CHAPTER 5 Kavita
Kavita
When I walk into my parents’ house, Dad is sitting in his rocking chair, listening to classical music.
“Hello, dear,” he calls out and switches off the music, picking up his walking stick to rise from his favorite armchair.
Ever since his stroke three years ago, there have been traces of slurring in his voice and a little slowness in his movements.
But otherwise, he looks fine, and nobody can tell.
“Your mother is making aam ras,” he says as he makes his way to the dining table.
My mother freezes mango chunks so she can make this delicious mango pulpy dish all year round. Aam ras and puris are Dad’s favorites.
“Let me help Mom set the table quickly,” I say, drooling at the aroma wafting from the kitchen.
I enter the kitchen to see my mom making mouth-watering chole to go along with the puris as well. There’s the aam ras dish glistening on the counter. “Best mangoes from last summer,” Mom says. “You’re both going to love it.”
I pop a piece of fried poppadom into my mouth. “Did you talk to Venkat?” I ask her.
Venkat is my landlord and owns the property where my boutique is located. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him, but he hasn’t been answering my calls. My mother knew him since she ran a tailoring business on the same property for years before she started working from home after Dad’s stroke.
That’s why I’m hoping if she speaks to Venkat and tells him I’m looking to buy the land, he’ll give me a good deal.
“He hasn’t picked up my call either,” she says. “But I’ll get a hold of him one of these days and talk to him about it.”
“My lease will expire in two months,” I remind her.
“Don’t worry. He’s been wanting to sell it recently after his wife passed away, and he’s decided to move back to his village.”
Once we sit down for lunch, Mom picks up the topic of my marriage. This is the usual scene at my parents’ home at least once a month.
“I’ve got a few new photographs to show you after lunch,” she says enthusiastically as she serves puri and aam ras onto my plate.
“Not interested.” I shake my head and bite into a puri.
“Kavita, you’ll be turning thirty soon,” she says. This is another dialog I’m sick of hearing, but she never gets tired of repeating it. “You need to settle down. How do you intend to get married if we don’t find someone?”
She’s implying, of course, that I can’t find anyone on my own, or more importantly, I haven’t found anyone, and my time is running out soon.
As though after thirty, I’ll turn into a wallflower with no marriage prospects at all.
Hers and Dad’s was a love marriage. She was Dad’s first girlfriend, and they’re still very much in love with each other. “You and Dad found each other, didn’t you?” I pop another poppadom into my mouth and crunch on it loudly.
Mom serves another puffy puri onto my plate and gives me a wide smile. “We’re not going to be around forever. Who’ll you be with?”
Fair point. I might turn into a lonely, old woman who doesn’t find anyone to love and remains single for life.
I understand my mother’s concern, but I only want to marry when I’m ready and when I’ve found the man I’d love to spend the rest of my life with.
“An arranged marriage isn’t such a bad thing, you know?” she huffs again.
It just feels like a transaction every time I meet a guy my parents introduce me to.
We go through the usual routine—meeting first at my home, then talking for a few minutes to get to know each other.
Then, meeting at his house. By then, the parents are waiting to hear if we ‘clicked,’ and it’s impossible to decide the fate of the rest of our lives after spending just a few hours or even weeks together.
Nothing feels right about being guilt-tripped into meeting these prospects just for my parents’ sake.
“You’re lucky to have Papa,” I smile as I slurp the aam ras straight from the spoon.
“You’re lucky so many good proposals are still coming for you.” Mom piles another puri onto my plate, and Dad eyes her curiously, wondering if she’ll give me his share of puri, too.
She smiles at him and serves him another puri as well.
Dad smiles back contentedly and turns to me. “Your mother has a point.”
“You can just say no,” Mom adds quickly. “But you have to meet at least a few of them.”
I groan with delight as the puri soaked in aam ras melts in my mouth. “This is so good!” I say between mouthfuls, as the blissful meal feels like an orgasm in my taste buds.
“You should learn to cook,” Mom says. “We can tell the boy’s family you’re a wonderful cook.”
“That’s exactly what I don’t want.”
Dad chuckles.
Mom glares at him. “What’s wrong with learning how to cook? Every boy and girl should know how.”
“I’d like it very much if the boy’s family told me that he’s a great cook,” I say cheekily.
My mom rolls her eyes and refuses to take my bait.
“Do you have a boy you’re interested in?” Dad laughs, serving another large dollop of aam ras into his bowl, while Mom eyes him to limit his sugar intake.
“As though she’s going to have time to like a boy with her head buried in designs she keeps working on and never leaving her boutique. He’s not going to appear out of thin air,” Mom scoffs.
“Maybe you should date,” Dad says, and I let out a snort. “I would have loved to date your mother if only her parents would let me anywhere near their house. Parents were so strict back in those days.”
It’s not that I haven’t dated in the past or considered settling down. But I’ve had no time with my focus on my business these last few years, and eligible bachelors are hard to meet.
“She makes lovely dresses for people getting married. Where is she going to meet anyone to date?” Mom asks vehemently.
“If you don’t like using matrimonial services, then go for...what do they call it? Dating apps?” Dad chuckles.
“Those are generally more for hookups,” I tell him. “Not if you’re interested in an actual relationship.”
“Hookups! Wow! What’s that?” Dad’s eyes go wide at the unfamiliar term.
I stifle a giggle as Mom frowns at him.
“Forget hookups and all that! Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound good. That’s why we have matrimonial services,” Mom insists. “When both parties are ready to settle down properly.”
“Maybe I’m just not ready to settle down yet,” I consider out loud. “And I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I don’t want my age to dictate when I have to settle down. I want to take my time.”
Mom places another hot, fluffy puri onto my plate and ladles a generous serving of aam ras into my bowl. Beaming, she says, “But you know what’s even better than the matrimonial services.”
“What?” I ask around a mouthful.
“Word of mouth.”
“Yes, yes,” Dad concurs. “That’s the best way to find a man if you haven’t found one already.”
I frown at Dad. He’s supposed to be on my side. I give him a pleading look to stop making matters worse.
“When I was your age, I was already a mother,” Mom says.
I’ve heard that a million times!
After lunch, she brings out the latest photographs of eligible bachelors she’s collected and spreads them out on the table. “Here, like any of them? Look at this one.” She rattles off a few names and qualifications. Engineer, Doctor, Accountant, and so on.
I scan through them cursorily and push them aside. “I don’t like any of them.”
Mom huffs as she gathers them up. “None?”
Finally, as I’m at the door, ready to leave, she says, “Then maybe at the Dandiya dance night this year, you’ll meet some new boys.”
She looks so hopeful, and once again, I feel a pinch in my heart. I know my mother is just concerned. I get it.
“Wear something nice for it,” Mom instructs. “All the other mothers will be eyeing you too. Right, Moorthy?” she asks Dad.
“You’re right, Shalu.” Dad gazes at my mother with adoring eyes. “Our daughter will meet the right man.”
My eyes mist over as I watch my parents smile at each other, love shining in their eyes even after all these years.
I want what they have.
I want to meet the right man.
I want to be in love.
But it just feels so damn impossible!