You Can’t Be Serious

Chapter 1

Aaditha

There’s a Boy!

fireworks are live in my head. not the scar-you-softly sparkler variety, but rockets that whoosh and crash against the cranium.

I can’t remember when I dozed off last night, but I woke up early this morning, determined to work off the ire. At least some of it.

The music in my AirPods fades under the air conditioner’s drone. Even at max volume, I can hear my own breathing.

I pause momentarily, something I rarely do when I work out.

Marriage. Royal, seriously?

I open my palm, flex my fingers and hold for a second or two before balling it tightly again. It’s involuntary, a release almost.

I pat my leg once, twice, before getting back into position.

One limb pushed back, the other lunged forward, my spine is parallel to my thigh.

I slap the floor with my palms and reach with my lower extremity, cutting through the air like a flash of lightning.

I am burning – my body and mind in sync.

I have been at my Kalari routine for almost forty minutes. That’s when my right foot makes contact with bones. A jaw. My foot is firm as I attempt a full rotation, but before I land on my feet, I’m picked up and placed on the display riser that is my contribution to the gym.

It’s where I like to hang out after a workout, my feet on different levels, sipping a double-shot bone-dry cappuccino with Raju, my friend and trainer, in that order. (post workout, of course!).

I’m staring at a pair of curious eyes and a forced smile. I’m tasting sweat.

I open my palm before balling it tightly. My nails sink into my palm. Breathe, I tell myself. Repeat. My anxiety is off the charts.

‘I…’

I try to open my mouth, form a sentence, but even I, who can rattle off 250 words a minute when I’m nervous, most of them incoherent, can’t manage more than one.

The last thing I expect is for my foot to find Raju’s jaw.

Kalari is about reaction. The body is conditioned to be sensitive to stimuli. A still draught, a silent shuffle – nothing misses the ninja’s radar.

Raju had taught me to read moves early in this journey. He is a master. Why didn’t he duck?

New strains of panic kick in. I want to laugh. I want to cry. I’m bordering on hysteria.

I make my way down the rack, eyes on Raju, hands folded in apology. His perfectly ripped 6’2” body looks up at my 5’3” frame.

‘Why didn’t you move?’ I ask finally.

‘I stopped the round,’ he says. ‘There was a knock; I thought someone was at the door. You didn’t hear the sound?’

Stopped? What sound? Have I been that out of it? ‘Are you hurt?’ I reach for him.

He snorts.

‘What is up with you?’ he asks, gesturing with his right hand. The southern roll in all its glory.

I shake my head, get on my toes and dust his left cheek before settling on the floor next to him.

My classes with Raju are at my home gym, an hour in the mornings, thrice a week – Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.

Today is Monday. I had sent him a late-night text, pleading my case to move my Tuesday class to this morning. At five minutes to six, I heard his bike and after that, the rattle of iron gates.

One of the walls of this room with an annexe is made of glass bricks. We are facing it. The other three are red stone. Except for an antique case clock, the plastered walls are bare.

‘Aaditha Prathap,’ Raju announces. He likes tacking on my father’s name to mine every now and then as if it were a condiment he’s adding for taste. ‘What has happened to you?’

I can read the lines on his otherwise happy face. The more disquieted he is, the brighter his smile becomes.

‘A nightmare!’ I say.

His brows scrunch, replicating the ruling of a notebook.

I lounge in my room wearing my brightest smile.

My song list is playing… Dua Lipa.

Diamonds under my eyes

Turn the rhythm up, don’t you wanna just

Come along for the ride?

An imaginary circlet that reads Super Proud Mom is sitting on my head.

COFFEE Before Books she lives in sunny California.

Her marriage of almost eleven years is as cold as the meat in the freezer.

There’s a new calm to her voice these days.

I don’t trust it, but it’s better than the silence that filled our conversations.

‘Yes.’ The breathless answer comes from Amma. Alia is okay. Amma’s eyes are bright as she attempts to square her sloped shoulders, the only physical feature of hers I seem to have taken after.

‘Aashi,’ Appa says, bringing my second name, Asha, into that the mix, before adding with a smile, ‘there’s…’

He pauses. A second that drags forever.

‘Yes?’ I urge, my heart pounding. This does not sound good.

‘A boy.’

‘A boy?’ I shriek in horror, knowing fully well what those words mean.

It’s part of the curriculum in girls’ schools. The chapter is titled ‘When your parents tell you there’s a boy’. The legend reads shipwrecked. Guidance: Run.

My heart drops to the floor of my stomach and lies there, dead weight.

What are they thinking? I don’t want to get into an anodyne arrangement. This family doesn’t need another.

Who? Where? Why? The Ws rattle against my parietals. If I ask the question, I ratify the reason they walked in here for, but I need information to put an end to this.

‘The boy,’ Appa repeats slowly, like he is raising the bidding price at an auction.

‘He has a nice, long name – Vedveer Rathore Singh – and he’s an excellent young man. I believe royals have long names; it is tradition. Maybe that’s why you, too, have a first and second name!’

Appa tries to slip the royal bit casually, but that’s the peg he hangs his smile on.

This has got to be a joke!

‘He is royal!’ Amma joins in, stressing on the ‘r’.

A royal? A prince? The last time I checked, we were living in an active democracy! And Appa, Appa is a senior politician!

‘He’s very nice,’ Amma adds, shifting closer to Appa, as if to endorse the recommendation.

That’s the thing about arranged matches.

‘The boy’ is always bright, dazzling, copybook perfection, but the girl, ‘oh the girl’, there’s always something sour about her.

Yin and yang. Light and dark. There’s only place for one piece of sublimity in a partnership.

The patriarchy has long owned those rights.

Vedveer Rathore Singh. Wait a second, I’ve heard this name, read this name…

Why is Appa breathlessly jumping into another arranged match when his earlier play for his firstborn is coming apart rapidly?

The blood is draining from my face. I hear a jangle of words come at me, flaring before my eyes like teleprinter prompts.

Prince. Jaipur… Engineer from Harvard…

‘Oyi?’ I hear Raju. He wants to know why Appa has not only come up with this alliance but is also nudging me in that direction.

I brace myself. Raju is my friend, but before we became pals, Appa took him off the streets and gave him a life. Raju is nothing if not loyal.

‘Saar made a good selection,’ Raju says. He is nodding. ‘Prince who is an engineer, two-in-one.’ A supermarket steal deal.

‘Get up,’ Raju says. He is on his feet, ready to go again.

I lean forward and touch my toes. I stay in that position for a bit. I don’t want to get up.

‘We could’ve gone to your café if you wanted to talk,’ Raju says. ‘I would’ve got a free apple-carrot muffin at least.’

I laugh. I love that even at a moment like this, Raju doesn’t forget ‘free’. His ‘Nutrition Facts Label’.

This matrimonial business, especially arranged alliances, is messy even at the best of times. For most, that’s excuse enough to back out. But in my case, it’s a battle I can’t win unless I come up with a reason good enough to justify the no.

How can I say no to the one person who has never said no to me, the parent who has always believed in me?

Appa accepted my skeletal entrepreneurial idea when I decided to move continents without completing my graduation.

COFFEE Before Books Komal Rao is the half, in that she has the affection but not the inclination.

I left Lavanya a voice note last night but haven’t heard from her. She can go without checking her phone forever, especially when she’s working. I reach for my phone and dial her. She picks up on the first ring.

‘Interesting,’ she hums.

‘I left you a note.’

‘I’m checking him out on Insta.’ She adds, ‘Fire!’

‘I’m going to come up with a plan,’ I say with a confidence I don’t feel. ‘A plan that will persuade this Jaipur prince to call off the alliance himself.’

‘You’re assuming he’s on board with your dad’s plan?’ asks Lavanya of the many accents. Right now, it’s the New York twang. It can change in the next few seconds.

‘That right there is an out! That’s why you are my bestie!’

I’m practically screaming. It startles Raju, who is beside me.

Which of-the-times, hotshot royal would ever agree to an arranged match so out of his orbit?

I feel a surge of hope, but the relief is brief, too brief. Because Appa can’t be making plans with the desert air.

‘I’m meeting him in two weeks’ time, Monday after the next.’ I sigh.

‘Confirmed?’ Lavanya asks.

‘Yeah.’

Raju looks at me with a mix of excitement and alarm. ‘Date set!’ he says.

‘Wait a minute! Is this a roka in two weeks?’ Lavanya asks, her voice climbing decibels.

‘What?’ My heart is sinking. ‘No way! What roka?’ The alarm bells in my head go off.

Raju’s laugh is bouncing off the walls. ‘Roka means engagement?’ he asks. ‘Say again, his name?’

‘How does it matter?’ I snap, holding the phone away from me.

‘Are you with Raju?’ Lavanya asks.

I put my phone on speaker when Raju announces, ‘Vedveer Rathore Singh.’

‘Do you have a plan to get me out of this mess?’ I turn to Raju.

‘No!’ Raju smiles, his teeth sparkling.

‘How about we find you a man?’ Lavanya says. ‘Some model type, who we all will vouch for. We’ll tell your parents you two have been a couple for a year already.’

The idea is entertaining. I laugh.

‘I’ll shop on Insta and send you boyfriend options,’ Lavanya adds. ‘I recommend an equal degree of fire.’

‘I’m not part of this plan,’ Raju says, throwing up his arms as he makes his way to the door.

All I need is a believable plan. No pressure.