I woke up early wondering what the day would have in store for me. Rita’s news the previous night (FC89) had left me feeling somewhat disturbed.
Sarayumama
hovered agitatedly at the end of the corridor, looking into the sitting room at Appa's second-oldest brother Rajanchyan. He sat, happiness on his face, between his brothers and his
children leaning over him and his youngest child's arms around his neck.
Sarojmama was placing a fresh cup of tea in front of her brother and Pilipochyan smiled at him from across the coffee table.
At
this moment I wondered how it would be if I had siblings. Roma, always
irritated with her older and younger siblings, had raged on several occasions
about being a middle child and being easily forgotten. Something echoed by my
best friend Anjali’s older sister – another ‘middle’. I believed Roma when one
day, on our way to a wedding in Kerala, her parents forgot her at home and Roma
ended up travelling with us – her head out of the window, seething all the way.
Stranger still was that though Rajiv and Rita had noticed their sister’s
absence, they hadn’t pointed it out to their parents. And when she accused her
parents of forgetting her, they shrugged it off. Roma dragged me to a corner of
the church and later to a sparsely populated section of the reception hall
reserved for vegetarian guests – far away from all the others.
My
uncle raised his arm and I went to him, leaning forward for a kiss on my cheek.
Rajanchyan was given to such gestures of affection, unlike his siblings. His
children continued to chatter over his shoulder or from the coffee table in
front of him, and all the while his eyes gleamed with love.
A
shout sounded from the dining room and we stilled. It was a rude summons from
Ammachi. We reluctantly uncoiled ourselves and moved to the dining room. The
blue crockery, part of Ammachi’s long-ago dowry, was laid out. Ammachi was
likely paying homage to her rich uncle. It soon became clear why. Rajanchyan kissed her on both cheeks and handed her a bag that clearly
held a sari. He said “happy anniversary, Amma” in Malayalam. A gasp went around and
people crowded around Ammachi, shaking her hand. I was surprised her daughters
hadn’t remembered. They were now grabbing their mother and giving her tight
hugs.
I
looked at my mother and was taken aback to see a look of amusement on her face.
It was quickly masked when someone turned towards her.
I
looked around for my grandfather, seated behind his table in the study,
watching the scene in front of him with a hard look. I couldn’t remember ever celebrating
their anniversary, though in previous years Amma had attributed the occasional
perippu (moong) or rice payasam to a birthday or anniversary. Everything here
was hush hush, unlike next door. My great uncle Kunjappachan personally
supervised the payasam’s cooking in an enormous cauldron in a corner of the
backyard with a floating audience comprising his and his brothers’
grandchildren. We helped feed the fire and took turns stirring the mix with an
enormous iron ladle that looked like a smaller version of a boat paddle.
Ammachi,
in a good mood now, showed her son to a place at the table and people started
taking their seats. They slowly began looking at Appachan from the corners of
their eyes, waiting.
Ammachi
nodded several times in my grandfather’s direction and pulled his chair out,
the legs screeching against the floor. Appachan’s nostrils flared and his jaws
clenched. He threw down the piece of paper he had in his hands, stood up,
walked to the table and sat heavily. He even forgot his cane, which one of his
daughters brought over and set down near him. Roma’s foot pressed hard on mine,
but I refused to turn. I might laugh and it was time to say grace.
“What
brings you here, Rajan?” Appachan said.
“Got
a few days of leave, thought I’d see the family, take the kids to see Sisly’s
parents – her father had a heart attack last month and wanted to see them.”
At
this there was silence. I had heard about this, and Appachan had made a
courtesy call to Sislymama’s mother.
“You
should come more often.”
Rajanchyan’s
lips thinned for an instant and then curved into a smile on one side. He nodded
and looked at his four children – all of whom looked uncertain, their glances
darting from their grandfather, grandmother and father. The summer holidays
every year were no fun and usually Sislymama came exactly a month after they
turned up here to take them to her parents’ home.
Pilipochyan
broke the silence by asking Rajanchyan about politics in the national capital.
To their credit, my uncle and aunt had done extremely well for themselves, with
Sislymama becoming a senior bureaucrat and Rajanchyan moving up the ranks in an
MNC bank. The once shy and diffident Sislymama had become a star.
When
we visited them in Delhi there were a couple of live-in servants, which Amma
said was the norm in the North. But Sislymama’s home was run smoothly and her kids
didn’t have to do any menial jobs. So the washing and cleaning routines here must
have come as a shock to my cousins. Still every year, like clock work, they
stayed for a month.
A
skinny elbow jabbed my side. Rita dropped an egg and curry in my plate. Today’s
meal was special – appams, egg stew and chicken stew – we were spoiled for
choice. For sure, both dishes were one or the other of her children’s
favourites and probably Appachan’s.
Rita’s breath feathered my jaw, “We’ll make that call this afternoon. I’ve got the code (FC89).”
I
felt joy – I could use the code to call Anjali in Bombay. I had written her a
couple of letters during my vacation and her holiday seemed better than mine so
far.
I
was curious. “Didn’t your dad ask you why you needed it?”
“Roma
had the code. She wants to listen to the call.”
My
mouth hung open and after a while Rita pushed my hand holding a bit of egg
white into my chin and I closed my mouth feeling ill. Idiot cousins. Idiots
all! This entire phone business was a mess. I couldn’t look at Roma, whose smug
smile I felt rather than saw. Idiots, idiots, idiots! Rather I was the big idiot.
How could I ever think Rita was capable of secrecy. Her older sister was the
biggest revealer of secrets I knew, which is why Anjali and I chose what we
would share with Roma – something she was aware of and raged at frequently, often
resulting in long silences between us. Listening to the call was probably
Roma’s idea of one-upmanship.
“Why
didn’t you ask your dad? Now nothing will stay a secret!”
“Daddy
said no. He said Appachan would get irritated if we kids began using the
phone.”
“How
come Roma has the code?”
“I
don’t know. But she said she knows it.”
“How
did she know you wanted it.”
“She…”
“QUIET!”
Appachan roared at us from the head of the table. Bobby dropped the ladle into
the chicken curry in fright, a large drop splashing onto Appachan’s white banian
(sleeveless vest). The room fell silent. Appachan stared at the widening brown
patch stunned, then his head shot up, his eyes darting around the room in rage
and the entire room held its breath. Only Pilipochyan’s eyes gleamed as he
waited to see what my grandfather would do next. But my quick-thinking aunt
Elsamama, Rita’s mother, nervously held out a damp towel and after blinking
several times Appachan unbent and nodded. She quickly rubbed the spot, and then
her sisters-in-law pushed her out of the way and tended to their father.
I
glanced at my mother – her nostrils were flared and her cheeks slightly pink
and lips clenched. A second later her features eased and there was a bland
expression on her face – Amma seemed to be enjoying the whole session. She
turned her face and our eyes met, and an eyelid closed in the quickest fraction of a second ever and she leaned to drop an appam in one of the children’s plate.
It
was hard to imagine Amma either making fun of or deriving pleasure out of
someone’s discomfort, but I got the feeling that this vacation had tried her
patience. Unusually my parents had had a few arguments, mostly because of me
and how I was being treated. I dreaded the strife between my parents and had
started trying to be a model child.
Even
though I tried hard, some things were beyond my control.
I
returned my concentration to my egg and appams, wondering how to shake off
Roma. Maybe I’d have to loosen my purse strings after all. I had to protect
Sarah chechi’s privacy at all costs... and thwart Roma.
I
felt another poke in my side and continued eating.
******
I
waited at the guava tree for Rita. But why did I need her at all. I had the
money and Johnny’s phone number, and I was most comfortable talking to him and
Rita would only go back and tell Roma and worsen matters.
I
heard the front door open and heavy footsteps pressed into the gravel. The
steps were coming my way quickly and I backed away from the guava tree. It was
sometimes a smoking point for some of the men, who didn’t want to smoke in
front of Appachan or their fathers.
Only
these men were not here to smoke.
From
the back of the shed I could see my eldest uncles Georgiechyan and Rajanchyan
standing near the tree. Rajanchyan looked around, his gaze settling on Sarayumama’s
window.
He
pulled his brother further along, closer to where I stood, and I pushed
backwards into the damp wall behind me in fright, wondering if they would come
behind the shed. They wedged themselves between the shed’s side and the courtyard
wall, near the side gate, and stopped moving.
“So
what did you want to tell me in such great secrecy?” Georgiechyan joked. “Are
we going to see you here only when you want to share something?”
“You
know how it is Georgie. Amma makes it very difficult for Sisly, and the kids
are very unhappy when they stay here. But I want them to get to know Appa and
Amma, and their cousins, and to have some good memories.”
“I’ve
been trying, you know. I’ve talked to Appachan, Ammachi and the others about
involving the kids more. Sarayu has been difficult but the rest have been making
an effort. We all want to be close to the children, they are ours after all.”
I
imagined Rajanchyan’s head nodding in a measured way. He was a thoughtful man,
who chose to speak less and observe more. But he was talkative to those he was
close to, like my father and Georgiechyan, but not so much to Joychyan and his
sisters.
“So
what did you want to tell me, Rajan?”
“It
is not good news.”
“Ok-ay.”
“It
is about Rebecca.”
There
was silence.
“Do
you want to hear?” Rajanchyan said.
The silence stretched unbearably and I wondered if they were still there. I was making a move towards where they stood, when Georgiechyan grunted. “Well?"
“Rebecca
got married in the US.” I pressed my hand on my mouth to stifle the shock.
“What?”
“Yes.”
“That’s
impossible.” Georgiechyan spluttered. Rajanchyan stayed silent. I tried to slow
my breathing. “Come on… what nonsense!”
“I
heard this from a trusted person.”
“What
are you saying! How is it possible. She can’t get married before Sarah. And if
she wanted to marry someone, we would have considered it.”
“No,
you wouldn’t have.”
“YES,
I WOULD HAVE!”
“Shhh,
Georgie, shh!” There were sounds of jostling. Then there was silence and only of heavy
breathing.
“Are
you done?” Georgiechyan said coldly.
“No.”
“What
do you mean? How much worse can it be?”
“Johnny’s
side cancelled the engagement because they got to know.”
Georgiechyan
snarled incoherently and there was a scuffling noise and feet dragging in the
mud and finally Rajanchyan said angrily, “If you want to find out the hard way,
I will stop now. You can find out on your own and it will be worse to hear it
from someone else!”
“Who
is this person spreading rumours about us!”
“Georgie,
I’m not going to tell you who, but it is someone we know well and has our
interests at heart. Plus I checked. I couldn’t believe what I heard either. So
I called Rebecca to ask.”
“How
dare you talk to her before I do!”
“You
would have called her and shouted at her. She needs to know that we are on her
side or you will lose all connection with her.”
From
the distance, I could hear Rita calling out to me and the sound of faint
footsteps nearing the guava tree. It stopped.
“She’s
not here, mol,” Rajanchyan said, a smile sounding in his voice.
“Okay,
Rajan ooppapa*.” The footsteps moved away.
“I
want to know who told you,” Georgiechyan said angrily when Rita’s footsteps
receded.
“And
then what? Is it going to sort out things?”
“But
what couldn’t Rebecca have told us?” Georgiechyan’s voice turned shrill, “Has
she married a black man? A hindu? A muslim?” Not sharing any of this with a
prospective suitor’s family was grounds for Sarah’s engagement to break.
I
let out a gasp. Suddenly there were footsteps rushing towards me, and I started
squeezing through the gap between the walls of the shed and courtyard and running
as fast as I could towards the kitchen. I heard a shout behind me and tried to
run faster. I turned the corner and rammed into Rita and we both fell. I rolled
off her, pulled up my stunned cousin and made her run with me towards the front
of the house. She started to cry, but I dragged her along until we made our way
into the house through the front door, and stepped into the store room and
closed the door gently.
“I’m
so sorry, Rita, where does it hurt,” I whispered into her ear.
“SSSs-ok”
she said, her sobs subsiding. I rubbed her legs, arms and back in the dim
light, trying to imagine where she was hurting the most. Finally, I just held
her close and stood still. When I heard the front door open, I moved into the darkest
corner, clasping Rita, and we held our breaths. One set of footsteps
stopped in the living room and the other went down the corridor. It hurried
back in a few seconds and both sets of feet went out, closing the front door
loudly.
******
* Ooppapan is father’s brother in Malayalam.
# Roy is Kunjappachan’s grandson
******
This
series is fictional and follows the narrator who is remembering events related
to a family vacation in a rural part of Kerala.
Rita
and the narrator decide to call Johnny and confront him about breaking his
engagement with Sarah. An uncle visits, but has some disturbing news.
Read the entire The Webs We Weave series here FC69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80,81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 91, 92, 93, 94
#roy
#rajan #uncle #beloveduncle #engagement #brokenengagement #siblings #middlechild
#marriage #love #youngadultfiction #dowry #bluechina #crockery #keralachristians
#syrianchristians #malayali #malayalichristians #kerala #bombaymalayalis
#family #familydrama #john #sarah #rebecca #lovemarriage #blackman #hindu
#muslim #johnnyandsarah #rebeccaandroy #familyvacation #fishychronicles
#youngadult #keralafamily #Bombay #Mumbai #phone #phonecode #rumour
#unitedstates #fiction #payasam #vacation #anniversary #weddinganniversary #cauldron #cousins #grandchildren #grandparents
