As soon as my great uncles and their families left Rita got Appachan to agree to an after-hours party. First we helped organise a bridal suite for the couple and then Ammachi gave us the keys to her snacks cupboard reluctantly, while Appachan stood nearby watching her. Ammachi’s mouth stayed open as she watched us fill our arms with snacks and concentrates. One of the boys got a music system and another candles.
Rita ordered us all to reorganise the furniture of the room furthest from the bedrooms, one in which some of the children slept. We pushed the furniture to the sides of the room and emptied it of unwanted stools and chairs. We decorated it with tinsel leftover from Christmas that we found in the loft.
Surprisingly
everyone took their orders from Rita without a murmur, save for Roma. She
dawdled at her duties as much as she could and at one point earned a brutal poke
in the back from Rita. Roma glared at Rita’s disappearing back and flopped on
to a nearby bed.
“What’s
with you?” I asked.
“Why does
Rita get to set up the party?”
“Er,
because she came up with the idea, and Appachan agreed!”
“Yes, but he agrees only when she asks.”
That was
true.
“Smacks of
partiality,” Roma continued.
I took a
deep breath and walked off. My cousin was suffering a case of sour grapes. Her family
was in Appachan’s A-list, they got what they wanted, everything they did was applauded, etc, etc. But I had not seen
Roma’s resentment at being overshadowed coming. Roma only ever saw Rita as an
irritating fly. But here in Kerala, at our grandfather’s house, Rita was in with the
crowd that mattered. The elders found her charming, and so did our oldest
cousins who found none of the younger cousins fun to be with.
I hurried
to the large backroom because the music had started and the bride and groom
were already dancing with each other, with more spectators than dancers on the
floor. They looked beautiful.
Sarah
danced with young Tomo and slowly the floor started to fill. I stacked the food
on the table in the corner and jumped in. I gestured to Roma and after ignoring
me for a while, she stood at the door and sniffed at the scene in front of her.
Mobby suddenly pushed his way in, dislodging Roma from the door and she
stumbled into the room. I righted her and we started dancing. Soon she was
grinning and her poor mood disappeared.
When I
crawled into bed at near 4am, my father was awake. “Forgot to watch CSI?”
“For once,
there was something more fun, Appa.”
“I hope
nothing’s left of the snacks.”
“Nothing.
Ammachi insisted we clean the room before we go to bed.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Appa
chuckled. I wondered whether to set my alarm in time to watch Ammachi’s fury in
a couple of hours. Nah. Sleep was more important than Ammachi’s torment and
this family’s disobedience movement. I put back my clock on the sidetable.
******
“But why?”
Rita mewled.
“Because
that is the tradition, mol,” Joychayan smiled, trying to reason with his
daughter.
“But what
if I talk to Appachan, he’ll agree.”
“Rebecca is
now part of another family, so she has to spend time there too.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Next to her
my cousins Rebecca and Roy looked amused. Rebecca had had an argument with her
mother in the morning. She had worn a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt to breakfast, and Ammachi had blown a fuse about being a bride and something about a
period to wear silks and jewels. Anniemama had hurried her daughter to her room
and after an inordinately long time, a grumpy Rebecca came back to the dining
room in a green silk sari, with several gold chains around her neck and her
arms glinting of metal. Roy winked at her and her mood lifted.
“What’s
going on?” I asked Roma, currently my fount of all knowledge related to Syrian
Christian weddings and practices.
“Chechi has
to dress the part for a few weeks. Look bride-ly. Gold jewellery always, silk
saris, etc, etc.”
“What about
the groom?” I eyed Roy, who was wearing a white shirt and grey trousers.
“Someone
must have warned him, else he’d have been in track pants.”
“What was
Rita crying about back there?”
“Roy and
Reb are going back next door tomorrow. Rita wants them to stay till we return to
Mumbai. She’s full of crap. Does she expect people to dance to her tune
always?” Roma poked a boiled egg viciously, breaking it in half. Her fingers
ground the appam and curry agitatedly.
“Why are
they going?”
“I don’t
know!” Roma snarled, bits of egg white flying from her mouth.
Silence was best, I felt. All further queries could be answered by my parents.
To escape
my grandmother and her list of chores, I followed my father into the fields.
“Why is Rebecca chechi leaving us?”
“She has to
spend more time with her husband’s family now.” My father stopped and stroked my head. “She’s part of that family now.”
“Er, we’re
her family.”
“Not
really. She’s married into Kunjappachan’s family and that is now her family.”
“And
Georgiechyan, Anniemama and Sarah chechi?” I said, feeling disquiet build. “What
about them?”
“They’ll
get used to it.”
I stopped
midstride, wondering what this was all about. My father put his arm around my
shoulders and nudged me forward. “See, mol, a girl is part of her husband’s
family once she marries. She has no say in her own family.”
“Nooo…”
“Yes. It is
a kind of unofficial family law.”
“But Amma
visits her family.”
“Yes, but
she’s considered an outsider now.”
“Is that
why she cries everytime she leaves after we visit?”
“No,” Appa
laughed. “She misses her parents, brothers and grandmother badly. Thinks Bombay
is too far. Phone calls are expensive, you know. But she is considered part of
my father’s family now – after marrying me.”
I felt glum
– I couldn’t understand why. My aunts worked silently in the kitchen like work
mules, while only their sisters in law and mother in law spoke. They were
always going to be the outsiders, no matter what.
“What
happens when I get married?” I was an only child after all.
“Well, you
will be part of your husband’s family.”
“And you
and Amma?”
“We’ll
visit you every now and then. You’ll visit us and stay on holidays.”
“What if I
want to stay with you permanently.”
Appa slowed
and took a deep breath. “It doesn’t work that way. You’ll have to do what your
in laws want, or fall in line with what they say.”
“I rarely
do what you tell me.”
“Yes, I am
always hoping that will change,” Appa grinned. “Shall we have puffs and chai on
our way back?” My father was trying to change the subject.
But I had a
burning question. “Who takes care of Georgiechyan and Anniemama when they are
old? Like Roy will take care of his parents. Who will take care of Uncle and
Aunty?”
Appa looked unhappy for a moment and then the expression vanished. “Oh, they’ll manage.
The girls are smart, they will pitch in.”
“But... they
will not be living with them...”
Appa walked off, not hearing me. I stood rooted to the spot, a thousand questions filling my mind and wondering why Appa was not keen to tell me the truth – something I had realised over the years but hadn’t really made peace with – daughters weren’t important, only sons were.
Appa turned around and held out his hand to me. I went to him feeling the burn of the sun on my bare head. I wanted to tell Appa I’d always be there for him, but suddenly I wasn’t sure anymore.
“Appa,
yesterday someone called for Sarah.”
“Okay.”
“It was a
man.”
Appa turned
and stopped, his eyes widening. “He came to the house? Who?”
“Er, no,
no. When everyone was in the sitting room, I picked up the phone. The man asked
for Sarah chechi, but put the phone down when I asked who he was.”
“Johnny?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“Do you
think it was a friend of Johnny’s? Maybe he wants to get back with Sarah
chechi.”
Appa
sighed, “Johnny and Sarah are not going to get married. So stop discussing it or
bringing it up. It will upset your cousin some more. She’s a bright girl and
will find someone else soon.”
“Er, ok.” I
could feel Appa’s irritated look on me, but I kept walking.
“You should
go back in a while, Ammachi will want you to do chores.”
“I can do
chores here in the field, there must be something I can do.”
Appa shook
his head, “Not here. At home.”
“But you
promised me puffs and chai!”
“Ah yes. From
tomorrow then.”
We’d see.
******
I was relieved when Appa decided to return home. The menfolk and workers were now at the field and work was in full progress.
True to his word, and despite our heavy
breakfast, Appa stopped for puffs and chai. I bit into the meaty puff and
disappeared into another realm. The air stirred, feeling cool, and all about us people moved in
slow motion, tending to their daily business. The shopkeeper next door watched
us eat with interest. Nobody, absolutely nobody, ate puffs in full view of
other people here, only outsiders – only Bombaywallas.
I chattered to Appa all the way past the bridge.
Once we were at home, I wouldn’t have his ear until late at night when he was
tired.
We were almost at the turn near the house
when I noticed the white car. It had slowed just past our gate and come to a
stop. I could see the man in the passenger seat look at the house, where a boisterous game of volleyball with a plastic ball was in progress but my
cousins Rebecca and Sarah were standing at the sidelines holding each other and
giggling.
I began to run to the car. The driver looked back at me and then started the engine. It failed. I tried to run faster. Appa shouted for me to hold back, but I hoped I could reach the car before it started. The tin tub revved into life and moved forward, attempting to drive off at full speed. It jerked and stalled and then started again. It was Rasool and he had broken into a sweat – and all because a 14-year-old girl was chasing him. But my eyes were on the man beside him.
I wanted to shout to him, but didn’t want
Sarah chechi to know. So I took a stone and aimed it at the back of the car – hitting
the fender. My father, gasping, caught up with me, grabbed my arm and raged, “What is wrong with you! You cannot throw stones at cars!”
“I can if Johnnychyan’s in it.”
Appa stared. “You still can’t, even if you
hate him. Throwing stones is not a solution. A-Are you sure it was Johnny?”
“Appa, I’m 90% sure, and I don’t hate Johnychyan. Why did they run? It was Rasoolchyan’s car and he was driving. Why did they speed off!”
Appa caught my hand tightly, taking a moment
to compose himself. He looked across the road at Sarah and Rebecca. “Don’t ever
throw stones at anyone again. Promise?”
“Okay.” I had my fingers crossed at my side. My compliance with this latest dictat would depend on the situation. From the opposite side of the road we watched my cousins play for several minutes and then crossed it.
******
The Webs We Weave series follows the travails of a 14-year-old narrator on a family vacation. An innocent deviation spirals out of control and one thing leads to another.
You can read the full series at 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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