Readers, be warned. No Arnav-Khushi in this one. At all. Read at your own risk.
Chapter 27: Kyunki saas bhi kabhi bahu thi...
"How do I look?" asked Anjali, fingering the pallu of her saree nervously.
"Gorgeous. As usual," said Aadit, not looking up from the newspaper he was reading.
"Aadit. Will you at least bother looking up before you lie to me?" she complained.
"Not lying. You look beautiful in anything. You could wear a sack of potatoes and look like a million bucks my love!" said Aadit, looking up from his paper.
"Aadit. Please. I want to make a good impression on your parents. What must they think of us? We ran away and got married. Neither my family knew, nor yours. On top of that, I'm a full 10 years older than you. Oh God! They're going to hate me!" she said.
"You are such a cougar!" said Aadit, now walking up to her and putting his arms around her waist.
"Are you saying I set out to entrap you?"
"Didn't you?"
"Wait a minute. The man who tried to scale the wall to my bedroom is saying I chased him? Really, now?" she raised one eyebrow and fixed a steely gaze on him.
"It's all your fault for making such delicious samosas. One samosa and I was a goner. I knew I'd never be able to eat another samosa made by anyone else. I really had no choice but to marry you. Now, do you see?" She reached out to slap his arm playfully when the bell rang.
"Dang it! They're early. It's Mom. She's always early for everything," said Aadit. "Now remember Anju, don't be nervous. She might seem a little intimidating, but she's a nice person, and you'll love my Dad!" said Aadit. He gave her a quick hug and went downstairs to open the door. Anjali followed slowly. She heard them greeting each other in Tamil and hurried out to the foyer.
"Aah. Here's Anju," said Aadit, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Amma, appa. Meet Anjali. Love of my life, and now, also my wife!" he quipped.
"Namaste Aunty. Uncle," said Anjali folding her plams together and facing the 2 pairs of eyes looking at her curiously. She felt like she was being critically appraised from head to toe. Which of course, she was.
"It's nice to meet you Anjali. We are so happy that Aadit finally decided to get married, even if it was in a rush. Welcome to the family," said Mr.Murthy, holding out a hand to her. She took it quickly, and shook it briefly. He was tall, as tall as Aadit, and thin. His hairline had receded considerably, and he wore a pair of glasses with bright red frames, perched high on his nose. He was wearing a green tee shirt and worn out blue jeans under his winter coat that he handed to Aadit. He had kind eyes, decided Anjali. She liked him.
She turned to her mother-in-law. "It's so nice to finally meet you Aunty! Aadit has told me so much about you and what a wonderful cook you are. You must teach me some of his favorite recipes someday. I'd love to try them," she said smiling nervously at Mrs. Murthy.
Mrs.Murthy smiled slightly in response, saying nothing. She was about 5'5" tall. She wore a dark blue silk saree with a simple red border. She wore about 6 gold chains of varying lengths around her neck. In her ears she wore flower shaped diamond earrings, 8 stones in each earring. On her forehead she wore a large deep red bindi. She had a single pair of gold bangles in each hand. Her nose was pierced and she wore a diamond nosepin that matched her earrings. Her hair was long, but slightly thin and she wore it in a slim braid than ran halfway to her waist. She had managed to procure a string of jasmine, and she wore them in her hair, secured by a hairpin to the base of her braid. She had a white cotton handkerchief tucked into her sari at the waist. On anyone else it would have stood out like a sore thumb. But Mrs.Murthy specialized in making the obvious look incongruous. Her demanor overshadowed everthing else, really. She was plump, beady-eyed and looked like she had smelt something bad.
"Come on in," asked Aadit, ushering them into the living room, trying to smoothe over the uncomfortable silence.
They trooped into the living room quietly. Aadit and Anjali sat on the loveseat, Mr and Mrs. Murthy on the couch.
"You've changed the way the furniture is arranged here Aadhu!" said Mrs.Murthy, frowning a little.
"It was Anju Amma. She wanted the sofa to face the windows. I like it, don't you?" he asked. Anjali looked on anxiously.
"It's fine. I liked the way it was set up earlier better. I guess I'll get used to this," said Mrs.Murthy, scrunching up her nose, as if the smell was getting worse.
"Well, I like it. Makes the room look cheery," said Mr. Murthy, earning a grateful smile from Anjali.
"Would you like some tea?" offered Anjali, wanting to get out of the room as quickly as possible.
"I'd love some!" said Mr.Murthy.
"I only drink filter coffee. Aadhu knows that. He always has my Peaberry blend here for me. Did you make the decoction already kanna?" she smiled at her son.
"Err. Sorry, amma. No. Actually I ran out and forgot to buy some this time when I went to India. But we have some Colombian coffee beans, which are excellent. Let me go grind them up for you, and we can have freshly ground coffee?" he offered, looking a little guilty.
"Tea is fine," said Mrs.Murthy looking extremely forbidding. Her husband sighed. He thought the lack of filter coffee had sealed it. The evening was a lost cause. His wife was intensely unhappy about the whole affair. The only way she might have condoned a runaway wedding would have been if by some miracle the girl had been Tamil, Brahmin, Iyer, (sub-caste Vadama), non-garg gothram, born under the stars either Bharani or Rohini (for those matched best with Aadit's star) who could sing like MS Subbulakshmi or dance like Rukmini Arundale. (preferably do both). Anjali Raizada, age 39, divorced, horoscope status unknown and worst of all, a Naarrth Indian, as Mrs.Murthy referred to everyone who belonged to States north of Karnataka. She had a peculiar way of rolling her R's when she said North. It made the perfectly decent word North sound like it had done something it wasn't supposed to. Anyway, Anjali Raizada was the anti-Mrs.Aadit Murthy that Mrs.Murthy had been on the lookout for, for 5 years now. She had presented girl after girl eligible girl to him. All with beautiful horoscopes, with nary a blemish. And they all sang like nightingales and could do the Thillaana in their sleep. To her credit, they had been pretty and well educated and fairly eligible. Except they bored him to death. He hadn't been interested in a single girl, (at least not to her knowledge!) until he ran away and married this one. No, Mrs.Murthy was not happy.
Anjali slunk away to make the tea. She sensed that Aadit's mother disliked her intensely. She had been prepared for some antagonism. Not for such s formidable opponent. Anjali hoped they would brush through dinner without any untoward incident. Maybe she could try and build a relationshop slowly. After all, they had eloped. Her brother wasn't happy either. Why should she expect Aadit's mother to be welcoming? She arranged the tea on the tray with some biscuits and snacks and took them out.
She was passing around the tea tray when Aadit's mother spoke to her directly for the first time. "You should not let you hair open like that. In our house, women always tie their hair up. Open hair is considered inauspicious," she said sternly.
"Oh. Oh. OK. I'm sorry, I didn't know," said Anjali, quickly trying to piece her hair into a bun. "Aadit, you should have told me!" she reproached him gently.
"Aadhu wouldn't know all that. It's something the women would know. You would've known too, if you were a..never mind." She let her voice trail away on a sigh.
"Oh come on Amma! It's just hair. Besides, Anju has beautiful hair. I love seeing it worn down this way," said Aadit, reaching over to squeeze his wife's hand. Mrs.Murthy frowned upon this public display of affection. She considered it indelicate and a little cheap for a woman to let her husband hold her hand in front of his parents. "Shiva Shiva, next she will kiss him in front of us!" she thought mentally, conveniently forgetting that it was her son who was holding Anjali's hand and wasn't letting go inspite of the desperately angry glares Anjali was throwing at him. It was at this interesting moment that the bell rang.
"Oh! I'll get it," Anjali jumped up, glad to get out of the room even for a second. She felt like any moment now Mrs.Murthy would let her third eye fly open and reduce her to ashes with a single glance. She opened the door, and her mouth fell open.
"Chotey! What's happened? Is everything OK with Nita? Did something happen?" she asked quickly.
"Everything's fine Di. Stop hyperventilating. Khushi told me your in-laws were visiting today. I thought I'd come by and meet them too. That's all," he strode past her into the living room.
"ASR! This is a surprise. Welcome," said Aadit, rising up to shake Arnav's hand. The 2 men shook hands firmly. Arnav nodded at Aadit, then turned towards his parents.
"Mr.Murthy, Ma'am! Pleasure to meet you. I'm Arnav Singh Raizada, Anjali's brother."
"It's nice to meet you Arnav." Said Mr.Murthy, also shaking hands. Mrs.Murthy said nothing, but she looked a little impressed with Arnav. ASR was wearing a pale blue silk shirt, crisply ironed with grey trousers and a matching blazer. His hair was slicked back as usual. He had on formal shoes that were polished to a nicety. Yes, Arnav Singh Raizada had rolled out the artillery. He was dressed to kill.
"Tea, chotey?" asked Anjali smiling widely at him.
'No thanks Di. But I am hungry. Dinner ready?" he asked. "Yes, absolutely. Let me go heat it up," she said, walking into the kitchen. Mrs.Murthy shook her head sadly. Heating up dinner! She had never heated up dinner once in the 32 years she'd been married. The food had always been cooked fresh and was piping hot when it came to the table. None of this cooking beforehand and re-heating food for Mrs.Murthy.
They sat down to dinner. Anjali had surpassed herself. She'd made Puri, Choley, Aloo mutter with gravy and pulao. Mrs.Murthy hadn't said anything when saw the Choley, but the moment she took a spoonful, the expression on her face changed to one of horror.
"Does this have garlic in it?" she asked forbiddingly.
"I put a few cloves in, yes," said Anjali looking worried.
"I don't eat garlic, and neither does my husband!" she said, putting her spoon down.
"Speak for yourself Ambulu, I eat garlic," said Mr.Murthy. On receiving an unpleasant stare for his efforts, he backed down, "Once in way," he said qualifying his previous statement.
"Does this Naarrth Indian potato dish have garlic in it too?" she asked.
"Err. No." said Anjali, thanking her stars that she'd made something without garlic. "And neither does the rice," she said.
"I will eat that, then." Said Mrs.Murthy grandly.
"I believe Garlic actually has medicinal properties," said ASR, shoveling the Choley down. "It prevents Cancer and reduces Cholesterol." He said. "Choley's delicious Di!" he smiled at Anjali, who looked back at him gratefully.
"That maybe. Even Cod liver oil is good for health, people say. But I cannot start eating Fish oil just because it has Vitamin A," said Mrs.Murthy.
"Yes, well. Tell that to the people with nightblindness," deadpanned ASR. Aadit sniggered, Mr.Murthy smiled a little, Mrs.Murthy looked scornful, as if Nightblindness was a disease confined to the weak-minded who made up things about their lack of night vision. Anjali threw ASR a pleading glance.
"Arnav, may I call you Arnav?" asked Mrs.Murthy.
"Of course Ma'am," he said smiling politely.
"And you must call me Mami, not Ma'am," she said, smiling at him.
"Err. Of course Maami-ji," said ASR, wondering why all the Mamis in his life were such supercilious, patronizing sticks-in-the-mud.
"Arnav, we are Tamil Iyers. We don't eat garlic, we don't eat Cod liver oil. We don't eat eggs. And needless to say, we don't drink. I know this must seem very different to you and your sister, coming from your Naarrth Indian, Punjabi culture, but now that we are related by marriage, we must try and understand each other." she finished smilingly.
"Maamiji, first of all, we are not Punjabi. We're from Lucknow. Secondly, you're right. We must make the effort to try and understand each other's culture. We're not everything you Tam Brahms are, of course. I won't even pretend to try. But what we are in Lucknow, is very polite and cultured. You've heard of the Lucknowi Tehzeeb, I dare say? Or maybe not," he went on eating, as if he hadn't just called his sister's mother-in-law badly behaved.
"Touche!" said Mr.Murthy. Aadit grinned at ASR and then quickly turned his laugh into a cough. Anjali was biting her lip to keep rom smiling. Her Chotey could be masterful.
"Aadit, since when do you not drink?" asked ASR throwing Aadit a mischievious glance. "Last I remember a good glass of Glenfiddich was all you needed to enjoy an evening."
"What is Glenfiddich?" asked Mrs.Murthy, looking at Aadit suspiciously.
"It's a single malt," said Mr.Murthy, before he could stop himself.
"Single Malt of what?" she asked looking puzzled.
"Scotch Whisky Maamiji," said ASR, fanning the flames now.
"Whisky-aa? You mean alcohol? You, you drink Aadhu?" she looked at Aadit, devastated. "And how do you know what it is?" she rounded on her petrified husband. "Errr..google?" he ventured. She nodded disgustedly.
"Amma. Only sometimes. Not regularly." Said Aadit, throwing a wait-until-I-get-you glance at ASR.
"Oh God! It's all because of this girl. If you had listened to me and married Nandhini Ramamoorthy like I told you to, this would never have happened!" she lamented.
"Amma, I was drinking long before I met Anjali, so please, stop!" said Aadit patiently.
"What I want to know is, who is Nandini Ramamoorthy?" asked Anjali, fixing a piercing glare on Aadit's face.
"No idea," he replied.
Before Mrs.Murthy could interject with a litany of Nandini's virtues, Arnav stepped in. "Whoever she is, she's clearly not married to Aadit Murthy," He said. "Look, Mrs.Murthy. Aadit and Anjali are married. I don't know what my sister saw in your son, but she chose to marry him," before he could go any further, Mrs.Murthy interrupted. "What do you mean what she saw in my son? My son is a fantastic catch. He's a very nice boy, he loves his parents, he does well at work. Anjali should consider herself lucky to be married to my son!" he finished huffily.
"And she does," said Anjali softly. She looked at Mrs.Murthy. "I'm very lucky to have Aadit as my husband."
"That you are. Well, I suppose you'll have to do. You're better than that other girl. I was so afraid he would marry her. At least you don't have children. A Naarrth Indian, I can deal with. A Naarrth Indian with children I cannot handle," said Mrs.Murthy, feeling like she'd bestowed a compliment of the highest order on Anjali.
"Errr. The Naarrth Indian with children. She's a very good friend of mine. In fact, I'm hoping she'll marry me someday. So please, don't speak of her disparagingly," said Arnav.
"Oh! But since you are Naarrth Indian too, that is fine!" said Mrs.Murthy. Aadit and Anjali laughed. Mr.Murthy looked apologetically at Arnav. Arnav didn't say anything. He preferred to pick his battles. And you couldn't argue with someone who's belief system clearly defied logic. He changed tactics and decided to turn on the charm instead. He talked to her with some depth of knowledge about the Carnatic music season that had just concluded in Chennai. Nothing pleased Mrs.Murthy more than Carnatic music, and when it became obvious he knew what he was talking about, she was impressed. By the time dinner was over, she was talking and laughing with him like they were old friends.
"I will teach you to make Sambaar just like Aadhu likes it," said Mrs.Murthy, putting her coat on as they prepared to leave.
"I'd love to learn Aunty!" said Anjali.
"You must call me Amma too, like your husband Anjali, and call Aadit's father Appa!"
"OK Amma," she said quietly.
"Mr.Murthy, Mrs.Murthy Aadit and Anjali ran away to get married. Surely we must make them marry again properly?" asked Arnav, dragging his coat on as well.
"Oh, yes absolutely. We should have a big South Indian wedding for you two!" said Mrs.Murthy, excitedly.
"A South Indian wedding! That sounds like fun," said ASR, pulling the door open.
"It's not. It's about a week long. Why do you think I eloped?" asked Aadit, unhappily.
"Aadit, you married the girl of your choice. At least let us have the wedding the way your Mother wants. Please." Said Mr.Murthy, looking at his son quietly.
"OK Appa!" said Aadit, giving in.
"I will call the priest tomorrow. There is so much to do. This is going to be fun!" said Mrs.Murthy, looking excited.
"Alrighty then! A south Indian wedding it is," said ASR gaily, heading out into the cld London chill.
"Chotey wait!" Anjali ran after him and hugged him tightly. "Thanks for coming Chotey!"
"You're welcome Di!" he said hugging her back.
Later that night
"So, how'd it go with Aadit's parents?" asked Khushi. "Did Aunty call you a Naarrth Indian?" she laughed.
"Yes, she did. It went well. They're getting married again. It's to be a South Indian wedding," He said.
"Dammit ASR! They're about a week long."
"So, who cares, its not our wedding. It's Aadit and Di's. Besides it can be their punishment for running away." He said, snuggling into her closely. They slept off like that. Arms entwined, her head tucked in below his chin. This dreamless, painless, relaxing sleep was one that had been denied to them both for too long. They reveled in it.
So, more ASR-KKG in the next chappie. For now, I had to get this one out of the way. And if the Tam brahm references are too obscure for most of you, I apologize. It's just, these are the things I've grown up with. 😊 Anyway, tell me what you think...
Edited by madmaxine - 13 years ago
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