“Satish, please calm down.”
My father glares at her. “Calm down? Calm down?” he asks but doesn’t wait for my mother’s response. He points at Raag as he says, “If you go back without the wedding, that will leave a very bad impression.”
“I understand, sir.”
My father shakes his head. “No, you don’t! This is unacceptable. Is spending more time going to change your decision?”
Everyone in the room goes silent, including Raag, who for once isn’t prompt in his response. Perhaps it is time to rescue my dear prince, for he is taking full blame for postponing the marriage. I cannot let him be the martyr.
My father gulps a glass of water that my mother hands him, and I take a moment to sit upright and pull myself together to speak up.
After clearing my dry throat, I squeak, “Pappa.” My father peeks at me through the corner of his eyes as he sets the glass on the table. I continue, “It’s not Raag. It’s me, I don’t want to get married.” My voice is low, too low.
My father looks aghast. “What?”
“Mayuri, what are you saying?” My mother sounds horrified.
“Mummy, I don’t want to get married right away, right this month.” I try to find my voice. “I want to work.” I shrug. In a trembling voice, I continue, “My company offered me a position, but it’s in Mumbai, and I want to go.” Not sure why, but I feel a lump in my throat and soon I might have to fight tears.
“What happened to you? You don’t want to get married and want to go to Mumbai?” she says. “You know we cannot let you go. You know it’s not safe for girls to be alone in big cities…”
Bansari finds a window of opportunity to chime in, in my defense for a change. She looks at my mother as she says, “Mummy…a lot of girls these days live by themselves in big cities, even in remote countries.”
I, for sure, did not expect her to take my side in this.
My father glares at her and shuns her saying, “Bansi, you don’t say anything. This is a grownup’s discussion.” Though I am at the verge of crying, I stifle a chuckle. Poor thing, for once she is fighting for my side.
For my parents, I am too young. But Bansi, she is still a baby. It is the younger child syndrome, the little ones in the house are always considered the little ones even in their fifties.
“You can work after marriage in USA.” My father looks straight at me.
“Not if I get married, and move with him right away on the H4 visa,” I whisper.
“Then you get the same visa as Raag kumar. You are also a computer engineer just like Raag kumar. He is also working on some visa,” my father explains quickly, and his mustache starts trembling, hinting at his rising anger.
“It’s not that simple. Raag has a US master’s degree. He had a different route. He converted his student visa into a work visa after his internship. For someone coming from a different country, you must first find an employer to hire you apply for your visa in April. If you get it, you can only start working in October.” My voice is brittle still I manage to explain the visa process like a pro. Then I quickly add, “That is if we get picked up in the lottery because they sometimes have more applications than the allotted quota.”
How can we forget about a lottery and my father’s lecture on one?
“Mayuri, you are supposed to get married, and move in with Raag kumar,” my mother announces, completely ignoring my simplified version of the visa process.
Why did I even try? And by “move in,” she means to move out of India and settle in the US.
“And, do what?” I ask.
“You can stay home until you get a visa. What is the big deal?” my father asks, clearly not understanding. “Just for that reason, we cannot hold the marriage. The whole family’s reputation is at stake.”
“Pappa…” I squeak, and Auntie Preeto gives me a sympathetic look.
Her eyes glisten as she suggests, “Satish-ji, if marriage is that important, we could go ahead with the marriage. Then, if Mayuri wants to work here in India after marriage, we would like to support her decision.” She looks at Raag as if what she suggested wasn’t discussed before. Raag nods at her in agreement.
“What are you saying, Preeto!” my mother exclaims. “That is out of the question. People would keep poking us with all sorts of questions as to why Mayuri is still in India even after marriage! They will spread all sorts of rumors about Mayuri.”
My father shakes his head. “It would be way more difficult if she gets married and works in Mumbai while Raag Kumar stays in the US.” He speaks as if talking with himself. “What is this Mumbai thing?” He asks this as if he is incapable of processing this new piece of information. He looks at me. “Mayuri, you are not telling us anything. When was it that you were going to discuss this with us?”
Promptly I reply, “They offered on the last day of my internship, yesterday. I did not have enough time to talk with you two.”
“When did you get time to talk to Raag kumar?” my mother asks.
“Mummy, they have cell phones!” My sister saves me, and I can’t thank her enough at this crucial moment. Amid this chaotic situation, I might have blurted out about our midnight adventure.
A sheen of sweat glistens on my father’s forehead. “What if something happens? Who will take responsibility?” he asks, throwing his hands in the air. “After this visit, when you work in Mumbai and Raag kumar in the USA, there will be speculations of something not being quite right between you two, married or not!”
My father has a look on his face stating his sheer disappointment in his firstborn. He now stares aimlessly at the opposite wall painted in light peach.
My mother now wipes her tears. “We still have to live here among people, be a part of the community.”
Oh, this conversation is not going in a direction I had hoped. Neither my father nor my mother is going to change their mind. My brain begins to accept that I might have to do what they say, like always. I might have to get married and move out of the country to live as a dependent at the age of twenty.
Okay, I give up. Enough fighting the tears. Halfheartedly, I look down, and a tear rolls down my cheek and falls over my hand.
The anger-filled chattering dies down, leaving the room quiet, like after the storm.
As I look up wiping my tears, I see Auntie Preeto looking at me compassionately. She opens her mouth, glancing at Raag, but he shakes his head so quietly that it is the two of them who share some secret conversation. She closes her mouth and inhales.
Like a good girl, if I agreed today in this room to get married while Raag is here, we all might be enjoying some pleasant conversations about jewelry and clothes for the wedding. I might even be planning to go to the USA with this wonderful man. If that is what is expected of me, I might as well just do it.
Of course, I love Raag with all my heart and soul. It would, for sure, be a wonderful life being there with him. The thought is rather tantalizing. So what if I have to trade my career and independence for it? He is worth every penny.
To finish what I started, in my tearful voice, I speak, “Pappa…” But surprisingly Raag moves his palm just a little, fleetingly looking in my direction in a gesture for me to not continue. He slightly shakes his head.