She put her
foot down. She would not get dressed for the exhibition! “numaaish” is what she
had called it. They had already seen her twice. The third time around the guy
himself wanted to come see her. The guy in question, my father just wanted to make sure that they had fixed him up with a nice girl,
while he was still at college; studying engineering (which was a fact the girl, who would be my mother, really liked). She was 20 already. She had two younger sisters;
and her family was not very well off. But these people, the guy’s side were
atleast willing to let her stay and cook vegetarian…
The practice
was unheard of in those days, in our community of ‘goThaaNa’ (from the
villages) Sindhis, for the guy to ‘see’ the girl before marriage. But he had
been a good boy all along, so his mother unwillingly let him go. Some of the family
members were driving with him from Faizabad to Benaras, when their Fiat met with an
accident. The car overturned, my grandfather was hurt a bit, but the rest were
ok. They went back home. My grandmother forbade them to even think of it
again, as she had been against this visit anyway. So, the marriage was fixed.
Six months later, on the ‘vedi’, as the bride sat with her face totally covered by the veil of
her pink sari (unfortunately we have never seen the photos; they’re most
probably with my younger paternal aunts:D ... yes, women are powerful in our
family), my father happened to see his bride's hands folded. He thought, ‘atleast she’s
fair’. Yes, we’re colour conscious too…
So, the newly weds, sort of begin to get along with each other, exchanging guarded letters, which my
mother feared might be accidentally read by the family, while he still had to
finish six months of college.
Also,
guarding her staunch vegetarianism was my grandfather, who also got exotic
fruits just for his ‘nanDhi koaar’ (the little bride) and protected her from
any sort of excesses that might happen in any Indian joint family.
My mother
reciprocated by 'zabardasti' (all the while, holding her veil and probably never speaking to him) serving him his early morning tea (after sleeping at one or two) lighting
up a fire on the coals, at four am; she often wondered why they still did that
while her own family cooked on gas. Anyway, she started suffering from
bronchitis and had only about three years with her loving father-in-law. He
passed away and Barkha was born soon after. The baby started talking very early
and became the darling of the family.
The business
was expanding and required travelling. The family shifted to Belghoria, where I
was supposed to come. The place had two wings; one was the residential quarters
and the other had the guest rooms, living rooms, the offices and finally the kitchen on the
top floor. It was becoming increasingly difficult for my mother to climb down from
her room in one wing and upstairs in the next wing to the kitchen, what with
her asthma and pregnancy.
The men (my
tauji and father) used to be very busy, but if and when they heard something,
they would solve the matter, whether you liked it or not! So, my father got a
covered bridge made from one wing to the other! Nah, although, she must have
been embarrassed at first, my mother was always very grateful, for it had made
life very easy for her. She used to mention it very happily.
Vivek was
born in Calcutta and my mother believed that her ‘baba’ my paternal grandfather had
come back.
We miss how
people make us feel. When talking about some other couples, my mother used to
always say, ‘your father never made me feel bad about not having studied much;
be it while introducing me to his friends; or otherwise’.
Na, ya, we
had our tough times, when I did my negative schooling, but I’m so glad I am my parents' daughter and have these
memories too.
