The whole operation lasted for about forty-five minutes. I was mainly asked about my job, daily routine and general stuff like that. I got the feeling that they had made up their mind upon seeing me. Nishant was not asked too many questions by my family. Grandma went a little overboard in praising Nishant’s looks and ‘vibrant style of dressing’. When they were ready to leave, Father escorted them out of the house and all the way down the building. He came back impressed with the choice of their car.
He told us that if they were interested in taking this further, in order to explore the potential between Nishant and me, then the next meeting would take place between the two of us. And if we both felt positive, then matters would officially be fixed.
As a general opinion, my father asked me what I thought about the Pandeys. I admitted to liking the boy and disliking his family.
Eventually, my opinion didn’t matter because two days later when Father received their answer, it was a ‘no’ from their end. When he asked the middleman for a reason, he didn’t cite any particular one. I wonder why Father had had to ask for a reason at all.
Wasn’t it obvious?
That night we all ate in silence. Grandma, although disappointed, didn’t betray her emotions. She cooked chicken biryani—her trademark dish. She rarely cooked those days, so we really looked forward to anything prepared by her. We discussed irrelevant things to no end after the meal was over.
Eventually, Grandma acknowledged the elephant in the room.
‘You will face several such situations, Madhu. It is natural to get upset but try your best not to. It does not matter.’
I just managed a polite smile. One part of me wanted to wallow in self-pity, another didn’t want to give a damn about someone who had rejected me. Yet another part wanted to celebrate the fact that I wouldn’t have to marry Leaf Shirt and another wanted to be accepted by him and his family. I let no emotion be detected. Sometimes you have to be brave for others. Seeing me sad and embarrassed about the rejection would have been very difficult for my parents.
‘Madhu will get a far better boy. That boy was too sissy,’ Grandma tried once more to give us closure on the topic. ‘And did you see the cut of the mother’s blouse? I’m sure half of Gurgaon has seen her twins!’
‘Mummy, enough,’ my mother admonished her mother.
She came around the table to where I was sitting and gave me a loving hug.
‘Goodnight, my princess,’ she said before retiring to her bedroom.
By now, I was cranky and emotional. I wished everyone goodnight and went to bed.
Before sleeping, I silently gave myself a pep talk and prepared myself for a flurry of rejections. It had only just begun.
7
425 days before the wedding
It had been a while since the episode with the other Pandeys—my first ever rejection. Some months and many rejections later, I was particularly annoyed with my family on this particular day.
Another family had recently turned us down—me down. It had become a routine. Families of prospective husbands walked in and out of our house like it was their bathroom. Some were more obnoxious than others. They all gave varied reasons for nipping the alliance in the bud, but I knew it was invariably always the same reason.
Sometimes it irritated me no end that these families should reject me for my size. At least one woman from the boy’s side, who came over for the preliminary high tea, would definitely be as big as me, if not bigger. If the boy’s mother wasn’t overweight, then his sister or sister-in-law definitely was. Why then was their gigantic arse accepted and not mine? If we all are to eventually resemble baby elephants after popping babies, then what was the big deal if I got there a little before time?
Meanwhile, I had dropped three and a half kilos, thanks to the diet my mother had put me on. But I guess when you weigh so much, a few kilos off are hardly noticeable. Often, out of frustration I ended up eating more than I would have eaten off the diet, without my mother’s knowledge, of course. Food was my way to let off steam. Soups and salads bored me anyway and to have that for lunch and dinner every day while surviving work AND college? It was hell.
My family was under a lot of stress. The topic of my marriage was omnipresent in the house. It was like an added member in the family. There was nowhere in the house I could escape from it. Even when the house was completely silent I could hear it.
I had seen Father making many calls to friends, to friends of friends, to relatives. It always began as an out-of-the-blue, cursory call and then, he would say, ‘Okay, listen. I have something important to discuss with you. You remember my daughter, Madhurima?’ At this point the person at the other end would either feign to remember me or say whatever they actually did remember of me.
‘Yes, she’s doing her MBA now,’ he would say with evident pride. The irony!
‘Keep a lookout for her. You know, in case of any families or boys.’
Often, there would be eligible boys within the very family of the person he was talking to and Father would be very well aware of this and yet pretend to not realize it.
I suppose the person at the other end would say something like, ‘Oh, the son of my cousin’s nephew’s granddaughter is also looking for a girl.’
‘Oh my god! I didn’t think of that!’ Father would say, while looking at that same boy’s photograph on Facebook!
And the cycle would continue. This happened at least three times. To be fair, not all rejections were outright ‘no’s’. One family agreed to a second meeting. I didn’t like the boy much, but what could I say to the only family that had agreed to meet me again? I thought it was worth a shot.
While I tried to be practical about it, everyone else at home got carried away.
‘Oh! I knew this day would come,’ Grandma exclaimed.
‘They have agreed to another meeting, which means they are okay with the fact that our Madhu is on the healthy side.’
Healthy side, right! More like, unhealthy side.
‘God bless them. They seem lovely, Rima. Your daughter will be very happy with them. I’m sure they’ll love her nature, now that they will get to know her better.’
Mother and Father also said stuff like that, but everything went down the drain when this family too changed its stance a few days later.
Getting rejected became such a way of life that no closures were given any more. No philosophical statements about destiny, or about losing something only to be blessed with something better were made. How long can one go on harping on such nonsense that is uttered only to make oneself feel temporarily better?
So that day, I wasn’t furious about the rejection. I’d somewhat come to expect it. I was furious that after another letdown my parents were still relentlessly pursuing another rishta. I felt like a product that needed to be sold in the marital market. I felt exposed and embarrassed. My self-confidence was eroding and the ironic part was that I didn’t want to marry any of those dimwits but when the deal was off the table, I was unhappy. This way or that—there was just no relief.
‘Stop it!’ I yelled at the dining table. Angrily, I stood up and banged my fist on the table. Stupid move. It hurt terribly but had the desired effect. They were all taken aback, almost as if a little scared of me at that moment. I’d never before spoken like this to any of them.
‘Just stop this rubbish. I had told you I was not ready and yet you people have pushed me and pushed me and pushed me. Haven’t I faced enough humiliation? Aren’t you all tired? Can you give this a break? I can surely use one.’
‘Madhu, relax, beta,’ said Grandma.
‘No, I will not relax,’ I banged the table once again. To be honest, it was fun. It made me feel authoritative.
‘Listen to me. I understand what you are going through. But it has to be done.’
‘No. It does not. You pretend to be modern and forward. It’s time to show your worldly thinking. And it’s not even like we have an option. I agreed to meet boys. But nobody seems to want
to marry me,’ I said, feeling tears prick my eyes.
‘You can’t say that. You think there are no fat boys in the world who want to get married? Good, nice, respectable people—all have flaws. It’s just a matter of time till we find a good home.’
‘So then why look at thin boys? And good boys. And rich boys. Look at ugly, short, poor boys. Oh wait! You’re already doing that. And even THEY are not willing to marry me. Why are you so desperate to get rid of me?’
‘Stop it, Madhu. Don’t talk rubbish. And it’s not as if you approved of the boys who have come along. I know that you too wanted to turn down the rishtas that have come so far.’
‘But it never came to that!’ I protested and paused for a moment. Something clicked in my mind. At that moment, I knew what I wanted. I wanted to be at the other end for a change. I wanted to reject somebody. I wanted to have that option. I wanted my family to know that they could not assume I would go along with any boy who did not reject me. I had my weight and my ego in equal measure. But before carrying out my revenge, I needed a break, a well-deserved one, from this topic.
‘Please, Papa,’ I addressed the most susceptible one in my family, one who could not refuse me easily.
‘Can we give this hunting a break? I just want to be left alone for some time. Please. I’ll come to you when I’m ready again. I agreed on my own earlier too, right? Just for now, stop looking so actively.’
‘But, beta,’ Mother intervened again.
‘No “but”. You can’t force me.’
‘We are not. Okay, we will stop looking for some time. Let’s concentrate on your jogging and diet for a few days.’
Oh! Did I mention? I was being subjected to jogging too. Though in the last four weeks, Mother had managed to take me for what she calls a jog, but which is most definitely sleep-walking, only on three mornings.
‘Okay,’ I agreed. I’d pick jogging and eating leaves any day over meeting more boys and their families.
I slept with great ease that night, certainly more easily than I had during that entire phase. But I knew that I wouldn’t be off the hook for too long.
8
380 days before the wedding
I had a day off at work so I was rather annoyed at being woken up early by Mother that day. On holidays, I loved to sleep for as long as I wanted to. Grandma didn’t approve of the habit. She said it wouldn’t work in my marital home. Well, it was just another reason for not getting married.
No reason was cited for the unceremonious waking up. Oddly, I was being spoilt for choice at breakfast. Instead of fruits and cereal, my mother, the kitchen tyrant, had made puri bhaji. FOR ME. It was like feeding the goat before slaughter, but I feasted anyway. I was hoping lunch would be a treat too, before the family told me which boy I would be meeting next. Sadly, I couldn’t make it till lunch without being summoned.
Right after breakfast, the topic was rehashed. All along, this dry spell of no rishtas had been a boon for me. Although I had agreed to go to my parents when I was ready again, the truth was that I had sheepishly decided to ignore the topic altogether, for as long as I could. I knew eventually they would come to it, so I enjoyed my freedom as long as it lasted.
Somewhere, deep down in me, there also lived a girl who had grown up watching cheesy Hindi movies, who had grown up seeing her parents in a happy marriage, who had grown up fantasizing about unrealistic romance. At one point, the idea of romance, love and marriage even excited me. But when reality hit home, it shattered the stupid mirage that the world of fiction had painted in my mind. I grew up to be nothing like the pretty girls in movies; my college life was nothing like the merry-go-round that books and movies depicted it to be. Boys around me were neither handsome nor interested in me. And the arranged marriage business was turning out to be nothing like the dreamy phase I had thought it might be. In my heart of hearts I, too, believed marriage was important. Maybe it was social conditioning from childhood that made this step seem compulsory but there was no doubt in my mind that I would delay it as long as possible.
‘Madhu, beta,’ Mother started off with caution.
‘Hmm,’ I said, switching channels on the television.
‘Listen, no.’
‘I’m listening, Ma,’ I said, still looking at the TV.
‘Pay attention, Madhu. This is important.’
I put down the remote, crossed my legs on the sofa and then turned to face my mother, who stood at a little distance, near the dining table.
‘So, you want me to meet another boy?’ I asked bluntly.
Mother was taken aback a little and hesitated before agreeing.
‘Uh . . . yes . . . but only because it’s a very good family.’
‘Aren’t they all? Why would we meet bad families?’
‘You know what I mean. I’ve heard they are very kind and simple.’
‘Tell me about the boy. If he’s good-looking, thin or rich, then there’s no point. They’ll all find better girls than me.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘I don’t want sympathy. I’m just being practical. Why waste everyone’s time and effort?’
‘Please, beta. Just let them come home this weekend. If you don’t like them, we’ll say “no” immediately.’
My mother’s last words made my eyes gleam. I’d never known there to be a vicious side to me . . . until then. I was excited at the stupid prospect of saying NO. Sometimes the shallowest things give us much-needed gratification.
And so I let the wedding brouhaha begin again.
‘Okay. I’ll meet them next weekend,’ I said, suddenly excited. Grandma caught a hint of the unexpected eagerness in my voice. I couldn’t let my plan be revealed so I quickly sobered down.
‘Why next?’ asked Mother.
‘One-and-only offer. Take it or leave it,’ I said with deliberate indifference and went back to switching channels.
‘You are too much! Fine. Next weekend.’
And suddenly I was waiting for the next prospective groom to walk into my house.
9
369 days before the wedding
With much irritation and little energy, I wiped off the gaudy lipstick that Grandma had put on me for the Tea Parade with the Tripathis. I have thin lips (of all the body parts that could have been thin!) and my grandmother had expertly applied the lipstick well outside the contours of my lips. ‘It’s a make-up trick,’ she assured me. Of course, I was all for make-up, for anything that could enhance my (non-existent) beauty, but I was more picky than most about such things. I rarely felt that I could pull off edgy looks. Even when we went shopping, which wasn’t often, I always tried a dozen things but liked only half of them and eventually picked up only one or two items. Ma’s and Grandma’s suggestions were never of any help. They felt I looked good in everything. To them, even cropped tops and miniskirts looked great on me. ‘Just wear it and have fun,’ Grandma would say. They didn’t understand the way things were in this generation.
As I freshened up and climbed into bed, I reflected on how the evening had gone. It was the same old crap again. Shy boy, over-the-top mother, talkative father, irritating, unmarried sister. When would I finally find that ‘click’? Would I at all? Of course, fat and ugly people also fall hopelessly in love and have crazy romances, don’t they? When would it happen for me? Even though I had only agreed to meet this family for the opportunity to say ‘no’ to them, a part of me was still hopeful that maybe this family could be the one I marry into, maybe this boy was the one I could spend my life with. But the meeting went as predictably, as monotonously as any other.
There was only one thing to look forward to now. I was excited to tell Father to say ‘no’ to the Tripathis the next morning. It gave me pleasure to think of the reactions our relatives, people in our community and family friends would have when they learnt that I had turned the offer down; that I too had a choice, that I didn’t think the family was good enough for me.
It was relatively early for bed, but I was rea
dy to sleep all the same, eager for morning to arrive. I must have switched off the lights and tried to sleep for about fifteen minutes or so when unusually, there was a knock on my door.
‘Madhu, beta. It’s Papa. Have you gone to sleep?’
I indicated that I was awake with a few incoherent sounds.
Two minutes later, the lights in my room were switched on and Father sat on the edge of my bed, clearly in the mood for a chat. After a minute or two of small talk, he began a conversation I hadn’t anticipated at all.
‘So, beta, how did you find Harsh and his family?’ he asked. It was an odd time and way to ask me this question, but I was eager to turn the boy down. It was obvious what their answer would be, but before I became the ‘rejectee’, I planned to use this opportunity to become the ‘rejecter’.
‘Ordinary. Quite boring actually. Harsh hardly spoke. Whatever,’ I said and Father’s face paled a little.
Yes, Papa. I can have a choice too. I can say ‘no’ too, I thought, but refrained from voicing it. I could feel my ego swelling up. My pulse quickened. This was exciting.
After a moment or two of weighing his thoughts, Father spoke again.
‘I had a word with them on the phone after dinner,’ he said softly. And my heart almost stopped. Multiple thoughts crossed my mind in a flash. Why did they call? So soon? What did they discuss? Have they already rejected me? Have I missed the opportunity? How can Fate take even this away from me? My plan was falling flat.
‘Why did they call? I hope you didn’t encourage anything. I hope you said that it’s a “no” from me,’ I said quickly, in order to save face at least in front of my father.
Encounters of a Fat Bride Page 3