Fishy Chronicles 94 – The Webs We Weave (26)

Photo credit: A. Peter

In a couple of days my cousins Rebecca and Roy left Kunjappachan’s home. There were tears all around and a grand farewell. It seemed a mob was in and out of both households and no one mentioned or joked about cousins kissing. I was still confused by what it meant.

On their last day at home, Roy had visitors. A pair of foreigners visited Kunjappachan’s house and some of the younger kids went over to gawk from the doorway. I felt my face turn red at the sight of the very handsome Japanese man, but shuddered at the cold look his partner – a mannish-looking Scandinavian woman – gave all of us. ‘All of us’ were the girls, of course. Word had spread that a blond woman was in the village and I could see my male cousins hurrying over from next door.

It was normal for us to stare at visitors. We peeped through windows and open doors or nonchalantly lolled on the broad ledge that ran around the front of our granduncle’s house. You could tell we were bored out of our minds.

Anyway, Roy and his father soon left to drop off the couple at the nearest railway station, much to our intense disappointment.

Things had become dull. We had to stay indoors whenever it rained. That meant many chores. I loved the rains here. It swished and poured, one moment it would turn grey, because of the sudden darkening of the skies, and then you could see sheets of white pouring rain in the distance. I saw this in Mumbai too, but grey shabby buildings interrupted the beauty of it all. Here the trees bent from side to side with the rain and wind and shook themselves, their leaves dancing. They shone and glinted. They looked nourished with a newfound green. If we were lucky, some mangoes fell off and we might find them intact the next day. In the mornings, my father, his brothers and Appachan did a recce of the fields and the rattan trays in the kitchen would be full of assorted vegetables and fallen fruit. I sorted through them every day, finding small chillies, the occasional cashew fruit. One day there were even wilting white nutmeg flowers, that an aunt had washed and offered to the youngest child. The flowers often gave the tongue a nice zing!

I thought of Romeo (Mob Justice) often, but resisted the idea of getting close to another animal as I would be leaving for Mumbai in a few weeks. I didn’t want to pet another animal either in case someone turned on it out of spite for me. But every now and then I stood under my favourite guava tree during a downpour, and under a wide umbrella and felt pure bliss – even though the effort drenched me. It was in moments like these that I didn’t need to talk to or be with anyone.

One day my father gestured to me, “Do you want to go with me to the village market?” It happened once a week.

“Yes!”

“Ok, change your clothes and go and tell your grandmother and mother.”

I hesitated. “What mol?”

“What if Ammachi says no.”

My father sighed and went to the kitchen. He came back in a few minutes and I dashed off to change. I wore the kurta salwar I had worn yesterday, and scraped a comb through my tangled hair. It poked out oddly in places, but it didn’t matter.

I rushed out of the door, with Rita screaming at my back demanding to know where I was going. Appa and I were out of the gate before she could finish her questions. I waved my dupatta in the air, let the breeze man it like a sail, and then flapped my wings like a bird. What joy to be out of the house.

The men had gone to the market earlier in the day, so my father was likely on a personal errand. I wondered if I could get him to buy me a meat puff or an icecream. But then thoughts of the handsome Korean, not Japanese as I had thought, entered my mind and I forgot food. Maybe it was worth studying hard and going abroad to the US. There might be a romance in it. I shivered at the thought of my cousins hooking up… and my thoughts drifted to my male cousins. Hooking up with any of those idiots was a fate worse than death. Anyone planning a future with them needed to be warned. I hoped anyone planning a future with any one of my cousins had a premonition about it. Then I ticked myself off for those thoughts. Them marrying had nothing to do with me. Maybe they were not all bad. Maybe.

Appa braked hard at one of those signals that are rarely seen in villages in Kerala. Our road was laboriously tarred, narrow for a main road, and with space for very large puddles. As children we sailed paper boats in them. But for any soul that wanted to walk alongside the road, there was no kaccha path in spots but steep drops into the lush green overgrowth of someone’s estate. I would have said bowels of the estate, but with everyone owning a toilet now we rarely saw a stranger’s bare defecating bum.

A large car braked near us as well and I lowered my flailing arms self-consciously. I could see the amused looks and then the faces turned away. I leaned into my father’s back and whispered at his ear, “Appa, don’t turn. Johnnychyan and his family are in the car next to us!”

But of course my father had to look, and after an uncomfortable few seconds Johnnychyan nodded, tried to smile, and said, “Hello, Uncle.”

Appa smiled back, “Hello, mon (son).”

Johnnychyan looked my way and gave me a broad smile that faltered near his eyes, and my good mood of the last 10 minutes evaporated. It felt awkward and I couldn’t drag my eyes away from Johnnychyan.

“How are you, mol?”

I was tongue tied. What do I say? I stared aghast for a long time and then heard Appa murmur, “Say, fine, thank you.” I looked at the people in the car – his parents and an aunt. They looked ahead as though they didn’t see us.

“Er, good Achacha, and you?”

He nodded many times, like his neck was jelly and he couldn’t stop. “Very good.” He held out something. He reminded me of those bobble dolls that we kids wanted but couldn’t convince anyone returning from America to get us.

Appa murmured again, “Be kind. Remember your manners.” There was a bar of chocolate in Johnnychyan’s hand and he was trying to drop it in my lap.

“T-Thank y-you Johnnych-chyan. Th-Thank you.”

Suddenly the car shot forward and immediately swerved to avoid a scooter coming from a side road. Johnny’s father just about avoided hitting a lamppost, before braking to a hard stop. The passengers looking stunned. The scooterist drove up to Uncle’s window and swore at him. Uncle began to apologise profusely. Appa rode near the scooterist to see if he was hurt, but the man ignored him and drove off at top speed.

“Are you okay, Chetta (older brother)?” Appa asked Johnny’s father.

“Y-yes. I’m fine. Just got a fright. We’ll be okay, thanks.”

Appa took in the shaken passengers, nodded at them, and then slowly accelerated away.

“Why did they drive ahead when the signal hadn’t changed, Appa?”

Appa’s shoulders shrugged.

“Why, Appa?”

“Difficult situation – meeting your ex to-be in laws at the signal. Hard to avoid in a small village like ours,” Appa smiled. That was true. Random neighbours even remembered I had worn the same dress two days in a row. And I didn’t even know who they were!

Only outside Appa’s friend’s office did I realise that the chocolate in my hand was now squished into a shapeless mass. Nevertheless, I sat in a corner of the office and licked the chocolate wrapper clean and marvelled at how my dad could stay so cool and polite in a state of siege. Well, not siege, exactly. Maybe war-like conditions. Or, a state of duress. There, that was better.

Afterwards we inspected baskets of wares on the roadside. People jostled each other along the narrow rough concrete paths and everywhere you looked there was red earth and puddles. We walked in and out of the small streets down the main road. I took care to walk slowly, because I had worn white pajamas, and mud stains were difficult to scrub off. I had stopped washing my clothes everyday, and wondered when my parents would discover what I was doing. They were probably just ignoring it. A few days ago I had tried putting some of my clothes in my absent-minded cousin Shyla’s bucket of soaking clothes, but at the washing stone she had thrown a hissy fit and had tossed my clothes into the wet mud, which had led us to argue.

“Why didn’t you scold them, Appa?”

“Scold who?” Appa asked. 

“Johnny and his parents!”

“For trying to run through a red light?”

“For the broken engagement!”

“It is over. There’s nothing to be said.”

“But why? They looked guilty.”

“Rubbish. Things are just awkward. Life is not a bed of roses, you know. There is no happily-ever-after. If you read fewer romance novels and tried to read the good books I give you, you would know better.” Appa gave me a dirty look. This discussion popped up quite often.

Did Appa know I was currently ploughing through a Georgette Heyer. If he knew I was finding it tiresome he would have been happy. Roma had told me the best way to handle a dull book was to skim-read the boring parts and then slow down when the juicy bits arrived. Luckily, someone had decided to pencil in crosses on the corners of the important pages, and our reading had sped up. Some of the older girls had brought many such books with them and were passing them around. Even Rita was reading one which had sex in it. Everyday Roma and I expected a question from her, but strangely she stayed silent. Had she understood what she was reading? Probably not.

“And what is this I hear about you not attending Sunday School? Where do you go when you leave the house?” Appa was pissed now and was in his ‘stream-of-thought-pick-a-fight’ mode.

“Eh?”

Appa’s lips pursed, “Joychyan told me that Roma and you have been skipping Sunday School. Where are you girls going?”

“Er… to… the river.” We loafed about in the fields, around the junction, and near the river, but Appa didn’t need to know such details.

“Why?” Appa demanded.

“It’s all in Malayalam and very boring. Besides, I have to go back and do Sunday School in Mumbai. It is a waste of time doing it here.”

Wrong, wrong, wrong choice of words! “You let me decide what is a waste of time! When we are here, in this house, we do what Ammachi and Appachan want. And if I tell you to go to Sunday School you jolly well do it. Understood?”

“Y-yes.”

“And if I see that filth in your hands again, I will tear it. Clear?” Appa was referring to the Mills and Boons, Silhouettes and Harlequins hidden in various nooks of the house, some even in Appachan’s book case.

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, er… Sir?”

Appa snorted, and chuckled, shaking his head. He put his arm around my shoulders and said, “If I thought those kinds of books were good for you, I’d have got you many. But all it does is lead you to think there’s a good-looking man out there waiting to sweep you off your feet and take care of all your troubles. That’s not true. You’ll have to troubleshoot and fight fire all by yourself. I’d rather you learnt to do these things yourself than assume some silly boy will come to your rescue. Don’t wait. He’s not going to come.”

That one line made me feel glum. What good was life if there wasn’t any romance in it and, worse, no handsome boyfriend quickening your pulse.

“There will not be a handsome man lying in wait for you… to rescue you. There will be a thousand other beautiful girls he will try to rescue before you.”

Thousand? Now Appa was rubbing it in! “But Johnnychyan is handsome!”

“Yes, and look what happened. And Sarah is extremely pretty, many handsome men will make a beeline for her. So what? Do good looks or money guarantee a happy life?” Appa dared me to argue.

Was Appa asking me to ignore good-looking guys and only aim for ugly ones? I was very confused. I nodded like I understood and agreed with what he was saying. If this lecture ended on a good note, I might still get my meat puff.

“Where do you go when you bunk Sunday School in Bombay?” he said suddenly.

The corners of my lips sank to my crotch.

“Mrs Jeelu Kurian called me. Apparently your group stays away regularly.”

ILU (I Love You) Jeelu was a pain. We called her that because she preached about loving your brothers and neighbours all the time. But never about loving your sisters. Our last Sunday in Mumbai before our vacation began, Roma, a couple of Sunday School classmates who were also in school with us, and I had gone to see a morning show with my best friend Anjali. It must have inflicted some pain on Jeelu, because it was the first time she had ratted on me.

“You will not be able to get married if you don’t pass Sunday School or have full Sunday School attendance,” she had made the outrageous claim one day. When I checked with Appa, he confirmed it was a new dictat, which was still being debated in church. This was a huge source of amusement for him.

“What’s the connection, Appa!”

“Just a way to bring you closer to God. You go into a marriage prepared for a life of service. Of course, you can get married any way you want, but you should know the scriptures and at least know what the basic tenets are about. You should be able to instruct your children. By the way, you don’t know anything. You would have to cheat to pass. I am not sure you will be allowed to marry.”

Appa laughed till the tears fell. He had to blow his nose and hold his breath for a few minutes to compose himself, while I hopped on each foot feeling appalled and enraged in turns. I don’t know why, he was merely stating fact. It took me a while to locate the books in the Bible and I could barely keep awake in class. Each exam was touch-and-go only because I wouldn’t study for it.

Appa caught my hand to his chest, and said hoarsely, “Promise me you will never run away to get married. That you will make an effort to pass those exams.” He laughed some more.

I walked ahead. I didn’t feel like eating a puff. Now I was sure I would never get a handsome husband, and Appa had just ruined romance for me. Also, for all her preaching, ILU Jeelu did not love some of us Sunday Schoolers. So much for loving your brethren.

I heard Appa shout, but ignored him. Another shout. I hesitated. I wondered how to have a tantrum and get away with it. But I was at fault here, I had played truant at Sunday School. I would be forced to attend the Malayalam version here and the Hinglish (Hindi and English) version when I returned to ILU Jeelu.

If I kept walking, it would make Appa angry and force him to give me another lecture. The most popular theme now was my lack of manners. I exhaled and turned, marching back.

But… ahead … I could see my father’s good friend Sam… and my footsteps began to slow. My breathing became laboured and my heart raced. As was usual my tongue felt too big for my mouth but I couldn’t take my eyes off the two people with Sam Uncle.

“Come quick, mol. See who’s here!” 

                                             ****** 

The Webs We Weave series follows the travails of a 14-year-old narrator on a family vacation. An innocent incident 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

#lovemarriage #marriage #roy #rebecca #rebeccaandroy #cousins #kissingcousins #joy #love #grandparents #humour #fiction #kerala #keralavillage #keralastories #loveinkerala #cousinsinlove #cousins #korean #japanese #scandinavian #blond #puff #summervacation #caller #syrianchristians #youngadult #car #scooterist #scooter #romancenovels #smut #sex #goodbooks #literature #bombaymalayalis #bombay #keralamonsoon #rains #bowel #kaccharoad #puddles #paperboats #chocolate #visitors #sundayschool #malayalam #hinglish #johnny #neighbours #church #dictat #bible #scriptures #georgetteheyer #fishychronicles94 #websweweave26 #millsandboons #m&b #silhouette #Harlequin 

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 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