Arranged Love (14 page)

Wow! And I thought our project had tough deadlines!

‘Why waste time looking for love?’ Vikas remarked.

Kavita gave him another mean look, but Vikas ignored her and added, ‘Simply marry a girl your parents like. You will get more even options to choose from.’

‘And you can ensure that the girl is not qualified enough to ever
exceed your salary, but is educated enough to be able to handle the kids’ homework,’ Kavita replied cuttingly.

Vikas just continued to grin. I was beginning to get irritated by the arrogant, stupid smirk on his face. I couldn’t believe how the sweet nothings of love had been reduced to nothing sweet in Vikas and Kavita’s life. The bitterness in their marriage could put bitter gourd to shame and make a girl think twice before proposing to her love. Yet MD surprised me by siding with Vikas.

‘Looking for love is like a temporary employment,’ she said. ‘You can’t seek other options, there is no guarantee of becoming permanent, and the other party can end the contract any time and hire your best friend instead.’

I knew where MD was coming from. If my college-time boyfriend of two years had ditched me and hooked up with my best friend, I too, would end up hating love. I mean, for a little while perhaps. But you don’t stop drinking because of a bad hangover. You just make sure you get better liquor the next time.

I was about to tell MD that you don’t give up on good things in life because of a single bad experience, when she said, pointing explicitly at Kammo, ‘If a good-looking girl, from a good college like LSR wants to marry an analyst in McKinsey, how does she meet him? Arranged marriage is the only way.’

Kammo was nonplussed. She knew that Deep had received an arranged marriage proposal for me and she was not too eager to encourage arranged marriages, definitely not Deep’s, but MD had called her good-looking so she had to play along.

I, too, was confused. I had never viewed arranged marriages as social dating services that helped to bring together people who otherwise would not have met. I didn’t think arranged marriages did anything more useful than increasing India’s population. ‘Aren’t there any dating services in India?’ I wondered out aloud.

Kammo gave me a ‘you stupid FRI (Foreign Returned Indian)’
stare. ‘The girl ends up looking desperate if she goes on a random date in India.’ She spoke with the look of someone who had been there, done that.

‘Deep can help make your random dates more fruitful,’ I joked, and cast a knowing look at Deep who smiled back warmly.

Kammo was not too pleased to see Deep and me share private jokes, but I was having the time of my life. It was hugely satisfying to watch Kammo getting hammered. But, I wasn’t happy with MD’s negative opinion on love marriage. I had to convince MD to give love another chance.

Before I could say anything to convince MD to give love another chance, she started humming, ‘
Kya karoon hai, kuch kuch hota hai
,’ hinting at Deep and me, even though she knew there was nothing brewing between us. Okay, partly it was my fault as I hadn’t told anyone about Jay yet, but why was MD adding fuel to Kammo’s fire? I was beginning to wonder if MD disliked Kammo only due to her conceited attitude or did it have anything to do with Kammo’s recent shift to Sanjeev’s team?

‘Will you marry a rich, fat guy, if your parents found one?’ Kammo challenged MD, unable to control her anger. Sanjeev looked like he had been stabbed in his heart. The colour drained from his chubby cheeks.

‘I don’t mind fat,’ replied MD coolly, and the immediately the colour returned to Sanjeev’s face.

If it was up to Tanu di to do matchmaking, she would have declared Sanjeev and MD man and wife right now. I was happy to see a faint spark between Sanjeev and MD, but I couldn’t just let everyone bash love marriages. I seriously felt that matches in arranged marriages were based on hard facts rather than feelings.

‘An arranged marriage may give you more choices, but at the end of the day, you basically do “Inky Pinky Ponky” and randomly select a donkey. How else do you decide whether to marry the
person who loves to read fiction or non-fiction?’ I asked good-naturedly.

‘Choose the opposite of what you like. Opposites attract,’ opined Kavita.

‘I would say birds of a feather flock together,’ Vikas contradicted.

‘No two people can have the same taste in books or music,’ MD generalized.

‘Or lipstick flavour,’ said Deep naughtily, and added, ‘My personal favourite is strawberry.’

‘It’s raspberry,’ I corrected unconsciously.

‘Oh, sorry. Yeah, its raspberry,’ agreed Deep mischievously.

Everyone looked from me to Deep and back, puzzled how I knew Deep’s lipstick flavour preference.

I could almost feel my skin burn under Kammo’s intense glare. Before she could attack me, Sanjeev butted in.

‘I know arranged marriages are much simpler for boys,’ he said, ‘but I want someone who will marry me for me and not for my money or education. I don’t want to land up marrying a pear.’

Pear? What did Sanjeev mean by that? Everyone seemed confused. Madhuri looked uncomfortably at her heavy bottom and B cup-size top.

‘Pear as in
naashpati
,’ translated Sanjeev.

We were still not able to understand what he was trying to say.

‘
Arre bhai, naashpati matlab pati ka naash karne waali
,’ Sanjeev explained and everyone burst into hysterical laughter.

I was lazying outside in Sanjeev’s little private garden, a luxury for those of us who live in high-rise buildings. The sun seemed reluctant to wind up its art class and was colouring the sky in a left-over pinkish hue. I could tell from the clinking of the plates and beep of the microwave timer, coming from kitchen, that MD and Sanjeev were busy preparing dinner. Kavita was standing on the first floor balcony, talking on the phone with her mom. Vikas and Deep were watching
WWE inside and Kammo was trying to become the ultimate cool babe by giving them company. I closed my eyes and meditatively listened to the birds rest in their nests, and engage in after-dinner chirping. I wondered if they were tweeting about the reducing green cover in the NCR or the increased pollution in the Yamuna which was discouraging their migratory friends from visiting them. I must have been lulled to sleep by the relaxing sounds of nature, coz I was startled by the ringing of my phone.

‘Hello,’ I said, in a sleepy voice.

‘There is an unprecedented Buy 1, Get 1 offer on a dark brown Paris Hilton handbag. Should I get you one?’ It was Neha calling from a showroom in Milan.

‘As long as you let me keep the free one,’ I cracked up. I was so excited to hear her bubbly voice. She had been on a never-ending pre-engagement shopping tour for the last three weeks.

‘I wish you were here, honey. These Italian boys are so touchy feely sexy.’

‘Is there a deal on them as well?’ I asked, and we both started giggling like we were back in the school courtyard, secretly ogling senior boys and passing remarks on them.

‘Um … actually, I need some help,’ she said seriously.

Surprised by her sudden change of mood, I asked if everything was okay.

‘I am having sex issues with my fiancé,’ she spoke in a hushed voice.

‘I thought you had already established that you were sex-patible,’ I said, worried. ‘Hope you are not breaking up?’

‘No, no. But I need your help.’

What possible help could I offer in this area? I thought to myself.

‘The problem is that he is an early morning guy and I am a late night gal. Can you ask your sex-pert boss about how to manage this timing mismatch?’

I told her I would connect her to Deep so she could directly seek his help. ‘Anything else?’ I asked.

‘Ya. Give him a kiss from my side,’ she said, back to her playful self, and hung up the phone.

Friends and their unique demands!

When Deep informed Dad that he was not ready for marriage yet, Dad had first joked about men being never ready to get tied down. When he realized that Deep was going ahead with further studies, he had suggested that we explore other suitors. We were sitting in the living room, Dad on the sofa and I on the cool marble floor below. It was Friday evening and Ma was busy buying cows and lambs from a one-hour yard sale on Farmville.

‘You need to be sure about your feelings for this American guy,’ Dad said, filling his palms with Parachute hair oil and vigorously rubbing it into my scalp. ‘Meet other guys. See if you still love him.’

Who would refuse a blanket flirting permission? Still, I warned him, ‘Dad, you know when I really like something or someone, it’s hard to get me to like anything else.’

He nodded and looked lovingly at me. ‘First we have to ascertain if you really like this Jay Guy as much as the powdered milk. Maybe he is just a mashed banana in your taste-building experience?’

I smiled at the analogy. I distinctly remembered watching a childhood video of my first year. Dad was trying to feed me mashed banana. I had proudly overturned the bowl on the floor, dipped my fingers into the mess and applied it all over my face and his like a face pack, but not a spoon had gone inside my mouth. Finally, Dad had given me Cerelac mixed with my favourite Parle-G biscuits which
I had happily devoured. This was Dad. I could be myself with him.

‘Dad, you really think one meeting with a stranger is enough?’ I asked earnestly, without any fear of being scorned.

‘You always know the sandal you want to buy within five minutes of stepping into a store,’ Dad replied.

‘Well, yeah. But I do spend the next half an hour browsing around before buying what I initially chose,’ I countered. ‘And these are sandals not husbands. I buy ten of these every year.’

‘All human behaviour is an attempt to remove doubt from our lives,’ Dad theorized. ‘That is precisely why I want you to meet other boys.’

I was still missing the point. Dad seemed to agree that you can’t make the decision of your life in a single meeting, and yet, he wanted me to go through the motions.

‘You shouldn’t have any regrets later,’ Dad explained further. ‘There are seven vows to eternal bonding but there is no seven-day return policy.’

It was weird comparing shoe shopping to a groom hunt, but I think I finally knew what Dad was saying.

‘So you want me to evaluate other prospects to make sure Jay is the right choice?’ I asked baffled, still not sure what Dad had to gain from this exercise.

Dad spread out his hands, his palms facing upwards in a ‘now you get it’ gesture.

‘There is also a slim chance that you might stumble upon a soulmate in the process,’ revealed Dad, his eyes gleaming with hope. ‘A glass slipper that fits you like you were Cinderella.’

I wasn’t a huge believer of matches made in heaven, but I needed to buy time till I got a job offer from the US or Jay visited India. I agreed to browse brawny bachelors in search for a sole-mate.

The day arrived when I was going to meet the first of the seven suitors that Dad had lined up for me. The idea was to spend a month
with each prospect to get to know him well before moving on to the next. Dad was following the same principle that is used to introduce new foods to a baby. I sat in front of my dressing table, wrapped in a soft, light pink dressing gown, listening to AIR FM radio. No matter what the occasion, I loved getting ready. I always found this time in front of the mirror, experimenting on my face with different colours and strokes, as creatively satisfying as painting on a canvas. I picked up an angled eye-shadow brush from my array of make-up brushes and dipped it in dark brown liquid eyeliner. Holding the skin of my upper eyelid taut, I was working on creating the bold dramatic eye effect, when Deep called. We had gotten into a routine of calling each other and hanging out together with the office gang, especially on weekends. However, I wasn’t expecting his call today for he knew that I had an arranged date. Surprised, I pressed the talk button with the hard tip of my extended nail and put him on loudspeaker.

‘Nervous?’ he asked.

‘No, just feeling weird,’ I replied.

‘This isn’t your cup of tea, then why taste it?’ he asked curiously.

‘For my dad, I guess.’

‘Will you marry this fellow if you like him?’

‘I doubt I will, but I hope he does like me.’

‘Rejection phobia, huh?’

‘Big time!’ I acceded. I was a self-proclaimed rejection guru, but only when I was not on the receiving end.

‘He surely will,’ said Deep with a conviction that scared me, ‘especially if you tell him you are good at smashing balls.’

‘Now, why does that sound sleazy?’ I jibed. I knew Deep was referring to the chance smash I had managed in the after-hours office volleyball match last evening. It was nice to banter with him. Deep had come a long way from being a monstrous picture on my laptop screen, from becoming a keep-you-on-your-toes boss, to the
guy who dumped me before I could, to the now PJ pal.

‘Because you have a dirty mind,’ he stated in a matter-of-fact manner.

‘Look who is talking! I thought you are the one who operates a sex-advice vending machine in office.’

I heard his raspy, chuckling laugh echo loudly on the speakerphone.

‘I am organizing a “KS for beginners” session next week at Vikas’s place in case you are interested.’

‘What? Really! Is that why you called?’ I asked, astonished.

‘No. I actually called to say sorry.’ His voice was suddenly soft and apologetic.

‘For?’ I asked while using a medium-sized flat brush to add colour to my cheekbones.

‘For accidentally touching your … er … your t-shirt,’ he stuttered.

I figured he was talking about when his hand had grazed over my chest while playing volleyball. I remembered being aware of his hand and feeling a momentary rush of excitement, but used to playing sports with boys, I hadn’t given it another thought. It was surprising that Deep had registered the incident and felt awkward about it. The only time a guy noticed such things was when his wife or girlfriend pointed it out and she was not the one being touched. I assumed he was just being a decent boss.

‘I haven’t been very decent myself, trying to kiss you in the car and then again in the bar,’ I replied sportingly. ‘I say we are even.’

‘I say we are not,’ snapped Deep immediately, his voice no longer wavering. ‘You tried to kiss me twice. Technically, I can have one more go at it.’

‘High hopes,’ I said lightly. ‘Did you forget about dumping me? I would say that neutralized my second attempt at kissing you.’

‘Whatever,’ said Deep indifferently, not interested in getting into
the ‘I didn’t dump you’ argument again.

‘Suhaani, are you ready?’ I heard Mom’s voice calling me from the kitchen.

‘I gotta go,’ I said, applying the last layer of make-up.

‘Do this suitor a favour. Don’t kiss him if you want to dismiss him,’ said Deep, laughing out loud at his own joke.

I didn’t like the way he was making fun of me. ‘Will call you later,’ I said hurriedly as I heard the doorbell ring.

‘Don’t bother,’ said Deep airily. ‘I am going out for a movie with Come-in-i. I will call you when I am free.’

Hearing him talk about Kamini irritated me further. ‘Who are you playing hard to get with? No one is coming to get you anyway,’ I riposted.

‘She is nice, you know.’ Deep continued.

‘She is a girl after all. The least she could be for an IITian is nice.’ I shot back calmly and disconnected.

I felt a shiver as the cool air from the AC caressed my skin through the slit in my gown, reminding me that I still had to get dressed. I could tell from the increase in the activity level and sounds coming from the living area that the guests had arrived. Mom had strictly instructed me to wear only traditional clothes. No bold colours, no noodle straps and definitely no halternecks. Sifting through the contents of my wardrobe, I found that there was only one dress meeting her criteria. It was not that I didn’t like non-bold colours. Rather, I loved wearing earthen, pastel shades in summer, but who wears sleeves in summer these days? I pulled out the pale green, cotton suit with three-fourth sleeves that I had bought three years ago from a Pragati Maidan expo. After much tugging, pulling and arm twisting, when I finally managed to fit in, I could barely breathe without my tyres noticeably breathing with me. I looked like I was wearing two swimming rings beneath my costume. These tyres were
a fashion disaster. I had to get rid of them, if not for any other reason, then for the sake of my dress sense, which I was very particular about. I knew everyone was waiting for me and I knew that Mom would be furious if I wore one of my choices, but I figured I needed to breathe to be able to survive or get married. This was all happening because of Jay. If only he would agree to come down and meet my parents, I could be spared this drama. And that hideous Kameenee. And how could Deep be so naive as to fall for her. I cursed them all as I somehow managed to wriggle out of the tight-wrap and changed into a comfortable noodle strap, yellow kurta with a blue churidar. I covered my exposed shoulders with a crinkled blue dupatta. Just to keep Mom happy, I also wore my dad’s grandmother’s gold jhumkis that Mom had taken out of the locker for the occasion.

My phone beeped. It was a message from Deep: ‘Best of luck. P.S. You look Very Nice in Indian dresses.’

A happy smile slowly replaced the frown on my face.

My phone beeped again.

Message from Dad: ‘Come down,
beta
. We are all waiting for you.’

I gave myself one last look in the mirror and sprinted down the corridor. I was only a few steps away, when I realized that ten pairs of eyes were keenly following my movement. I immediately slowed down and lowered my head, which was anyway being pulled downwards by the weight of stones tearing at my ears. Ignoring my mom’s disapproving glare, I readjusted the dupatta that had slid aside exposing my transparent bra-straps and started walking delicately.

I am going to skip the details of the girl serving a tray of tea to the prospective groom’s party, walking shakily like she had just learned to walk, her eyes lowered to make it convenient to check out the guy’s package, while the guy sneakily sizes her bust. You must have all experienced this scene either in the main role or a
side role. Frankly though, other than the gulab jamuns and samosas, nothing else is worth mentioning.

Next day, I was watching the previous night’s recording of KBC with my parents. It was a scorching hot Sunday afternoon. The air conditioner was running on full blast, but I could still feel the sweat on my palms. Looking debonair in a black bandhgala suit, Amitabh was discussing the everyday life of a peon’s daughter from a remote village in Madhya Pradesh, who was on the hot seat, when my phone burped.

Message from Deep: ‘I have decided not to go for an MBA.’

In today’s paper, I had read an article on how the average salary across top tier B-schools had dropped by 25 per cent, wiping out the record 20 per cent to 22 per cent salary gains students made last year.

‘Good choice, but I am not available now,’ I replied.

The very next instant, my phone started vibrating vehemently. My parents were a big fan of Big B, so all our mobile phones were kept in silent mode while they watched KBC. This was the only time Mom entrusted her farm with the Farmville cheats application to automatically plough, plant and harvest her crops.

‘Big boss calling,’ my phone’s screen read.

‘Are you planning to take part in that ridiculous reality show?’ Mom asked disdainfully, staring at my phone.

Mom really had a wild imagination. I must have inherited it from her. I shook my head, picked up the phone and went inside my room.

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘Congratulations,’ said Deep.

‘For?’

‘Your marriage.’

‘With whom?’

‘To the arranged suitor #2.’

‘Who told you?’

‘You just said you were unavailable, so I deduced that you have decided to marry the guy you were seeing yesterday.’

‘Are you jealous?’

‘Hell no, poor guy!’

‘I agree. Can you believe I was the fifty-first prospect he was evaluating in the last two years?’

‘Fifty-first! Are you sure he was not looking for a reliable, fully trained maid who can read his mind and receive his couriers?’

‘You mean like a soul-maid,’ I punned and we both cracked up.

‘So I take it that you told him that you guys were not “maid for each other”.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

Was there a sense of disappointment in Deep’s voice or did I just imagine it? ‘I didn’t but Dad did. The moment Mr Suitor #2 uttered that he was exploring opportunities abroad, I knew his game was over.’

‘Hmm. So technically you are still available then.’

‘Technically, yes. I am still waiting for my Mr Right to sweep me off my feet.’ I could have told Deep about Jay, but it was fun to flirt like a not-in-relationship-with-anyone single. At least, till you turned thirty, after which “wow, she is single” became “why is she still single” and you would rather pretend to be seeing someone than not.