Fishy Chronicles 91: The Webs We Weave (23) – Black sheep

My heart beat loudly in my ears and throat. When Rita began to squirm I realised I was holding her too tightly. My arms loosened and she stepped back a little. We stayed quiet, listening for noises in the corridor. 

I put my finger to my lips, mostly to stall Rita’s questions and to think of an excuse. I had serious thinking to do.

A phone call to Johnny was out of the question now, not that I agreed that Sarah’s engagement needed to be broken. Johnny was a prick for making Sarah fall in love with him and letting her go – a maha prick.

But Sarah… maybe we had to leave her alone now. That was what everyone else was doing. She had more or less hidden herself since the news broke. For a while things at home had been subdued. I wondered often if Sarayumama had had a hand in it, but I didn’t think her intelligence stretched so far.

But how would she have known about Rebecca and Roy. Whenever I could, I watched my aunt. When her gaze settled on Sarah she sometimes smirked, but as the days passed her joy too diminished.

A door opened and we heard footsteps, they approached the store room and Rita and I crouched behind the table in the store room. It was Rita’s mom Elsamama. I put my finger on Rita’s lips and shook my head. Aunty was going to start working on tea and snacks. Soon a couple of other footsteps followed. The low murmurs were hard to decipher, but I heard Sarah mentioned, and when they paused by us in the storeroom my mother’s arm was around Anniemama’s shoulder. In a few minutes, Anniemama straightened, wiped her face with the pallu of her sari and they walked into the kitchen. We tiptoed to the doorway and looked out carefully into the corridor.

We touched our palms in a silent high five and disappeared in different directions. But at my door I found Mobby and Bobby in their room’s doorway. They gave me filthy looks and Bobby kicked the door shut.

I sighed in relief. It saved me some explanations. My father was fast asleep on his side and I lay gently on my mother’s part of the bed.

“Where did you go?” Appa asked, turning onto his back. I shot up, fright coursing through me.

“Appa!”

“Where did you go?”

“O-out in-in the-the compound,” I stuttered, my heart in my throat.

“Where were you planning to go?” my father was on his side now, facing me, his expression guarded.

“Er, er, nowhere.”

“You don’t know or don’t want to say?” My father’s look was uncompromising. There was no way I could lie. I looked ahead, at the ancient faded calendar on the wall. It had a picture of Jesus on it and so the calendar stayed on the wall, turning more yellow over the years.

“Mol… what do I keep telling you?”

“Er,” my mind raced. Appa gave me all sorts of advice all the time. “Er, not to lie or steal or cheat?”

His nostrils flared and his hard look relaxed somewhat. He shook his head. I tried again. “Er, not to eat other people’s food without asking?”

This time Appa chuckled. “Have you been eating other people’s food without asking?”

“No!”

“Do you know who visited me just before you came into the room?” (FC90)

The air emptied out of my chest and heat suffused my face, but I could only stare at Appa helplessly. I closed my mouth and straightened my back.

“Well, mol?”

“I think I did all the errands Ammachi wanted me to do today…” I looked at my hands.

“That is not what I asked.”

“No… I… don’t know who came to meet you.” Maybe one of the two men who came in through the front door about 20 minutes ago. In all probability my two eldest uncles, whom I would try hard to avoid today and until they lost interest in me.

“Rajanoopapan said you were spy…er… listening to their conversation from behind the shed.”

“I did not spy on them!”

“Then what were you doing behind the shed.”

“I was waiting for Rita and I saw Georgiechyan and Rajanchyan coming towards my spot near the tree and so I ran behind the shed because I didn’t want them to ask me about why I was there.”

“Why were you there?”

I gritted my teeth and glared at my dad. I was fed up of this bullshit cloak-and-dagger stuff. “I was waiting for Rita.”

“You just told me that. What were you going to do?”

“We were going to the junction to make a phone call…” 

Appa looked irritated. “How many times have I told you not to leave the compound without us knowing, and taking Rita too! She’s only eight years old!”

“Ten, Appa, 10! And we did not leave the compound.”

“But you have before!”

“Er, not really. Never alone, Appa. But I do go to Kunjappachan’s house alone, which you know about because I always tell you.”

“But you have stepped out of the compound without telling us.”

“Mostly with Sarahchechi.”

“Mol, just tell me the truth about why you were roaming about the courtyard when you were supposed to be in the house.”

“I-I wanted to call Johnnychyan and ask him why he broke the engagement.”

My father’s brow knotted, his mouth tightened and he inhaled very slowly. “What did I tell you about interfering in things that do not concern you.”

“I know Appa, but they are in love. They spoke every night after the engagement, for a-a long time.” Hours really, but Appa didn’t have to know.

“What?”

“Er, how can you just break an engagement?”

“One can, all the time. But you don’t need to go and set things right because you think you have a stake in it?”

Stake? What did he mean? “Appa, Sarahchechi didn’t know why Johnnychyan wouldn’t call her. I just wanted to know why. Doesn’t she deserve the truth?”

“Yes. But if Johnny doesn’t want to level with her, after… he talked to her, every night you say?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?” 

I hesitated. 

“Your TV business?” Appa said, with sudden clarity.

“Yes, Appa, I wanted to watch TV. I walked in on Sarahchechi soon after the engagement and I thought my ear would come off my head.”

“Serves you right. If Johnny doesn’t want to talk to Sarahmol then that is what she will have to accept.”

“But that’s cruel!”

“Yes.”

"How can that be okay!”

“It isn’t, but that is the way things are.”

“Aren’t we going to ask his family?”

“And lose our dignity over it? No.”

“But why not!”

“They are not worth the effort.”

“If it was my daughter I’d go over there and beat the shit out of them!”

Appa grinned, his teeth showing, and just as quickly the smile disappeared. He held out his arms, and I crawled across the bed and we leaned back against the headboard. A thought struck me. “If someone broke his engagement with me would you stay quiet?”

Appa stiffened, “I’d want to know why this boy didn’t want my beautiful, brilliant daughter. But then I’d think it was probably for the best – perhaps you were better off without him.” Appa looked at me, “What do you think, Mol?”

“If I fell in love with him, I’d want to break his legs for ending things with me.” Appa laughed. “But I hope someone never does that.”

Appa body moved when he nodded. “You know that listening to a conversation is bad manners, right?”

“I’m sorry, Appa.”

“You will have to apologise to your uncles.”

“No! No, Appa, please don’t make me! I will die of shame.”

“Good. It will teach you something I haven’t been able to. And whatever you heard, stays with you.”

I remained silent, feeling glum and embarrassed. When he threw off his bedsheet and started getting up, I held his shoulder. “Mol, I cannot let it go, you have to tell Rajan and Georgie that you are sorry.”

“Er, no, Appa. I wanted to ask.. did you know about Roychyan and Rebecca chechi?”

Appa let out a sigh. “Not until Rajan told me this morning.”

“What will happen now?”

“Nothing.”

“Er, I meant about Roychyan and Rebecca chechi?”

“Nothing.”

“But, but will Georgiechyan and Anniemama be angry? Will they force them to divorce?”

Appa turned and held my hands. “No, Mol. We cannot divorce for such silly reasons. I imagine Georgie will be talking to the two, but there’s nothing both sets of parents can do about it. Georgiecha and Anniemama and the rest of the family will have to make peace with it.”

“Er, what about Kunjappachan and Ammachi?” I asked about Roy’s grandparents.

“Maybe they will be just as angry as your Appachan and Ammachi. We’ll have to wait and see. Don’t share any opinions, be quiet at all times.”

I glared at Appa, it didn’t sound polite. He saw my angry look. “It’s not our business, and all of the family will be under tremendous stress. So, stay out of everyone’s line of vision. Don’t offer an opinion, don’t resurrect broken engagements, leave Sarah and Johnny alone. If Johnny thinks he can get better, he is welcome to. Now come on, that smell is wonderful.”

“You eat etheka appams almost every afternoon!”

“Yes, but today it smells especially good. I want your apology out of the way by tonight.

“Okay,” I said feeling very small.

                                         ****** 

In the dining room, I was less than thrilled to see my eldest uncles seated together. They looked up, Georgiechyan’s eyes instantly narrowing and Rajanchyan’s crinkling in a smile. I couldn't understand why. He waved at my father and Appa’s hand pulled my elbow along. Did he want me to humiliate myself in full view of the family?

Appa made me sit next to Rajanchyan and he sat at my other side.

Uncle smiled and put a faded quarter plate in front of me and two etheka appams on it and asked me if I wanted tea. I nodded, looking at him from the corner of my eyes. I needed to be on my guard. Plus, I had to fit in an apology somewhere. The sooner I could slide it in the better.

“I believe you are in the company of adults now, Mol,” the etheka appam was too hot and I unceremoniously spat out the large bite, dropping the appam in a hurry into my plate. There was a gasp from my grandmother, followed by her and her eldest daughter screwing up their faces in my direction. I put the piece of appam back in my mouth, after making sure it had cooled. That elicited another few murmurs of disgust from the ladies, but no one else seemed to have noticed.

“What do you mean, Rajanchyan?” Why did these adults talk in circles? Pilipochyan always wanted me to glean a moral out of whatever he said, so too Appa, and if I was slow in understanding any of what Ammachi said, I was sure to understand better with a beating – even if I didn’t understand. There had to be an expiry date for beatings. I looked at Appa, he was looking at me oddly. So I looked back at Rajanchyan, rather my eyes veered away from his to his ears which seemed pointy at their topmost tips like Mr Spock’s.

“What you heard was only meant for the adults, ok, yes?” I felt shocked, but nodded vigorously.

“I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to listen to what you were saying… but I was waiting for Rita a-and didn’t want to be found by anyone else. So I hid behind the shed.”

“I believe you, Mol.” I didn’t believe him, but bobbed my head some more. Nobody believed me. My stock was at an all-time low here. I felt relief quarrel with suspicion. “Can’t tell anyone though.”

What did he think I was! “Of course. Er, but… but isn’t everyone going to know soon?”

Appa tapped my shoulder and Georgiechyan looked at me menacingly. He always seemed a pussycat in front of his daughters. I looked down at my appams, which were fast losing their charm.

But Rajanchyan chuckled and despite myself I looked up at him. “Yes. Very soon. But it’s best you leave any news breaks to the adults.”

“Okay.”

“Any questions?”

“Eh?”

“Aren’t there anymore questions.”

“Yes, but you said I can’t ask.”

“I did not say that.”

“Okay. Appa or someone else must have.”

“What do you want to ask me?”

“What’s going to happen?”

“What’s going to happen where?”

I took a deep breath. Rajanchyan’s eyes were laughing and Georgiechyan’s face was hardening. Appa was listening raptly.

I pulled Rajanchyan’s face nearer mine and said, “What’s going to happen to Rebecca chechi?” I turned my ear towards his mouth for his answer.

“Nothing really. There will be a lot of drama here, crying, threats, some blackmail, mostly from the elders and Sarayu. But no one here can break the marriage.”

“So then, what’s the problem?”

“They are second cousins, things will be uncomfortable for the immediate family for some time. But things will blow over after a while.”

“Will we be forced to stop talking to Rebecca?” That had happened to one of Appa’s cousins. My aunt had eloped with a Hindu man and only a few years later did the family allow her to visit. One year, Ammachi would not open the front door, despite the visitors knowing we were at home. Kunjappachan had never had any such issues.

“Will Kunjappachan have a problem? And Thomaskuttychyan?” Thomaskutty was Kunjappachan’s second son and Roy’s dad.

“Probably. But we’ll have to wait and see. Anything else?”

“If there can’t be anything done about it, why the fuss?”

Rajanchyan threw back his head and let out a bark of laugher. His arm squeezed my neck and I started tapping it for him to loosen his grip. He loosened his arm and pulled me closer to him and laughed some more. His children looked surprised. When he had composed himself, he said only so I could hear, “I agree, Mol. Why the fuss. It will be a novelty only for a few days. They are not exactly siblings, though if it were a marriage between outsiders, it would be an excellent match.”

That was true. Both Roy and Rebecca had beauty, brains and ambition. And from the little I understood of family connections, they were well placed.

“And after I heard the stories about you, I thought this family was missing its black sheep and keen to find a replacement.” He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned.

Me, a black sheep? I shook my head several times. They had it wrong. Black sheepery was for more serious crimes.

“Do you know what a black sheep is?” Rajanchyan asked softly, placing another snack on my plate, and pushing my tea closer.

“Er, yes, sort of.”

“Do you consider yourself one?”

“No!”

“Good. Don’t bother about what other people think or say. Just be yourself.” He paused, “Do you think I’m one?”

I hesitated. All the stories I had heard pointed to him being one in his youth. He had been a rabble rouser – part of the student union, disappearing from home without notice for days due to local political campaigns, his activeness in church, and he was very handsome in his early pictures. Plus, he failed a year in college. But all that changed when he met Sisly Aunty. His family had made peace with all this, but his parents couldn’t forgive him for following his heart. “No. I don’t think you are one.”

“Anyone here look like one?”

I looked around the table. My family ate noisily and bantered loudly, while the kids ate with their mouths open and spilled tea on and around the plastic place mats that Ammachi insisted we use. Most of them were undiluted idiots, including Rajanchyan’s kids, but how to be impolite and say so. And how could a sheep be wicked because its fleece was black. He was just being a normal sheep. Clearly his colouring was due to his genes – a black daddy or mummy. When my father and Uncle started laughing, I realised I had said it aloud. I was also thinking of the black cat that people were afraid of in the village. My neighbours considered it evil. What was wrong with its black fur? The villagers and even people in my neighbourhood in Bombay took torturous routes around the black cats they encountered or threw stones at them. But Kunjappachyan next door loved the black cat and it often lolled under the shade of a jackfruit tree near the window of his room or on his window sill.

I watched my family looking at us with interest and my grandmother frowned, her eyes on me, for sure assuming I was the villain. Rajanchyan continued to murmur in my ear, “Well, for now, you and I have been displaced by dear Rebecca.”

I heard a car pull up outside the gate. It squeaked steadily as it was opened and the tyres of a car churned the gravel in the courtyard, slowly and heavily. We heard car doors shut and about a minute later the doorbell rang. A sudden silence fell on the group in the dining room. And then as one, chairs scraped backwards and people began to scramble towards the main door.

                              ******

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

Mol's father confronts her about eavesdropping on her uncles' conversation.

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

#roy #rajan #uncle #teenager #engagement #divorce #blacksheep #fleece #ethekaappam #keralasnack #tea #brokenengagement #elope #love #youngadultfiction #keralachristians #syrianchristians #malayali #malayalichristians #kerala #bombaymalayalis #family #familydrama #john #sarah #rebecca #lovemarriage #hindu #johnnyandsarah #rebeccaandroy #familyvacation #spock #spockears #fishychronicles #youngadult #keralafamily #Bombay #Mumbai #phone #fiction #vacation #kissingcousins #grandchildren #grandparents #fishychronicles91 #websweweave23

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 89: The Webs We Weave (21) – Late night caller

“How are you?”

I froze. It wasn’t a question. Just a statement. I had more than a hundred questions to ask but couldn’t get a single one out.

Rita grabbed the phone from me and said, “Why did you break up with Sarah chechi!”

I gawked, and tried to pull the phone from her, but it was clamped vice-like against her ear, the streetlight illuminating her frowning face. I bent and put my ear to the phone to listen to what he had to say.

There was more silence and a little while later, he cut the line.

Rita’s eyes were round. “We should call Johnnycha back. Let me get his phone number (FC88). But I don’t have the code!” she said in distress.

I grabbed her shoulder and took a deep breath. “It wasn’t Johnnychyan.”

“What?”

“Not him.”

“But-but you said he calls this time of the night.”

“Earlier, I mean, before – a little after 12.30. But this wasn’t Johnnychyan.”

“How do you know?”

What an annoying kid. Why couldn’t she take my word for it. “I know his voice. I’ve talked to Johnnychyan a few times,” I said unnecessarily. But this man’s voice sounded familiar. There was some intimacy in his tone too. Rita looked like she would burst. She looked agitated and wrung her hands.

I put my hand on hers and she stilled. “Maybe a wrong number,” I tried to sound reassuring.

“So there’s not going to be a wedding?” she asked faintly.

“Shall we try to call him?”

“How? I don’t know the code to the phone.”

“Does your dad know?” Joychyan was more forthcoming with his kids. He bent rules for them. My parents didn’t and I’d face an inquisition.

“Daddy knows the code. I’ve seen him making phone calls. I’ll get the number tomorrow.”

“Worse comes to worst we can go to the junction and call him.”

“But… I don’t have money.”

“I have… some.” Long distance calls cost lots of money. Why had I offered? I thought of the money I had saved. I had received some gifts from my mother’s family and my stash was now a princely 1,107 rupees and 75 paise. It was stored in a tattered wallet that used to be Appa’s. Amma had given me a coin purse, but even she had no idea of how much I had accumulated. In my earlier years my parents had relieved me of any money gifts I got from family, but after I turned 10, my mother’s father suggested that I learn to keep the money and spend it. He had then sat me down, and explained about our promise to help the poor and that a tenth of all earnings, including gifts, needed to be kept aside. I goggled at this bit of information. When I tried to protest to my parents, separately, they became stern. And so I kept my thoughts about the tithe to myself. My granddad also taught me how to calculate percentages that day – how to calculate a tenth of what I got.

Rita poked me hard in the navel, dislodging me from the memory. “Let’s try tomorrow, when everyone goes to sleep in the afternoon.”

Shit. Rita was going to make me spend my money. “Er, don’t you want to try to get the phone code first?”

“Too many people around. And we may get caught. You’re already in trouble. If I get caught too, everyone will think you had something to do with it.”

I gritted my teeth. It was hard to fault Rita’s logic. She was clever – I would have said cunning, but never mind.

We sat on the settee. “Should we tell Sarah chechi about the call?” Rita asked during a slow part of the serial.

“No. I don’t think the call was for her.”

“You mean it was a wrong number?”

Unlikely. “Yes.”

“Oh. But… isn’t it too late for one?”

Not if you live in another time zone – the ring of the phone had been different. Why had I thought Johnnychyan was travelling. “Yes.” I really wanted Rita to stop talking and suddenly I was not enjoying this ‘alone’ time.

“So why dial at all?”

I wanted to rage at Rita and turned suddenly. Rita tilted her head and looked at me, her eyes narrowing speculatively. I had a sudden memory of Roma and Rajiv arguing wildly yesterday near their bedroom, then Roma pinning Rajiv to the nearest wall, ramming a single punch into his stomach and disappearing. Joychyan had found his only son, his most favoured child, bent double and asked him numerous questions but had been unable to elicit an answer.

I spent anxious moments at dinner yesterday because Uncle had given me a couple of cold looks, but then his eyes had settled on his nephews Mobby and Bobby and then on his daughters – lingering on them for an eternity.

I shook my head and changed tack. “Some poor soul was trying to call someone else, I imagine. I wish I had a boyfriend who’d call me in the middle of the night.”

Rita sniggered and we turned back to the TV.

It was while we were surfing channels a few minutes later that she dropped a bombshell. “You know, Rebecca chechi (FC81) is coming tomorrow.” Rebecca was Sarah’s sister, younger by a year.

Rita nodded at my incredulous expression. Despite the light streaming in through the open windows, we had to sit really close to see and hear each other. “Mummy said she had a few days off and decided to visit.”

I didn’t know what to make of it. Rebecca had left for the US a few months ago, saying she wouldn’t visit for a couple of years until her course ended and she got a job – all of which had not gone down well with Appachan and Ammachi who felt Sarah and Rebecca were unnecessarily focussed on studies and careers instead of getting married. This was strange because their mother Anniemama had a PhD in Chemistry and was a professor in a college in Bangalore.

“But why?” I hissed at Rita’s ear.

“What do you mean why?” she hissed back.

“I mean it doesn’t make sense. Airplane tickets are very, very expensive. And now Sarah chechi isn’t getting married.”

“Maybe she feels bad about Sarah chechi and is coming to make her feel better.”

“A phone call would have been cheaper.”

Rita looked doubtful. “Mummy said Rebecca chechi is being a good sister.”

The snort escaped before I could control myself. Rita’s head whipped around. How could I tell Rita that two sisters couldn’t be more similar in outlook and ambition than the George sisters – they were joined at the hip, or probably shared the same egg but one just dropped out of her mother’s womb a year later. Appachan and Ammachi grumbled about them to all their children over and over and over – especially Ammachi who took it as a personal failing. In recent years the sisters had avoided visiting, using college and extracurricular activities as excuses. But it was getting harder for their parents to arrive at the ancestral home without their children.

“Oh, and Rajanchyan is also going to visit.”

“Oh.” I felt intense shock. Rajanchyan was my oldest uncle after Georgiechyan. He was something of a black sheep, unable to see eye to eye with Appachan and rarely visited. It had to do with the ultimate act of rebellion, and once unthinkable among Syrian Christians – that of eloping.

Rajanchyan had fallen in love with his wife Sislymama in college. When he broached the subject, his parents were against their union even though Sislymama was from our community. There was no particular reason they could offer, though family status may have been one. He soon got a job and moved to Delhi and some years passed that way. When Ammachi began to press Rajanchyan to marry a family friend’s daughter, he quickly married Sislymama, letting his family know via a telegram. It led to years of strife, with my grandmother making no effort to accept Sislymama. Even now.

Family get-togethers with Sislymama and Rajanchyan and their four children – Shyla, Nina, Joey and Tomo – were fraught with silences and awkwardness, with everyone looking for cues from the patriarch and matriarch. Eventually only Rajanchyan’s children stayed over during the holidays. Even that proved awkward for everyone because my grandparents didn’t make an effort to be close to these grandchildren, forcing their children to make the effort. In the pecking order, Ammachi favoured her daughters’ children. Her sons’ children vied for whatever affection was left over.

“What happened? Why is Rajanchyan visiting?” I said as normally as possible.

“I don’t know.”

“You know that he’s coming here, but you don’t know why. Why aren’t you saying?”

“I don’t know, Chechi. I only tell you what I hear Daddy and Mummy say.”

“Ok.”

“Let’s try and make that phone call tomorrow.”

“What phonecall?”

“The one to Johnnychyan.”

“You still want to ask him why?” I had hoped she would forget our mission.

“Yes. We need to know.”

“No. We don’t.”

Rita’s head whipped around and she gave me a filthy look. Despite the white streetlight dulling my view of Rita and, in turn, every emotion of hers, I moved back a bit.

“I m-mean only Sarah chechi needs to know and Johnnychyan may not bother talking to us,” I was having second thoughts big time. We were poking our noses into things that were best left alone. Who knew what would happen.

“Oh, like that. We’ll see.” She shoved the coffee table away with her feet and mine hit the ground – pain radiating upwards through my heels. The idiot got up, switched off the TV and went back to her room.

I surveyed the settee and floor. For all her previous gyaan* about Ammachi spotting the crumbs and them leading to us, the floor and settee were littered with food particles. I wanted to watch some more TV, but it was past 2am and someone was bound to get out of their room for a leak.

I saw one of my aunts’ super-starched cross-stitched table cloths on a small table and used it to dust the settee and mop up the crumbs from the floor. I emptied the table cloth out of an open window. There were oil stains on the rexine seat where we sat, but someone’s bum would rub it clean tomorrow.

I draped the embroidered cover over the TV, looked out of the window one last time and went to bed.

Tomorrow I was going to make certain we got the code and didn’t go to the junction.

                                                     ******

*Gyaan – Hindi colloquial word. Means unwanted advice

*Chechi – Older sister in Malayalam

 

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 receive a late night phone call but the caller disconnects without speaking. The girls believe it is Johnny and decide they need to speak to him and find out why he's decided to end his engagement to their cousin Sarah.

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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