Fishy Chronicles 93 – The Webs We Weave (25)

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

#lovemarriage #marriage #sarah #roy #rebecca #rebeccaandroy #cousins #kissingcousins #joy #love #grandparents #humour #kerala #keralavillage #keralastories #fiction #loveinkerala #cousinsinlove #cousins #puff #chai #summervacation #bride #groom #appam #eggcurry #gold #goldjewellery #phone #caller #syrianchristians #youngadult #secondcousins #bombaywalla #snacks #christmas #music #appam #curry #eggs #boiledeggs #fishychronicles93 #websweweave25

                                    ******

Fishy Chronicles 92: The Webs We Weave (24) – Rebecca

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

#standoff #elope #lovemarriage #marriage #sarah #roy #rebecca #rebeccaandroy #cousins #kissingcousins #joy #love #hope #grandparents #shit #humour #kerala #keralavillage #keralastories #fiction #loveinkerala #cousinsinlove #cousins #holyunion #maruti #marutiesteem #redmarutiesteem #roses #wetearth #fragrance #rain #keralarains #summervacation #bride #groom #ducks #keraladucks #ethekaappams #appam #gold #goldjewellery #dowry #elephantintheroom #phone #caller #hindi #syrianchristians #secondcousins #brilliant #smug #snacks

Fishy Chronicles 90: The Webs We Weave (22) – Uncle Rajan visits

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.

“She’s married Roy# (FC86).”

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

 

Fishy Chronicles 81: The Webs We Weave (13): Trouble in threes

Following my cousin Sarah’s pen kaanal (viewing of a prospective bride, FC80), I was buttonholed by my cousin sisters who felt I had some inside information.

Of course, I couldn’t tell… because I hadn’t had an inkling of what had been going on or what was going to happen.

But thereafter the vibes in my grandfather’s house turned positive. Everyone seemed excited and happy. Only there was a fly in the ointment. In a manner of speaking.

It seemed Sarah’s parents, my father’s oldest brother Georgiechyan and his wife Anniemama, had dragged their feet in telling their younger daughter about Sarah’s betrothal. My uncles and aunts hinted at it, and finally it took a sarcastic joke from Sarayumama for my uncle to make that call.

Only someone beat him to it.

For a few days, I wasn’t able to pin down Sarah chechi. And somehow I felt she didn’t want me to. I tried to stick as closely to her as possible, leaving home to go to church with her on Sunday morning. At church I saw a cute boy and sat in a spot where I could watch him without getting noticed – I stared straight at the Achen (priest) but could see the boy without turning my face.

Of course, I stopped thinking he was cute the instant his right index finger pushed into his right nostril and then rooted around his left. I concentrated on the Achan. After the blessing, I saw not-so-cute-boy-now stick the fingers of his right hand into the lamp of holy oil and smear it on his forehead. It took a hard shove from one of my cousins for me to go near the lamp. I dipped my fingers in the opposite side of the lamp. I glared at the boy’s back, but lost interest when Sarah and one of Johnny’s cousins bobbed into view. They seemed to be sharing pleasantries near one of the church’s side entrances. Sarah turned her head to look into the church and started when our eyes met. She immediately began walking towards the church’s main gate.

I ran after her, “Wait, Sarah chechi,” I said after I thought my cousin was going to attempt a sprint. 

“Got to get home.”

“To cook?” 

My cousin stopped at my sarcasm. “Hmm. You’re right. Why hurry.”

“You took the crossword!”

“So I did.”

Was I hearing right? “Why did you tear it out of the newspaper?”

“I don’t tear crosswords. I do them and return them to the pile.”

I looked at her in disbelief. “So why should the crossword you worked on with Johnnychyan just disappear… whe-when it hasn’t disappeared ever.”

“I find it strange too.”

I felt frustrated. “Do you think Pilipochyan read it?”

“Why would he tear it out?”

“It may have been incriminating… if someone were to read it.”

“What’s incriminating in crossword clues.”

“Yes. I’m wondering that too.”

“Keep wondering. But don’t waste too much time on it.”

I stopped following Sarah. Clearly she was going to stonewall me. So, I dragged my feet and walked behind Sarah, who turned around and grinned at me every now and then.

At home, I was changing out of my Sunday clothes and saw my mother’s bible on the dressing table. A sliver of a newspaper was sticking out. My mother’s Bible sometimes held letters she wanted to read several times, before they were either stored or destroyed, and her grandfather’s obituary. She took it out occasionally while reading the Bible in the mornings, stared at his face and quickly slipped it into the back.

No one would think of touching or looking through Sarah’s Bible. But would she keep the crossword there?

I peeped through her doorway. My cousin was shutting the door in my face, getting ready to change into her home clothes. I couldn’t see her Bible.

I couldn’t go sneaking into my Uncle’s room or open cupboards. This time I had to kill my curiosity.

                                                    ******

That day I got to stay up all night – legitimately. My grandfather, in a mellow mood, allowed me to watch a movie. Everyone had gone to bed and I had begged him. He waved his hand at me, smiled and said, “Keep the volume low, don’t let Ammachi… or Sarayumama… hear.” I had smiled eagerly and nodded.

The movie was in a language I couldn’t understand – Korean or Japanese – but it had subtitles. So I switched off the lights and stretched out on the red sofa to watch. Only when the movie ended, my mind wandered and I dreamed of cute boys and mean girls. I slipped off the sofa and lay on the cool floor, basking in a pool of moonlight, dozing, feeling too lazy to get up and go to bed.

Until I heard one of the doors open.

I hesitated, wondering if I needed to hide – after all I had taken Appachan’s permission to linger past my bedtime. But what if it was Mobby… going to meet Sonimol chechi (FC74).

I crawled quickly behind the curtain nearest the bookcase – which was mercifully free of dust now because everything in the sitting room had been washed before Johnny’s family had turned up to meet Sarah. I let out a breath. It was Sarah creeping forward. I had to stop this midnight meandering – it was not good for my nerves.

Sarah sat on the red sofa and picked up the telephone. She unlocked the phone with the number code and began to dial. She dialled a couple of times and then the voice came through. Sarah and her sister Rebecca spoke. In the silence of the night, I could hear the conversation clearly from where I stood.

“Who is he?” Rebecca asked.

“Johnny, a guy from church. Works in Mumbai.”

“You’re okay with it?”

“Yes. He’s nice. Different. Cool. Plus, he kind of proposed, only there was no privacy with Miss Slingshot about. She almost, almost figured out what was going on.”

Rebecca laughed and said something rude about being more intelligent than necessary. I was beginning to get worked up at the name calling and the insults, when Sarah said, “We have too many stupid cousins. A sensible girl is a welcome change.”

“Hmph. Too smart for her own good.”

“You mean too dumb not to hide it,” both girls laughed. What did that even mean?

Suddenly, Sarah was slamming the phone down and charging towards me. She bumped into my body and gave a short scream. It took a couple of seconds for her eyes to make out it was me and then she was behind the curtain with me, whispering furiously, “You idiot! What are you doing here!”

“Shhh!”

We held our breaths. Through the curtain, we could see Mobby enter the sitting room and look about slowly. He looked like a shady lothario in the moonlight. Tonight he had taken the trouble to dress – he was in a light blue torso-hugging t-shirt and a pair of trousers – not his usual nightclothes. Maybe he was going to flirt today.

When he moved into the store room, two hands gripped my upper arms, making me gasp with pain. “What is he up to?” Sarah demanded.

“No idea, Chechi.”

“Bullshit.”

“Aiyyo, Chechi, don’t swear.”

I thought she would hit me, but then I heard a chuckle. “Tell me the truth.”

“I don’t know, Chechi.”

“Liar. You know everything. Where is he going?”

“You should check.”

“He's going out?”

“Maybe he’s going to take a leak.”

“There’s a toilet next to his room.

“Oh.”

“Is he going out to smoke?”

“Maybe. Sure. Probably.”

My cousin was glaring at me, behind the curtain. Good. Tit for tat.

But maybe a dose of Sarah was what Mobby needed. “Let’s follow him,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

“Why?”

“He shouldn’t be creeping about at night.”

“Just like you shouldn’t.”

“Nor you.”

Another chuckle. And silence. This was a Sarah thing -- her silence made people blurt out stuff they wouldn't ordinarily. I focused on a spot over her shoulder and let my mind empty its thoughts -- now I understood what my yoga teacher meant. Some moonlight squeezed through the curtain's weaves and I waited for Sarah to blink. She snorted and threw the curtain off herself. She reached out and twisted my ear hard.

“OUCH!” I held my ear tightly. She could inflict more pain than Ammachi!

“That’s for lying,” Sarah said coolly.

“Pot calling kettle black!”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean,” I mimicked. “Miss Slingshot almost figured it out. So you and Johnnycha were writing messages to each other on the crossword. How convenient that I didn’t know how to read Malayalam.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t know how to read Malayalam. Three days on you still don’t know the language.”

I took deep breaths, while my cousin held her stomach and laughed silently. I started walking away. Sarah grabbed my wrist. “We’ll wait and see what Mobby is up to.”

“Strange you would want to spy on him when you don’t like anyone knowing anything about you,” I grumbled, trying to break Sarah’s hold. Finally I gave up and stood still.

“You’re right, mol. Ordinarily I would have called someone a hypocrite for such behaviour.”

“And?”

“And I think it is fishy for Mobby to lurk about at this time of the night. Also, I did not hear the kitchen door or store room door open, or the back door. The keys are usually with Ammachi.”

“She keeps them under her pillow.”

“Did she give them to Mobby?

“No. She doesn’t trust anyone with them. Not even Sarayumama or Sarojmama.”

“No spares?”

“Yes. With Appachan.”

“The fortress we can’t conquer.”

I stayed silent. Appachan and I had been having a rapprochement of sorts and he did let me watch a late-night foreign-language movie. I could not diss him so easily.

Sarah put her arm around me and pulled me into a quick surprise hug. “Shall we go and see what Mobby Prick is up to?”

I started, wondering if Sarah had figured my rude pet name for Mobby and was toying with me. Or maybe we thought the same way about our cousin.

I knew what Mobby was up to. But I was curious about Sarah’s reaction.

We started moving to the middle storeroom’s doorway. I told her to remove her slippers so that we didn’t make noise. She grinned, “You’ve got experience, mol.”

“I’m sleepy. I’m going to bed.”

Sarah grabbed me and held me still. I tried to stay pokerfaced. She needed me. And she didn’t want to do this alone. She let go of me and put her slippers in the pile near the doorway.

We heard the faint sounds of the latch on Sonimol chechi’s door tapping twice and Sarah stiffened and her eyes bulged in shock. We could see because of the weak light in the work room leading to the kitchen and to Sonimol chechi’s room. The room had large windows, which were closed at night, and a long bench at the side. At one end was a toilet and the servant’s room next to it.

Sarah was racing through the storeroom towards the light. I heard the door to Sonimol’s room open, low murmurs and sudden kissing noises, the door creaking open wider and then shutting. I felt dread. Things seemed to have progressed since I last intercepted Mobby (FC74). We heard giggles and a shushing noise. I reached the door. Sarah was outside it, standing still. Then she put her ear about a centimetre from the door, listening. As I approached, she straightened, her body stiff, her hands stuck to her sides and her fists curled tightly. When I looked at her, I felt frightened.

I caught her arm and shook my head. I pulled her away. She shook my arm off when we were in the storeroom. “What!”

“If you tell or make a noise, they’ll only blame Sonimol chechi.”

“They’re both in the room. That means both will have to face the consequences.”

“No one will punish Mobby. But Sonimol chechi will be sent home… and her family is very poor.” I had done some thinking. I had talked to Sonimol chechi and knew that she was the only person in her family working, her mother was ill, her father was dead and she had a little sister in school.

Sarah shook me off and marched to Sonimol chechi’s door. I grabbed her waist and tried to pull her back, she turned around and we began to wrestle. We lost our balance and fell on the bench and it, and we, started falling forward. The bench pushed backwards and slammed into the wall. Sarah pushed her body into it, her knees pressing into the ground and her body leaning backwards to hold the bench still. We untangled slowly, awkwardly, and set the bench back upright as quietly as we could. We held our breaths. The noises inside Sonimol chechi’s room had stopped and the light had been switched off.

We straightened and waited. Sarah pushed me backwards, but I resisted. So we went back into the storeroom.

“I’m going to stay there a bit. You go back to your room, mol.”

“No, Chechi, I beg of you! Ammachi will send Sonimol chechi back. They might beat her. Mobby is a bastard and will have just had his fun. No one will punish him.”

“Shhh! Appachan will wake up,” she pointed at his door, which we could see from where we stood in the storeroom.

“I’m not going.”

She tried pushing me out of the storeroom, but I resisted. She lifted me and tried to carry me out into the corridor, but I jammed my feet against either side of the doorway and we struggled, not making any headway.

“You junglee,” Sarah  muttered. “How did you become such a boy!”

I didn’t respond. When I continued to disobey, my body suspended in mid air, she eased her hold on me.

“We need a plan,” Sarah said.

“What?”

“We get him out and end it.”

Duh. “How?”

“You let me handle it.”

I laughed.

“Shhh! You nutcase. Do you have a better idea?”

“I do. But it involves violence. Can’t you think of anything?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want anything to happen in there,” her thumb pointed behind her.

“What might happen?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but shut it. I knew Mobby was in there for sex. But maybe Sarah thought a romance was still in the process. 

“Let’s listen through the door,” I suggested.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not for little kids.”

Yeah, right. I ran past her and back to Sonimol’s door. Now I could hear whispers. I waited and felt Sarah next to me.

We stood on either side of Sonimol chechi’s door, staring at each other and keenly listening to the silence in the closed room. I wasn’t going to leave until Sarah did.

It was a long wait.

                                                     ******             

This series is fictional and follows the narrator who is remembering events related to a family vacation in Kerala during her childhood. 

Her cousin Sarah refuses to divulge the secret behind the missing newspaper crossword. But things get out of hand with the narrator's night-time rambling. 

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

                                                     ******

#fiction #keralasyrianchristians #lifeinakeralavillage #arrangedmarriage #penkanaal #FishyChronicles #mumbaimalayalis #crossword #malayalam #koreanfilm #japanesefilm #foreignlanguagefilm