“Yes, I know that,” I reply quickly. Everyone knows. I wonder what is it that Raag is trying to say.
“But you don’t know that sometimes my mother still faces backlash because of that,” he says, and his voice has an inexplicable heaviness in it.
“Oh…I am…” I fumble for words.
“Maa doesn’t care.” Raag saves me from answering. “She did what she thought was right. She doesn’t regret any of it.”
“She is a tough one!” I announce.
The statement comes out naturally. My mother always talks about Auntie Preeto’s courage, as she raised her son all by herself after Uncle Jitu died. If there is one thing pretty much everyone in the social community knows, it is the fact that she is a tough woman. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to raise a child with no help from family, specifically, being a single mother.
“That she is!” Raag agrees, and I sense a pang of pride in his tone. Of course, one must be proud to have a mother like Auntie Preeto. Raag continues, “Your parents are very generous to consider my family for this possible nuptial. And we are grateful for it. But I would like to let you know that you might have to deal with a little bit of social stress if you be a part of my family. I wouldn’t want you to get into something without fully understanding the seriousness of it.”
Well, it is established that he is a simple man. No deep, dark secrets.
I take a sip of my tea, and it is refreshing. “Can you tell me your parents’ love story?”
After a thoughtful pause, he asks, “Did you even hear what I just said?”
I let out a burst of laughter. “Yes, I did. And it’s not a big deal.”
“Why is that so?”
“It’s a matter of love. Your parents fell in love! They did what people do when they are in love. I don’t think anyone should be judging their choices.”
I pause for a sip of my tea yet again then say, “The world is too big, and we have a very little time to find that equally imperfect penguin made just right for us, the one who perfects all your imperfections and makes you complete. So, by some miracle, if we are lucky enough to find one, we should simply get on a sled and slide away with it.”
“Wow, that is something!” He sounds impressed.
“It’s the tea. Ginger, cardamom, and lots of milk!” Just as I announce this, his chuckles follow. Aww, I am going to swoon. His chuckles have awakened those tiny butterflies in my stomach.
“Mayuri, have you ever felt that maybe you have found yours?”
“My what?” I am confused.
“The penguin!”
I pause, staring at the vines, observing the glimmer of the slowly rising sun over them, and wonder, have I? “I…I don’t know,” I stutter. Liar. Maybe my penguin is peeking through the clouds.
“Huh…”
“It would have been nice to have a chance at finding my penguin, though.” My voice is oddly thoughtful.
“You do have that chance, Mayuri. Every human being deserves a chance to find that one equally imperfect partner, penguin in your term.”
“Really?”
“Of course!” Raag reassures. “It is surprising that a girl who has such philosophical thoughts on love is getting ready for an arranged marriage.”
There is silence on the line while I rummage through my brains for the correct answer.
Here it goes. “Well, my parents have done so much for me. I thought maybe this much I could give back to them. Marrying someone they find for me. It would elevate their social reputation, make them very happy, and I want them to be happy. So, I decided to spend the rest of my life with a penguin they find for me.”
“That’s very thoughtful and generous of you at a young age,” Raag says, and I sense admiration in his tone.
“It is possible that one of the penguins they find would actually be my perfectly imperfect one…who knows!” I realize I sound too dreamy. Too late.
“Yeah, who knows.” He sounds pensive.
“Enough about me. Can you tell me how your parents found each other?” I ask enthusiastically.
“Of course! Not sure where to start.” Raag pauses. “You know we still have the Bandhani Saari store?”
“Yes.”
“My paa, my father, used to travel to Mumbai to get clothing material.”
“Okay…” I take a sip of my tea.
“Over there, one fine day, Paa met the daughter of his elderly business dealer and couldn’t stop himself from asking her out. Of course, in secrecy. This was at least around thirty years ago. They started meeting secretly every time my father went to Mumbai.”
“Wow, that is so romantic! That too, in that era of time when love marriages were widely unaccepted. Condemned even.” I try to control my obviously loud, high-pitched voice.
“Yeah, but soon enough Paa’s elderly partner found out, and forbade the love of his life from seeing him. Paa’s partner threatened the daughter to disown her if she didn’t stop.”
“Oh.”
“That was the last time my father was visiting Mumbai. He somehow managed to send a message to the girl. The message read something like—There is a train leaving from Bombay station at 3:00 in the afternoon for Ahmedabad. If you trust me and have faith in me, come with me. Together, we will build a world of our own.”
“Impressive.”
Raag sounds lost in thought. “Unfortunately, not only the girl found the note, but also her father. Her father made her choose between her family and the love of her life.”
“And she chose love!” I announce excitedly.
“Yes, she left everything behind—her mother, father, friends—and came to a new city with my father.”
“A city that is a stranger to her. She sacrificed all that she had, to have what she could, with the one she loved.” I speak of my heart.
“I remember my father saying that my mother came running to the Bombay railway station in one pair of shalwar kameez—a traditional long top and loose pants—and broken shoes. Covered in sweat and dirt from head to toes.”
“Wow, the madness of love! That adrenaline pulsing through the veins. That excitement of possibilities. So…romantic!”
“Yeah, my father told me that the moment he saw my mother rushing at that station, desperately looking for my father among the crowd of strangers, he promised himself that he would do anything he could to make her happy. His life was hers.”
“That’s a lovely love story!”
“Yeah…” Though it’s Raag’s parents’ story, he doesn’t sound as excited as I am. If it were my parents’ love story, I would be screaming at the top of my lungs. My parents apparently got married by following the traditional arranged marriage where they met each other for five long minutes and agreed for marriage.
“But that is just the beginning,” Raag says.
“As in…?”
“That beginning of the possibilities, beginning of real life.”
“Okay…” I still sound confused.
“My father’s side of the family as well never accepted my mother. So, they were pretty much on their own.”
“Most of the time, it happens.”