Monsoon Memories (27 page)

Ma has booked rooms in the new hotel in Mirakatte for Vinod and his family to stay when they come for the engagement. They will be coming to us for breakfast before the ceremony and then we’ll all go together to the church.

The wedding is taking place in Bangalore. Vinod’s family has offered to organise the church and the hall for the reception and find caterers to do the food. Ma accepted gratefully as she doesn’t know Bangalore at all well. Of course, she plans to travel there a couple of times before the wedding to confirm everything is to her liking. Vinod and his family have refused dowry, which is one worry off her mind. But this has made her all the more determined to have a very grand wedding, long distance notwithstanding.

The plan is that I travel to the city two nights before the wedding with Da, so I am well rested and ready for the ceremony. Vinod’s family has promised to find a place for me and Da to stay. Madhu says this confirms what a wonderful, generous family they are. ‘No dowry and now all this help with the wedding as well. You are so lucky, Shirin. What other family would do this?’ Ma and the rest of the wedding party (that includes you and Deepak though I wish you were coming with me) will leave Taipur by hired coach the night before the wedding. I get butterflies in my stomach just thinking about it all.

Ma has insisted I wear a gown for the wedding instead of the traditional white sari. It is being made by the best dressmaker in Dommur; you know the one, ‘Outfits for all Occasions’ opposite the bus stop—run by the lady who learned to sew in Thailand. Ma took me there yesterday to choose the design. Between the dressmaker and her, they decided on something that will make me look thin. I know you’ll want to know how the gown looks so I’ll try to describe what I remember. It is the palest ivory white, with pearl beads hand-sewn around the neck, which is V-shaped. It has transparent lace sleeves and an extremely long train. I don’t remember much else. I was too busy sucking in my stomach while the dressmaker was doing the fitting and the measuring. I plan to go on a diet, lose the stomach by the time the wedding comes around.
My wedding!
I meant to start the diet last week, but what with Madhu cooking for the engagement, the smells... The fitting session went on forever. I was out of breath by the end of it all, and happily agreed when Ma suggested the Masala Dosa at the little hotel opposite. I will start the diet tomorrow.

Yesterday, when we returned home after selecting the gown, Ma summoned me into the dining room. I stepped back in surprise as the entire dining table was covered with gold; rows and rows of velvet jewellery boxes in all sorts of colours, open and displaying their twinkling treasures: earrings and necklaces, bangles, bracelets and rings.

‘Sit down, Shirin,’ Ma looked very grave. ‘This is the gold I have kept aside for you over the years.’

I nodded, awed.

‘The gold will be given to you at the wedding reception in full view of all the guests, just before the ceremony where you change into your sado. Vinod’s family have refused any dowry, which is magnanimous of them, but I want to make sure everyone knows that
your family
is not stingy, that we are giving
Vinod’s family
gold (and a lot of it too), in lieu of dowry.’ She allowed herself a small smile and added, ‘Your mother-in-law has already bought the sado, the sari you will be wearing for the reception. Aunt Winnie tells me it cost Rs 15000. That will show all the relatives what a well-to-do family you are marrying into!’

I’ve decided I will spend my last few weeks as an unmarried woman visiting all the places in Taipur that I love and committing them to memory, while I still belong here. After my marriage, I will be an outsider visiting only during holidays or feast days—like you.

This past week, I walked to the very end of the village, to the River Varuna, with its border of coconut trees which bow down gracefully as if to drink from its water. I watched the rows and rows of chappals left by devotees outside the Hindu temple and wondered if the homeless boys who sometimes steal our chickens ever steal them, and if they do, are they punished, and if so by whom? I watched the Hindus pray with heartfelt devotion to the God of the river, and emerge from the temple munching Prasad, red Kumkum smearing their foreheads. I looked at all these people, every one of them sure of where they were headed and what they wanted, and wished I had but one ounce of their certainty about my future.

I went to the beach. I walked up to Nemar, past the big field where the Aaatas are held, and took the bus from Nemar to Doohe. Do you remember how Madhu used to take us to the beach when we were little? We would play in the sand all day, our sustenance the little picnic comprising of bhajis, masala vadais and hot sweet tea in a thermos packed lovingly by Madhu.

I managed to squeeze into the extremely crowded bus (why are buses to Doohe always so crowded?) and held on for dear life as it jolted and shuddered through the many potholes in the barely tarred road. I got off at my stop, and breathed in the salty tang of sea. ‘Fresh mackerel, sardines, fat juicy prawns, crabs and squid. Come and buy, ma’am,’ the fisherwomen sitting in the shelter of thali bonda trees shouted after me. I walked past them towards the wide turquoise expanse, to the wall of haphazardly placed granite rocks that the people living by the sea in their little huts have built as protection from the floods that besiege them on stormy monsoon nights. I sat on one of the rocks, looked out to the ends of the earth, and, for the first time in ages, felt at peace.

Then I took the bus back home into chaos, the kind only a household preparing for the first marriage to grace its portals in twenty-three years can generate.

NOTES: Another hefty extract. Lots of exercise for this detective’s hand muscles. But it does provide an insight into the subject’s mind and provides proof to back up this detective’s hunch: Prem. Both Shirin and Mai are wary of him.
Find out more
.

Reena lay in bed, the letter beside her, and stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t really the white she’d always assumed it to be, but a very pale yellow. Plaster was peeling off in places, and there were a couple of cobwebs. No lizards like the ones in Taipur, busily skirting around the dark wooden beams looking for insects.

Shirin’s words written so long ago swirled around inside Reena’s head. Whatever happened to alienate Shirin from her family had happened after her marriage...

Reena had a sudden irrational urge to reach back in time and meet Shirin, warn her. Shirin had had a sense of foreboding about her marriage. She had felt uneasy. She had been proved right...

Update on breakthrough: The email Aunt Anita was waiting for (which this detective has deduced must be from Aunt Shirin) has not arrived as yet.
Watch this space
.

What now? Reena thought as she tucked her casebook under her pillow. She felt restless, anxious. The day had been such a roller-coaster. On the one hand, there had been the high of making friends; on the other, Murli’s words, which had shifted something in her head, made her question things she had taken for granted, raised doubts like cobras uncoiling, ready to strike. She wanted to do something. She wanted the email to arrive. She wanted desperately to see Aunt Shirin, to put a face to this girl, woman from the letters. Did she manage to love Vinod? Or did she end up loving someone else? Reena was fed up with only questions and no answers, fed up with waiting, fed up with being fobbed off because she was a ‘child’. She checked the clock on the wall. Not quite lunch time. She did not want to leave her room. She could hear Aunt Anita and her mum laughing as they watched a comedy show while they waited for her dad to finish his call. She stared bleary-eyed at the wall, and then her gaze slid, as if of its own volition, to the bedside table where the letters lay. Inviting. Beguiling. She picked up the fifth letter, the last. A thin one, unlike the others. She read it. Read it again. And, with trembling fingers, pulled out her casebook.

Extract from the last letter:

This detective’s hand is shaking as she writes this, hence the appalling handwriting. She does not want to record this, but a good detective does not hold anything back, even if the evidence is incriminating. So, here goes:

Anu, you must have heard by now. Do not panic. It’s not as bad as it sounds. I know it’s hard and your mind is not in it, but do please try and concentrate on your studies and exams. This is it. The finals. Your scores will determine whether you get the university you want. As hard as it is, do try and focus on your studies.

Deepak is fine. He’s recovering well. It was such a shock though. Ma was beside herself when she got the phone call. I have never seen her lose control like that and I hope I never will again. She went at once. He’s at Manipal and they are taking very good care of him. By the time you come, he should be right as rain. Except of course… ‘That is why the royal family insist on having an heir and a spare,’ he joked, after it sank in. You know how he is. Ma was tight-lipped, shaken. Her only son. No hope of carrying on the family name, the long line of Taipur Diazes. ‘I should never have agreed to let you have that motorbike,’ she kept repeating. ‘It’s okay, Ma, I’m all right,’ he said. ‘How will I ever get you married now?’ she asked, anguish colouring her voice. And the thought of his marriage reminded her of mine, looming on the horizon, just a few weeks away, and all the things that still needed to be done. ‘You and Madhu stay here with him; I have to go meet the priest, organise the banns,’ she said and was off.

NOTE: Does this mean what this detective thinks it means?

A commotion in the living room. Now what? She ignored it, went to the sink at the corner of her room. What did this have to do with Aunt Shirin? Was her dad involved? Was
she
? How? Murli’s words came to her: ‘Perhaps they are protecting you.’ Why had Aunt Anita given her this letter? Because it contained clues to the rift? Knowing Aunt Anita, it was quite possible she had forgotten it was there, just given Reena the whole lot, unthinking. Her head ached with the weight of the questions circulating inside it. What else would she discover before all this was over? How many more lies?

She splashed water on her face, glared at the girl in the mirror: dishevelled hair, bloodshot eyes, frown like thunder. A blink. And then: a girl in pigtails parroting, ‘Bring me home, please.’

Screeches from the living room. Curiosity won. How long could she hide in her room anyway? She would have to face them all sometime. Traitors. She opened her door and was greeted by the sight of Preeti holding Anita close to her, saying over and over, ‘I knew it. I told you, didn’t I?’ Tears ran down both their cheeks, but they were smiling.

‘Your Uncle Uttam called,’ Preeti announced, catching sight of her standing in the doorway to her bedroom. ‘He’s missed Aunt Anu. He’s coming here.’

My uncle? Is he really? Are any of you even related to me?
All those lectures her parents—
her parents?
—had given her about being honest, truthful at all times. And now…

Anita sniffed. ‘We still have a lot of talk about, many issues to resolve...’

‘But they love each other and don’t really want a divorce,’ Preeti finished for her.

‘I’m sorry to have to ask this, but why didn’t he call earlier?’ Her dad—
dad?
—was standing in the doorway to his bedroom, mobile phone in hand.

‘I was the one who said we should get a divorce. He didn’t want to have to beg. He was waiting for me to call.’ Aunt Anita’s voice was pregnant with joy.

‘But he couldn’t wait anymore and he decided to call anyway and tell her how much he loved her and to hell with his pride... I do love happy endings.’ Preeti rubbed her hands gleefully. ‘So, let’s celebrate. Reena, get dressed. We’re going out.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Oh, Rinu, why?’ Preeti flicked a quick glance in Aunt Anita’s direction. Aunt Anita was staring at the phone in her hands, foolish grin wide on her face, oblivious. ‘Are you okay, sweetie? You don’t look well.’ She walked up to Reena, put a hand on her forehead. ‘No fever.’

Reena melted, losing herself in her mother’s arms, her familiar comforting embrace.

‘Shh… Rinu, don’t cry. You’re not yourself today. What’s the matter?’

‘Headache,’ Reena sniffed.
Coward.

‘Here darling, I’ll tuck you into bed, get you a glass of warm milk and a crocin. You’ll feel better after you’ve had a rest.’

She gave in gratefully to her mother’s ministrations, the crocin making her drowsy, so she did not have to think, to give in to the thoughts crowding her head, demanding attention. She slept fitfully, on and off, blissful dreamless sleep, and woke in the late afternoon, mellow marigold rays dancing rose patterns on the milky walls, the smell of cooking: chicken sautéing in yogurt and spices, onions frying, basmati rice browning in ghee wafting in through the barely open door, with her mother’s voice clear in her head: her mother standing beside her in front of the mirror in Aunt Anita’s room, ‘Look at you. Our special miracle.’

A possible explanation for latest development based on last letter: doctors often get it wrong. This detective has reached the conclusion (based on solid evidence: her mother’s words) that she was a miracle baby, the one who confounded expectations, who arrived against all odds, who left the doctors speechless. This detective concludes that she is, therefore, destined for greatness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Mrs. Vaz

‘T
he Richardsons are moving. They’ve put their house up for sale. Three-hundred-thousand-pound asking price. Not bad, eh?’ Vinod said. ‘They bought theirs around the same time as us, didn’t they?’

‘They moved in at Christmas,’ Shirin called from the kitchen where she was washing the dishes, yellow gloves flecked with sudsy bubbles. She looked out the kitchen window over at the Richardsons’ garden where laundry in various shades of white flapped in late October wind, cherry trees devoid of blossom stark against a dull charcoal sky.