Neeru had just initiated this topic and it didn’t take even a couple of minutes for Pushkar’s great hobby to become a threat for me—Khushi’s mom threw me a bouncer. ‘Beta aap khaana bana lete ho?’ she asked politely and, unfortunately, with much expectation.
Silence. The sound of someone grinding cashew between their teeth could be heard.
Everyone was waiting for my response. It was as if, while following an India-Pakistan cricket match on the radio, they had just heard that
Tendulkar had hit the ball high in the air and were waiting for the commentator to reveal if it was a six or a catch.
Staring at the bubbles in my glass of Coke, I thought, ‘Now the next question you will ask me is ‘Will you be able to iron her salwar kameez?’ Or, ‘Do you sing? Arey, kuch gaa ke sunao na?’ See! This is what happens when you come to such places without your parents. The other party tries to validate you on different platforms so candidly, and you cannot say no to every question.’
I tried to come up with some answer, looking at my cellphone and wishing that it would ring so that I could escape the questions which I was going to face. But the damned gadget was meant to ring only at the worst times—like the evening before, with the kiss that could have been—but never when I needed it the most.
Finally, swallowing a few times in my nervousness, I went ahead and told them what they wanted to hear.
‘Ah, umm … Yes, I can. With most of the things, I am kind of OK. But I make good paranthas …’
I hadn’t even completed, when her sweet and innocent mother, delighted by my answer, asked me, ‘Kaun kaun se paranthe?’
‘Now this is too much!’ Well, I didn’t actually say that, but that’s what I was thinking and I wondered if I was supposed to recite a menu list, like Pappu uncle from the Punjabi dhaba at Burla.
But, interestingly, the next moment I had a smile on my face. I was amused at the kind of questions being put to a software engineer. I never thought I’d be facing such an interview, not even in my weirdest dreams. I was happy that, for a change, I was being asked such different questions. I told myself, ‘These were not bad questions but exciting ones. Be confident and go ahead.’
And I went ahead and said, ‘Mumma, I can prepare many—aaloo ke, pyaaz ke, occasionally gobhi ke and mooli ke bhi in the winters.’
‘Wow! Ravin, that’s good. When did you learn all this?’ Pushkar asked. He seemed to be quite interested.
And I told him, ‘When I was in Belgium for eight months. I lived there alone and had to cook for myself. Before that, I never did any cooking. Necessity is the mother of invention, you know …’
Keeping my glass of Coke back on the table, I told them the story of my first day in the kitchen, where I wanted to make a mixed-veg dish, but ended up preparing a hot pool of spicy, coloured water in which vegetables were swimming. Some of them were so over-boiled, they turned into paste and settled down at the bottom.
And, as was expected, everybody laughed at Day One of my Cookery Show. My Khushi, with a mouthful of soft-drink, was trying to, somehow, hold back her laughter. Pushkar laughed loudly and almost clapped his hands. It felt good.
And, soon, it was 2 p.m. No one realized how much time had passed—or, at least, I didn’t.
‘Lunch is ready,’ Neeru announced.
By now I had made a little space in my tummy for the rajma which Khushi said she had made for me. She knew it was my favorite.
We all moved towards the dining table, pulled out the chairs and sat. And she sat right in front of me. I was looking at my future wife, thinking, ‘A few months later, we will be having our lunch, dinner and breakfast together and, that too, in the same plate.’
Amused with the same thought, I opened the lid of the bowl in front me.
‘Neeru, you also come,’ said Ami di, taking some salad. The dining table was full of various dishes: paneer, raita, aaloo gobhi, salad, a rice bowl along with a casserole of chapattis and my favorite rajma. The cutlery appeared new, the kind that was brought out for special occasions.
Everyone at the dining table was helping themselves and each other, passing the food stuff. I was trying to get a serving spoon from the other end of the table, when Khushi stopped me and silently said, ‘Wait, I will get it.’
She picked up the spoon in one hand and a bowl in the other and served me. Then, she placed some salad on my plate, and asked me, ‘Chapatti or rice?’
I was looking at my caring sweetheart, who was helping me with my lunch. I was smiling inside, maybe even outside, and in my heart I asked her, ‘You will always take care of me this way … Right?’
‘Chapatti or Rice?’ she again asked, raising her brows.
But who was hungry then? Her care and love for me had already filled me. Still, I said, ‘A … A … Chapatti.’
With her beautiful hands she opened the casserole and quickly moved her hand back to avoid the hot steam. Her bangles tinkled. Then, with three fingers she folded two chapattis in half and, very gracefully, placed them on my plate. She looked at me and smiled. I wanted her to feed me with her own hands so that I could lick her beautiful fingers … All of a sudden, I wanted to marry her and marry her very soon. So that I could lie down in her lap. So that I could have my meals from her hands.
Everyone went ahead with the lunch. The moment I had that bite I knew those anxious eyes were expecting a response from me. I looked up into her charming eyes and told her I loved what she had prepared for me. She smiled and felt so satisfied when she noticed that I had the rajma before anything else. She then took her first bite, after I did.
We got busy with our meal and the conversation reduced and narrowed down to the appreciation of the lunch and the people who had prepared it. I believe it was quarter to three when we were through. I was all packed with delicious food, pudding and fruits (dessert, for which I struggled to make some space in my tummy).
Conversation resumed at the sofa and chairs again. This time it involved humor—good jokes, poor jokes, and jokes which were not jokes at all. Even her mother was laughing aloud, along with us youngsters. And, at times, I noticed a different smile. A smile which was not on her lips, but in her eyes. A smile which told me that she thought I was a nice guy. A smile which revealed that, soon, she would be prepared to give her daughter to me, for the rest of her life. A smile which was blessing me and her, for a bright future. And somewhere, silently, that smile also whispered in my ear the words from her heart, ‘With her, I will be giving you my heart. Take care of her … Always’
It was 4 o’clock in the evening when we had a cup of tea. ‘We’, meaning Pushkar and I, as rest of them did not drink tea. Yes, no one in that entire family drinks tea. Strange family—that’s what Pushkar and I feel.
Meanwhile, Khushi went to her room and, the very next moment, I was astonished to see her SMS on my cell. Wondering why she did that, I read the message.
I’ll cal u in 2 min. u go out
in the veranda 2 receive d cal.
Don’t let oders kno dat I m calin.
And she called me up.
I acted as if it was one of my college friends and, talking to this college friend of mine, I went out into the veranda, and from its furthest corner asked her, ‘Where are you calling from?’
‘Bathroom,’ she replied.
‘Wow! What are you doing there …?’ I asked mischievously.
‘Shut up! Now listen to me,’ she said, trying to explain something to me.
And, for the next minute, this is what I said:
‘What!?’
‘Are you crazy?’
‘Wow!’
‘But are you sure you will be able to do this?’
‘Yes! Yes! I mean will WE be able to …?’
‘Oh Boy! I can’t believe this. You have such guts. I would love to do this …’
‘Thrilling! But what if we get caught?’
‘Neeru? She will help us? Great! Your little sister rocks yaar.’
‘All right, done.
Let’s do this in half an hour. You can call my cab right now.’
Thrilled and anxious because of her (I mean my college friend’s) call, I returned to the drawing room. Everything was the same there—the environment, the talk and the people—but all of a sudden I wanted the time to pass quickly. I was excited about the plan (which also involved Neeru) that Khushi and I had just discussed. I kept wondering if we could really do it.
4.10 p.m.
To put our plan into action, we were waiting for Pushkar and Ami di’s departure.
Every now and then, one of us would look at the wall clock or a wristwatch. That and a few quiet moments made them realize they were getting late. And …
Bingo!
Pushkar got up and said, looking at Ami di, ‘I think we are getting late.’
Hearing that, Neeru looked at me with her twinkling eyes and I looked at Khushi. The three of us were ready for action.
4.12 p.m.
‘Mumma! I have to leave for IMS,’ Neeru said, like a kid who doesn’t really want to do something.
‘IMS?? Now? But you don’t have classes in the evening na?’ her mother asked.
‘There is a doubt-clarification session today. Khushi also has a class. Ask her …’
‘You also have to go?’ Mumma asked Khushi.
‘Class to hai, but I won’t go if you don’t want me to,’ Khushi replied.
Meanwhile, I rushed in with my lines, ‘No, no, I think you should go ahead with your class. Even I have to leave soon. A few minutes back, one of my college friends from Delhi called up and he wants to see me. I can’t ignore him.’
Pushkar asked, ‘How will you girls go then? Do you want me to drop you?’
Khushi replied immediately, ‘No, Pushkar. You guys go ahead. IMS is in a totally opposite direction from where you are going. We will manage.’
4.15 p.m.
Things were going as per plan when Pushkar asked me, ‘Ravin, how will you go back to Delhi?’
‘Oh, I had called up a cab. I think it’s there, outside,’ I answered him, walking towards the door and looking out to confirm.
Looking at her sisters, Ami di said, ‘Well, in that case, Ravin can drop you at IMS. It’s on his way.’
And this was what we wanted to hear.
Ami di looked at me and I pretended that I didn’t know. ‘Oh! IMS will be falling on my way? In that case I can drop you,’ I turned towards her sisters. It was getting hard to control our smiles, especially when everything was going as planned.
‘You won’t have any problem na?’ Neeru asked.
And in my heart, I said, ‘Come on! Don’t overdo it, dumbo.’ Aloud, I said, ‘Oh come on! What problem can I have, in giving a lift to two gorgeous ladies? The pleasure will be mine.’ I looked at everybody and smiled.
Khushi rushed to her room and came back in ten minutes, having changed. She looked stunning in her black top and white denim. She started moving from one room to another in search of her sandals. Still busy with her dressing up, she didn’t notice me.
‘Chalo, let me show you our room,’ Neeru said and led me to her room, which she shared with Khushi. At the door, she gestured with her arm, ‘This is our room,’ making my eyes go from right to left.
While she talked about the different things present in her room, I was busy seeing something else. My eyes fell on the bed where there lay something so attention-grabbing, so fascinating. The pink and sky-blue suit, that my lady had taken off herself a few minutes back, was lying on her bed, inside out. It was spread upon the surface of the bed, covering half of it. I don’t know why it was so exciting for me to gaze at the clothes which she had been wearing the entire day in front of me. Especially, turned inside turned out. Oh boy! The fact that, minutes before, she was in them and they were adhering to her body was sending waves of fantasy through me. A crazy, chilled and warm feeling, that they still were carrying her fragrance in them, in those wrinkles, in the threads of the stitches that were now visible, in that sweet wetness on the underarms. I wished I could touch them, feel them, breathe them. Had Neeru not been there, I would definitely not have been able to stop myself.
But I had to end my fantasy and look at what Neeru was showing me on her different shelves, her books, her computer and the rest of the room. I was still listening to Neeru when Khushi came in, looking for us. She was now ready, with her sandals on.
The moment her eyes fell on the bed, she quickly rushed to grab her clothes.
‘Shit!’ she softly muttered, revealing her shyness at the favor she had unconsciously done for me. She then took them to the bathroom where she probably hung them behind the door. She thought I was busy talking to Neeru but, from the corner of my eyes, I noticed what she thought I didn’t notice.
4.20 p.m.
By now we were at the door, almost done with our final goodbyes to everybody. Pushkar and Ami di got in their car. I touched Mumma’s feet and she put her hands on my head. I said that I would see her after I came back from the US. She wished me a happy journey.
Khushi, Neeru and I then made a move towards my cab. The feeling of victory within us was at its peak then, when we found ourselves at the last step of our mission. Our immediate destination was the IMS center, where we would drop Neeru who would attend an unscheduled class in an unknown batch. And Khushi would not step out of the cab as she would be with me for the rest of the evening—without letting her family know. That was our plan.
But then, something happened the very moment we got into our cab and locked the doors—a contingency we hadn’t even thought about, let alone planned for.
All of a sudden Khushi’s mother remembered that she had to go to the dairy, from where she used to get milk, every evening, for their home. It would soon close down and, with no one left in the house, it would be a problem for her. And, unfortunately, I found out that, besides IMS, the dairy also fell on my route.
‘Uh … ah … y … yes … we … We will drop her na,’ Khushi stammered, looking at Neeru and me, her eyes full of questions to which neither of us had an answer.
The plan for her escape with me was now dangling on a broken bridge, and we didn’t have any idea what was going to happen next. All we were wondering was: Could we get away with it? How long would it take for the truth to come out? Would we have to pile on more lies to conceal the first lie? Then, Khushi whispered in my ear, making sure her mother didn’t notice, ‘The dairy will come before IMS. Don’t worry.’ We would be back on track after the dairy. Or so it seemed.
Khushi started explaining the route to the driver. At times, I felt she was explaining more than necessary, talking too much. I was not sure if it was her nervousness (her mother was with us!) or her excitement (the plan could still work out!). Whatever it was, it was making me a little conscious and I wished that moment would soon pass. No sensible guy would want his future mother-in-law to see him as a person who deceived her and ran off with her daughter on the very first day.
But Khushi … I don’t know what was wrong with her. She was talking a lot. Talking to the driver, talking to Mumma, talking to everyone. Talking, explaining. Explaining, talking.
And with so much explanation, the driver got little confused and he ended up asking Neeru, who was sitting on the front seat, ‘Mataji to dairy tak jaayengi. Aur aap kahan tak jaaoge? Delhi tak?’
And then the blunder happened.
My excited, talkative, nervous Khushi forgot, for a second, the alibi we’d been building up for the last hour and said, before Neeru had a chance to answer, ‘Nahin bhaiyya, yeh to IMS pe hi utar jaayegi.’
Before she could understand what she had done, her mother tapped her shoulder and asked, ‘Ye to IMS pe hi utar jayegi matlab? Tuney kahaan utarna hai fir?’ Of course her mother’s radar had become very active, trying to understand what was happening.
‘Gayi bhains paani mein,’ I heard Neeru say to herself without looking back. My expression said, ‘Holy Shit!’
And Khushi.
Khushi bit her ton
gue, realizing the mess she had created. She took another name—a friend she was going to meet first, so that she could take her notes. But her mother had already smelled something fishy and she looked at Neeru and asked, ‘Neeru. What’s happening?’
And Neeru, helping her elder sister out of the mess, replied, ‘Mumma, she has to get her maths notes from a friend, first.’
At that moment, the cab arrived at the dairy where their mother was to halt. I’m sure she wanted to say a lot of things to her daughters, especially the elder one but, because of my presence, she only said, ‘Come back home on time. Theek hai?’
‘Haanji. Yes, Mumma,’ the females in the cab replied. And I bid goodbye to their mother for the last time.
A soon as she left and the cab moved on, Neeru and I both yelled, ‘What the hell did you do!?’
Khushi looked down and said, ‘Sorry,’ like a kid whose parents have caught him breaking a window with his cricket ball.
‘Marte marte bache hain … Ye bhi naa,’ Neeru said.
Still, all of us were relieved by the narrow escape. But it was not an escape. Parents know their children so well. They have spent much more time than us in this world and, of course, if at our age we think we are smart, then at their age they are smarter. Her mother had understood very well that her elder daughter was definitely not heading towards IMS but someplace else. But that’s the beauty of a mother’s heart. She allowed her to go, without letting her know that she knew where her daughter was going.
Back in the cab, Neeru and I were laughing at Khushi’s great work. I noticed the driver’s smiling face in the rearview mirror. He had also figured out what we were up to. In another five minutes, we reached