People shoved each other trying to push through the narrow dining room doorway. Others ran to the one opening into the study and out into the sitting room – I was one of them. Through the sitting room window we watched Thomaskuttychyan, Roy’s dad, slowly get out of the front seat of the car. His father Kunjappachyan was walking up from the road with his youngest son Mathaichyan and my other great uncle Eapachyan from opposite the road, their wives following at a modest distance.
Despite the crowd at the windows there was pin drop silence and I began to feel tense. I could see Roy… and Rebecca… in the back seat of the newish-looking red Maruti Esteem, wedged in with Roy’s mother Meenamama. The car had gauzy gold bows on its handles and small bunches of roses stuck to its body. The air was somewhat cool because it had just rained heavily and the fragrance of wet earth, mixed with that of Appachan’s roses and a neighbour’s chicken curry, was in the air.
I had not expected
Rebecca to come bride-like with Roy or with reinforcements and this seemed to
change everything. The elders in the house stood at a distance from the windows
staring out uncertainly, while there was a terse exchange between my
grandmother and her two daughters. Pilipochyan looked coldly at his wife,
almost as if he was exasperated with her. Sarojmama stopped talking and looked
away.
Someone opened the front
door, but there was an incoherent bark from the back of the room and everyone
stilled. Appachan shuffled over to the door, but made no move to step out.
“Rebecca chechi is
here!” Rita said happily, looking at the crowd puzzled. Had no one told her? Didn’t
everyone know that our first cousin Rebecca had married our second cousin Roy
from next door. That just couldn’t be… everyone was standing frozen to their
spots, expectantly, almost as if they feared the worst. Georgiechyan and
Anniemama hovered beside the door looking stressed, and shooting glances at
Appachan.
By now Appachan’s
brothers and their wives were at the doorstep, waiting to be invited in. It
looked like a standoff. Appachan’s face was thunderous. Years later I would
overhear a conversation between my father and his two oldest brothers about how
Appachan was determined not to bend, especially suspecting his brothers of trying
to force him to give his blessings to this unholy union.
Only Rita had had
enough and with an exclamation she was out of the door and at the car tugging
the door handle. When it finally wrenched open, she crawled in.
A gasp resounded
across the room, and all the younger children were now wedged in the main door,
trying to reach the car before the other, despite their parents hollering at
them to stay in the room. You must know that Rita is Sarah and Rebecca’s
favourite cousin – always following them and, surprisingly, being allowed to tag
along. I imagined it was because she was quiet and sensible, and had a charm
that overrode elder-cousin concerns (Rita handled them), while the rest of
the girls were noisy and stupid. Despite Roma’s smartness and intelligence the George
sisters didn’t care much for her, and that stung. I suspect they saw in her an
equal – brilliant, and smug about it. I turned to look at Roma, she tilted her
head sharply in the direction of the car and we raced out even though I heard
my mother calling out to me. I was already in deep shit, some more, especially
in the company of my cousins, couldn’t hurt.
We swarmed around the
car and our cousins came out and were hugged and patted on the back. Rebecca
was in a fuchsia pink silk sari and jewellery, sweat on her brow and looking
flushed. “How did she get all that?” I whispered in Roma’s ear, eyeing Rebecca’s
heavy-duty gold furnishings.
“Thomaskuttychyan would
have paid for everything.”
We heard a roar from
inside the house and stood still for a minute, but the chatter continued unabated.
We saw our grandfather stand in the doorway watching us, first in astonished
silence and then he almost fell trying to hasten down the three steps of the
house. We hushed and flattened ourselves against the car, while some of the
kids moved behind it. Would he use his walking stick to thrash us, but if he
did how would he keep his balance?
He tottered towards us
and stood for an eternity in front of Roy, who towered over him, while Appachan’s
gaze roamed silently over the renegade couple. Roy looked nervous but Rebecca
met my grandfather’s gaze head on. Finally he raised one of his arms and she
walked into his embrace, while with his other he held Roy’s hand, ostensibly
shaking hands with him, thereby cleverly balancing upright. There were shouts
and my family laughed, pushing and shoving and trying to share the joy of the moment.
The group moved itself up the house steps and into the sitting room, floating just
above the ground like the swarms of ducks that frequently navigate Kerala’s farmlands.
In the end, there was only standing space in the room. My aunts made several rounds
of tea, while the couple were forced into the dining room. People hovered over
them, dropping snacks into their plates, some hands pushing food into Rebecca’s
mouth and tears, of joy, running down Anniemama’s face. Georgiechyan, with Sarah’s
arms around his waist, looked overwhelmed, but happy, his eyes and Sarah’s focused
on Rebecca.
And Ammachi? She stood
at the side of the dining room, seething but intimidated by the adulating
boisterous crowd. She tried to push through to the couple, but it was
impossible.
I watched a hand shove an etheka appam into Roy’s cheek. An elbow shoved the hand aside
and another hand with a handkerchief pressed against Roy’s nose, trying to wipe
away the food. Clearly no one could see what they were doing to him. I was
surprised Roy didn’t get up and run.
“Is this handfeeding
business normal?” I asked Roma.
“No. Hugely abnormal.
But what here is normal – not even our cousins!” she said in a super low
whisper.
“Do you think any of
them have washed their hands?”
“No.”
“Where’s Sarayumama?”
Sarojmama and Pilipochyan were watching the couple from the side, the former’s
mouth pursed and the latter leaning over a chair and smiling.
Roma turned around to
look. Our older aunt was missing, but her husband and sons were in the dining
room. “Well, she can’t put a stop to anything. Appachan will fix her if she
says anything silly,” Roma said fiercely in my ear.
“Where do you think
she is?”
After a long pause,
“Probably checking if there’s a dowry to be given and how much.”
I looked at her in
disbelief. “But these two had a love marriage. They eloped! The deed is done,
how can you get a dowry after?”
“Sab hote hai*
(everything goes).”
“Bullshit!”
A few seconds later, I
began to move away from the dining room because my aunt’s absence had piqued my
interest.
As Roma had said,
Sarayumama was hanging on to every word being said by her father’s brothers and
their families in the sitting room. There was not a mention of a dowry. I watched
Sarayumama clandestinely – while her face smiled, her eyes were narrowed and it
seemed an effort for her to look affable.
I remembered what my
uncle Rajanchyan told me at tea time (FC91) just a little earlier – there was
nothing anyone could do about Rebecca and Roy’s marriage. They were a done deed.
And Sarah looked happy even though her younger sister had married before her.
Probably there was no pressure for Sarah to marry now. No Johnny either.
I crept nearer Amma and
slipped my arms around her waist and murmured, “Does this mean all is forgiven?”
“We don’t know, mol.
For the time being, yes,” she murmured back.
“You think Ammachi has
forgiven them?” My grandmother was in the sitting room, looking defeated,
trying not to look glum and failing. One of her nieces got up and gave her her seat.
Everyone was trying to avoid the elephant in the room, and only concentrating
on positive topics. The conversation seemed forced.
My mother stayed
silent. Some silences say a lot… and some nothing.
The phone in the study
rang. Appachan was listening raptly to Thomaskuttychyan and so I picked up the
phone.
“Sarah?”
“Er, no. Who’s
speaking?”
The person cut the
line.
******
* translated from Hindi
This series is fictional and follows the narrator recalling a childhood vacation with extended family in Kerala. The narrator’s cousins who eloped appear at her ancestral home and there’s a standoff.
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, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94
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