“And what will happen to our book-worm Piyali?” Mohima spoke through her incessant laughter.

The women of the neighborhood were gathered in the Banerjee household that winter afternoon. The subject of conversation had turned inevitably to marriages and some of them were insistent that it was increasingly essential for the youngsters to find their own spouses. They could not be expected to depend on their parents any longer. Sighting 10-year old Piyali sitting in a corner, as usual engrossed in a book and least interested in either the women’s gossip or the children’s games going on in the verandah, Mohima had teased her.

“Kaki?” Piyali had looked at her quizzically. She hadn’t heard anything other than her own name.

Her mother Debangi understood, so she explained, grinning, “Mohima Di is asking what will happen to you. You cannot even bear to talk to anyone and have your nose in a book all the time. How will you find yourself a husband?”

Knowing her as a shy, reserved child the women had not expected a comeback from her. But she replied even as she turned her eyes back to her book, “I know who I am going to marry.”

“Really? Who?” Mohima asked her, while Debangi tittered.

“Mukundo Babu.”

The entire gathering burst out laughing.

“Oh my God! Mukundo!” Mohima called her son who was sitting in the adjoining room with his and Piyali’s father, “Come here.”

“What happened?” Mukundo appeared in the doorway and Piyali flushed, although nobody noticed because her face was practically buried in her book.

“It’s time to dump your girlfriend if you have one, my son!”

“Excuse me?”

“Piyali here has declared that she is going to marry you.”

“Really?” Mukundo grinned and joined in their amused chuckles. Twenty-year old Mukundo was one year away from finishing his undergraduate studies at Stanford and intended to continue in a Ph. D. program there.  “I must be prepared then. Thanks for informing, Ma!” he added.

Piyali ran away from there and would not stop even though Mukundo called after her.

She was angry with herself. She should never have revealed it in front of the grownups. They didn’t know their own minds. On the one hand, they could not stop praising her for her maturity beyond her age. On the other hand, they would never take her seriously. And now even Mukundo Babu was laughing at her. Was she doomed?

—

The cabin crew’s announcement that the plane was preparing for landing brought Piyali out of her reverie and she chuckled at the recollection. How seriously do children take themselves! Her childhood friendship with Mukundo had faded away as she grew up. He, anyway, came home only once a year. Their conversations had grown limited to how-are-you-i-am-fine exchange of pleasantries. The last time she had seen him, about four years ago, he was sporting long hair, in a ponytail, and a rather saggy beard. She had been horrified to see him. But they no longer shared the frank rapport under whose cover she could have criticized his looks. Since then he hadn’t been to Kolkata. His India trips were to Mumbai, where he had his research collaborators, and his parents would travel there to meet him.

Now as she was heading towards Stanford, and Mukundo – an assistant professor at the university now – was to meet her at the airport, she wondered if he would still be sporting that ghastly look.

He came up to her as she was waiting for her luggage.

“Piyali! How are you?” he spoke to her in Bengali.

She was in for a pleasant surprise. His hair was cut decently and he was clean-shaven. Mature by a few years, he looked handsomer than ever. She blushed despite herself.

“I’m fine,” she replied, “Thanks for coming.”

He grinned, “Are we into these formalities now? Oh – is that your suitcase?”

“It is,” she turned towards the baggage belt. “How did you know?” she asked as he pulled the suitcase off the belt.

“Kaku had sent your photo and photos of your bags.”

“He had? Oh God!” she whacked her forehead in embarrassment.

“It’s okay. Parents can be like that. There! The other suitcase, right?”

“Yes,” she smiled sheepishly.

He pushed her trolley towards a coffee shop, where they met with a woman who had ordered coffee for all of them already.

“This is Aporna. My girlfriend and your roommate for a while. She has a spare room in her apartment for a few months. So, I thought you could put up with her and then find a place suitable for yourself.” He switched to English now.

“That’s great. Thanks, Mukundo Babu. Thank you, Aporna di.”

“Di?” Aporna laughed, “How sweet! But just call me Aporna. Okay?” Her accent revealed that she was either a US-born Indian or had spent most of her life there.

Piyali nodded, smiling but slightly flushed.

“Are you still as shy as you used to be as a child?” Mukundo asked abruptly.

Piyali looked baffled and Aporna chuckled.

“What an odd question, Mukundo. You could have waited to find that out.”

“Well, it is important to know. American society is not well suited for shy and introvert people. She will need help in adjusting.”

“Well then. Stop bullying her. She will do fine. Don’t let his sweeping notions unsettle you, Piyali. You are studying Computer Science, not business management. You will do fine.”

“Aporna will be fine mentor for you,” Mukundo smiled fondly.

“I’m sure,” Piyali replied, “Thank you!”

—

“What could you be doing with this fat Psychology book?” The low voice startled Piyali. She looked up from her chair and sighed in relief on spotting Mukundo. “How easily you get scared!” he grinned and took a chair opposite her.

She smiled and replied to his original question, keeping her voice low as they were in the library, “I have been fond of Psychology. I am auditing a few classes. Things are so flexible and open here.”

“Good. Try one of my classes.”

“So that you can tease the hell out of me? No!”

Mukundo chuckled, “That’s not all I do. Come on!”

“No,” she grew serious, “You help me a lot. But I was joking.”

“I know. Anyway, you are coming for the dinner tonight?”

“I think you and Aporna should go. You don’t need a third wheel all the time.”

“Oh, I have Madam’s permission. Don’t worry. She seems rather fond of you.”

“Another spoiled Indian brat who can’t cook and clean for her life?”

“She told you that?” Mukundo’s grin returned.

“Yes. And she also confirmed that you used to be like that. But you are better now.”

“Yes,” he smiled, “I am better now. She has been patient with me. Anyway. You be ready in time for dinner.”

But Aporna got busy that evening. Both she and Mukundo insisted that Piyali go out with Mukundo.

“What do you want to eat?” Mukundo asked her.

“Anything.”

“I don’t know where to find that. Hey you want some maachh?”

“You plan to cook now?”

“No. No. There is this small place… Aporna can’t stand so much spice, so we don’t end up going there.”

“I can put up with spice and I wouldn’t have imaged back in Kolkata that someday I could crave for maachh so much.”

“I know!” he replied wistfully and turned right at the next signal.

Their Kolkata evening was complete as Piyali played her Rabindra Sangeet collection when they came back home and waited for Aporna.

“I am so glad you are here, Piyali,” he said all of a sudden while she was changing the CD.

For reasons she couldn’t have articulated, Piyali felt a shiver run down her spine. Outwardly she put up a smile.

“It’s Kolkata. You remind me of home. Home that was. How nice it is to be able to speak your language and know that you will be understood. I’m sorry I lost touch with you. And with Kolkata. You will be going back for holidays, right? I will also come with you.”

“Everyone there will be so happy to see you, Mukundo Babu. And I am sure Kaku and Kaki will appreciate not having to travel to Mumbai.”

Aporna came back a while later looking tired and sleepy. Piyali averted her eyes as Mukundo planted a quick kiss on his girlfriend’s lips. She continued playing her CDs after the lovers had locked themselves up in Aporna’s room.

—

To be continued