“No wonder our moms are friends,” Raag says, and I can’t control my laugh.
He seems to have a good sense of humor. I like him a little more. It helps lighten the conversation.
“You know,” I say, “she said that once I turn thirty, I will have no choice. So, I should just say yes to you. How do I do that? I am just nineteen!” I try hard to hide my complaining tone.
I guess my voice is a bit too high, and brings dear Uncle Chaddha—who lives next door—out on his full-time duty: eavesdropping. He starts walking back and forth in his front yard, wearing a dark mask to protect his face from the cold, a sweater, a shawl, winter pants, and boots. If I weren’t familiar with his winter attire, I would have totally mistaken him for a black ghost.
“You are nineteen?” Raag sounds perplexed. I try to ignore Uncle Chaddha at the moment and turn away from the street and look back at the house.
“Is there a problem with that?” I ask.
“No, I was told you were twenty.” Raag sounds a bit taken aback. I guess he realized that it doesn’t make that much of a difference.
“So, I guess you are not twenty-one.” Knowing my mother, I won’t be equally perplexed if he isn’t.
“I am twenty-four.” He pauses, and asks after a few seconds, “And…is there a problem with that?”
“Generation gap!” I blurt and regret instantly. You should have filters in your brain, my subconscious scolds. I try to recover. “I mean, almost!”
Thankfully Raag gets the humor behind my unfiltered response and laughs.
“I am sorry. I mean, ten years is a whole generation, but time is changing very fast, or it seems. My sister and I are almost five years apart, but we have quite a different taste in movies, books, actors…pretty much everything,” I try to explain.
“Well, generations and differences don’t matter if you like someone.” He pauses as if searching for the correct words. “It’s just my personal opinion,” he adds, and though he has a point, I try not to look into the meaning of his deep thought.
“I guess so.” I try to limit the scope of our conversation on the generation gap since I am already a little embarrassed by it, and on top of that, he has such a meaningful insight on it. To switch topics, I say, “By the way, my mother loves your mother, and so she just wants me to marry you without even seeing you in person.”
“It doesn’t seem fair,” Raag replies. Again, he understands my frustration. “I’m sorry that I can’t visit India for a few more months. I’m transferring my H1B visa from the previous company to the current one. It is not advisable to travel during this time.”
“Oh, I see. That’s okay, I guess. I was wondering what reason I would come up with to say no for this arrangement,” I say and regret it instantly.
Should I really not talk more with this person?
There is silence on the line, and I wonder what he’s thinking. I can hear his breathing in the dead of night.
“If this is all too complicated, I could help you out,” he says. “Would you like me to say no?”
I am taken aback by his question. Raag is so genuine, so direct yet so considerate. He seems to be a simple, straightforward man. But he’s presented me with an opportunity worth considering. Life gets easier if we all can think of simple solutions to complicated problems. Alternatively, at least not complicate simple issues.
I take a moment contemplating the answer to his question, and consequences. He is honest, and I like it. Yet for some reason, my lips are sealed. Before I pushed that green button on the phone, my answer was ready…and now as I look up in the dark sky, the stars have moved, and the moon is in the vicinity, and I might have located saptarishi. It feels as if they are not just glinting in the sky but smirking at me. Did they know what was coming?
While I am still confused, my subconscious makes the decision easier for me. Don’t say no!
“No…” I whisper. “You don’t…I mean…” I stutter.
Raag comes to the rescue. “Mayuri.” He pauses, and he has one hundred percent of my attention. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to. You are very young. You should have the liberty to select the right life partner when you are ready. Somebody of your age, somebody you see in person. If that is what you want.”
Oh, I didn’t know that I don’t have to do anything that I don’t wish to. All my life, I’ve always done what my parents wanted me to do or guided me to do. How does one not develop a fondness for a person so thoughtful?
“Mayuri, take your time. The customs of arranged marriage are a bit too complicated and at times inclined towards a man’s decision. So far, from what I know about your parents, I understand that you would at least have a chance to say no, but if you think if my denial would make things easier for you, I would gladly do so.”
“You would?” I say it out loud and, again, regret it instantly.
“Of course!”
“You know, there are very few men in this world who would think and do the right thing for women. You are probably one of those few,” I say quietly. Raag should know how he made me feel. All of a sudden, I am not just a little girl but a woman with opportunities, choices, and rights. He, for sure, is something.
“There is nothing heroic about it. If that’s what you’re trying to say.” Raag sips on something before he replies, “I’m just an ordinary guy, trying to do the right thing.”
“You may think so because I think it comes naturally to you.” I pause. “Well, for now, please call me Mayu!” I offer, motivated by some strong inner urge of delight and respect for him. I kind of like him.
Kind of?
“I thought you preferred Mayuri Bhatt,” he says, and I’m a little embarrassed at his reminder of my earlier attitude.
I smile and walk toward the other side of the balcony where Uncle Chaddha, who came upstairs to his balcony, is practically leaning over, extending his neck like a pelican. I quickly look away.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t very happy when we started talking. I was angry,” I confess for some reason. As if it’s important for him to know that I am not as curt as I first portrayed. The past few days of planning and plotting were to make him not like me.
“With me?” Raag presses.
“And my mother. Sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m not angry with you.” I pause. “At least, not anymore,” I add.
“Maybe, it is my fault after all. Not sure why I let my mother talk me into this. Maybe I did not put much thought into this,” he says, more to himself than to me.
I turn toward the railing from where I can see the houses on both sides and an open lot for kids to play. Looking up in the sky, I murmur, “Maybe it was meant to be this way.” I don’t know why I pour so much mystery into that statement.
“Really?” Raag sounds confused.
I don’t blame him!
“So, what do you want to do? Do you want to talk more? Get to know each other?” he asks, breaking my stargazing.
The thought of knowing him more gives me goosebumps.
“Yes,” I say, very clear on that answer. I ask, “What would you like to know about me?”