Mish' Fiction

Mrinal was barely managing to put up with the long, tiring rituals. He was ready to burst by the time his noisy baraat had reached Guptas’ house, taking forever to walk through a distance of half a kilometer! What had calmed him down was the sight of Antara walking on to the stage for jaymaal. The heavy dress, makeup and jewelry had overwhelmed her persona. She hardly looked like a person, more a showcase of everything that was draped on her. His own sherwani and the few ridiculous accessories that had been forced upon him started feeling very light. Hers were daunting. Still, unlike him, she looked calm and patient. He drew a deep breath and decided to follow her example. But he didn’t let the boys surrounding him to play the usual game of lifting him up and not letting the bride garland him easily. He dutifully bent his head the very first time and accepted the garland amidst a lot of hooting and leg-pulling from the guests about being joru-ka-gulaam.

The actual wedding rituals were to start only late at night. After jaymaal everyone sat down to eat. At the insistence of his cousins and sisters, Antara was brought in the dining hall to join them at the table. Getting to know her was hardly any excuse. They all knew her very well. But that was how everybody did it. So, that was how they wanted to do it too. Antara was still clad in her entire jaymaal ensemble. She was seated beside him. More leg-pulling started. He sat back silently, and she responded mostly with a shy smile and only occasionally protesting the jocular accusations like it was a childhood romance that they managed to keep under wraps all these years. “If that were the case,” she said gently, “I wouldn’t have left Auntie distressed all these years about his wedding.” That drew some appreciative nods and whistles. She had passed the test of wits.

But his patience was to be tested more. When the food came, she didn’t take anything. “Your dinner?” he asked in a whisper.

“I am fasting,” she mumbled almost without moving her lips and keeping her eyes on others on the table, not wanting to be caught in a chit-chat with him.

“What for?”

“Wedding…”

“But…”

She pressed his hand under the table, surprising him, and stopping him from questioning further. Then she removed it hastily. He didn’t realize what effect that brief physical contact had on her!

He found it difficult to eat anything after that. He was generally known to be a withdrawn, not-so-social kind of a person. So, people who were supposed to make sure he was fed well, did not insist as incessantly as they would with any other groom.

“When will you eat?” he sent her an SMS after the dinner was over and she was back in her room.

“In the morning. Please do not worry. I am used to fasting on several occasions. You didn’t eat well. Have something before the rituals start,” she replied.

When she came to the mandap later at night, he could see that she was tired and sleepy, but silent and forbearing as usual. He had been able to take a nap that afternoon, as well as after dinner. So, he wasn’t irritable on that count, at least. He watched partly in concern, and partly in amusement, as she fell asleep through the long mantra-chanting sessions of punditji. There was one moment in which she was fully awake though. When her hand was put in his for panigrahan. He could feel the slight trembling of her hand. Was it excitement? Or was it fear?

At last the rituals were over and they were led to Antara’s room together. Mrinal looked at his watch. It was five in the morning. A bunch of women and girls were following them. Mrinal was surprised that they still had the energy for lengthy, animated discussion over what the next set of rituals should be and exactly how should they be carried out. Antara was worried about how Mrinal would behave during the ritual of dwaar chhekai. She couldn’t imagine him happily arguing and bargaining with her cousins and friends who would demand exorbitant amount of money for letting them into the room. For the ritual of shoe-stealing, his cousins and friends had taken the lead in bantering and negotiations. His father had paid the money and he didn’t have to participate. But this one would be difficult.

The girls started off by asking for fifty thousand rupees. His reply surprised her, “I will not argue and wait silently until you name an amount that I can actually give right away.” He was prepared.

“We will have to ask for a chavanni then,” somebody tried to mock him.

“I had hoped you have better standards, but if that is what you want, I will graciously pay four-times more.”

It attracted some appreciative grunts. After a while they came down to ten thousand rupees. Mrinal took out fifteen thousand in cash and handed it over to them drawing absurd squeals of joy from them. They got sometime alone as the youngsters went off to take some rest and the women got busy preparing for the coming rituals.

He was annoyed that nobody seemed to be concerned about breaking Antara’s fast.

“Here,” he took out a packet of biscuits from the pocket of his kurta and offered it to her, “Eat this until they arrange for some breakfast.”

“Excuse me?” Antara who was wondering whether and what to talk to him about was startled.

“You are hungry since yesterday. I see no food in sight. Eat this.”

“Chachiji  or somebody else will tell me when I should break my fast.”

“I don’t see anyone concerned about that.”

“How can I break my fast with biscuits?”

“This is the best I could manage.”

“Mrinal ji…”

“You were sleeping through the lengthy explanation of wedding vows. So, let me remind you. You have just promised to obey me for the rest of your life. Now don’t break it so quickly.”

“What?” she looked at him puzzled. Was he angry that she was sleepy? But her concerns were laid to rest immediately. He was smiling. She smiled back and shook her head. “You are too much.”

He took her hand and pushed the packet of biscuit in it. “Eat before someone comes, please.”

“You didn’t eat last night either…”

“I had been eating all day yesterday.”

Just then they heard footsteps approaching. Antara grew nervous. Mrinal looked around and hissed, “Go to the bathroom. Eat there…”

“What?”

“Go!” he almost pushed her towards the bathroom.

“Arr… we have left him all alone like that… Where are the girls? Only good for taking money, eh? And where is Antara?”

“She is in the bathroom,” she heard him say. She looked at the packet of biscuit, then at her hand. The hand with which she had touched him last night to stop him from speaking more on her fast; the hand that had been put in his later in the night… She allowed herself a happy smile. And a hope… Of a life where someone would care… He already did. She didn’t need to eat. But she would keep her vow of obeying him, as he had demanded. She grinned as she thought of how he had said that; in such flat voice that she had believed him to be serious for a moment. She opened the packet and started nibbling at the first piece. As soon as she ate one, her suppressed hunger was awakened. She ended up finishing the entire packet. She threw the packet in the dustbin. She made to wash her hands, but stopped remembering that she had touched him with that. She wanted the feeling to linger on. She did not wash, just rubbed her hands together to get rid of crumbs. She checked her lips carefully in the mirror to remove the crumbs before coming out.

—

To be continued

“I am, I am sorry…” she sounded almost desperate and it made Mrinal wonder what was up with her, “Please don’t be mad… I will ask Chachiji. I am sure she will agree once she knows that you want it. You won’t have to ask…”

“Antara. I am not mad. Not at you, anyway. And being mad at anyone else isn’t going to do any good. So, relax.”

She did not say anything and took a deep breath. But her brows were still furrowed. Mrinal resisted the urge to run his fingers over her forehead to relax them and just motioned with his two fingers moving away.

“Huh?” she did not understand.

“Your eyebrows. They are so close together as if you are trying to concentrate on solving the world-hunger problem.”

She deliberately relaxed her eyes brows and a small smile appeared on her face.

“Do you have a mobile phone?” he asked.

She shook her head. She didn’t have one!

“Then I am not going to ask for anybody’s permission to gift you one; if that is okay with you. Is it?”

She hesitated for a bit; then nodded.

“Antara. I can feel that you are under a lot of pressure. I don’t know why. But you must know this. That you needn’t feel any of it because of me. I am not here to judge you. And anything we discuss is not reaching another ear; not through me. So, nobody else is going to judge you either. I am probably saying too much, too soon; and confusing you. But I only want to assure you that…” he stopped struggling with the right words to express himself. Then he decided to give up on political correctness and blurted, “That you don’t need to treat it like any other “arranged” marriage proposals that have or would have come your way. None of that judging, questioning and pointless mutual slandering… Nobody will do it to me. Nobody will do it to you. And if somebody is doing it to you, without my knowledge, and that is what is creating all this pressure on you, I hope that someday soon, you will be comfortable in discussing it with me.”

Antara stared at him wide-eyed. But when he looked directly at her, she averted her gaze.

“Did I make you more nervous?” he chuckled.

“No,” she looked up and smiled. “So you don’t like people much?”

“I love the mankind. It’s people I can’t stand.”

It was her turn to chuckle.

“And I love people who get the reference,” he added without realizing that he had indirectly said those magical words to her. She waited for a moment wondering if he realized that. He didn’t. So, she kept her blushing and smiling in check.

“Shall I ask Chachiji?”

“For?”

“For going out…”

“No. No Antara. You are as much an adult as I am… I can’t have you do what I won’t.”

“But you don’t want this either…”

“Yes,” he said somberly, “That means until the wedding, we will have to manage without meeting. Is that okay with you?”

Her cheeks grew crimson, when he said that. What was she supposed to say? If she said it was okay, she would sound too cold. If she said it wasn’t, she would sound too desperate. Why did he put her in such situations? He had just assured her that he wasn’t judging her. But lifelong training of trying to do what others think right, rather than the honest one, couldn’t be shed off just like that. “Whatever you think is right…” she smiled tentatively.

He sighed. She assumed that he was dissatisfied with her not expressing her opinion and putting the entire responsibility on him. He had told her very clearly that he wanted her to talk to him. But how could she just start doing that? Unless she got enough time with him…

But he had more surprise in store for her. “Antara. You were probably expecting that experience… of meeting… of getting to know each other… And I am sorry that I am being so adamant against doing it like this… But before we decide anything about it, you have to answer a question of mine completely honestly. Will you do that?”

What! How could she promise to answer honestly before knowing what the question was? This was their first meeting, for Christ’s sake. Given how considerate he had appeared otherwise during this conversation, she couldn’t assume that he was doing it deliberately.  He just didn’t realize how difficult his questions were for her, did he?

“Mrinal ji…”

“You must answer it honestly, and you won’t regret it.”

“Fine,” she decided to take the risk.

“Is saying ‘no’ to this relationship really an option for you, if you do find me disagreeable?”

Her bravery vanished into thin air on hearing the unexpected question. What kind of a question was that? Why was he asking that? And then she grew thoughtful and sad despite herself. She had always accepted her lot and had learned to be happy with it. Suddenly this man, in their very first meeting, was making her painfully aware of so many things that were wrong with her life. Her dependence, her complete lack of control over even the life-changing decisions… She should hate him… But at the same he was also giving her hope… Of a better future. She would play this game. It could be dangerous, but she would play it all the same. She would answer him honestly. Did she have an option of saying ‘no’?

“No. I don’t,” she said is a low, but firm voice.

“Would the answer be different, if it were somebody other than me?”

“I don’t know why you are asking these things, Mrinal ji. I am a simple girl and I don’t have freedom like you do… No. I would never have had that option once the elders had decided on a match for me. But why do you…”

“Remember what I said earlier, Antara. I am still not judging you. I will tell you why I asked that question. Because if you had that option, I would have made sure that we spend this time together so that you could make-up your mind. But if that option isn’t there anyway, if the wedding has to happen irrespective of what you discover about me, I don’t want to enslave myself, and you, to this way of doing things. I find it almost vulgar. I am an extremely private person, Antara.”

Antara’s misgivings went away and she genuinely felt for him seeing him struggle like this for her sake, “It’s all right, Mrinal ji. Please don’t worry because of me. Really…”

“I will make up for it. Whatever it takes. I promise.”

She smiled shyly.

“How will I give you the mobile phone?” he asked, “Can you come to your garden, or possibly outside your house at around six in the morning? The day after? By tomorrow I should have the phone as well as a number.”

“Like… sneaking out…” she looked incredulous.

“Just once…” he implored.

“If someone sees…” she thought hard and a solution struck her, “I was… thinking… that… my brother is coming in three days. Once he is here, I can send him to you. He will bring me the phone. He won’t talk about it. We can trust him.”

“Your brother?”

“Cousin actually. Chachaji’s son. He is pursuing engineering from IIT Delhi. Will be here for summer vacations and… the wedding…”

“Hmm… Okay…”

“But Mrinal ji…” she started asking tentatively, the stopped.

“Yeah? Tell me?”

“Don’t you… want to… know more about me? Before the wedding…” she completed her question with a lot of effort.

He smiled knowingly, “I know more about you than you can imagine.”

“How?”

“I will tell you someday,” his enigmatic smile continued and for the first time Antara noticed how charming his smile was, “But right now I must leave. I think jailor-approved meeting time is already up. I don’t want either of us to lose social currency.” He chuckled.

She was really disappointed and wanted to prolong her time with him and also wanted him to explain his mysterious claim of knowing her well. But what he had said jokingly was right. If the meeting went on any longer, it would become socially appropriate. So, she smiled slightly and nodded. She will have to wait until the wedding to see what was to become of her life! Whether the hopes would get fulfilled or crushed.

—

To be continued

“I had felt that there was something going on when you had intervened for her that evening. Mrs. Gupta is not very kind to her.”

“Nothing was going on, Papa.”

“In my defense, I did not tell anything to your mother. But what is the situation now? You don’t want this?”

“Papa. I am so confused…”

“Hmm…” Nishant Agarwal smiled at his son, “If it has come to being confused, from being certainly not interested, I guess I am going to let you go ahead with this.”

“But Papa. This is so sudden…”

“It will be fine. I respect it that you want to make your own decision, but I also think that you have started thinking so much that you will never make the decision. She is a fine girl. For once, I agree with your mother.”

—

It was all fixed between the families. Mrinal could not decide whether to be happy or to be anxious. He had seen a kindred soul in Antara having read her diary. But that was not enough. She didn’t know how he wanted to live his life. Would she be willing to share it? He was more hopeful when he had thought of her as a poor relative or house-help. But that wasn’t the case. How would Mr. Gupta’s niece like it that he wanted to live his life off his salary, and not use the family money? Since starting his job, he had never touched the money his father transferred to his account every month. His life wasn’t uncomfortable, but his wife wouldn’t exactly be able to afford buying jewelry every month.

Since summer vacations were going on, it was decided that the wedding would take place before his college opened; else getting long leave would be difficult for him. Guruji had anyway wanted them to get married within a month. So, there was no reason for delay.

Acting graciously, the families had decided to let the young couple spend some time with each other. Mrinal couldn’t believe that he was putting up with all this absurdity, when he was sent up to “see Antara’s room” amidst a lot of giggles and mock warnings to wait until marriage.

“This is ridiculous,” he mumbled as they entered her room; then looked at Antara wondering if he might have offended her. But she hadn’t heard him at all. She continued walking towards the window where two chairs were kept. He looked at her face; and the emotion he had felt, but not articulated, during their first meeting, came rushing back. The desire and passion. He wanted a particular lifestyle because he wanted happiness in life. But from now on, he could easily find his happiness if this woman standing before him would stop being anxious and smile freely. He would even embrace the family and money he had shunned all these years. He decided to let go of his anxieties. He would woo her, make her happy in whatever ways possible, and find happiness for himself that way. If he had stopped to think about it, he wouldn’t have believed that it was happening to him.

“Hello?” he said to draw her attention.

“Haan… Uh… I am so sorry. I…”

“Relax. Antara,” he said in such a soft voice that he himself didn’t think he possessed.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down, but he could see that her lips were still quivering.

Mrinal broke the silence again, because she seemed to be at a loss, “Shall we sit down?”

“Yes…. Of course… Please sit down,” that was another slip in etiquettes that she had not invited him to sit.

Mrinal did not comment on her nervousness again to avoid making her even more self-conscious. He went forward and took one of the chairs motioning her to sit on the other chair. She followed the suit.

Seeing her sitting there with downcast eyes, wringing her hands and barely able to contain shaking of her body, a thought entered his mind. He must confirm with her, and yet he must approach it delicately. He started with what he had already been meaning to ask her.

“Had somebody asked you for your consent about this… relationship?” he asked trying to sound as gentle as possible.

She looked up at him terrified. “Why…. Why are you asking this?”

He ignored her fear and continued in a conversational tone, “Because somebody must ask, Antara. I’m sorry that things happened in a way that… I couldn’t ask you earlier.”

She still looked confused, but less terrified, and replied tentatively, “I’m fine, Mrinal ji.”

“Are you sure? Because if there is any hesitation on your part, I should know now….”

“I wasn’t having any affairs, if that’s what you really wanted to ask about,” she said in a rare display of courage. She immediately bit her lips fearing that she might have said too much.

Mrinal was also taken by surprise at first; then he smiled. She had answered the question that had come to his mind after seeing her condition – what if she had somebody else in her life? It just wouldn’t do to force her into an “arranged” marriage then. “I wasn’t specifically asking about that, but it is good to know. Not because I care about you having a past. But because I would hate it if you were to get into this relationship unwillingly.”

She looked surprised at first; then a faint smile formed on her lips. Mrinal was satisfied. He sat back in his chair feeling relaxed. At least there wasn’t a complete reluctance on her side.

“Don’t you want to know anything about me? Anything you want to ask me?” he said.

“I… What should I… ask you? I know about you… Everyone does…”

“What could you possibly know about me?” he smiled patronizingly.

“That you are a physicist, have always been passionate about your studies, and you work as an assistant professor in Mumbai.”

“Those things tell you very little about a person.”

“Probably. But one can’t possibly know a person by asking questions either.”

“Fair enough…”

Just then there was knock on the door and a servant walked in with the tea trolley.

Antara prepared the tea and passed him a cup. After taking a sip, he reached out for sugar.

“You don’t take sugar in your tea, right?” she asked.

He gave an embarrassed grin as he dropped one spoonful of sugar in his cup.

“Why did you lie, then? You could have just taken one spoonful that day too….”

“If I had, then Auntie would have claimed that you should have known that everyone takes one spoonful of sugar.”

She bit her lips again, this time to suppress her smile that threatened to be too wide. He had done that to protect her!

“How much sugar do you take?” he asked trying to ignore how when she bit her lips, she seemed to be inviting him to do the same. To her lips! This easily aroused, raw, physical desire was totally alien to him until then; even though he was no novice as far as relationships with women were concerned.

“Two… Two spoonfuls…” she said. “I will take it,” she added as she saw him putting sugar in her cup.

“I can measure two spoonfuls of sugar,” he replied with a smile and handed her the cup after mixing the sugar well.

She looked more relaxed when she smiled this time. So, he ventured to propose an alternate arrangement for them to meet, “Honestly, I am extremely uncomfortable with us “meeting” in full public view. Would you like to go out sometime?”

Her smile disappeared and nervousness returned. “I… I am not sure Chachiji will allow.”

He frowned and replied after a pause. “And I am not exactly going to ask for somebody’s permission for two adults to go out.”

—

To be continued

The rational physicist in him recoiled and rebelled at the mayhem his house was in when he returned home. There was no way he was going to get an afternoon nap. Or a good night’s sleep for that matter. The entire household, and then some, were busy preparing for “Mata ka Jagrata”. Some particularly blessed Guruji was going to be present for the occasion which had made it more important than numerous such other functions happening throughout the year.

“I have a headache,” he informed his mother who shook her head in disappointment. When will her son find the right path? They should never have sent him away from home for his studies. But her husband had been adamant. She looked on sadly as he locked himself up in his room with his books, journals, laptop and the newly acquired Gupta Enterprises diary. Of course, she wasn’t aware of the last one being in his possession; or even of its existence.

—

Mrinal had his breakfast and lunch sent up to his room. But by the afternoon, he felt the need for some fresh air. As if the universe was conspiring to throw Anrata Arabesques in his way repeatedly, he saw his frantic mother being calmed down by her. “Relax Auntie. I have taken up the responsibility of prasad. It will be made right. And in time. Don’t worry about it…. Yes… Yes… Flowers are also in its way… Yes. Chachiji has told me that she will herself bring Guruji here…”

‘So much hypocrisy; such dishonesty; and such piety. How do these things go together in so many people? I hope God’s justice is what it is touted to be. Fair. But it becomes difficult to believe at times…’ he recalled from her diary and suddenly felt enraged. What did a girl, who had the ability to see through the frivolity, have to do with his mother’s pointless worries about prasad, flowers, and, worst of all, Guruji? But he quickly grew aware of the absurdity of his rage. What business did he have stealing her diary, and them presuming that he knew how her life should be run… Unless…

—

The elder of his two sisters, who was married and lived with her in-laws in the same city, was home for the jagrata with her entire clan including three children. The children were fascinated with their scientist mama and Mrinal also did not mind them. Children still offered him hope that adults never could. Both the sisters were younger to him. Younger one was yet to be married. When exactly had he stopped feeling tender towards them, he sometimes wondered. Probably precisely at the time when they were shedding their girlish persona and becoming more of the women of society, seamlessly absorbing all the politics, bickering, competition for dresses and jewelry and rich husbands that came with it. The elder one still managed to coax him at times. Today too, she had managed to make him wear a silk kurta and to draw a promise that he would be at the jagrata for at least a while.

“Minnie,” he decided to take advantage of the time he was spending in jagrata and ask her sister about Antara, “Who is that girl? The one who just came in with the laddoo wallah.”

“I see,” Mrinalini grinned, “You are asking about a girl. I will have to find out…”

“I am sorry, I asked…”

“No. No. Wait. You are asking about her? Antara?”

“Is that her name?” he feigned ignorance.

“Of course. Who in the family doesn’t know her? She is Gupta Uncle’s niece.”

“Niece!” Mrinal was taken aback. Why was she being treated like dirt by Mrs. Gupta? She didn’t look like a house-help, but he had expected her to be some distant, poor relative at best.

Mrinalini was called away by someone just then and Mrinal was thankful to have escaped further grilling and leg-pulling from his sister.  But knowing that Antara was Mr. Gupta’s niece had practically closed the chapter for him. She would expect to marry into an established business family, which his was. But he didn’t want to have anything to do with that life or lifestyle. He would have to figure out a way of giving her back the diary without being discovered as the thief. Soon after he slipped away from the function to get whatever little sleep he could behind the closed doors of his bedroom. He slept with the diary under his pillow, paranoid about it being discovered by someone.

—

In the morning, when he got up at his usual time, the commotion was less. The jagrata was over, but the Guruji was still around. Even though he had a slight headache because of two consecutive nights of bad sleep, he slipped out of the house for a jog. He didn’t want to be dragged into being blessed and preached by Guruji. He was prepared for the verbal onslaught from his mother about missing the golden opportunity of setting everything right in his life. But when he came back, that wasn’t what he met with.

Mohini Agarwal was in rather high spirits, grinning from ear to ear. She welcomed his son excitedly after his morning exercise. He, rightfully, grew suspicious.

“Everything all right, Mummy?”

“Yes. Yes. Everything will be all right with Guruji’s blessings…”

“I am not wearing a stone or a locket….”

“Don’t worry about all that. Everything will be good from now on. Why don’t you take your bath quickly? Breakfast will be ready shortly.”

He came to the breakfast table wearing a white kurta-paijama. Kurta’s pocket sheltered the diary, which he had still not found a way of returning and which he was terrified of leaving in his room. The servants in his house would dutifully stay away from touching any precious items like jewelry to prove their honesty. But beyond that they didn’t have much sense of respecting people’s privacy. And having done what he had done, stealing the diary of a young woman like that, he could hardly complain about anyone else trying to violate his privacy, he thought somewhat irritably.

“I showed your kundali to Guruji,” His mother informed him at the breakfast table, while his father shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“Okay,” he didn’t want to prompt her with a question like ‘why’. But that didn’t deter her.

“And he says that you should get married within a month. It is the best time.”

“Get married to whom?” he chuckled. “Did he find a girl too, who I would magically like?”

“He didn’t. You did.”

“Excuse me?”

“I spoke to Gupta ji and his wife too. And showed Antara’s kundali to Guruji as well.”

“What are you talking about, Mummy? Why would you show Antara’s kundali to Guruji and why are you telling me about it?”

“Why? Don’t you like her?”

“I… When did I say that?”

“So, you do like her?”

“When did I say that either?”

“Then you do like her.”

“Mummy. What has Minnie told you?”

“Enough that you must give me a very good reason to say ‘no’ to this proposal.”

“What is the guarantee that she will be happy with this?” he blurted out his real worry instead of continuing to evade as he should have done to have any chance of escaping his mother.

She grinned. “That is simple, right? We can ask her.”

“How would she know? She doesn’t know me at all,” Mrinal put up what he thought was a very potent fight. But his objection as swept aside with a laughter from his mother.

“Who doesn’t know anything about you in this mohalla? Everybody knows our professor sahib, beta. Don’t worry about that.”

“Fine. But I don’t know anything about her either.”

“Then ask me. And I assure you that she is your type. The best thing about her is that she fits in anywhere. She fits in here, in this society. And she will fit in with your professor-type friends too. She reads so much. Always has her head buried in a book, when not taking care of house or working on a painting.”

Mrinal cringed. His mother was talking about a girl fitting in like she was a piece of wall hanging that will fit in with the décor of his mother’s house as well as his own. But he didn’t know what to tell his mother just then. He finished the last mouthful of his breakfast and got up.

—

To be continued

“What the hell, Antara. Why is there no sugar in the tea?”

“Chachi ji, I have brought sugar separately. I wasn’t sure how much everyone would want…”

“What nonsense… You don’t know how much sugar…”

“Actually, she did the right thing, Auntie,” Mrinal interposed much to Mrs. Gupta’s annoyance, but she kept her feelings in check before her guest, which she wasn’t wont to doing before her niece. “I don’t take sugar in my tea,” he added, ignoring the surprised and amused glance from his father.

“Send some of the cookies we brought from Goa,” she practically barked at her niece as she added sugar in her tea. Antara went inside to carry out the instruction. But she didn’t come out with the cookies herself. A maid did. Mrinal was terribly disappointed.

He had been extremely reluctant to go to Guptas. But his father had insisted during their evening walk that he should also stop by their good neighbours. He was a grown up man now, and must learn to discharge his social duties. Apparently visiting neighbours in his father’s city also came under its ambit. A city he hadn’t spent much time in several years now. As he had sat there fully aware of every second that passed by and tried to ignore the sound of Mrs. Gupta’s constant chatter, which wasn’t letting his father or Mr. Gupta talk much, he had gotten something like a jolt on seeing this young woman come out with tea. She looked like a protagonist right out of the romance novels. Slim, fair, translucent skin carrying a healthy, pink glow, large eyes, clad in a simple, cream salwar kameez with a thin line of dupatta going around her neck, two gold ear-rings stretching her delicate earlobes and a thin gold bangle adorning each of her wrists. Mrinal didn’t think until then that any such thing as ethereal natural beauty existed. If the distress was missing in her countenance when she had entered, Mrs. Gupta’s rebuff had made up for it and she looked the proverbial damsel in distress as she withdrew from the room they were sitting in.

Who was she?

“So, you are settled in Mumbai, Beta?” Mr. Gupta’s question, which broke the monotone of Mrs. Gupta’s blabber, brought Mrinal out of his reverie.

“Uh… I like my job. So, I guess yes…” Even if he were to leave his job as an assistant professor in Mumbai, he was definitely not interested in coming back to Kolkata. Nothing moved in this sleepy city. Besides his parents and ancestors had created such deep roots here that everybody in this huge city was either a relative or a close acquaintance. The incessant social obligations it created was tiring for Mrinal. There would always be someone or the other visiting at home; there would always be a few social calls to be made; and there never was any conversation that excited him much. The same business issues, cricket and lame, superficial political discussions amongst men. The same jewelry, affairs, wedding and movies discussions amongst women. And it wasn’t like the close-knit community was happy together. Everyone always had some grouse or the other against someone or the other. The sides kept changing though. Two people who sounded like they would eat each other alive if it weren’t illegal were the best pals by the time Mrinal came to spend the next vacation with his parents.

“That’s good. That’s good. It is a city of opportunities. You can also help expand Agarwal Sahab’s . business in the city,” Mr. Gupta responded.

Mrinal just smiled trying not to appear condescending and bored. “He is a teacher by heart Gupta ji. He can’t be bothered with business and all,” his father, Nishant Agarwal, replied while throwing an affectionate smile at his son and patting his shoulder. Mrinal reciprocated his smile. His father was not a big talker, but his understanding was something Mrinal was thankful for. Otherwise charting a course away from the family business would not have been possible for him given the pressure and expectation from his entire extended family and his mother.

—

“Why don’t you tell us if there is a girl tucked away somewhere? Just how much time do you think you are going to take to get married? You are already thirty, beta. Good girls are not going to wait forever. In fact, they get married off earlier.”

“I know, Mummy…”

“If you know, then why aren’t you willing to meet the girls?”

“This is not how I can do things…”

“Then do it your way. Find a girl. So long as she is from our community, what problem can we have… It’s not like we will ask for a fat dowry or anything…”

“Right! That’s precisely how one goes about falling in love! Ask about community; and the dowry-giving capability of the parents…”

“No need to taunt me. I am thinking of your future only…”

“My future is in no grave danger because of my marital status, Mummy…”

“Leave him alone,” Mrinal’s father came to his rescue again.

“Leave him alone, indeed! So that he goes about his wayward ways. When he gets out of hands…”

“That’s enough, Mohini. Let him eat peacefully. Otherwise, he will leave this house sooner than he needs to…”

When his father got stern, his mother did usually shut up. It happened this time too, but not without a concluding grumble, “Men will never understand how much a mother worries or cares…”

“Thank you, Papa,” Mrinal said to his father later in the evening when they were alone.

“You are welcome, son. And while I don’t condone your mother’s pestering, I still share her dream. Of seeing you happily married. Don’t turn away from it just because you feel the need to be different from everyone. Everyone needs company. You are no exception.”

“I know, Papa. But I just can’t get into it this way…”

“That’s fine,” his father smiled at him, “Do it your way, in your time.”

—

But that night Mrinal Agarwal was restless. He tossed and turned in his bed for quite some time before falling asleep. This was unusual, because he was a quick sleeper. And he dreamed. Of an apsara from some TV serial he had watched in his childhood. Except that, he recalled on waking up, her face looked like Antara’s. What the hell! He looked at the clock. He hadn’t had a great sleep with all the dreaming. But he had woken up in time for a quick morning jog. He decided to go for it as it would help him clear his mind. He could always take an afternoon nap if the night’s sleep proved inadequate.

As he went round the park near Guptas’ house, despite himself, his steps traced the path of his yesterday’s reluctant social visit.  The main gate of the house was unlocked as was customary in the locality that prided itself in being safe. There was a large lawn and a garden on the way to the main house. Mrinal hesitated for a moment, but figured that an early morning tea-visit won’t be unwelcome in this society. And as an occasional visitor to the city, he would be especially welcome.

But he froze, when behind a wildly growing rose plant, he spotted her. There was a makeshift easel which she was striking a brush. The ease and boldness of her strokes emanated a confidence that wasn’t visible during their brief encounter yesterday. His train of thoughts were broken by the shrill voice of Mrs. Gupta, “Antara. Where the hell has that girl run off to? Filling up her drawing book again…”

“Coming Chachiji,” Antara hollered back, even her raised voice so much sweeter on ears than her Chachiji’s usual conversational one.

She left everything in a huff and ran off towards the house. She hadn’t noticed him, nor had anyone else. He did something about which he would be incredulous all his life. Where did he get that impulse from? He took long strides towards the easel and found that the boldness of her strokes had done justice to the half-done painting. He bent down and picked up some pieces folded art paper lying on the ground. More paintings. They could have benefitted from being painted on a proper canvas. But she obviously wasn’t getting any pampering or encouragement about them – “drawing book” as they were termed by Mrs. Gupta. Then he noticed a small faux-leather-bound diary, carrying the name of Gupta Enterprises, lying on beside the sheets.  Something she would have gotten from Mr. Gupta’s stationary, either stealthily, or owing to a moment of graciousness from him. Fully aware of how improper it was, he picked it up, and quickly flipped to the first hand-written page after ignoring the photographs of the deities and the last year’s calendar lying between the cover and that page. “Antara” stood out and still blended in the page filled with the pencil sketch of arabesque motifs. He shut the diary and, after looking around, slipped it into the pocket of his track suit. Then he quietly left the house.

—

To be continued