Читать книгу The Disappearing Uncle - D. K. Rajagopalan - Страница 3

Two women and two girls sat crouched around a palm leaf mat on a roof terrace. It was almost midday, and the searing heat was a welcome visitor, as Kummi Paati was making vadam – rice cakes that were dried in the sun and then fried. These were not unlike their more popular cousin, appalaam or papadam. She loved making these treats for her grandchildren, who enjoyed the process of making the vadams as much as they enjoyed consuming them.

‘Paati, when did you learn how to make this?’ Nina asked.

‘Probably around your age. My stepmother taught me.’

‘Our age? But didn’t you have school?’

‘Oh yes, I did. But after school I had to help in the kitchen.’

‘But not your brother?’ Alisha asked.

‘No, my brother would play with his friends.’

‘So you were like Cinderella, Paati!’

Kummi Paati laughed.

‘No, not at all. In those days, it was considered essential for girls to know how to cook well by the time they were married. My stepmother was doing her duty.’

A short pause and then Nina spoke again. ‘Did she teach your sister too?’

Kummi Paati smiled, thinking of Lakshmi, a year younger than her.

‘Yes. But she didn’t teach her until she was a bit older. She was probably twelve or so by the time she started learning. Your Lacchu Paati needed ... more time.’

The two young girls nodded, eyes wide.

‘In a way, it was a good thing that I had started to cook when I was so young. I could help my sister learn so my stepmother did not have to do all of it.’

‘Did your stepmother like you?’ Nina asked.

Kummi Paati pondered the question.

‘I think ... I think she did not dislike us. But she didn’t like us either. I suppose she considered us as one of her responsibilities; a part of her lot in life.’

‘Did you like her?’

Kummi Paati stifled a smile. Always with the questions, these two! So fascinated by what she had always considered a fairly mundane existence.

Had she liked her stepmother? She supposed not. Certainly not after Lacchu’s marriage. But it was hardly appropriate to say that to a ten-year-old child.

‘With time I have come to realise that she was compelled to act in a certain way due to her circumstances. But it took me a long time to understand that.’

There. That wasn’t a lie. And luckily, the vadams had all been laid out to dry, so the children wandered off to look out over the parapet wall. For now, at least, she could avoid further awkward questions about her stepmother.

‘Amma,’ Shakuntala said, ‘I was thinking of staying for longer.’

Kummi Paati looked up at her daughter.

‘Longer?’

‘Yes, yes, longer. As in, beyond when the twins – oh, never mind.’

‘I would love for you to stay longer, Shaku. But I don’t think the girls can travel alone at this age.’

‘No, of course not. You know what, it was a stupid idea. Never mind.’

Kummi Paati was about to respond when a young girl walked onto the roof terrace. She was in her mid twenties. She had skin the colour of coffee and long black hair, plaited down her back. Her eyes were large and expressive – and currently red from crying.

‘Kummi Paati ... Somu Thatha said you were here ...’

She looked around the roof terrace, her face flushed. Shaku cleared her throat.

‘Kids! Nina, Alisha! Let’s go down. It’s very hot up here; come and have some tender coconut water.’

The two girls ran out in front of their aunt, who followed them down the stairs.

‘Go slowly!’ Kummi Paati heard her call out. ‘If you fall down, you’ll break your heads!’

Shaku’s voice trailed off into the distance and Kummi Paati looked up at the young girl. Sanjana lived with her parents in the flat right above Kummi Paati. She was what Kummi Paati considered a nice young girl. None of this partying and drinking, or going out late at night. Not, she thought, that such behaviour was considered wrong nowadays. Things had changed. She had never allowed her children to drink or go out late at night, but these were different times.

She wondered, though, if her children had done these things anyway. She had always speculated about what they got up to when they slept over at their friends’ houses ... and really, if they were going to do such things, wouldn’t it have been better for her to know about it?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Sanjana.

‘Kummi Paati, I need your help. Please.’

‘Of course, kanna,’ she said. ‘What happened?’

Sanjana sighed, clearly unsure of where to begin. Then she plunged in.

‘Kummi Paati, you have to convince my father to let me go to Pune.’

‘To Pune? Why? What’s in Pune?’

‘I’ve got admission into S P Jain, Kummi Paati.’

S P Jain was a highly prestigious institute for management studies.

‘I wrote the entrance exam this year ... I never expected to get in. But then I got called for the interview. Dad didn’t want me to go for it, actually, but I went in the morning before work one day. And then last week, I heard from them ... I got in, Kummi Paati!’

Kummi Paati smiled broadly.

‘Congratulations, ma, that is very, very good news! Your parents must be so –’

She broke off, remembering what Sanjana had said earlier.

‘No, Kummi Paati, they aren’t. Dad says he doesn’t want me to go. He says – he says he wants to start looking for a husband for me.’

‘Hmm,’ Kummi Paati said. ‘But he can find you a husband after you study also.’

‘I told him that, but he says boys’ families don’t want a girl who has studied so much. He wants me to learn how to cook over the next two years rather than do my MBA.’

Kummi Paati frowned.

‘But he never had a problem when you wanted to work. Why suddenly?’

‘I asked him that, and he said he wanted to give me some time to do what I wanted before I settled down. But he never told me that I have three years to do what I wanted, after which he was going to turn me into a glorified servant and marry me off!’

Kummi Paati wondered for a moment if that is what people thought of her as – a glorified servant. But then, what else could she have done but cook and manage the household? That was what women of her generation did. And she supposed it was kind of like being a servant. Her work was never really done. Even now, at the age of sixty-five, she woke at 6 am to commence the kitchen work. Her husband had started to reduce his office hours. He spoke of retiring in a few years. But that was not an option for her, was it? She didn’t have that kind of job.

Still, if that’s all she was, why ask for her advice at all?

‘I need your help, Kummi Paati. People listen to you. If you tell him I should go, he will listen to you.’

People did listen to her, she thought. Perhaps it was the years of experience. But no, Neela, her best friend, was two years older than her and no one asked for her advice. No one asked Somu Thatha either. So perhaps she was more than a glorified servant. Perhaps she was a ... an advice giver? A problem solver? Or maybe people considered her a busybody instead. She wasn’t sure.

She looked up to see Sanjana looking at her hopefully, expectantly. Suddenly, whatever name you gave this role that she played ceased to matter. All that mattered was this young girl who needed her help.

‘Well, let’s see what I can do. Give me a few days. I’ll speak to him.’

* * *

It was two days before the vadams were dry enough to give her a reason to visit her upstairs neighbours. It was a plausible enough excuse to stop by – older ladies like herself would often share around homemade food items. This would then allow for the start of a gentle conversation, perhaps some coffee – a pleasant enough way to pass the time when one had time to kill.

Sanjana’s father, Kumar, would likely tell her the news himself. He was that kind of man. Every time she visited him, he would mention the most recent purchase he had made – a new fridge or home appliance – or tell her about his latest work achievements – a promotion, occasionally, or a situation where he had got the better of a colleague. Most of the time, she had noticed, this was a junior colleague.

She tapped on the wrought-iron door of the apartment. All the apartments had two doors – a solid wooden one and one made of wrought-iron bars and covered with a flyscreen. Most people left the wooden door open in the morning and evening, when neighbours were likely to drop by. So much easier to see who was visiting than using the tiny peephole that was too high for most ladies to reach anyway.

‘Come in, come in, Kummi Paati,’ Mrs Kumar said. ‘Sit down. You haven’t dropped by for some days now. Your grandchildren must be keeping you busy!’

‘Oh yes, they are. Very active girls, both of them, and they keep asking me to cook this or that.’

She produced the dried vadams.

‘That’s actually why I dropped by. I made some vadam at home the other day and thought you might like some.’

‘So nice of you, Kummi Paati! It’s been a while since I had your homemade vadam. Kumar will be so happy when I tell him.’

Kummi Paati inclined her head by way of accepting the compliment.

‘Will you have coffee?’

Kummi Paati settled into her chair.

‘Maybe just half a cup,’ she said.

Mrs Kumar bustled off to the kitchen and Kummi Paati heard her calling out to her husband on the way. A few minutes later, he came out of his room wearing a t-shirt and lungi, a colourful cotton cloth that men wore wrapped around their waist.

Kumar was a man of average height and more than average girth. His thick, black, wavy hair was heavily oiled and slicked down, even after work hours. When he spoke, his voice was deep and loud – and he spoke a lot. Kummi Paati could often hear him from her flat below.

‘Ah, Kummi Paati, you’ve come with your special vadam! Karuna,’ he called out to his wife, ‘are you making coffee?’

‘Yes, yes, and I am making some for you as well,’ she said.

‘Good, good,’ he said, sitting down in a sofa opposite Kummi Paati. Like in most Indian households, the sofa had an additional cloth draped over the top to prevent hair oil stains from marking the sofa permanently. In this case, Kummi Paati thought, it was a worthwhile investment.

‘So what news?’ Kummi Paati asked.

Kumar cleared his throat and looked away briefly.

‘Oh, no news, no news,’ he said. ‘You tell me! How long are your grandchildren here for?’

‘Another few weeks,’ Kummi Paati said. She smiled and then said, ‘But I heard you had some very happy news – some very happy news indeed!’

‘Oh?’ Kumar shifted in his seat and then laughed, a short, raspy laugh. ‘Tell me also, Kummi Paati, so I can be happy.’

‘I heard Sanjana is going to S P Jain for further studies. You must be very proud parents!’

Karuna, Sanjana’s mother, came in with the coffee at this point and heard what Kummi Paati was saying. She looked at her husband quickly, and then looked away. Then she handed out the cups of coffee and sat down.

Kumar had said nothing during this process. Once all three of them were seated, he spoke.

‘Nothing can happen in this colony without you knowing, isn’t it?’

He was smiling, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Nothing can happen without everyone knowing,’ Kummi Paati said.

‘If you heard that news, I am surprised you didn’t hear that she is not going,’ Karuna said.

Kummi Paati looked at her.

‘I did hear it, but I assumed there must have been a mistake. After all, such an opportunity –’

‘We are very simple people, Kummi Paati,’ Kumar said. ‘All this fancy education – what is the use? Sanjana has a good job already and it is time we found a good boy for her.’

‘She would get a much better job if she went to S P Jain,’ Kummi Paati said. ‘And as for marriage ... what is the rush?’

‘She is twenty-four!’ Karuna said. ‘By the time I was twenty-four, I had a baby. The truth is, we have spoiled her. She doesn’t know how to cook or manage a household and those things are more important than going and studying more. She has an engineering degree already. If she gets an MBA, it will be even harder to find a boy!’

‘Not nowadays. My daughter had a masters degree when she got married. She is also still working. We are also simple people, ma, but one must change with the times. Sanjana is a nice girl who listens to her elders. After all, she is not asking you for permission to go to parties or go drinking. So why not allow her to do this?’

‘Because she won’t be studying. We know what goes on in places like that where everyone is living on campus, away from home. She will just spend her time with boys. No one is there to look after her.’

Kummi Paati nearly asked what was wrong with spending time with boys. After all, Sanjana might meet a nice boy at S P Jain. That’s what had happened to Sharma’s daughter in C-6. Such a nice, respectful boy too. What was his name again? Rohan? Rohit? That was it, Rohit.

But she was wandering again.

‘I don’t think you need to worry about that,’ Kummi Paati said. ‘I am sure she will be spending her time there studying. And then she can do well, get an even better job – after all, it is an investment in her future.’

‘What these girls want to study so much for is beyond me. These modern girls, with their office jobs, suddenly thinking they know what’s best! What do they know?’ Karuna said.

‘Kummi Paati, getting married is also an investment in her future. It is a better investment, in fact, because it will hopefully yield earlier payback. Just let me get her married, then you can come and ask me for good news, heh?’ Kumar said, using the common euphemism for pregnancy, then grinned broadly.

‘That would also be good news. Definitely. And I am sure you are a good judge of what will bring her happiness. But so is she.’

‘She doesn’t know anything. None of these young people do,’ Kumar said.

Kummi Paati sighed.

‘I don’t know about that. My children have not done what I expected them to do, nor what I would have advised them to do. But they are happy.’

‘Hmphh. What happiness can a woman have without children? Your daughter is forty if she is a day, and still no—’ Karuna asked.

‘Karuna!’ her husband said. ‘What the hell are you saying?’

‘I don’t want my daughter to start thinking being childless is a good thing! That might be okay for some people, but I don’t see how a woman can be happy if she doesn’t—’

‘Karuna, are you going to stop talking or not?’

Karuna pursed her lips together.

‘Fine. I’ve said what I had to anyway.’

‘Sorry, Kummi Paati. My wife shouldn’t have said that. But if you don’t mind my saying so, whether or not we send Sanjana to Pune is a private matter.’

‘Oh yes, you are right. It is a private matter. I am surprised you’ve made this decision but then I’ve learned that people can often surprise you. Even those you know quite well.’

‘I hope – I hope you didn’t take what I said the wrong way,’ Karuna said. ‘I think I just got a bit carried away and well ... anyway, I hope you aren’t offended.’

‘Oh no, I am not. When you are my age, you probably won’t be easily offended either.’

Because, she finished in her mind, you will know, as I do, that when people say offensive things, it is usually more about them than it is about you.

Kumar cleared his throat.

‘Now, Kummi Paati, did I show you our new media unit? Just bought it last week! The very latest model from Japan, you know? That’s where the best electronics come from ...’

* * *

Kummi Paati spent a whole week trying to come up with a way to approach Sanjana’s parents again, to no avail. Mr Kumar had told her, in no uncertain terms, to mind her own business. And she did not want to give Sanjana away by telling him that his daughter had asked for her help.

Said daughter was in Kummi Paati's kitchen now, helping her make onion pakoras. It was a weekend, and Kummi Paati suspected she was keen to spend some time away from her parents.

‘I suppose I should have known it was of no use,’ Sanjana said. ‘But thank you for trying.’

Kummi Paati said nothing as she dropped a few dollops of dough into boiling oil. She looked up at Sanjana.

‘Given up so soon?’

‘Well what else can I do? They seem so determined to marry me off! I just don’t understand, Paati. They were so happy when I got a job straight out of engineering, so proud. They never so much as mentioned marriage. In fact, a year ago, my aunt asked him when he was going to start looking for a boy for me, and he told her to stop being so narrow-minded. He said he wanted me to live my life.’

She shook her head.

‘And now ... now there is no reasoning with him.’

‘For now there isn’t, no.’

‘But Kummi Paati, I have to confirm to the institute by the end of the week that I will be accepting the offer! You seriously think we can change his mind in a week?’

‘One thing at a time. You have to accept the offer this week, yes? Not pay the fees or take out a loan.’

‘Well ... yes, that’s true.’

‘Then accept the offer for now. And we will see what happens. I have not given up, child. And you shouldn’t either. Not so soon.’

She used a spider ladle to remove the pakoras from the oil.

‘Go sit at the table. I’ll bring out some plates. Eat while it’s hot.’

She called out to her grandchildren, daughter and husband, and very soon there were five people seated around the table, eating hot pakoras almost as quickly as she could make them. They were laughing and cracking jokes, and it warmed Kummi Paati’s heart to hear them. It was certainly true that she had been shoehorned into this life of cooking and caring for others, but she had found joy in it nonetheless.

And really, what else had she known?

Her mother had died so young that Kummi Paati barely remembered her. Her stepmother – well, she had done her duty by Kummi, but what about poor Lacchu?

Kummi Paati – back when she was just Kummi – did not know when she first worked out that there was something different about her sister. She had always felt protective of her. It was possible that all older siblings felt this way, but no, there was something more than protectiveness. After all, their older brother, Ram, was fond of them but he didn’t look after Lacchu the way Kummi felt she had to.

She remembered the first time she’d heard someone else say, out loud, what she had known for a long time.

It was during the lunch break at school. Kummi and Lacchu would meet every day and have lunch together under a banyan tree. The tree was in the corner of the small, dirt schoolyard, as far away from the single-storey brick school building as possible, and provided shelter from the hot summer sun. It was constantly in demand, but Kummi and Lacchu could always find a spot there.

Kummi had other friends, of course, but Lacchu did not. She was kind and quiet, but the other children intimidated her.

One day, as they ate, three boys came and sat near them. They were whispering amongst themselves and giggling. Kummi took no notice of them. Boys often behaved in that silly way. She continued to ask Lacchu about what they had studied in class that day. Kummi usually helped Lacchu with her schoolwork, and she’d found it was easier to stay on top of it if she helped her sister every day.

But the boys’ whispering was getting louder and more annoying.

‘You say it!’

‘No, you!’

‘I dared you first!’

‘No way, I dared you. But of course you don’t have the guts!’

‘Okay, okay, what about together?’

‘Okay together! Countdown from three?’

A few seconds later, a cruel chorus rent the air.

‘Simple! Simple! SIMPLE!’

At first, Kummi was startled. She barely had time to react when the three boys ran off.

She looked around the playground. Some other people were laughing too. Others were looking at her pityingly.

She looked at her eight-year-old sister. Lacchu looked up at her.

‘What are they saying, Akka? I don’t understand,’ she said. Lacchu always used the Tamil word for older sister – Akka – when addressing Kummi.

Kummi’s face was flushed by this point. She would speak to the schoolmaster after lunch, she thought. Except that she hadn’t noticed which boys they were ... still, he should know that his pupils were saying such horrible, untrue things.

‘Never mind, Lacchu. Don’t listen to them. Come on, finish your lunch. We don’t have much time left.’

That night, lying in bed after her sister was asleep, she thought about the taunt. Was it untrue, after all? She had never had a word for why her sister was different. And she didn’t think ‘simple’ was it. Her sister struggled with some basic things, yes. But she was also the kindest, most gentle person Kummi had ever met.

It was perhaps six months or so after that that her father decided to take Lacchu to see an astrologer. The astrologer looked at her star chart, which identified the planetary positions at the time of her birth, to identify the source of the problem.

It seemed Saturn was the problem.

‘Don’t worry,’ the astrologer said. ‘The solution is very simple. There is a temple dedicated to Saturn in Thirunallar. You go there with your daughter. You will have to stay there for three days and offer prayers every morning at first light. Then make a donation to the temple – it doesn’t have to be much, just whatever you can give. Within six months everything will be fine.’

The three of them – Kummi, Lacchu and their father – took an overnight train to Kumbhakonam, while her brother Ram, stepmother and stepsisters stayed home. Kumbhakonam was on the way to Thirunallar and the temple of their family deity was on the outskirts of the town.

Uppiliappan temple was dedicated to Lord Vishnu, one of the three main Hindu deities. Lacchu loved hearing the story of this temple.

‘Sage Markandeya prayed to Vishnu, asking that Vishnu’s wife be born to him as a blessing,’ Kummi said, for the third time during their overnight trip. Lacchu was having trouble sleeping. ‘What is Vishnu’s wife’s name?’

Lacchu giggled.

‘Lakshmi! Like me.’

‘Yes, Lakshmi, like you. So Vishnu granted his wish and the Sage Markandeya raised Lakshmi as his daughter for many years, until she was of marriageable age. Then Lord Vishnu came to the sage and asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage so he could take his wife back to heaven.’

‘And then what happened?’

‘Sage Markandeya did not want his daughter to leave him so soon. So he tried to dissuade Lord Vishnu, saying his daughter was too young and didn’t even know how to cook properly. She always left out the salt.’

‘Then what did Lord Vishnu say?’

‘He said that if she cooked without salt, he would eat it without complaint.’

‘And that is why all the food offerings to the temple are still made without salt!’

‘Yes, that is why, kanna. Now try to sleep. It is late and we have an early start in the morning.’

They paid their respects to their family deity and then took a bus to Thirunallar. They had some relatives there, distant ones who they had not spoken to in years, but relatives were relatives, and they had invited themselves over for the period of their stay. They offered prayers at the temple every morning, as instructed. Lacchu was, as usual, compliant. She did whatever was asked of her without asking questions. On the fourth day, they took the bus and train back home and waited for things to change.

Six months later, Lacchu was still Lacchu. Kummi overheard her father speaking to her stepmother about it one day.

‘I was thinking of taking her to the doctor.’

The doctor lived in the next town.

‘For what?’ her stepmother had asked.

‘Just to see if there is anything we can do.’

‘What do you think the doctor will do? Give you medicines to change her brain? Listen, this kind of thing happens in families. Don’t waste time and money visiting doctors. You took her to our family deity, and to the temple the astrologer suggested, didn’t you? Just leave it in God’s hands. If it is His will, He will change her. If not, she can learn how to cook and we will get her married to someone who is not too particular.’

The marriage, when it happened, was far worse than Kummi had expected.

It had all started when Kummi turned fifteen. Many of her friends were already married, but the few people who had been interested in Kummi had wanted dowry – a bride price, paid by the girl’s parents to the boy’s parents – as well. They would ask for this indirectly in the form of jewellery and household items. Kummi’s father was willing to consider it, but her stepmother was adamant that this should not be done.

‘Why should we pay money? Kummi is educated, she is a good cook, she will manage the house well, she is good looking ... they will be lucky to get a girl like her!’

Eventually, they heard of a man who did not want dowry. The marriage broker visited one Sunday morning. Kummi hid in the next room and listened.

‘The man’s first wife died one year ago. She had three sons. The man is a bit on the older side, I agree, but he does not want any jewellery or anything. He wants a nice girl to run the house and manage the kitchen. That’s the most important thing.’

‘How old are the sons?’

‘The oldest is nine. Younger two are seven and six. The man is thirty-five.’

Thirty-five! Kummi gasped and covered her mouth quickly, not wanting to be discovered. Surely her father would say no. Before he could, she heard her stepmother speak.

‘Well, older men are often mature. And our Kummi is a very good cook, very good. So that will not be an issue.’

Kummi recoiled, hitting her head against a cupboard behind her. She barely noticed though. A man twenty years older than her? He would be closer to her father’s age than hers!

‘What are you saying? That is too old. Kummi is only fifteen,’ her father said.

She sighed in relief.

‘I will leave you two to discuss this,’ the broker said, getting up. ‘The family is a good family. And you would be doing a good thing by giving them your daughter.’

After he left, Kummi heard her parents discussing it. Her stepmother was clearly in favour, while her father seemed reluctant.

‘Listen, after Kummi we have to marry Lacchu, which is its own headache. And then we have two more daughters after that,’ she said, referring to her two daughters, Kummi’s stepsisters, both of whom were much younger than Kummi and Lacchu. ‘We can’t be so picky. The most important thing is to get them settled in good houses. So what if this man already has children? I also married you, didn’t I? There’s nothing wrong in such an arrangement. And in fact, if he has sons already, there’s no pressure on Kummi to have sons. This is a good thing.’

Kummi sat in the slowly darkening room. She should have been in the kitchen, helping with dinner. Instead she sat on the floor, hugging her knees and trying not to cry. Her stepmother would have her way; she was sure of it. She would be married off to this old man. And who would take care of Lacchu then?

Her older brother, Ram, walked into the room.

‘What happened, Kummi? Why are you sitting in the dark?’

‘I ... I heard Appa talking to the broker ...’

The tears that she had tried so hard to hold back came now.

‘Oi, why are you crying? You don’t want to be married, is that it?’

‘It ... it’s not that ...’

‘Then what is it?’

‘It’s ... the person they have found ...’

‘What’s wrong with the boy?’

‘It’s not a boy! It’s a – an old man!’

‘How old?’

‘The broker said thirty-five.’

‘Thirty-five! Thirty-five? Is the broker serious, bringing such alliances to us? Does he have too much business or something? Does he want us to use another broker?’

‘Appa said he was too old, but our stepmother ...’

‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you worry, Kummi. Leave it with me.’

She heard the argument between her brother and her stepmother continuing late into the night. The next morning, her stepmother refused to speak to Kummi. Her father greeted her briefly and then called out for his morning coffee, his tiredness marked by the circles under his eyes.

There was no further mention of the old man. Her brother took on the responsibility of finding a suitable boy. It was six months later, when she was sixteen, that she was married to Somu.

And it was one year later, when Lacchu was fifteen, that she was married to the thirty-five – by that time thirty-six – year old man with three boys.

* * *

‘What’s on your mind, Kummi?’

Kummi turned to look at her husband. Somu Thatha was peering through his glasses, which were halfway down his nose. His brows were scrunched but his brown eyes were soft.

He patted the seat next to him.

‘You’ve been thinking about something for a few days now. Why don’t you tell me about it?’

Kummi got up from the dining table, where she had been watching the twins drawing pictures, went towards the chair and sat down.

She sighed.

‘It’s that Kumar, upstairs. Sanjana has gotten into S P Jain.’

‘S P Jain! That’s good news, very good news.’

‘Kumar is not allowing her to go. She asked me to speak to him, but he is a very stubborn man.’

‘Hmm. So you couldn’t convince him?’

‘No.’

‘What is his issue with her going?’

‘He wants her to learn how to manage a home and get married instead.’

Somu Thatha’s eyebrows went up.

‘I never thought he was that traditional. She did an engineering degree, right?’

‘Yes. And she has been working for a few years now,’ Kummi Paati said.

‘I probably shouldn’t say this ... but does she have to convince him? She can get a student loan, right?’

‘She needs her father to co-sign.’

‘Hmphh. I can co-sign, if it comes to that.’

‘I don’t think we can go that far. And if it comes to that, I don’t think Sanjana would accept that offer.’

‘Perhaps you are right. Yes, perhaps you are right.’

Nina came over to show Kummi Paati her latest artistic attempt.

‘This is very pretty, Nina. Why don’t you put it on the fridge with a magnet?’

Then turning back to her husband, she said, ‘I feel like I should try once more – but what more can I say to that man?’

Somu Thatha shrugged.

‘Who knows what’s wrong with him.’

A high voice piped up.

‘I do!’

Kummi Paati and Somu Thatha looked at Nina, who had joined them again, picture in hand.

‘What were you saying, kanna?’ Kummi Paati asked.

‘Kumar Uncle. I know what’s wrong with him.’

Kummi Paati and Somu Thatha looked at one another.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Somu Thatha asked.

Nina’s eyes widened.

‘It’s very sad, Thatha. He’s sick. In fact, he said his illness was killing him.’

‘When did he say this?’

‘Three days ago. I was on the balcony and I heard him talking to Karuna Aunty in the balcony upstairs. Well actually, he was shouting. “These yeemai are killing me!” That’s what he said. Thatha, what’s a yeemai?’

Kummi Paati and Somu Thatha exchanged another look.

‘I ... I really have no idea. Are you sure that’s what he said?’

Nina nodded vigorously.

‘He said it a few times. And Karuna Aunty was telling him to keep quiet because she didn’t want anyone to hear.’

‘Well. I see. Thank you for telling us, kanna,’ Kummi Paati said.

Nina went back to the table and Kummi Paati looked at Somu Thatha.

‘Yeemai?’ she asked.

Somu Thatha shrugged again.

‘Who knows?’

* * *

The next morning, Kummi Paati was in the kitchen with her best friend, Neela. Neela lived in the colony, in Block E. The two women were around the same age, with grown children living overseas. Neela’s son lived in London instead of Australia, she was sixty-seven to Paati’s sixty-five and she was from Delhi rather than Chennai. Neela was also taller and heavier than her petite friend, and typically wore salwar kameez rather than saris.

The two women had plenty in common. One of the things they often did together was cook – especially when they had grandchildren visiting. Kummi Paati was always happy to make South Indian favourites for Neela’s grandchildren, most often dosai (lentil pancakes) and vadai (fried savoury doughnuts); today, Neela was returning the favour by making aloo paratha (flat bread stuffed with seasoned potatoes) for breakfast.

‘Hmphh. That Kumar is a stupid fellow, I have always known it.’

She continued to knead the dough with unnecessary vigour. Her dupatta slipped from her shoulder and she deftly put it back in place while continuing to knead.

‘That girl only wants to study and better herself! She’s so well behaved, Kummi.’

Neela opened the pressure cooker and removed the cooked potatoes from inside.

‘Here,’ Kummi Paati said. ‘Let me peel and mash them.’

‘Okay, I just need another two minutes to finish making this dough. But tell me, what exactly did that man say when you spoke to him?’

‘Just that they thought it was time she learned how to manage a household and cook, without which no one would want to marry her. She had studied enough, if she studied any more it would be hard to find a husband ... the usual kind of thing.’

‘That depends on who she marries, doesn’t it? Nowadays men actually come into the kitchen.’

Kummi Paati nodded.

‘Your husband and mine, Kummi, they don’t even know how to make a cup of tea! But Ashu makes everything, you know?’

Ashu was Ashutosh, her son.

‘Last time I visited him, he made all of our food, you know?’ said Neela, listing all of the family favourites – rajma (spiced kidney beans), kadhi pakora (fried dough in gravy), channa masala (chickpeas curry), chicken saag. ‘And he even makes sweets now! Kheer, barfi, everything!’ she concluded.

‘That’s very good, Neela. If you want to eat well, you should know how to cook well. That’s what I told both my children. You can’t expect your mother to come and cook for you your whole life, can you?’

‘Exactly! So why is this Kumar fellow acting like he is from my great-grandfather’s generation? If and when she gets married, Sanjana can learn how to cook then. That’s how it is nowadays. Not like you and me; we were sent into the kitchen as soon as we could hold a ladle.’

She placed the first paratha on the hotplate and applied a generous helping of oil. Soon the smell would permeate the house.

‘Anyway, he should be grateful to that girl. She has given her parents her full salary, you know?’

‘No, has she? Oh, so her father can manage her bank accounts?’

‘Kummi,’ Neela said, lowering her voice, ‘let me tell you what I heard. She does not have her own account. All joint accounts in that house. So her father has access to all her money.’

‘Well that’s probably so he can help with her investments and–’

‘Hmphh! Investments, it seems. He is only investing in himself.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You remember Ashu’s friend, Devesh? They were in school together? Anyway, Devesh’s uncle’s next-door neighbour also works in the same company as Kumar. I saw Devesh’s uncle recently at a wedding and we happened to chat. And he was telling me that Kumar was passed over when he was due for his last promotion. That was two years ago. And no sign of him getting the promotion any time soon.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘But meanwhile, this man Kumar lives like a king. They only just bought a car, maybe two years ago? Then they had air conditioning installed last summer. Now I heard he has bought a new media unit?’

Kummi Paati nodded.

‘Yes he has, I saw it the other day.’

‘So all this money he is splashing around, it must be coming from somewhere.’

‘You think ...’

‘Where else, Kummi?’

Kummi exhaled and shook her head. Neela was right, she knew. The less said about the complicated methods through which Neela got her information, the better. Uncharitable people described her as a gossip. But Kummi Paati was a staunch friend.

‘Children! Come and eat!’ Neela called, taking the hot parathas out to the dining area. She needn’t have summoned them. The children had already set the table and were seated there, waiting.

‘Nina, take the butter out of the fridge. Alisha, go get the mixed pickle. No, not that jar, the one next to it. Somu ji, please come and eat,’ she finished, adding an honorific to convey respect.

Neela served the rest of the family while Kummi Paati stayed in the kitchen clearing up. She was grappling with what she had just been told. Poor child. Kummi herself had always thought that it was important for children to have a say in their lives. If Lacchu had had more of a say ... well really, would she have known what she wanted?

Perhaps it was Lacchu’s life that had made Kummi Paati so determined to give her own daughter the options she’d never had. And she had never regretted this. After all, Shaku was happy with her life now, wasn’t she?

Wasn’t she?

And what about Sanjana? Did she know what her father was using her money for? She must – she was a smart girl. Not the type to ignore what was happening with her own bank account. If Neela was right – and she usually was – the man should have been grateful. He enjoyed showing off his belongings and his daughter was allowing him to do that.

Suddenly, a thought struck Kummi Paati.

Yeemai?

Oh ...

* * *

Kummi Paati waited until the weekend. That was her best opportunity, she knew.

She had made Sanjana write to the university and accept the offer. The girl had done so, reluctantly. She clearly could not see why Kummi Paati was so confident.

But then, she didn’t know what Kummi Paati knew.

At around 11am, she saw Sanjana walking out of the building. She waited for ten minutes and then climbed one level up to Kumar’s flat. This was going to be an awkward conversation, but it was one worth having.

She was invited inside by Karuna, who was particularly effusive. Kummi Paati had not stopped by after their last conversation, and Karuna had probably had the opportunity to regret her thoughtless comments.

‘Kummi Paati, Kumar has just been raving about your vadams. Kumar! Kummi Paati is here; you can tell her yourself!’

There was a slight shuffling noise from inside the bedroom and then Kumar came out wearing his usual lungi.

‘Kummi Paati! You are most welcome in this house. We are your biggest fans! Karuna–’

‘Yes, yes, I am making coffee,’ Karuna said, leaving the room.

Kummi Paati smiled at Kumar.

‘I am glad you enjoyed it.’

‘Of course, of course. When have I not enjoyed your food?’

He looked around.

‘Sanjana has just gone out. She shouldn’t be too long though–’

‘I know,’ Kummi Paati said. ‘I waited for her to leave.’

As Karuna came back with some snacks, Kumar laughed.

‘Kummi Paati, I hope you are not going to start the same topic again. I thought we agreed last time–’

‘We agreed nothing. You had many things to tell me and I listened to what you had to say.’

‘You also had many things to say,’ Karuna said. ‘We listened to that too, didn’t we? I think we have listened to enough.’

‘Karuna!’ Kumar said. Then he turned to Kummi Paati.

‘Kummi Paati, I don’t think it is a good idea to open up this topic again.’

‘Oh? Oh, I see. Well then, let us discuss another topic. Let us discuss your work.’

Kumar laughed, a big, hearty laugh.

‘My work? I don’t think you will understand much about it, Kummi Paati. We should discuss something else.’

‘You are only partly right. I understand some things about work. For example, I understand that in some workplaces, there is an expected time after which people get a promotion to the next level.’

Kumar flushed.

‘Yes, yes, that is true. What of it?’

‘I also understand that your time for promotion has come and gone. With no promotion.’

‘Who are you, to come and insult my husband in his own ho–’

‘Karuna, I can handle this. Kummi Paati, I don’t understand what you are trying to get at here.’

‘What I am getting at? I am getting at your new car, Kumar. Your new air conditioning. Your new fridge and living room set and media unit. In fact, over the last few years, you have got a lot of new things, haven’t you? But your work situation hasn’t changed, has it?’

Kumar sat flushed and silent.

‘You took on more debt than you should have. Don’t try to deny it, please. One of the children heard you talking, but didn’t understand what you were saying. She doesn’t know what an EMI is, you see.

‘EMI. Easy monthly instalment. Except that it is only “easy” when you have your income as well as your daughter’s income to pay off all of your recent purchases. So if she goes off to study, what will happen to all the fancy new items you have purchased and boasted about to your neighbours?’

‘Kummi Paati ... it’s not like that at all, Kummi Paati ... I don’t know where you have got these ideas from at all, but that’s not at all influencing my decision. If it was, why would I want to get her married?’

‘There is a big difference between saying you want to arrange a wedding and actually arranging it.'

Kumar appeared to catch his breath. His eyes widened in fear. Kummi Paati, disappointed as she was in him, angered as she was on his daughters behalf, forced herself to take a breath before she went on. Her voice, when she next spoke, had lost some of its steel, but was still just as firm.

‘Yes, Kumar, I have understood your plans by now. You were going to keep her at home, insisting that she get married as soon as you found a suitable boy. And then, for whatever reason, you would have found it impossible to find a good boy. At least, until the bulk of your purchases were paid off.’

‘Kummi Paati, that’s not ... I mean … I wasn’t ... ’

Kummi Paati held her hand up.

‘Please don't tell me all these stories, Kumar. I know.’

Karuna started crying softly. Kumar’s shoulders slumped and he looked at the floor.

‘Yes, I have understood the situation perfectly. And if I have understood it, do you think no one else in the colony would? Do you really want your neighbours to be talking about how greedy and selfish you are, instead of talking of your new air conditioning? Your new media unit? Or … your extremely intelligent, well-raised daughter?'

Kumar looked up at that. There was a glint in his eye. He appeared to be thinking.

After a moment, he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

‘Perhaps I was hasty.’

He cleared his throat and puffed his chest out ever so slightly.

‘After all,’ he continued, ‘how many people can say their daughter is studying at S P Jain?’