Valentine strikes in India

“Diya, I am sorry.”

A SHORT STORY BY RANI JHALA

“Amar, you can’t do this!” Peter heard himself shouting

“Yes, I can. I am sorry, but I am out of here,” Amar snapped his baggage shut and grabbing it, turned towards the door.

Peter found himself blocking the exit. “For heaven’s sake Amar, the wedding is tonight. You should have said something earlier.”

Amar had the grace to look ashamed, but returning to his determined self, he said. “I never agreed to this”.

“You never disagreed either,” Peter cut in.

“Peter, you are my friend, stay out of it. You of all people know how I feel about Kaitlin, I can’t do this to her, to us”.

“And your bride? What about her?”

“My mother created the problem, she can sort it out,” Amar continued in a frustrated tone.

“Amar, it is too late. You have to go through with it. The ceremonies have already started, the marriage cannot stop now”.

Combing his hair through with his fingers, he replied, “I am sorry, I can’t do it”.

“Then go tell Diya yourself, you owe her that”.

But Amar was not going to risk any chance of being manipulated into the marriage. He knew he should have spoken up earlier, but it was better to end things now than later. He could not give Kaitlin up, nor was he going to face his mother and risk being forced again.

“I am sorry, mate. I have to do what I have to do. Do you want to fly back with me?

“No, this is my first trip to India. I’ll continue as planned. I came to find myself and I will continue on my search. I’ll see you back in Sydney”.

“Will you explain it to Diya for me?”

“I don’t know if I can. What do I say - I am sorry but my friend did not want to marry you?”

“No, just tell her I wanted to marry somebody else”.

“How does that make it any better?”

“It doesn’t. It just makes it less worse…” Amar returned.

Peter knew that the situation has become hopeless. Quietly he followed his friend to the car and waved him off. As he turned to walk back into the building, he saw her.

She stood at the top of the steps in a plain pink chiffon sari, a thin strand of pearls gracing her neck and her long black hair falling as a shimmering waterfall, past her waist. But she was not looking at the car speeding away down the driveway. She was looking at him. And her eyes told him everything. She had heard it all.

Diya looked at him and his heart bled a million drops. He saw pain, he saw hurt, he saw disgrace.

Slowly she moved a step back. “I better let them know that there is going to be no wedding”.

And then she smiled. A faint smile that did not wipe away the hurt in her eyes but it sure made it difficult for him to breathe. A second later she turned to walk back in.

“Will you marry me, Diya?” The words were out before he realised it himself.

She froze, with her back to him, she stood still. He stood still.

“Marry me,” he said again, softer this time, now convinced that he had indeed uttered them before.

“What?” she managed to whisper.

“I know enough about your culture to know the consequences of a groom leaving on the wedding day. I know what your family will face and what you will too. A marriage could stop all that”.

“You obviously don’t know enough about our culture to know, they would rather a daughter sat at home living the life of a spinster, than marry like this. They will say Amar left because of us. No one will approve of our marriage”.

“Do you approve?”

“I did not have a say about my marriage with Amar, I will not have a say about a marriage with you”.

“So you did not love Amar?”

“I did not know him,” was Diya’s simple reply.

“Yet you were going to risk a lifetime with a man you barely knew…”

“I thought Amar and I were taking the same risk. I was obviously wrong”. Again her reply was said in whisper.

“Amar is not a bad chap. It’s just that…”

“I know. I heard everything. I have always known that something was not right. He avoided our phone calls. He never wrote. He never came after the engagement ceremony. But his mother assured everyone that her son was marrying of his own free will. That he was not in love with another woman…”

And then she let out half a laugh. “Do you know that I thought he was gay. That is why I came here to ask him that. I could have fought for my marriage against another woman, but how would I have fought against a man?”

Peter noticed that the humour had not reached her eyes. The worry in them had not ceased either.

“I can face everyone, but my parents have invested their entire saving into this marriage. They have told the world, their daughter is moving to Australia, that she is marrying a perfect partner. How do they now tell the world, that the perfect partner, was never that? That nothing was perfect. Your friend should have spoken up earlier. He played Russian Roulette with all our lives”.

“Then marry me and stop the roll of the dice with us,” Peter stated again.

“I will find an escape, but what will you get out of this marriage? I thought you westerners married for love”.

“Most do, but like your arranged marriages some of us find our partners through dating services and matchmaking agencies. It is not that different to an arranged marriage”.

“Yes true, I have seen the television show where a man picks his partner from a group of girls in a matter of days. I guess you are right. We all have our destinies arranged in some way.”

“Then take that chance with me”.

“I should be grateful, but I can’t help feeling, it would not be fair to you. No! It would not be fair. Goodbye, Peter”.

This time Diya walked down the steps and towards the car park.

Peter stood until her car had driven off, and then turned to go and find Amar’s mother. And the moment he did, all hell broke loose. Anger, frustration, despair, shame and disappointment coloured the atmosphere. Peter could only think of Diya and her position. Her position would be much worse. And he just knew he had to be with her. Taking Amar’s brother with him he left for the bridal home.

As he had guessed the bridal home was in chaos too. Half were screaming, the other half, crying. Half blamed Amar, the other half, Diya. They said she was unlucky. That her stars must have been malevolently placed. He hoped that Diya was not hearing the hurtful words. He looked around but Diya was not amidst the crowd. He searched the crowd again and then impulsively looked up. There on the landing she stood, looking at him, her deep brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She was listening to everything. Detaching himself from Amar’s brother, he walked up the staircase and to her side.

“Let me help you…” he pleaded.

“I can’t. Can you not see them? They have had one shock already. If I tell them I am marrying you, it will come as a bigger blow”.

Peter could not understand the pain he felt. For heaven’s sake, he had only just met Diya. Then why was he hurting for her?

“If that is what you want, then so be it. I will be here for six months. I know this will sound an empty promise after what Amar has done, but I will be here for you, if you need me, ever, I will be here.”

Once again she gave him her magical smile. And he knew that for the moment that had to be enough.

“I was envying Amar his Valentine’s Day wedding. What a Valentine’s Day it’s turned out to be!” Peter let out.

As he turned to look at the crowd below, a hand touched his gently. A voice whispered, “I can’t marry you just yet, but will you be my Valentine?”

And Peter knew that time no longer mattered. He had found what he came for. He had found himself.

Dear Auntyji

Namaste Auntyji, how are you? I have a problem I was hoping you could help me with. I am a 24-year-old lawyer. I am in love with a 36-year-old man who has been divorced for three years. He has a five-year-old son who lives with his mother. I want to marry this man, but I think my parents will be horrified if they knew I wanted to marry this guy. My mother is already looking for prospective grooms from good families for me. I have loved Udit for 2 years now, and he loves me as much, but I don’t know how to tell my parents. Should I forget about Udit and do what my parents say? I really love Udit, however, I don’t want to upset my parents, and I know they will find a good boy for me. What should I do?

Auntyji says

Namaste, my dear confused girl. Yes, I can see that you are in a predicament here. On the one hand you have love, on the other, duty. Well, I don’t need to tell you that you have to decide whether to go with Udit or not. Marriages can fail, but parents and families are always there. Hmm, this is a challenging situation. Okay, here is the best solution for this scenario. Ask Udit to visit your parents and request them for your rishta. This way, the pressure is off you completely, and if Udit is a real mard, he should be able to do this. Once he meets your parents and lets them know of his intentions, your parents can then decide whether or not to give their blessings for your shaadi. They can then give their blessings, based on what they feel about Udit, or command you never to see him again, in which case you can go on to marry whomever they choose and you can live your life like in Kabhi. Incidentally, have you thought about what living with Udit will be like, with a ready-made child coming over on weekends, a potentially bitter and twisted churail of an ex wife and the age difference? Of course, none of these things should matter, but don’t discount them. This is your life we’re talking about, after all. Tell me how it all goes and don’t forget to invite me to your shaadi, I will be there singing and dancing with the baraatis like it’s no one’s business.

Dear Auntyji

I have recently started a new job where they serve us biscuits and tea and the kitchen is full of biscuits to eat at any time. The biscuits are lovely, like Tim Tams, Montes, Monte Carlos, Vo-vos and raspberry shortcakes. My problem is that I can’t seem to stop eating them. I eat two in the morning as soon as I get in to work, four at 10am, 2 at lunch, another three at 3pm and another one just before I go home. I have put on one kilo in one month