by Sudha Nair
Mira felt that the signs were ominous since the day began. The milk on the stove boiled over as she stood near it, deep in thought, while she was supposed to be watching it like a hawk. She burnt her favourite silk dupatta while ironing it. All the books from the loft crashed to the floor as she tried to retrieve the one she wanted. I am such a klutz, she thought to herself.
“What is wrong with you today?” her mother had asked, entering her room on hearing the ruckus. “Leave this pile alone and start getting dressed. Remember, appa’s friend’s son is coming to see you?”
Mira walked up to the living room where her father was sitting.
“Appa, I don’t want to get married right now,” she said.
Her father looked up from his newspaper, perched his reading glasses over his head, and peered at her humorously. “Why?”
“Oh, come on, appa. You know I want to do my Master’s.”
“So?”
“So…I don’t want to get married.”
“I don’t see what the two have to do with each other. He is not coming to marry you today!” he said, adding a chuckle at the end. He then continued in a gentler tone: “It’s just a custom. They wanted to see you and we said okay. Only if we start looking now will we find you a groom before you are too old to qualify for a decent match.” He then shooed her off. “Go talk to your mother and she’ll put some sense into your head,” and then retrieving his glasses he buried his face back into the newspaper.
Mira left his room in a huff and went over to her mother who was busy preparing samosas and sweets for the guests.
“Now what?” her mother asked, annoyed at finding her lurking around in the kitchen. She glanced at Mira over her shoulder and quickly turned her attention to the samosas sizzling in the pan of oil. “You’re twenty-three and act like a fifteen-year-old. When will you stop behaving like a teenager? Burning this, dropping that! At your age I was already married and pregnant with you. I thought a dentist degree would drill some maturity into you. Next you’ll do Master’s. But when will you grow up?”
“Oh, stop it, amma! I’m so tired of the both of you! Neither of you understand. You made me come all the way from Mangalore for this? My exams are starting in two weeks and I have to study. I’m not getting married so soon. That’s it!”
“Hmmm,” her mother said, letting out a big sigh. “I’ve laid out your saree on your bed. Do this for us, kannama. You know how stressed out appa is these days. All I’m asking is that you see the boy. No harm in it, is there? Stop looking so grumpy and go get dressed quickly. They’ll be here soon.”
Her mother’s guilt-inducing tactics always worked. Mira walked away with a harrumph and began draping the saree. The afternoon was too sultry to be wearing a saree but Mira had no choice in the matter. While applying kajal, Mira’s hand quivered, making a terrible black smudge across her cheek. “That’s the fourth sign,” Mira made a mental note.
Once she was done, tired of fidgeting around the house (and to ensure she didn’t end up damaging the saree), she went up to the terrace of her duplex, and sat on a plastic chair, hoping to catch an early glimpse of her suitor.
As the boy’s entourage rolled up in a white Scorpio, she stood on her toes and peered over the parapet. His family stepped out of the car and started making their way towards her house.
Shekhar got out last. She’d seen him at a wedding a long time ago, but he looked different now. He looked dashing in a crisp white traditional mundu, pistachio green shirt and aviator sunglasses. She blushed at her unabashed thoughts. She heard him instructing his driver as he backed up the car.
The next moment, quite unexpectedly, the mundu at his waist came off and Shekhar realised he was standing on the porch in nothing but his shirt and briefs. His mundu trailed off after the car and he rushed towards it, flailing his hands. The driver quickly realised what had happened and stopped. He retrieved the trapped mundu from the back door and returned it to a horrified Shekhar who grabbed it and covered himself immediately. It all happened so fast that nobody noticed, except Mira who went into a tizzy of laughter at the sight of Shekhar’s bare legs and black briefs.
Shekhar heard her and looked up before she had a chance to duck or hide her face. Embarrassed, Mira scurried into the house.
The families had a good laugh when they heard of what had happened to Shekhar’s white mundu, now crumpled and muddy. Soon everyone settled down in the living room and Mira’s mother called out to her to bring in the tea.
Mira walked in clutching a tray crammed with tea cups, almost tripping on her saree as she walked. Her face burned at the reprimanding look in her mother’s eyes. She placed the tray on the table and sat across Shekhar.
When they were left alone in the room “to talk,” she felt at a loss for words. He spoke first. Gazing at her pleasantly, he said, “Didn’t expect you’d be standing on the terrace.”
Mira felt her face going red. “Sorry about your mundu,” she blurted out. “It’s just that these ceremonies are so stressful, I thought it would be better if I saw you first.”
“Oh, I agree,” he said, laughing. “Even I’d have preferred a casual meeting, but it was difficult to convince everyone.” A twinge of embarrassment and mirth showed on his face when he continued, “Besides, you’d have missed the spectacle if I hadn’t come here dressed in such traditional attire.”
Mira snorted and then giggled. She couldn’t stop herself. He joined in the laughter too. A delightful, unconstrained laugh. More blood rushed to her cheeks.
His easy-going nature broke the ice and she relaxed for the first time since that morning. They talked about her plans for further studies. He was finishing up his Master’s in paediatrics and appreciated her thoughts about studying further. They continued to talk more about themselves, Mira feeling comfortable by the minute while talking to Shekhar. An hour went by, and it was time for him to leave. It was then that he admitted that he wasn’t exactly looking to settle down too soon either.
Her heart dipped so suddenly at those words that it felt strange. The most unexpected thought occurred to her: “Now I’m feeling low that he doesn’t want to get married?”
Shekhar and Mira ended their conversation without any direct allusion to getting married. After he and his family left, she felt a mix of confusion, thrill and coyness about their meeting. She hadn’t expected to feel that way at all. It finally dawned on her that she actually liked Shekhar. His witty sense of humour and his deep baritone voice.
Mira walked towards her room in a dreamlike state, deep in thoughts. She hoped that he had liked her too. She would wait if he liked her but would he…? She was so lost in her thoughts that she stubbed her toe against the doorsill and yelped in pain.
“Now what?” her mother asked.
“Nothing,” she said, smiling to herself for the first time that day. Her mother was right. When would she grow up?
