by Farahad Zama
Her mother-in-law put her hands over her chest and said to Mani, “I told him not to go today, but who can talk to your father when he gets a thought in his head?”
Aruna practically pushed her mother-in-law out of the room, saying, “I’ll look after Mani. You go and make sure that Sanjay is eating his breakfast. If he comes here, he will get upset too.”
She closed the door in her mother-in-law’s face and turned to Mani.
“Relax, now. Nothing’s wrong. Your labour has started and your waters have broken. Everything is normal – just a few days earlier than expected, that’s all. We’ll get you to the hospital in the next twenty minutes.” She mopped Mani’s brow with the dry end of the bedsheet. “Stand up and get into your maternity dress before your next contraction starts. Come on.”
Soon Mani was dressed in a loose-fitting kaftan. She then had to sit down abruptly on the edge of the bed when another spasm took hold of her. After the contraction had passed, Aruna said, “Just stay here. Let me make some arrangements and get you to hospital.”
Mani nodded weakly and Aruna left the room, thinking hard. She could get an auto-rickshaw but she doubted whether Mani had ever travelled in one in normal circumstances, let alone when she was in labour. She had a sudden thought and dialled 108 to call an ambulance. A room in a private hospital had already been booked for the delivery. She went through Ramanujam’s papers, found the number and alerted them that the labour had begun and that they were coming over.
Aruna and her mother-in-law served themselves a quick but hearty breakfast, not knowing when they would be able to eat again. The ambulance, its siren wailing, came before they finished. Hurriedly they washed their hands and helped Mani into the white van. Mani’s contractions were now coming every few minutes and she moaned every time the ambulance jolted on ruts in the road. Aruna and her mother-in-law each held one of her arms.
The orderlies at the hospital put Mani on a stretcher and wheeled her into a shared ward with four other moaning women. The room was hot in spite of the big industrial fans that blasted air and noise in equal measure. This made Mani livid and she called for the director of the hospital. A fat woman with thin hair and a nervous tic rushed over and stood before them, bowing obsequiously.
Mani shouted, “What is the meaning of this? Don’t you know who I am? How dare you put me in this common ward? And it is not even air-conditioned.”
The woman rubbed her hands together as if washing them. “Of course we know who you are, madam. But this is the best we can do at short notice, madam.”
Mani said, “Then I want to get out of here.” She turned to her mother. “Take me out of this dump to a proper hospital.”
Aruna turned to the woman. “We have already put down a deposit for a private air-conditioned room. This is not good, is it?”
“I am sorry, madam. We will of course refund the difference between the room you booked and the price of this room, madam. But all our private rooms are busy at the moment, madam. We were not expecting you for a few more days, madam.”
Aruna said, “As soon as one becomes free, can you make sure we are at the top of the list to move into one?”
“Of course, madam. That’s not a problem, madam.”
“Make sure you do that. And have you called the doctor?”
“Yes, madam. We have the lady’s doctor on site, madam. As soon as she finishes her current examination, she will come up straight away, madam.”
Mani said, “I don’t care. I want…Oh! Oh!” A contraction had seized her and she sank back. The administrator rushed out of the room.
Aruna mopped Mani’s brow and said, “Don’t worry about anything. Your doctor’s coming over soon. Just concentrate on the baby.”
The labour lasted more than four hours but Mani would not let either of them leave her side.
“I hate my husband,” she screamed as the contractions became more frequent. “I wish I had never set my eyes on the bastard…”
Mani’s mother talked soothingly to her. Finally, the doctor said, “Yes, just one last push. I can see the head.”
Aruna’s fingers were almost crushed by Mani’s superhuman strength and she could see her mother-in-law wincing on the other side.
“Ahhhh…” Mani gave a scream that went for several seconds and then she collapsed like a punctured balloon.
A wail filled the room and the doctor slipped the baby out in a red, liquid mess. “You are lucky,” the doctor said, lifting the infant. “You have a boy.” Mani’s body went limp; Aruna disentangled her fingers and massaged them.
“Congrats,” she said to Mani and her mother-in-law.
“He is healthy. Everything is fine,” said the doctor, as a nurse brought a bowl of warm water to clean the baby.
“I’ll go out,” said Aruna and her mother-in-law nodded. She emerged from the ward to find her father-in-law, Ramanujam, Mani’s husband and his father sitting waiting there as men were obviously not allowed in the labour room. They all stood up when they saw Aruna.
“How – ” said Mani’s husband.
“Good news!” Aruna said, a wide smile breaking out on her face. “You have another son. Mother and baby are both fine.”
Mani’s father and husband collapsed into their chairs. “Thank God.”
Ramanujam came and stood next to her, almost touching her side. She looked up into his face and their smiles were only partly because of the good news.
The fat woman came up to Aruna and said, “Congratulations on the birth of a boy, madam. The private room has been vacated, madam. When we’ve cleaned it up, we’ll move your sister-in-law there, madam.”
Aruna’s mother-in-law came out of the delivery room, sank into a hard chair next to them and closed her eyes. Her forehead was bathed in sweat and the weary lines on her face made her look aged. After a few minutes, she sat up straighter and looked at Aruna.
“I am really happy that you were around but at the same time I am sorry that you had to watch that.”
Aruna nodded and said, “I didn’t mind.”
Her mother-in-law shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. Women who have not yet had babies should not be present at a birth.”
“What kind of superstition is that, amma?” said Ramanujam, butting into the conversation.
Aruna looked at her husband and thanked him silently with her eyes for his support.
Her mother-in-law gave a snort. “I am not talking about myths. What I am saying is mostly for your benefit,” she said to Ramanujam. “If a woman who is not yet a mother sees the whole process of childbirth, she might get scared and stop sleeping with her husband.”
Ramanujam opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, goggling at his mother. Aruna blushed deeply and could look neither at her husband nor at her mother-in-law.
Several hours later, Mani had been moved over to the private room, the air-conditioner was working, there were flowers in the vase, and the baby had taken his first feed and was sleeping in his grandmother’s arms.
“Thank you, Aruna,” said Mani. “I couldn’t have done without you today. I am glad you are my sister-in-law.”
Nineteen
Rehman left the motorcycle in the shade of the trees on the opposite side of the road and crossed over to his parents’ house. Mrs Ali was in the front yard, sweeping away fallen guava leaves.
“How did the vaccination go?” she said. Rehman had taken Pari and Vasu to the doctor for his immunisations.
“It went well. He was very brave – didn’t cry at all. I’ve left him with Aruna’s father, so he doesn’t miss his lessons.”
Rehman went onto the verandah to find Aruna and his father in front of the computer. A client with a bald patch barely covered by a comb-over was sitting on the sofa, waiting for them.
He was about to go through to the living room when his father called to him. “Rehman, do you know how to select matches where the bridegroom is Kapu but not Toorpu Kapu?”
Rehman went over and Mr Ali m
oved to sit next to the client, telling Aruna, “Note what he is doing so we can do it ourselves next time.”
Aruna smiled at Rehman and stood up so he could sit in front of the computer. While Rehman was searching for the right menu option, his father started speaking to the client.
“Mr Reddy, you rejected the electrical engineer who had such a good job because he studied in a private college and now you tell me that the lawyer from Hyderabad is no good too. What is wrong with him? Did he study in a private college too?”
“Oh no, sir,” said Mr Reddy. “He went to a good college but he got only a second-class degree. Sudha has a first-class pass and my son is studying at Princeton. You tell me, how can I agree to such a match?”
“No, no,” said Mr Ali, looking very serious. “Of course you cannot agree to marry your daughter off to such a man.”
Rehman looked at his father in surprise. He then glanced at Aruna and she grinned at him.
“Tell me, sir,” continued Mr Ali, still serious. “Do you really, really want to marry off your daughter?”
The man jutted his chin out. “What do you mean?” he asked aggressively.
“I am just trying to understand,” said Mr Ali, holding out both his hands, palm outwards in a placatory manner. “You are a widower with no one to look after you. It must be such a comfort to have a daughter to cook and clean for you in the house. It is natural to try to delay saying farewell to such a daughter.”
The man stood up and his eyes bulged. “How dare you say such a thing? Is this your business – to take money from people and then insult them? I am merely looking for the perfect match for my Sudha.”
“Sit down, Mr Reddy,” said Mr Ali. His voice was suddenly stern. “I am just telling it like I see it. You said that before you came to us, you had already spent six months looking for a groom for your daughter but found nobody suitable. We’ve given you a long list of which two matches look very good. I know that not every match that looks right works out in the end but you seem to be rejecting boys on very specious grounds. So I was wondering whether you are going through the motions but, in your heart of hearts, you really don’t want to marry off your daughter.”
Mr Reddy slowly sat down. “I assure you, sir, that I am very serious. I really want my daughter to marry and live a happy life. I am not the kind of man who will destroy my daughter’s happiness for my own selfish reasons. I just want to make sure that the match is perfect.”
Mr Ali smiled at the man and said, “I am really glad to hear that you have your daughter’s best interests at heart. But, sir, think about what you said. There is no such thing as a perfect match. There are only somewhat good and somewhat bad matches. A couple are like two pebbles that are next to each other on a beach. They will have rough edges and rub each other the wrong way initially. But as they spend time together and the waves pound them, the edges rub off and they will seem made for each other.”
Rehman stopped working on the computer and looked at his father with new respect. Mr Reddy promised to think about it and left soon after.
Rehman fiddled with the software for some more time and then said, “Sorry, abba, you probably have to write a macro to do something like that. I can get Venkatesh to come and show you.”
“I don’t even understand what that means,” said Mr Ali. “It sounds too complicated. We’ll just do it the old-fashioned way.”
Rehman smiled at Aruna, then followed his father outside. His mother was buying custard apples from a thin, dark, young woman by the gate. Both women were bent over a round wicker basket. Mrs Ali was making sure that the green, knobbly fruit were the right level of squishiness before transferring them to a steel bowl. They watched silently for a little while and Mr Ali said, “How much for the custard apples?”
“Thirty rupees a dozen,” said the woman who was selling them.
“They are so plump and just ripe. Why are you selling them so cheap?” Mr Ali quipped.
The woman giggled and Mrs Ali glared at her husband. “Be silent,” she said in Urdu, so the fruit seller wouldn’t understand. “I bargained hard with her and I don’t need your jokes to spoil it.”
The woman left soon after and Mrs Ali went back inside, leaving father and son alone.
“Where is your bike?” asked Mr Ali.
“There,” said Rehman, pointing across the street.
Scooters and cycles went past on the road. A broken-down white Ambassador car was being pushed by three men and two grinning boys. A man went past on a motorcycle with one hand on the handlebar and the other holding a mobile phone to his ear. He swerved past the trundling white car and accelerated away, not stopping his important conversation.
“What an idiot,” said Mr Ali, going out on to the road and looking back at the house.
Rehman joined him.
The sign hanging on the wall now seemed part of the fabric of the house. ‘Ali’s Marriage Bureau for Rich People’ it proclaimed in big red letters on a blue background. Underneath, in smaller letters, it said, ‘Prop: Mr Hyder Ali, Govt Clerk (retired)’ and ‘Ph: 236678’. The red of the letters and the blue backdrop were faded from exposure to the sun. The corners where the sign was screwed into the wall were brown and corroded and a couple of long streaks of thin, reddish-brown rust ran down the wall from behind the frame.
“It seems so long ago that I started the marriage bureau but really it is little more than a year,” said Mr Ali. “All I wanted was some time-pass so I didn’t trouble your mother too much, but it has done fantastically well.”
A bus went rumbling past just behind them, but apart from a backward glance, they didn’t stir.
“We have helped so many clients,” continued Mr Ali, who seemed to be in a reminiscent mood. “And Aruna has been an absolute godsend. I don’t think we could have done this without her.”
Rehman nodded. “Yes, you were very lucky to get her.”
“It was not just luck,” said his father. “It was your mother who stopped Aruna when she was walking down this very road and offered her the job. I suppose we changed her life too by finding her a husband. Did you know that he was a client of ours and that’s how they met?”
“Yes, I know,” said Rehman.
“In those days, I didn’t even want to talk to you very much because we invariably fought about everything. I think that the fact that we are standing here calmly means that I am a wiser man than I was then. Mind you, I like the fact that you have taken up a steady job and that’s probably the reason I am so much more at peace with you,” said his father.
Rehman felt uncomfortable. To change the topic, he said, “Why did you call it the Marriage Bureau for Rich People? We never talked about it and I never understood the name.”
Mr Ali laughed. “I don’t remember now whether it was your mother or your uncle Azhar who suggested it. We were all discussing it one day after I had decided to open this business and I said that at my age I didn’t want to deal with every two-bit person who walked off the street. That’s when this idea came – to restrict it to wealthy people so as to keep the riff-raff away.”
Rehman nodded. It made sense in a way. The open discussion of how well-off the families were, and how much dowry was going to be paid, had always left him uneasy. Not only was it illegal but he also believed that the dowry system was a social evil that needed to be curbed. A year ago he would have brought it up and had an argument with his father, about how he was not only condoning but actually encouraging an appalling practice. Now he kept silent, because he knew he couldn’t convince his father to change and his father couldn’t single-handedly transform age-old customs either. He supposed this restraint was wisdom too.
Mrs Ali called out from the verandah, “Will you two men just stand there admiring your own house as if it was the Taj Mahal or will you come in and eat something?”
They looked at each other, smiled, and walked back into the house as one.
♦
“That one over there,” said Aruna, pointing.
The waiter nodded and led Aruna and her husband to a table between two shrubs that had a bit more privacy than the others. Ramanujam had suggested going to a restaurant after his sister had come home from the hospital with the baby. They had invited the others but they had all declined.
“This is a nice place,” said Ramanujam, looking around at the large yard. “How did you find out about it?”
“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” she said.
They could hear the twittering of birds that went about their business before another day came to a close and the sound of the surf was in the background. Tables were dotted among shrubs and trees bearing yellow and orange flowers. A few lights had just been turned on even though they were not yet strictly necessary for illumination.
“I heard Madam’s son talking about it to Pari, the widow-girl from the village. And thanks for the idea of going out for dinner. It’s been a long day and this is really relaxing.”
“Anything for my lovely wife,” he said.
“Shhh…Somebody might hear.”
Ramanujam looked up into the trees and pointed to a mynah sitting on one of the branches. “That bird over there, it’s listening,” he said.
Aruna laughed. It had been a while since they had gone out on their own. They sat down and Ramanujam held her hand on the table. His hand felt warm – his fingers were so long; he could have been a musician if he wasn’t a surgeon, she thought. The waiter came over and she jerked her hand away from her husband’s. They ordered food and Aruna relaxed again once the waiter was gone. She looked around and saw a young woman sitting two tables away. She pointed her out to Ramanujam, the shrubs giving them the privacy to stare.
“Talk about coincidences. She’s the journahst who interviewed Madam and her son about those farmers’ protests.”
“Who – ” began Ramanujam loudly, before recognising her and lowering his voice. “I remember seeing her on TV.”
“I wonder who she is waiting for? I am sure she is not married,” said Aruna, talking just above a whisper. “Her father came to us recently to find a groom for her. I was really surprised that they needed to use a marriage bureau for such an eligible girl.”