“Hey, not fair! I want more intel!” Anju shouts while I climb the bus stairs hustling through the rushing mob. “I skipped my bus, just for you!”
Once inside, I hold the bus pole and bend down to look at her through the small window. “I know you are capable of many sacrifices for me. I love you too! More talk tomorrow!” I laugh teasingly at her. Anju frowns in response.
The bus slowly starts making its way through the late-afternoon traffic.
As I stand in the middle of the crowded bus, while still holding the pole, I can’t help but eye an empty seat that has a bag on it. Even though its winter, I can smell my own sweat and that of a few others.
As I rest my head on the pole while listening to the radio playing a beautiful Hindi song, “Chaand Sifarish,” the boy sitting next to the empty seat takes his bag and offers me to sit. Hah! This clearly is my day since this almost never happens. I accept without a second thought as it’s going to be a good forty minutes to reach home.
Somehow, I picture Raag in person and smile inwardly.
Stupid in love.
Just as I enter the housing community, I notice it looks different today. Is it overcrowded with people outside chatting indistinctly, or is my head playing tricks? I am conscious of my runway today as I sense most of them staring at me. I try and rush as much as I can. Old ladies on the bench chitter, and I hear my name.
My father’s red bike rests in the front yard of our home. What? My father rarely comes home at this hour. I walk fast and see Uncle Chaddha swinging in his compound, all eyes and ears. He continues gawking even after our gazes meet, and I ignore him, displeased. He is annoying!
I open the small black front gate of our compound, climb three steps on the left side of the entrance, pass a small porch, and stand by the dark red entry door. There is an unfamiliar fancy pair of shoes by the threshold, which makes me wonder.
As I enter the house, it looks tidy, brightly lit with white light. The mouth-watering aroma of sweets, snacks, and tea is flooding the room.
The slow murmuring of my mother and clinking of pots and platters come from the kitchen. My father sits on a small dining table chair, which is not his usual place. Then, I notice. We have got ourselves company.
A strong built, tall woman probably in her late fifties, wearing light blue cotton sari is sitting on the sofa next to the telephone. A red bindi stays right in the middle of her eyebrows and brightens her already glowing fair skin. She wears a long mangalsutra—a necklace made of black and gold beads that Indian women wear as a symbol of marriage. Also, it’s a promise from husband to his wife for a forever togetherness. She also wears diamond earrings matching her mangalsutra and red bangles.
I have seen her in pictures as well sometimes at some spiritual gatherings where my mom forced me to go along with her so people would be aware of my existence in case if they knew some suitable eligible bachelors for the holy matrimony.
I guess I know this guest. She is none other than Raag’s mother, his maa, full name Preeto—Paramjeet Jitendra Purohit.
CHAPTER 7
Father
Raag’s mother, Auntie Preeto, looks delighted and poised as she greets, “Oye, kudi! How are you?”
I smile meekly looking down embarrassed as I get my flat sandals off. What…my impatient parents! Shouldn’t they have invited my future mother-in-law at a more suitable hour? I am not dressed for this. Oh, my wayward hair tied in a stinky, sticky bun. I am worn out from the whole day’s exhaustion and last night’s late-night talk. I wish I had paid more attention when my mother was chatting in the morning regarding shagun.
Of course, my parents wouldn’t like me to continue talking with someone for a long time without a social stamp on it. Once this ceremony serves that divine purpose, my parents can live peacefully, and so everybody else in the social community while I talked peacefully with my faraway prince. Inwardly I sigh.
“I am good, Auntie. How are you?” I move toward her and touch her feet with my hands in a gesture to take the elder’s blessings. It felt like the right gesture for this occasion; besides, she looks like someone whose blessings I would like.
There is a strange warmth about Auntie Preeto. She barely lets me touch her feet and gets up right away. Before I know it, she takes me in her sweet embrace, making me feel welcomed. She gives the best hugs. Not like you, awkward and uncertain! my subconscious pokes.
Though I am all sweaty and stinky, I hope I do a better job of hugging at this particular time. In our family, we are not into expressing our feelings by hugging and kissing. Most of the time, we strictly practice the two-feet distance rule—one must maintain that much distance regardless of the time, place, and situation. Not sure what cosmic collision caused this tragedy to strike upon us. Maybe your angry old father?
Auntie Preeto releases me from her embrace and sits on the sofa, suggesting me to sit next to her. “Congratulations, Mayu!” she delightedly says as I sit. She smells so good; I wonder which fancy perfume she uses. “I must tell you, Mayu, my son is one very lucky man to have you as his life partner.” She holds my hand. What a beautiful choice of words. Probably, any mother-in-law would have said, You are so lucky to have my son. I like Auntie Preeto even more. I smile, looking at her with awe.
“Thank you, Auntie. I am lucky too…”
Very, very lucky!
As I rest one leg on the other while sitting on the brown sofa, I can’t help but notice two big decorated baskets on a small light brown glass coffee table. One contains sweets of various sizes and shapes while the other contains few carefully wrapped gift boxes.
My mother enters the living room, holding a big tray bearing four cups of tea and two plates full of snacks. She is all dressed up in a bright yellow silk sari and gold jewelry. I wonder where I picked my love for the color yellow.
Mrs. Kaveri Bhatt looks at me, all smiles, and announces, “Oh, you are home, Mayuri beta!” She grins as if she has never been happier seeing me before.
Of course, Mother, I am here! You and I are going to have a long chat about this pleasant surprise.
“Come, help me pass this,” she mentions, grabbing my attention to show Auntie Preeto that I help out in the household work—I think. I wonder what my mother told Auntie Preeto about my cooking skills. Something tells me that the topic must have been shrewdly avoided.
I get up at her sign and move toward her to get the plates. After tea and a few refills of snacks, my knowledge about Raag increases by kilobits. Raag is obviously a smart kid who helped his mother in her private coaching classes for students from primary to high school. Raag even passed GRE—Graduate Record Examination—and Toefl exams, required to further study in the US, while still studying in his last year of Computer Science bachelor’s degree in India. Raag completed his master’s degree in Computer Science within a couple of years in the US. He has been working for a well-known bank’s IT department for the last three years. He has been living in Phoenix, Arizona for the last five years. That all sounds pretty impressive.
Auntie Preeto also mentions that Raag currently stays with a friend, but his friend would move out once I move in with him. I wonder when and how. Moreover, am I even ready for any of that?
The only thing I know is that one must have some sort of Visa to get there. Something that Raag briefly mentioned about, an H1B visa or H4 visa. Something that is least concerning at this point in time.