JALEBI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 012)
"PAYALIYA? OH, PAYAL-IYA!" The sing-song words rang out from the front room, accompanied by heavy footsteps. And Payal and Khushi had just separated from their embrace when their Buaji entered the bedroom. Her large face shone with exultation, but the speech she had ready on her lips was smothered when she saw that Khushi was also there.
"Lo! Here she is! Our dulhan," Buaji smiled, her tone mocking but, on this occasion, not cruel. "What a fine bridegroom you have captured, Khushi." Not neglecting to add her customary hashtag, "though you have done nothing to deserve it."
"Buaji," Payal pleaded softly.
And this, Sisters, was Payal's perennial role in this party-of-three: to temper the aunt's venom and to mitigate the sister's hurt. For contrary to what you may have heard about Buaji, she really was not a very nice woman.
Indeed, I have discovered her to be wholly bad. A woman with a closed heart and a narrow mind. And capable of unspeakable monstrosities.
Granted, when Shashi and Garima Gupta were killed in that bus collision five years ago, Buaji [a widow without children] had taken on every responsibility. She had immediately padlocked her tiny Delhi house and shifted into the Guptas' spacious Lucknow home where she promptly took over the management of their modest savings and their orphaned daughters. The eldest, Payal, was not yet eighteen, and Khushi was just a year younger.
This is that very fragile age in the lives of girls, Buaji had told the Janakpurians who had come to say goodbye. "Nandekishore-Knows I am too frail to mother teenage girls. But what to do? At this age they require constant and careful chaperoning. Such a duty I have been charged with! And in time those dowryless darlings must also be found suitable husbands. Nandekishore-Knows I don't have the finances to take on this role, but who else is there? Show me, who else is there?"
And as nobody could show her, Buaji left Delhi on the Lucknow Express to go and be benevolent.
Had Buaji's arrival enriched the lives of those "dowryless darlings" this would be a different serial altogether. But as was often the case with Buaji, her benevolence cost others dearly. In this case, it was Khushi who bore the highest price.
I tell you this because our Heroine would never reveal it:
From the moment Buaji entered their lives, Khushi had been daily reminded that Payal was the true niece, and she, the adopted niece. This differentiation had never occurred while Shashi and Garima had lived. For when Khushi's father had died, the Guptas had taken in their business partner's eight-year old daughter and raised her as Payal's sister.
But Buaji always found a way to make it clear that where Payal was blood, Khushi was burden.
And however tempted I am to detail evidence of Buaji's wickedness, I will resist. For soon, you will discover for yourselves the truth of what I say. Women like Buaji do not require narrators such as myself; they reveal their own ugliness without outside help.
"FINE BRIDEGROOM!"
Khushi could only stare at Buaji. She had not yet stopped to consider how Buaji would respond to Arnav's proposal, but to hear her refer to him as a "fine bridegroom" was exceedingly surprising. For in Buaji's eyes, Arnav shared equal blame with Khushi for their having to leave Lucknow in a state of disgrace.
The only reason she tolerated Khushi working for "that Raizada-Baizada" was the fact that ASR Group was a generous employer. Arnav paid those in his employ much higher wages than what was standard in Delhi; and, as Khushi was the sole earner since their removal from Lucknow, Buaji had to decide whether she loved more to eat or loved more to hate.
So until Payal's home embroidery business became more profitable, Buaji had to be satisfied with verbally criticizing Arnav Singh Raizada. An activity in which she received ample encouragement from her faithful ally, Shyam.
Shyam was the legal mind who was assisting Buaji to extract more money from her late husband's pension fund. Shyam was the generous lodger who subsidized their monthly expenses with the exorbitant rent Buaji charged. Shyam was the son she had always prayed for. Nandekishore-Knows.
"Don't give me that innocent wide-eyed look," Buaji was saying to Khushi. "You know very well that he's wild about you."
"You're mistaken, Buaji---today was the first time I heard of it---" Khushi stated, and added at Buaji's dubious snort, "---and I still feel this is some sort of a game on his part. He is not genuine." And as her words brought Buaji further into the room, her eyes beginning to flash with anger, Khushi turned in desperation to Payal, "Jiji, I know that he cannot be in love with me. This is a game!"
But before Payal could be helpful, Buaji had grasped Khushi's wrist [not tenderly!] and swung her around so she faced her.
"Game?!" Buaji repeated the word as though it was the most vile expletive ever to be uttered within her hearing. "How dare you doubt him?" she wagged a fat finger at Khushi. "I heard his proposal. He loves you. Though you have done nothing to deserve it."
"Buaji," Payal repeated, as always.
"No, Payal," Buaji said, "you will not interfere this time. This ungrateful girl will marry him. Bas! There will be no more discussion." And then she continued the discussion by addressing Khushi with the usual rhetoric. "Are you some beautiful heroine? Some rich heiress? Some daughter of a tycoon? Can you afford to judge the rishtas you receive and the men who make them? In that market," she pointed out of the open window, "at this moment, there are a hundred girls prettier than you, a thousand more clever.* And all with dowries but---no! you stand here and doubt Shyam's sincere offer---"
"Kya!" This exclamation burst, of course, from Khushi's lips.
"Kya-kya?!"
"Shyamji?" Khushi looked from Buaji to Payal and back at Buaji. "It was Shyamji? Shyamji proposed?"
"Who else would?" This came from Buaji.
"Whom did you imagine, Khushi?" This came from Payal. Both the aunt and the niece speaking at the same time.
Khushi could not reply. Was it not Mr Raizada? Her mind speedily digested the present information and added to it all that her sister had stated since that moment she had climbed through the window.
And---!
And it was clear that she and Payal had suffered a monumental misunderstanding.
Though they had spoken comprehensively, the suitor's identity had somehow gone unarticulated. And all their descriptors could essentially have applied to either gentleman.
Khushi also saw that she was to blame. She had made leaping assumptions based on what she had experienced with Arnav earlier in the afternoon. And now she bitterly regretted what she had revealed to her sister. But no reparations could be safely made while Buaji remained in the room.
And any hope that Buaji would grant the sisters privacy was a futile one.
In fact, Buaji tugged on Khushi's wrist and drew her even closer to her. Her eyes, which had now narrowed to frightening slits, were searching Khushi's with suspicion.
"Have you been running around with some boy?" Buaji accused without decorum.
"No!" Khushi shook her head.
"Please, Buaji!" protested Payal at this line of questioning.
But Buaji was not listening. She was speaking. "You dishonest shameful girl! I can see it clearly in your face. You had reason to expect a rishta from another, didn't you!?"
Our Heroine's only error was that she hesitated ever-so-slightly before vehemently making her denial. But alas, Buaji had never learnt the difference between hesitation and verification.
Buaji took action before Khushi could defend herself.
I have said it before and I will say it again, Sisters---the sound of a slap is worse than the slap itself. When a meaty Buaji palm strikes out with force at a tender Khushi cheek, it would make the most hard-hearted person gasp with anger and pity. Even Arnav Singh Raizada would have in this moment rushed to the defence of the young woman whom he despised.
But where was he? For this daytime nightmare could all be construed as his fault.
* Altered from the 1949 film -The Heiress-.
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