Everything about an Indian wedding is significant-the mantras, the sacred are in the middle of the altar, the seven rounds around the are, and the colors of the bride's sari. This day of an arranged marriage for the Sharma family is drenched in heavy rain, but far deeper problems lay within this particular Indian family, who has lived in Canada for the last thirty years. For Gangga Sharma, marrying Subash has been her dream-until her wedding day, when her dream turns into a nightmare. For Jamuna Sharma, the wedding is sacred; she vows if she gets married, it'll be an Indian wedding. She's not certain, though, that it will be with an Indian man. For Kaveri Sharma, the sacredness of her marriage meant nothing. For Menaka, her marriage destroyed the life she'd always dreamed of living. When she discovers Ajay's afair, she believes she's failed at being a good wife. For Ajay, his daughter's wedding opens a can of worms that could potentially destroy his life and his relationship with his daughters. The Sharma family must analyze what marriage means to each and reconcile their expectations with the old culture of India and the diering culture in Canada.
Barish
One Rainy DayBy Punitha MuniandyiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2011 Punitha Muniandy
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4620-3095-8 Chapter One
Ajay
The tent Wallahs were coming at eight. So were the caterers, the cleaners and the rest of the help. The flowers would be arriving around the same time. All the house-guests would be up plus the guests who'd be showing up for the big breakfast. Ajay hoped Menaka, for once, had planned the breakfast menu.
The bed creaked softly as Ajay Sharma pushed himself up. He crossed the room and gazed out of the water spotted window at the indolent drops of rain that fell to the ground. Usually Ajay liked the rain, especially the loud and heavy ones with the booming sound of thunder in between. He found it therapeutic. He liked the noise it made on the roof, as if someone were dropping thousands of marbles. It lulled him, took him to times he thought of fondly, of lost times. But the rain here, in Canada, could never compare to the ones in India, dripping idly like water from a loose tap. The Monsoon rain was what Ajay missed most about India.
But that day, the rain annoyed him. It added to his anxiety. His insides curled up in one tight big knot every time he thought of the day ahead.
"Go to bed, Ajay," Menaka's voice startled him. He turned to look at his wife. All that was visible was the mob of messy hair at the end of the earthy brown duvet.
"How can you sleep when there's so much to do today?"
"It's five in the morning, Ajay. The wedding's not for another twelve hours. Please go to sleep or let me sleep." The mass of black hair didn't even budge as she grumbled.
"Fine."
Ajay draped an old robe around him and exited the bedroom. The hallway from his bedroom to the kitchen was dark. Ajay groped the wall and found the familiar rectangle shape of the switch. As the oval shaped lamp brightened the hallway, Ajay's eyes fell on the framed pictures adorning the narrow wall; their glass frames reflecting the newly lit light. His lips curved upward when he saw the pictures, mostly the smiling faces of his three daughters.
Ajay's gaze lingered on his middle daughter Gangga. His fingers traced the contour of Gangga's moon-shaped face and his eyes moistened. In a little more than twelve hours she'd be someone's wife. Where had all the time gone? When did his daughters grow out of their cribs? Wasn't it only recently he was teaching them how to drive around the block? And shopping for prom dresses?
First it had been his eldest daughter Kaveri who got married two years ago.
"To a useless fellow!" he shook his head.
Ajay had his reservations when it came to Raj – Kaveri's husband. He still remembered telling Kaveri to re-think her decision, but she had been adamant, as she had been in everything else in her life. And now look at where they were. Only two years of marriage and it was already on the rocks. It was as if those two didn't care about each other anymore. He wondered if they ever did.
Ajay wished Kaveri had listened to him. But it didn't help that his wife had been on her daughter's side as well. She had fought Kaveri's battle, defying Ajay along the way. It was Raj's parents The Dhillons came over with their proposal that Ajay finally gave in. With parents that polite surely the son would have inherited some of the goodness. Now looking back, Ajay sighed. What goodness? All Raj had inherited were the father's good looks and arrogance that went with being a Dhillon. He hoped Gangga's fate to be different. He knew it would be different. Gangga's fiancé, Subash, was the son of Ajay's childhood friend.
He had grown up with Subash's father in India. They went to the same school. They had both migrated to Canada at different times, each following his destiny and belief that life would be better in the foreign land. And fate brought them together a year ago when they had bumped into each other at a wedding. That was when Subash's father had suggested both their children meet. Ajay was happy with Subash and he knew Gangga would be happy too. She obviously liked Subash, agreeing to the arranged marriage. He only had Jamuna, the youngest daughter, to worry about after this. Then he could finally rest. Maybe go back to India for a long vacation.
Thinking of India made his heart flutter like a teenager meeting his first love. He breathed deeply in anticipation of his journey back to India. Already the spicy smell of pungent dried chilies on the verandah of his childhood house filling his nose, the cooling sweetness of sugar- cane juice from the road-side vendor lingering on his tongue.
His eyes fell on another face, a younger one than Jamuna's, a face not very unlike his three daughters, a face that held so much resemblance to his children but yet one that caused much turmoil within him.
"Priya –" he whispered.
But that was for another day. Ajay forced his gaze and mind away from Priya and proceeded to the kitchen, but not before glancing at his image on the full length mirror by the door. The mirror was placed there to make the narrow hallway look wider. But it was often used for self grooming in his household. Ajay stood tall in the image behind the mirror, with broad shoulders and a slim waist. His still thick hair combed back neatly displayed streaks of black and white. Ajay smiled and rubbed his cheeks, the morning stubble pricking his palm mildly. Not bad for a middle aged man, thought Ajay with a smug. He knew he looked good for his age. If not for the pair of glasses, his face would probably look much younger. With a slight bow of his head, as if acknowledging himself, Ajay walked into the kitchen.
He put the kettle on to boil and, out of habit, brought the round orange pekoe tea-bag to his nose before dropping it into a mug. The bitter fragrance of black tea always woke him up in the morning, especially the smell of orange pekoe, with no added aroma like some of the more refined teas. It was the only tea he had come to like, the only one that came close to tasting like the tea from India. He spent many years in Canada finding the right tea for his palate - but nothing came close. Orange pekoe was not his first choice but the taste grew on him, like many other things in his life, many other things that were not his first choice, including Menaka. Only Menaka didn't grow on him, like orange pekoe did.
He worked quietly, lest he wake the household. He glanced at the old grandfather clock by the dining table, hoisted against the pale yellow wall that its rich cherry brown wood stood out prominently in contrast. It was his only possession from India, a material linkage that chained him to his past. The needles were pointing at half past five now. Ajay had a little more than two hours to himself before the excitement began and work started. So much to do and so little time. He hoped Menaka had planned the meals.
Ajay brought the middle of his palm to his forehead. Great, he thought, and she's still sleeping like a queen. The kettle screeched loudly, as if in agreement.
With a pre-occupied mind, Ajay swirled some brown sugar into his tea before adding the cream. He prayed Gangga's wedding would go as planned and with little drama. Gangga was thirty years old. If she was back in India, she'd be equivalent to an old maid. He struggled and tried very hard to overlook the demands of his society, tried very hard to condone the gossips that crept through their lives until eventually forcing them to adhere. He looked around at his neighbors, Canadian neighbors, and colleagues and wished his life and his children's lives were as simple and as straight forward. But knew it would never be.
Living in Canada didn't change the fact that they were Indians. In fact, sometimes he thought they were more Indian than the Indians in India. They had to try harder to hold on to their values. Wasn't it easier to stray in a foreign land than in your own?
Ajay sat at the dining table, occasionally sipping his tea, enjoying the momentary solitude before the hullaballoo began. The sudden sound of soft footsteps approaching the kitchen annoyed him. He was further distressed when he saw the owner of the footsteps, his wife. She looked like she hadn't had any sleep. Her morning hair stuck out wildly around her face and her robe fell down her droopy shoulders, giving her no sense of fashion or elegance. Many times, his friends had commented on how much younger he looked compared to Menaka. Ajay took pride in looking after himself. The hours he'd put in the gym did pay off. He also knew he stood out in his group of friends as the better looking one, with no beer-belly or a drooping chin like most of them. He ran his finger through his hair and smoothened its morning unruliness. He watched his wife and wished she'd at least join the gym to get rid of her love handles.
Although Menaka was less than a feet away from him, she didn't acknowledge his presence.
Ajay watched as she scooped three tablespoons of instant Nescafe into her mug. Steam flew into the air as she added the still hot water. Menaka sat down at the far end of the table. She took a sip of the coffee before pushing her chair back. She stood on her toes and reached into one of the reddish-brown cherry kitchen cabinets above the stove. Ajay watched his wife over the rim of his glasses, not liking what he was seeing. As he expected, Menaka produced a large brown bottle from the cabinet, poured some of its content onto her mug of coffee and sat down again.
"Menaka, surely you're not drinking now?" Ajay's tone was a mix of disapproval and disappointment. "It's just past five in the morning."
"Please, Ajay, stay out of my business. I have a long day ahead of me and you woke me up so bloody early. I need this to steady my nerves."
"Steady your nerves? Hah, that's a good one."
"I said leave me be, okay?"
"I don't believe you, Menaka. Today is such an important day for our daughter and you've started drinking so early. Can't you for once put your desires aside and concentrate on your family?"
The chair screeched angrily against the wooden floor as Menaka stood up again. "Don't you talk to me about putting my desires aside. Ajay, if you know what's good, stay out of my business."
Ajay, taken aback by Menaka's remark, stood up as well. What exactly did she mean?
"What rubbish are you talking now?"
"Exactly that, rubbish."
"What is wrong with you? Can you not for one day have some self- control? Have you become that dependant on it?"
"Self-control? You're one to talk about self-control?"
Ajay's face burnt with the anger he was trying to contain. "I feel like I don't know you anymore."
"It's mutual."
Her nonchalant attitude toward him angered Ajay further. "What does that mean?" "Drop it, Ajay."
"No, I'm not going to drop it. You started something, so let's finish it."
"You won't like it."
"Won't like what?"
"I said drop it."
"If you have something to say to me, say it. Stop playing games. We're not teenagers."
"I told you I don't want to talk about it, not today."
"Talk about what?" Ajay's voice quivered very lightly, just as his palms sweated, very lightly. Something in the way Menaka spoke worried him.
"Look," she paused as if waiting for some dramatic effect. "... I know."
"Know what?" Although he raised his voice, it sounded puny to his ears. Surely she couldn't be referring to – surely not? He grabbed to the side of the table to calm his shaky hands.
"About your ... your ...," She paused again. This time she looked as if she was searching for the appropriate word, her lips were pursed tightly. Ajay's heart rate increased with every intake of his breath. He waited and prayed his wife would not continue talking. Suddenly, he didn't want to hear it anymore, he didn't want to know. "Indecent behavior," she said finally, her voice soft like a whisper. "I have known since it began, but I kept quiet, for the sake of this family. So, please, don't start lecturing me on desires and responsibilities."
He'd heard the devastating effect shock could sometimes render upon people, but this was the first time he was experiencing it. He felt the walls closing up on him. His lungs worked harder to gather enough oxygen into his body and into his brain to stop him from blacking out. He fell backwards into his chair with a sudden thump. Ajay clenched his clammy fingers together and closed his eyes that he didn't see when his youngest daughter dashed into the kitchen in her pajamas and stopped dead in front of them.
"Papa? Mama? What are you doing here so early?" He heard Jamuna's voice but it didn't quite register into his brain.
"Jamuna, why are you up at this hour?" Menaka's voice pulled Ajay back to the present. That was when he noticed Jamuna staring at them with her big brown eyes, terror written all over her pretty face. Did she hear them arguing? Dear God, why did this have to happen now, today of all days?
"Jamuna, beta, go back to your room, we'll talk later," said Ajay gently. He expected her to defy, to confront them of what was in front of her; a big bottle of rum and of their conversation. But she did none of those. She nodded feebly and turned to exit the kitchen when Ajay saw her face slamming into Jason's chest. Where did Jason come from?
"Jason, did you spend the night here?" Ajay addressed his nephew's friend, trying his best to keep his voice steady.
"Mr. Sharma?" Jason gaped at him but quickly recovered. "Sorry, I didn't see you here. Yeah, I crashed here last night with ... err ... in ... Well ...," Jason stumbled with his words. His blue eyes darted all over the room.
"Is Vikram still sleeping then?" Vikram was Ajay's nephew. Vikram had been living with Ajay and his family for a year now while completing his studies at a local college. His parents lived in Toronto where they owned and operated a grocery store.
"I came in for some water, but I see you are in the middle of something important. I'll get it later." Ajay noticed Jason turned back to leave but not before throwing a quick glance at the bottle on the dining table.
Ajay dropped his head into his hand, pushed his hair back and said, "Menaka ...?" He looked up to see his wife gone.
The bottle of rum stood in front of him, lonely and abandoned. The dark liquid inside glittered like a brown jewel under the kitchen light. Ajay got up from his chair, picked the bottle up and stashed it quickly back into the cabinet, out of sight. Menaka's words throbbed his head, gripped his mind with painful claws. His head hurt. There was a wedding on. He needed to stay focused. But he couldn't divert his mind from Menaka's outburst. What did Menaka mean by his indecent behavior? Did she know? If Menaka knew, who else did?
Chapter Two
Menaka
Menaka was back on her bed, taking cover under the comforter. She lay there listening to the steady rhythm of the rain outside. She, unlike Ajay, found the rain rather troublesome. She didn't like the wet puddles of water on the road, the sloppy wet grass, the gloominess, the lack of sunshine and the depressing dreariness that took her deeper into her own dejection. It had been raining recklessly for a week now and she could sense depression settling in within her like an uninvited guest. Conversation with Ajay that morning had only made it worse. Even the single shot of rum in her coffee didn't do its usual trick.
It hadn't been easy; finding out about the infidelity.
She didn't know when it had started. By the time the news reached her, it had spread through the veins of the grapevine like an inveterate disease. Just like Julia Roberts in the movie 'Something To Talk About', she was the last to find out. Everyone in her circle of friends knew of it, she was sure of that. Menaka Sharma might not understand many things, including her husband, but she wasn't naïve. She could sense the mockery, the sympathy, the thank-god-it's-not-me look thrown her direction every time she was among her friends.
Menaka rolled over and stared at the ceiling – thirty three years, has it already been that long? She wasn't sure when the other woman had sneaked in and used her charm on her husband. It was hard to tell with Ajay. He had always been indifferent toward her. He'd always acted nonchalant about anything related to her or their marriage. How could it be her fault if she didn't notice any change in his behavior since the affair, how could she have known?
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Barishby Punitha Muniandy Copyright © 2011 by Punitha Muniandy. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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