Too late!

GEORGE THAKUR’s short story explores a sacrifice to tradition which binds, cheats and ultimately slowly destroys a life

It was Diwali. The Indian community was busy preparing to usher in the festival with its usual fanfare. For the first time in the history of Melbourne, Parliament House was to be lit with festival lights. Federation Square was already decked up to hold a two day-long entertainment programme for all, and Indian businesses were recording bumper sales of new clothes, candles and sweets.

Various associations had joined hands to host an exclusive dinner event, with prominent political figures as guests and of course, plenty of dance and music. The funds would go towards serving the community in general. At the dinner venue, officials checked invitation cards and ushers escorted guests to their seats. Dashing in his three-piece suit and tie, John stopped short as he spotted a senior couple approach. Bewildered, he looked at the couple again, then welcomed and escorted them to their seats. “I’m John Roberts,” he said in his throaty voice, addressing the man. “I don’t seem to have had the pleasure of meeting you earlier?”

“We have recently moved to Melbourne from Chicago,” came the answer in a voice that sounded frail and tired. “I’m Shiv Karkare,” he said, extended a hand, “And this is my wife, Neelam.”

“Welcome to this very beautiful part of the world,” said John, shaking hands and bowing a namaste to greet Mrs. Karkare. As they settled into their seats, a lady in silk sari glided to their table, and John turned to her with a smile. “Here’s my wife Kamini,” said John. “I’ll leave you in her capable hands for now.”

“Welcome,” said Kamini, covertly assessing Neelam and her still-apparent beauty. “So you are new to Melbourne, eh? From where have you arrived?”

“From Chicago,” Neelam answered, seemingly genuinely pleased to meet Kamini, as was Shiv.

“I don’t mean to pry,” said Kamini charmingly, “but why so far to Melbourne?”

“Because Manoj, our only child, lives and works in Melbourne,” explained Neelam. “Also, one fine day we discovered that we were not getting younger and that we would rather be with our son.” She laughed melodiously, instinctively reaching out to hold Kamini’s hands. “Where do you live?” was the next pertinent question and once they found out that they lived within a distance of five kilometres from each other, the inevitable exchange of residential and e-addresses, and phone numbers followed Kamini escorted the newcomers around, introducing them to like-minded members of the community. Back at their table, Kamini told Neelam about her children, and that both she and John had recently chosen retirement.

“I think we have found a fine couple to befriend in Melbourne,” whispered a visible elated Shiv to his wife during one of the more noisy performances. “Melbourne will make a lot of sense now!”

Late that night, John and Kamini Benz-ed

Shiv and Neelam home, since they hadn’t yet bought a car.

Neelam phoned the following day and had a long friendly chat with Kamini, while inviting them over for a home-cooked dinner. The Roberts arrived and as Shiv and John went out to view the manicured flora and fruit trees in the backyard of the Karkares’ new house, Neelam gave Kamini a conducted tour of the inside, making small talk. Dinner was a delightful affair, with both couples discovering that they absolutely loved each other’s company.

When the ladies were alone together, Kamini asked Neelam about herself.

“It’s a long story,” said Neelam, hesitating.

“I have all the time in the world”, answered Kamini.

“When I finished college at nineteen, I visited my grandmother in Delhi,” began Neelam. “Grandma asked me about life in Chicago, and I answered her truthfully. She suggested that I marry in India, as life in Chicago was not safe for a spinster. I disagreed, and explained that I wanted to do medicine and practice a few years before settling down in Chicago, and because I had already met someone I wanted to marry, India could never be my home. Is he Indian, she asked? I replied in the affirmative, but when I divulged his name which was an English one, she confiscated my passport. Soon she began to introduce me to her friends whose sons and daughters were all tall, healthy and married, with the exception of Shiv who was a mere 5.6 ft champion skater. Then Grandma insisted that Shiv was the man for me. I was trapped! My mother was already dead, Dad and my brother were in Chicago and no matter how much I explained or cried, or even uncharacteristically lost my temper, she put her foot down. I was left with no choice but to marry Shiv, so that I could return to Chicago, my home”.

“When we landed at O’Hare airport in Chicago, I saw him and the shock on his face as he saw the sindoor which adorned the parting in my hair. I tried desperately to contact him, but he was lost to me both spiritually and physically, and I could never locate him. America was rather conservative in the late ‘60s, and Shiv, with his Indian qualifications, failed to get a job. My father helped us open a clothing boutique, which was a big success.”

Just then Shiv and John joined them, and Neelam stopped her narrative.

“You’re a lucky man, John,” commented Shiv, watching Kamini blush. “Kamini is a true beauty, and so friendly. In my opinion, she is more suitable for Bollywood than Melbourne!”

“Well, I can say the same about Neelam as well, Shiv,” countered John, smiling.

After dinner Shiv and Neelam drove away, and Kamini shared Neelam’s story with John. “I am surprised that she shared the story of her life with me so soon,” she said in wonder. Contemplative John’s reaction was quite human, the story nearly brought him to tears.

Reciprocating the invitation, Shiv and Neelam found themselves at the Roberts’ residence within a few days. When they were alone, Neelam took Kamini’s hands in hers and asserted that she and Shiv cherished their friendship. “Allow me to complete the story of my life, Kamini,” said Neelam and continued. “I soon discovered that Shiv was seriously unhealthy. He was a diabetic and suffered breathlessness. His jaw had been fractured in a skating accident and he couldn’t fully open his mouth. I had not been informed of any of this before marrying him. But the worst was that he was the oldest of his siblings and 15 years my senior. Soon after, he suffered a heart attack, and began to lose hair.” Reliving the tragedy of her life made Neelam break down, and Kamini instinctively hugged her, nearly in tears at her plight.

“Did you take up this deception with your Grandma, Neelam?” asked Kamini when they had both calmed down. “It was deceit of the worst kind!”

“Grandma died shortly after we were married, and there was nothing an Indian woman could do but learn to love the man she was married to,” explained Neelam.

“Don’t some Indian traditions squeeze the life out of unassuming persons?”

After a pause, she said forcefully, “I would have willingly embraced all adversity if the man I had loved and married had been sick, even sicker than Shiv! But instead I was married to someone whom I did not love, did not want to marry, did not even know!”

After a while Neelam sighed, and said, “It’s so heartening to see you and John so much in love.”

“Yes, Neelam, John is a gem I do not honestly deserve. We are so devoted to each other, we never even argue or contradict each other. He is into sentimental Urdu poetry and sings beautiful ghazals; in fact I’ll ask him to sing to us this evening,” said Kamini. “He is so sensitive, many times I have noticed tears well up in his eyes when singing poignant ghazals. I know that he sings to someone other than me, but I have never embarrassed him by asking. The fact is that he is now mine, and cherishes our togetherness as much as I do. In our journey together, all that glitters has truly been gold to me. We both respect each other’s faith as well.”

Kamini continued, “Please feel free to talk to me about the man you were cheated of, Neelam, as it will lighten the burden that you, a good woman and a good wife, are destined to carry all your life.”

“Thank you, Kamini, but I have learned that it is futile to talk of irredeemable losses,” said Neelam resignedly. “But the one memory that I will never give up is of those glorious years I shared with him at St. Laurents..”

In that moment, Neelam realised in dismay that she had said exactly what she had never ever meant to reveal.

“St. Laurents?” exclaimed Kamini. “John also studied at St. Laurents, before moving to the New York Medical College.”

Kamini sat silent, thoughts racing through her mind. Finally she asked, “Did you and John know each other at St. Laurents?”

Neelam said nothing, but the look on her face answered Kamini’s question.

“Oh my God,” cried Kamini, “John was the love of your life, the one you were cheated of, you poor woman!”