THE IMMIGRANT (12 page)

‘No,’ said Ananda, aiming for truth of intention rather than cold fact.

‘All these years and you never said anything.’

‘What was the point of talking when nothing was sure? She lives with her widowed mother whom she did not want to leave.’

So the mother died?’

‘Noooo.’

‘You managed to prevail upon her? I thought—or at least Sue thought—there might be a girl involved the way you suddenly went to India.’

Gary continued to marvel and speculate; all these years and the faithful lovers were going to be united, that was a tale in itself. Sue would be thrilled. Ananda was a little confused as to who Gary thought he was marrying, but he was not about to venture into explanatory quagmires. Instead he tried to persuade his friend to come for the wedding. He had been Gary’s best man, now Gary owed him one. It was about time he made a second trip to India.

By the third beer Ananda’s face grew flushed and he willingly supplied details. Their courtship, the long wait, and yes, that was the reason he could not be serious about any other girl, though he had tried. When he left India, it was with no strings attached, but seven years later, Gary, those very strings, still existed. Her feelings were unchanged, and her mother was now all for it. In India mothers were very hung up about their children’s marriages and it was clear the girl could not find an Indian that suited her. In different ways they had both considered other options.

As he talked he felt he was describing a person who could easily have been him. That the story differed in a few minor details was immaterial. This was a narrative that knit his life together and made sense of his Canadian experiences.

Later Gary insisted on coming home with him and announcing the good news to his parents, who in turn insisted on opening a bottle of champagne. Sue was called over, and again the whole story of the courtship was related, the long relationship, then the long engagement. In the Geller eyes, the existence of Nina explained many things. They only wished Ananda had mentioned her earlier; it would have saved many hours of useless speculation.

Ananda insisted they attend his marriage. They were like his family, and families came for weddings. If he didn’t take his baraat from Halifax, then where on earth would it come from?

That night Ananda went to bed with a light heart. His marriage now felt more real to him. The baraat was getting ready, the guests were excited. He would ask his sister to book the Gellers rooms in the Gymkhana. They could walk from their room to the reception. He imagined his uncle, with his fear of germs and disease, would want to stay in a five star hotel. Tomorrow morning he would phone his sister. He must move out of the basement, perhaps by November. No point spending money before he had to.

He knew the Gellers would like Nina. She was the perfect mix of East and West. Her devotion to her mother and her willingness to consider an arranged introduction proved her Indian values, while her tastes, reading, thoughts, manner of speech and lack of sexual inhibition all revealed Western influences. As a wife she would show the same qualities, bringing patience and understanding to any little problem that might crop up between them. He saw now that many of his difficulties with women in Canada had come from his anxiety to prove himself. Nina and he had the luxury of their whole lives in which to sort things out. He put his hand protectively around his organ and caressed it gently. Poor thing, it had had a hard time. At this sympathy the organ stiffened eagerly. Yes, a hard time, but now that trauma was going to end. A loving mistress was about to enter the picture.

Months passed, and finally it was Nina’s last day in college. A year ago she had walked these same corridors expecting Ananda’s imminent arrival; now she was going to marry him. On the 27th of December they had an appointment at the Canadian High Commission.

The groom and the foreign guests had arrived. The Sharma family came in stages; first the Goa bound children, ten days later the parents. Sue had been too nervous about exposing her kids to Indian germs to come, but the rest of the Gellers, along with Ananda, had flown in the night before. The Gellers were being put up at the Gymkhana courtesy Alka’s connections and Ananda’s money. Ananda assured them they were not allowed to pay; Indian tradition dictated that the utmost hospitality be shown to baraatis, if he could have afforded it, he would have bought their plane tickets. They respected tradition too much to argue.

Nina found this odd. Another tradition she had been brought up in said you did not take anything from anybody. Besides, traditionally it was the bride’s side that paid for baraatis, and that was just the sort of custom no enlightened woman had patience with.

Tonight they were all going to congregate at the club. Nina would be seeing Ananda for the first time in a year. Along with the Gellers, the Sharmas and the Alkas. Clearly it was an introduction to the bride dinner, and she felt nervous. She didn’t like being on display.

It turned out there was no cause for worry as everybody was determined to like everybody. There were enough new people meeting for the first time to keep questions and answers flowing. Ananda and Nina greeted one another shyly. During the past year their most intimate moments had centred around visions of their future which they had shared in letters.

Two days later, December 26th, the Arya Samaj Mandir in Mount Kailash Colony. It is eight in the morning and still misty. Guests clutch their shawls around them. Birds twitter in trees next to the temple compound. In the covered verandah a bridal couple are seated before a fire, flanked by their parents, opposite a pundit. The onlookers sit on white sheeted mattresses that surround the bride and groom. Nancy and Lara are wearing saris that Nina’s mother had long ago purchased for her daughter’s in-laws, Lenny and his father are wearing the silk kurta pyjamas she had bought during the Diwali discount sales from Khadi Gramodyog. This family, half Indian, half foreign, stand out and are explained again and again. As are the Gellers, also wearing Indian clothes. Friendship that comes from so far away is deeply admired.

The bride wears a deep rose Kanjeevaram sari woven with gold flowers. The bridegroom looks self-conscious in his silk dhoti-kurta. The pundit intones Sanskrit slokas, while the astrologer gives elaborate explanations in English. From time to time the family murmur among themselves that these explanations increase the beauty of the ceremony; obviously Ananda is keen to understand everything.

Mr Batra’s eyes are moist, her smile brave. Such a sincere boy, listening so intently, and such a beautiful girl, cheeks flushed, eyes luminous, face framed by the sari that covers her black glossy hair. Even Zenobia, sitting behind them, doesn’t look too bad. Now that Nina can no longer be her companion, maybe one day the poor woman will find someone.

One hour and the pheras are over. Nina and Ananda are married. Family and friends smile, nod and congratulate each other. Presents for the couple are piled onto their relatives. The breakfast that has been paid for by Nina’s provident fund will now be consumed. Idli, dosa, vada, puri-aaloo, chola-bhatura, chilla-chutney, dahi-parantha, fruit chaat, lassi, Assam tea, south Indian coffee; all the possible variations of a pan-Indian breakfast are theirs to feast on.

The registry of the marriage will take place at Alka’s home in the afternoon. Through the influence of Ramesh’s IAS contacts, the registrar with his register will come over to save them the trouble of going to Tees Hazari. Mr Batra is tearfully reminded of the days when she too had benefitted from the connections all important bureaucrats enjoyed.

Alka whispered to her that soon they were going to get a posting abroad, but it was taking time to finalise. A lot of people were envious of Ramesh and sought to obstruct his rise.

‘In what capacity?’ asked Mr Batra, jealous of IFS prerogatives. What was the use of the foreign service if postings were distributed so widely? Might as well scrap the whole thing.

‘As a consultant.’

‘For what?’

‘National security.’

‘National security?’

‘Yes. But please keep this to yourself. I am only telling you because now you are family.’

‘Where?’

‘London, maybe Washington. It’s all in the hands of the above.’

‘Nina will be very happy to have you near her. God willing Ramesh’s posting will take place soon.’

The reception took place that evening in the Rose Garden at the Gymkhana. Nina’s red silk temple sari had once belonged to Ananda’s mother. The motifs were exquisite, its embroidery of genuine gold thread. True, forty one years of lying folded in a trunk had given it minute cracks along the folds, but all heirlooms show a certain amount of wear and tear. Besides, declared Alka, there was no point in buying saris when you were going to live abroad.

So Nina stood stiffly next to Ananda, moving her hands carefully so that her jewellery did not catch the thread work, lifting her feet gently, so her heels did not rip the delicate, ancient fabric. Family and friends greeted, congratulations and gifts accepted, drinks drunk, food eaten, and at last the day was over. The bridal couple could leave for their honeymoon destination, the Oberoi Hotel.

In a car festooned with marigolds, they moved from the place money couldn’t buy, to a place screaming for every rupee you made. ‘Now he is yours to look after,’ said Alka as she left them in their hotel room. ‘He has given me enough trouble all these years, God knows.’

Her powerful presence lingered in the room. ‘Thank goodness we are free of Didi,’ murmured Ananda. Nina smiled and put her hand in his. He was her husband, of course she would look after him.

She started by worrying about expenses. She knew NRIs did stay in such hotels, but anxiety about money had been her companion since infancy, and it asserted itself on every possible occasion.

Ananda on the other hand was flush with dollar confidence. His ability to spend in India (unmatched by any such extravagance in Canada) had to be savoured fully.

‘When you work abroad, things look different.’

‘My friends and I have come here a few times for coffee, but that was all.’

‘Call them over now for a meal,’ said Ananda expansively.

‘I don’t want to share you,’ murmured the wife.

‘You can invite whomever you like,’ he persisted, ‘A few patients, and it’s all taken care of.’

The bridal night. Now that the moment was close, Nina felt shy. Ananda closed the door and grabbed her. His hands leapt all over, under her blouse, her petticoats; they forced her on the bed to enable an even speedier exploration of her body. Startled, she tried to slow him down, but in five minutes he had come, five minutes and he had not even entered her. The rest was done with his hands, but that was stuff she could have done on her own.

Ananda disappeared into the bathroom. Nina had imagined a very different consummation. As she lay in bed she tried to transform reality into a scenario that would not confuse or upset her. Togetherness was the important thing. To be critical of how it was achieved was against the spirit of marriage.

Involuntarily comparisons arose. Rahul, with his obsessive talk of sex, endlessly curious about what she felt in what position, this technique versus that. So much so that at times she felt objectified. At his desire to penetrate from behind she had been outraged, what did he think she was? His little virgin, he replied, who needed to be educated so they could feel as much pleasure as possible. That was what love was all about.

Later she giggled, and you call me a virgin.

You still have vestiges, I have to be very careful to remove them all.

Virginal or not, what she had felt with Rahul was alive.

Back in bed, Ananda gathered her in his arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, ‘sorry it was over so fast. It’s been a long time.’

‘That’s alright,’ she said lightly.

He stroked her hair. ‘You are worth waiting my whole life for.’

Her own grip around his body tightened. Thus clinging to each other, exhausted by the day and by each other they fell asleep.

She woke to his caress.

‘Darling,’ he whispered.

They were going to try again.

As he whipped off his pyjamas, she caught a faint hospital-like smell. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, momentarily distracted from anticipation of what was to come.

‘What?’

‘That smell.’

‘I don’t smell anything.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yup.’

‘Maybe it’s the hotel cleaning stuff.’

He closed her mouth with a kiss.

She kissed him back and slid her arms around his long slender waist. If he didn’t smell anything, it must be her imagination.

This time he did make it inside her.

For less than a minute, but the marriage had been consummated. They both felt the importance of this.

‘I love you,’ he said.

‘Me too,’ she replied.

With this established he jumped out of bed, looking handsome and boyish, thought his wife. ‘Come, let’s go to the pool. It’s such a beautiful day.’

‘It’s
December
.’

‘So?’

‘Too cold.’

‘Look at all those people next to it.’

‘Foreigners. Crazy.’

‘Not at all. Besides I am a foreigner too, and I want to go swimming.’

‘I don’t have a swimsuit.’

‘Can’t you swim?’

‘I can, but there was never any place to go.’

‘Well, now there is.’

‘But no swimsuit.’

‘Let’s buy one. I noticed a women’s wear shop in the lobby.’

‘It will be frightfully expensive.’

‘In dollars?’

‘I don’t think in dollars.’

‘One patient will take care of this swimsuit, now come.’

So Nina ended up spending thirty dollars on an item she was sure she could have gotten for a hundred rupees in one of the Connaught Place shops. Daringly she fell in with Ananda’s notions of money spending. She was on her honeymoon, this was not the time or place to indulge a lifetime’s practice of market research.

A few hours later in the cool bright sun, she darted about in the pool, long hair streaming behind her, free and easy, swimming around her husband, touching him as he was touching her. She held the marble ledge, leaned back into the sun warmed water and closed her eyes. It was hard to imagine she was in the same Delhi she had lived in all these years. Ananda stroked her between her thighs, she in turn brushed repeatedly against the front of his swimsuit; he twisted his legs around her, she escaped, he chased. And so it went on, easier than the night.