Engineering a Life

by Krishan K. Bedi

  My flight arrived in New Delhi on September 28, a day later than expected. My family members, who had been waiting for me so eagerly, finally returned home thinking something terrible must have happened to me. I called them from a payphone as soon as I got off the plane, and my parents and two uncles rushed to meet me. My parents paid the excise duty of sixteen hundred rupees for the gift items I brought, but unfortunately, customs confiscated my brother’s revolver because I did not have an Indian Arms License.

  The moment I passed through customs, I bent to touch the feet of my parents and uncles. They all stopped me right before I reached their feet and said, “No Krishan, it is okay.” My mother and father placed garlands of marigold flowers around my neck and hugged me, joyful tears etching their faces. Before we got into the taxi, my mother attached garlands to the front and back of the car so everyone in India would know we were celebrating. Then, she hugged me tightly once more for a long time.

  That night, we stayed in New Delhi with my cousin Ved, and the next morning, our taxi bumped along the road toward Malaudh. I sat squished between my mother and uncle. My mother held my arm tightly, her head resting on my shoulder, and every few minutes she would look up at my face as though she couldn’t believe I was really there.

  As we approached the outskirts of Malaudh, I could see the area had been expanded with more shops, and the dirt road had been paved. It just so happened there was a wedding celebration in Malaudh that same night. A band stood outside with their instruments, waiting to go in and play for the gathering of people. They saw the taxi coming toward them, and knowing that Mukandi Lal’s son was returning soon, they realized it must be me. The men jubilantly began playing their instruments, walking in front of us while we drove down the street. Hearing the music, the guests came out of the house to see what was going on. There were not many cars in Malaudh, so the people usually became anxious whenever one came to the village. I rolled down my window as people pointed at us, talking in excited voices. Kids ran out into the street to get a closer look, and they followed behind the car.

  “Krishan! Krishan!” voices shouted. In the week since I’d notified my parents of my arrival date, the news had spread quickly through the town. The whole village of Malaudh waited in anticipation of my return. Now that I was finally there, the excitement spread like wildfire. A crowd of people lined the streets to watch me. Children continued to follow behind us, yelling excitedly. The taxi driver stopped in front of my father’s shop, and we all clambered out of the car, stiff from hours of sitting. The band continued playing joyful music as more than fifty people surrounded us, clapping and watching me with big smiles on their faces.

  Hearing all the noise, my brother rushed out of the shop. The moment he saw me, he ran and gave me a hug. Others drew closer, some to look at me, some to greet me with hugs. My brother placed garlands around my neck, grinning at me and the commotion around us. My chest was bursting with joy. After nine years of hard work, I had returned to Malaudh a successful man with a degree and a respectable, well-paying job.

  My parents’ faces beamed with joy and pride. I had never seen my father so happy, and my mother smiled through her tears. My brother brought sweets outside, and we distributed them to the people crowded around me. From all sides people hugged me, shook my hand, or patted me on the back, saying, “Welcome home.”

  So much was the same here in Malaudh, and for once it was comforting, even though it felt like a culture shock to be back in my own country after adapting to the US lifestyle. I spent my first few days back in Punjab getting accustomed to the slower pace of life and not having all the amenities readily available as in the US. One day, I helped my father in the cloth shop, folding fabrics and bringing tea or lemonade to the customers.

  Instead of the traditional white pajamas, I wore a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of regular pants. The people from the villages said to my father, “Has your son come back from a foreign country?” They could tell by my clothing and my light skin unused to the omnipresent sun. My father grinned proudly and said, “Yes, he has come from Amrika after nine years.”

  “Very good,” they said, looking at me approvingly and imagining the load of money I must have brought.

  During my first few days in Malaudh, my father gave me a stack of one rupee and two rupee notes. He was so happy to have me back that he continually gave me money to give to the poor and well-wishers.

  Close to thirty girls answered the ad about me that appeared in the Tribune, an English newspaper in Punjab. My father, brother, and two brothers-in-law helped me select fifteen suitable girls to send detailed responses to, giving my qualifications such as height and weight, appearance, job title, and my family background.

  Based upon these details, almost all the parents responded, asking to meet me. My parents did not own a phone, so we corresponded solely through letters. The process was taking too long, but it was out of my hands, so I tried not to get frustrated. After we met each girl and her parents, my father and I told them we would think it through and discuss the matter with my mother. Then we would contact them at a later date.

  A few meetings did not go as planned. One day, while my father and I waited at a restaurant for a girl and her father, the father showed up fifteen minutes late without his daughter. “I am not sure why my daughter is not here yet,” the girl’s father said. “She is coming from out of town and said she would be here. Would you like to reschedule the meeting?”

  “This will not be appropriate,” my father explained. The girl’s behavior was insulting. “Krishan will be in India for a short time, and he is planning to go back in two or three weeks. It would not work to reschedule.”

  The girl must have been reluctant to come, I thought to myself. My time in India was short, and I needed to keep moving forward.

  On another occasion, a girl’s parents invited us to a luncheon at their house in Ludhiana. We managed to reach their house on time, despite the difficulty of locating it in an area with no street names. After some conversation in the drawing room, the father stated that his daughter was taking the train from Bhatinda, and the train was late. “Let us start lunch,” he said. “She will arrive any minute.”

  An hour later, the girl had still not arrived. The parents seemed shocked, not knowing why their daughter did not come. My father and I felt our time had been wasted, and I suspected the girl might have a boyfriend her parents were not aware of. Dating was not common, but people did meet secretively.

  On our way back to Malaudh I told my father not to be disappointed. If we did not find a suitable girl, I would come back the following year. He frowned, displeased with my statement.

  When five weeks had passed, I told my parents that I might have to go back soon because I had taken leave from work for only six weeks. My parents were frightened that I might go back alone. They had been fortunate that in the last nine years I had not married an American girl, which was unusual for being in the US so long. If I go back now, I thought, who knows what might happen?

  In the meantime, my brother-in-law Vijay Kaura told a family in Patiala about me. They were good friends with my father and thought it would be a good idea to approach my father and me about a relationship with their daughter. The family was well-respected in Patiala and well-to-do financially. Vijay felt good about a relationship maturing with them.

  My father and I arrived in Patiala at 8:00 p.m. The family lived in a huge, two-story house. Since the late October weather was not too hot, we all sat in the courtyard. The girl’s father served us Johnnie Walker Black Label scotch, not commonly available in India except among affluent families. I drank it with delight while the girl’s younger sister sang songs for us. After a couple of drinks, we all felt good, and the courtyard transformed into a festive environment. We feasted on pakoras, enjoying the savory fritters of vegetable dipped in spicy chickpea batter, and everyone laughed, told stories, listened to songs recited by the girl’s sister, and did their best to entertain me. I was impressed by th
is family and enjoyed myself immensely.

  After drinks and snacks, the girl joined us for dinner. I tried to catch discreet glimpses of her while trying not to stare in front of her parents and sister. She was slightly on the heavy side. It was hard to get a good look at her, and I was not sure, but it seemed she had a crossed eye. I wondered about this and wished I could get a better look at her without the scrutiny of her parents.

  It was midnight by the time we finished dinner and dessert. The girl left right after dinner, and her parents looked at me as if to say, “So what do you think?” As usual, I replied, “We will discuss it with my mother once we get back, and then we will let you know.”

  The situation was tricky. Vijay wanted this relationship to develop since he also lived in Patiala and was close friends with the family. Back at Vijay’s house, we discussed the matter of her crossed eye with him. I wanted to see her again, alone, and Vijay felt it sounded appropriate. He agreed to arrange another meeting.

  The next day, the girl and I met at the park. My sister Santosh, Vijay, and the girl’s mother accompanied us. We sat on a sheet beneath a large shade tree, and this time I felt more comfortable to look at her closely. As I asked basic questions about her education, I could see that one of her eyes was indeed crossed.

  How would I settle this matter? I felt great pressure to please both her father, who was a close friend to my father, and Vijay, who acted as the matchmaker. The relationship between my family and my brother-in-law was a delicate one. We must keep him happy, so in return, he would keep my sister happy. I decided to prolong my decision and discuss it further with my parents. Once back in Malaudh, I still did not know what to do.

  One evening, my father and I traveled to Mandi Gobind-Garh to visit my uncle. We were having a drink and pakoras when a knock sounded on the door at around 8:30 p.m.

  “Who could that be this late?” my uncle wondered as he went to the door.

  Moments later, he returned. “Krishan, there is a man here to see you,” he said. “It is urgent.”

  Taken aback, I went outside. The man introduced himself as Yash Verma. He had ridden his scooter forty miles from Nabha to Malaudh, and when he learned I was at my uncle’s home, he rode another forty-five miles to Mandi Gobind-Garh. Altogether, it was a three-hour journey. He had learned from a relative of Vijay Kaura that I was back from the US for a short stay and was looking for a girl to marry. “I want you to meet my niece,” he said. “She is very qualified and well-suited for this relationship.”

  “What are her qualifications?” I asked.

  “She has a master’s in zoology, which she has completed with honors at Punjab University in Chandigarh,” he replied.

  Yash saw the confused look on my face. “It is the study of animals,” he explained.

  I raised my eyebrows, impressed and intrigued by this girl who completed her studies with honors in such a unique subject.

  “We are interested in discussing further a marriage between you and my niece,” Yash said. “Would you like to come to Nabha to meet her and the family?”

  I agreed to go to Nabha the next day. Happy, Yash got on his scooter and rode off into the dark.

  The next day, my father and I rode a bus twenty-four miles to Nabha. As soon as my father and I stepped off the bus, Yash Verma and several other relatives came forward to greet us. They had been waiting at their family-owned petrol pump which happened to be right next to the bus station. They ushered us into their car, and the chauffeur drove us to Yash’s house, where the rest of the family was waiting to meet me.

  As soon as my father and I entered the house, the girl’s parents, her brother, and her grandmother crowded around us, offering warm greetings and friendly smiles. When they introduced me to the grandmother, I immediately bowed my head and made a gesture to touch her feet, a customary practice to show respect to the elderly and get their blessings. Later, I learned she approved of me just from this gesture, thinking, This boy has come from America after so many years and still remembers the Indian culture.

  The family watched us closely as we sat in the drawing room, drinking tea and warm milk, and chatting politely. At two o’clock, we gathered around the table for lunch. The women of the house served a large meal of vegetables, rice pilaf, yogurt, and chapatis. The girl’s name was Raj, and she joined us at the table, sitting several places away from me. I tried to talk to her in the presence of her mother, brother, and aunt, but whenever I asked her a question, someone else answered for her. She looked at me a couple of times without much expression, and while I didn’t want to stare in front of her mother, I felt pleased with her overall appearance and demeanor.

  After about ten minutes, Raj left the table, and everyone else returned to the drawing room. Her father and uncle wanted to know my decision.

  “My father and I will discuss the matter with my mother, and we will let you know,” I replied.

  We shook hands, and her other uncle gave me a big hug, once again impressing me with how friendly and sociable this family was.

  When we returned to Malaudh, I told my mother about Raj and her family in Nabha. She was so overjoyed to hear about the girl from Nabha that she couldn’t stop smiling and exclaiming how wonderful it was. I did not find out until much later why she was so joyful about the meeting with Raj.

  It turned out that my mother already knew about the Nabha family. One day, a customer from the village of Kheri had stopped by my father’s shop. He was well-known to our family, and my mother had invited him in for a cup of tea. They got to talking, and the man told her about the Vermas, saying that they had four or five daughters. “This family is well-respected in Nabha,” he told her. “And their daughters are well-educated and eligible to be married.”

  “Oh,” my mother had exclaimed. “Why don’t you tell this family in Nabha about my son Krishan who will be coming from the States.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Bedi, that will not be possible,” the man said. “This family is too good for your family. Socially and financially, they are better known in the community than your family. It would not be a suitable match.”

  At these words, my mother felt small and insulted. After the man left, she prayed, “Oh God, somehow bring that family’s daughter to our house in Malaudh. Cause a relationship to develop between one of their daughters and Krishan, so that they should be married.”

  Not knowing these details, I mulled over my options while my mother kept this story to herself, only choosing to tell me about it at the end of my visit.

  Days passed as I thought about which girl I should choose. There were many factors to consider, the biggest one being that while I wanted to know more about Raj Verma, I felt pressure to consider the girl from Patiala. What would happen if I chose Raj in the end? My brother-in-law, who had invested so much attention in the match between me and the Patiala girl, would be angry. The father of the girl, also a close friend of my father’s,

  might never want to see us again. The relations involved were a delicate matter to be handled with care.

  While I considered my predicament, the Nabha family came to Malaudh to talk to us. “What is your decision?” they wanted to know. “What do we need to do in order to make this happen?”

  “I would like to see the girl again,” I told them. “This time no big lunch or social gathering, and this time at her house, not her uncle’s.” They agreed happily.

  On the day we arrived at her house, the family insisted we eat a small lunch with them. My father and I sat around the table with Raj and her parents, brother, and grandmother. This time there were no uncles or other family members to watch the ordeal. When we finished lunch, everyone left the table, leaving Raj and me to talk by ourselves, although her mother and grandmother sat barely seven feet away.

  Raj looked at me, waiting, and I was at a loss about what to ask. I started by inquiring more about her degree and where she’d earned it.

  “I studied at Chandigarh,” she said, “where I pursued my interest in science a
nd animals with a master’s in zoology.”

  I remembered a letter sent to me by a professor from Chandigarh. Professor Mehra had expressed an interest in a match between one of his daughters and me. He would be returning from Paris in a couple of weeks and wanted to pursue the matter.

  “Do you know Mehra?” I asked, thinking Raj might have taken classes with him.

  It seemed that Raj felt there must be some talk going on between the professor and me because she said, “Oh yes, I do know him. He has six daughters, and the ones I have seen are very pretty and well-educated.”

  Surprised at how quickly she picked up on my connection to the professor, I felt awkward and dumb for mentioning him. It did not seem appropriate to bring up a connection with another man and his daughter to a girl I might someday marry. I did not know what else to say, and we ended the conversation. It lasted about ten to fifteen minutes, and her mother, seeing that we were done, gave Raj an indication to leave. Now, she wanted to know my decision.

  “I will need to discuss the matter with my parents first,” I said.

  Normally, it is the tradition for the parents to advise or make the decision about which girl is the most suitable to marry. But in my case, I had studied abroad, finally returning after nine long years, and my parents wanted me to have the final say.

  One night, while staying in New Delhi with Ved and his wife, I explained my predicament in great detail, speaking openly and honestly with them.

  “On one side,” I told them, “it is my father’s close friend and distant relative, whose daughter I saw twice, a girl who is a little on the heavy side with one crossed eye. On the other side, it is Raj, who seems very intelligent and good-looking, having a master’s with honors in zoology, who comes from a good family, and whose sisters and brother are well educated.”