarcasm. ‘So that the girl can go out and add to the pots of money already in Deepika’s family of doctors? So that she can compete, qualification for qualification, in the daughters-in-law circuit in the circles Deepika moves in? So that she can meet Shyam’s specifications – so he does have a say, does he?’ A girl from a family who are not greedy; who would not use the alliance as a springboard to megabucks abroad. ‘Asceticism? Detachment in a girl of less than or equal to 25! A girl with deep roots in India and its traditions, so that she may have something to pass on to her children. And maybe even to Shyam – a borrowed identity surely?’ Her cup of tea and the fit of sarcasm over, Komal had dialled the number that Deepika had sent her.

‘Haan ji behenji, Deepika is arriving day after. We’ll come over in the evening. No Shyam is not coming… naturally, naturally. Well, let’s see. I know that it would be a good idea to let Madhu and Shyam meet. That could be worked out later.’ Komal had felt deeply uneasy about acting as the go-between.

A laconic (therefore costing less) newspaper matrimonial for Madhu would have read: ‘23, 5’4’, slim, clear complexion. A qualified doctor. From cultured family. Looking for suitable alliance with medico settled abroad or with a private practice in India.       ­­­

Obviously, Deepika did not get to use her zari saris often enough. Overdressed and wearing a lot of jewellery, she was ready to set out. Komal provided a sober counterfoil. Madhu’s mother was also suitably bedecked: it would not do to give an impression of poverty! Madhu was in a sari, but without overdoing things. ‘Deepika might feel surprised’, Komal had felt.

Chit-chat of this and that. Tea and snacks. Mineral water for Deepika.

‘What do you wear to college?’ The last word was said in a drawl, and the question had been put casually by Deepika to Madhu.

‘Salwar-kurtas. Oh, the white lab coat on top, of course’, answered Madhu.

 ‘We had to go in starched white saris,’ had reminiscenced Deepika about her days at St. Mary’s Medical College. ‘It’s such a pity. It’s almost as if the tradition of wearing the elegant sari is dying out’, she had continued.

‘Oh, so you do wear saris at home there?’ asked Madhu really interested.

‘No, no. I work 13 hours a day. Kitchen chores are piled up for the weekend. So, at home I go around in a t-shirt and slacks.’

‘So, keeping up all the inconvenient elegance becomes our lot?’ Madhu had thought. ‘Salwar kurtas are comfortable you know’, was all Madhu said.

Something in her tone had suggested impertinence to Deepika; she had not been sure.

‘Why did you choose a career in medicine?’ had been Deepika’s question post-tea.

‘To serve humanity’ would have pleased Deepika had occurred to Komal.

While Madhu’s matter of fact reply had been ‘Well, I just wrote the test, cleared it and thought why not?’

Not impressed, Deepika had persisted, ‘Why do you want to go abroad now?’

‘Isn’t it obvious,’ Madhu had thought to herself, ‘because life will be less of a struggle, better opportunities, more pay, advanced-studies if my husband will sponsor me, but only if the man is worth it.’ Out aloud, she had just mentioned a likely good sync with a doctor as a life partner.

‘People think there is a lot of money there’, Deepika had continued: too impatient to wait for a reply, as well as too eager to ward off gold diggers. ‘But it’s dog work, let me tell you. We have become like automatons. Also, there is the constant fear of legal suits, so practising medicine has lost its charm. In India there is opportunity of a different sort. So many in pain, so many who need care.’

‘Why did she leave all this opportunity and go away?’ had been Madhu’s obvious thought in her growing irritation. The message seemed to be: we all ran after money, but for you to say that you want material success is a sin. As an Indian girl you should find santosh in whatever you have. Madhu couldn’t help thinking that Deepika had wanted to treat India like one of those artificially-maintained ecosystems, where Indians should maintain their Indianness, not disturb anything and not change. So that people like Deepika who had flown, could come back and find refuge in familiar surroundings. ‘Is her son a bundle of contradictions like her?’ Madhu had wondered.

Deepika’s eyes had examined, searched and analysed every detail of the room they had been in. ‘Comfortable. The fridge is quite spacious from inside I suppose. Is that a microwave oven? No… it is an ordinary one. There is a lot of difference between what they are and how we are placed. What if they marry Madhu to Shyam just for the money? I must not divulge anything about our properties there. One does not want to put temptation unnecessarily in the way’, and a guilty smile signifying the return of her thoughts to the moment in the room had appeared on her face.

It’s almost as if Madhu had heard her brain ticking away! She had always been a perceptive girl that way.­­­

Within two days of her return to San Jose, Deepika had sent word for Madhu’s family: Shyam would be down to meet her.

There would be a parting before the meeting.

Nidhi Srivastava Asthana

Image: Arms bedecked with jewellery and painted with henna patterns.