By Shanbreen
Sunita dragged her feet, not eager to get home. Her melancholy mood had persisted at Geeta's house, provoking comments; asking her if she was not well. Her friend’s concern was genuine, but Sunita had long suspected that Geeta loved to give her advice, subconsciously establishing her importance in their relationship where Sunita, the only college-educated person in the village, was not married.
The established ritual of having dinner once a week at Geeta’s place was one of the highlights of Sunita's life. But today, she was eager to get away, needing some alone time. She left her friend’s house earlier than usual, afraid of spilling her emotions and opening the door to her friend’s advice, infused with pity.
Before going to Geeta’s place, Sunita’s parents had nagged her about being a 28-year-old spinster. “Nothing happens if you don’t do something about it.”
“What do you want me to do, Ma? You know nobody wants to marry me because of the discolored spots on my body.”
“We know life is not fair. But you must try harder.”
“You keep telling me to try harder. But how? How do I do that?”
“You know we have money saved for your marriage, but you refuse to have your father offer it to someone to marry you.…”
“Ma, I got two proposals. One was from Haresh, who is 67 years old and lame, and the other, Rajkumar, is a drunk who constantly gets into fights. What kind of grandchildren were you expecting from them?”
“You always have an excuse, don’t you?”
“I don’t care what you say, I am not going to marry anyone who wants money to be my husband. I would rather remain unmarried.”
Sunita was seldom bothered by her parents' nagging, but her emotions came to the forefront today. Perhaps it was because of her period. It was a well-known fact that some women acted weird during their particular time of the month. Being in the company of Geeta with her son, Govind, in her arms and her husband, Hari, by her side had added to her carefully hidden feeling of being an outcast.
The cramps in her stomach were unbearable. She opened her purse and popped a painkiller into her mouth, taking a large gulp of water from her water bottle. Sunita stood on the side of the road, clutching her stomach, pressing her sides, and breathing deeply.
The damn period. It had never bothered her this bad. Gradually, the pain subsided, and she gingerly stepped forward in a daze, cursing when her foot landed on a round pebble, rolling under her foot, almost making her fall.
She raised her eyes from the ground at some villagers walking by, converting her sadness into a smile and waving to them. None of them reciprocated. But she didn't care. It was a reflex action. Over the years, village gossip about her being a diseased girl had subsided. When she heard something derogatory about her through Geeta, she paid scant attention, letting it tunnel from one ear to the other without a noticeable residual effect. Once in a while, she stumbled, letting her guard down to portray a glimmer of her feelings, but she quickly checked herself, closing the door to her emotions before the villagers passed a new judgment on her.
Sunita had learned to live in a cocoon, where the only people who entered it were her mother and Geeta with her son. Occasionally, Hari peeked in, smiling and shaking his head as if he had some secret knowledge that he could not reveal to gossipy females.
It was still early, a few minutes past 8 p.m. The village was quiet at this time of the night, settling in the fading light of the dying sun, which valiantly held on to its course, splashing yellow, orange, and red across the cloudless blue sky in defiance of the approaching darkness. But it slowly succumbed, as it did every evening, to its demise, helplessly watching the shadows, dark as soot, stretch outward, watching their existence swallowed into oblivion by the powerful blackness of the night.
Sunita walked on, adjusting her glasses to settle back on the rim of her nose. The glasses were bought at an upscale shop in Nawa Gao, the nearby city, about 12 miles from her home. There was no reason for her to wear non-prescription glasses other than they covered the hardly noticeable discoloration around the rim of her left eye. Out of habit, she rearranged the scarf around her neck, ensuring it was in place to cover the more prominent vitiligo spots at the base of her neckline.
It was pretty hot for her to wear a scarf, but she was used to it, having worn it daily for most of her adult life. The villagers took that in stride, hardly giving her a second look, showing no curiosity, fully aware of why she wore a scarf on such a hot day.
Sunita shook her head, trying to let go of her karma. She turned her mind to her promotion as the Director of Renovation at the zoo in Nawa Gao, where she worked to bring the crumbling zoo to its new modernistic stature in the 21st century.
The thought about her promotion brought a spring to her walk, but her good feeling was short-lived. Sunita had an uneasy sense of someone following her. She looked over her shoulder and saw a man approaching her. The man did not seem to be from the village—much too fanciful, dressed in well-ironed Western clothes.
Sunita seldom, if ever, worried about her safety in the village, although recently, there had been talk about some teenage boys harassing a girl in front of the village temple. A few villagers were still on the streets, going home; just the same, she started walking a little faster. But within a few seconds, she saw the man's shadow fuse into hers. She turned around to confront him, and her hand reflexively covered her mouth. The man was Dr. Rahul Vikram— the man from America!
Her anxiety turned to curiosity. Why was a man of his stature following her? Perhaps he had come to warn her of some village rule her parents had broken. However, such infractions were brought to a person's attention by a notice delivered via a peon, sent by the village elders, not by a person of Dr. Rahul's stature who did not even live there.
“What do you want from me, sir?” she said, not looking him in the eyes.
“You speak English. Good. I’d like to chat….”
Sunita shrunk back. “What about? I have not done anything wrong.”
“Can we talk?”
“Talk to me? Why do you want to talk to me? My parents are waiting for me.”
A gust of wind scattered the dust on the dry, unpaved road. The parched earth sucked the life from the village, making it harder for villagers to breathe. Sunita shielded her face with the scarf, breathing noisily through her mouth, tilting her face downward to keep the scarf around her neck.
Dr. Rahul laughed, seemingly unperturbed by the hot, dusty wind. “I’d like to… You know? Get to know you.”
Sunita didn’t quite understand his desire to know her. Was he making fun of her?
“Why do you want to get to know me?”
“My name is Rahul… Rahul Vikram.”
“I know who you are, sir.”
“I hope I’m not being too forward, but you are a single girl….”
Sunita placed her hand on her chest. Her heart raced faster than a jet engine. She was sure he could hear it beating, but she continued to look at the ground, not raising her eyes to meet his.
“With respect, sir, why is my being single important?” she squeaked from behind her scarf.
Rahul grinned. “I’m sorry. I was just making small talk.”
“Small talk?”
“Forget it. Tell me, are you happy living in the village?”
She found the courage to raise her eyes. “Why are you asking me all these types of questions? I am very happy. This is my home.”
He scratched his head as if collecting his thoughts, trying to find the right words to further their conversation. "What would you say to living in America?"
She glared at him, no longer intimidated. “Why should I go to America with you? I am not a prostitute.”
“Oh, come on. I was just….”
Sunita fidgeted with her scarf, twisting it around her finger. “Please don’t make fun of me.”
He looked at her intently, his gaze mesmerizing, forcing her to remain stuck before him. "I’m not. Honest. Just curious.”
“But what kind of curious are you about?”
He scratched his head as if he wished he hadn't said that. "Your scarf," he exclaimed. "It's hot for that. Isn't it?"
Sunita looked at him for signs of mischief but found nothing outwardly. Was he teasing her? “I am sure you know. The whole village knows. Please leave me alone.”
She dislodged herself from his piercing gaze and started walking fast, moving away from their unnatural togetherness, feeling very uncomfortable in the presence of such an important, wealthy man.
Sunita entered her home and went straight to her room to call Geeta, breathing heavily into the phone. In the background, she heard Govind crying but was too excited to inquire.
“You… you won’t believe this,” she said.
Geeta yawned noisily. “Believe what?”
“You know the Vikrams? Their son was following me.”
Silence ensued, giving Sunita time to catch her breath.
“Did you hear me?”
Geeta's voice reflected a tinge of disbelief. "Yes, I heard you. Dr. Rahul Vikram… the man from America, was following you. Are you sure?"
“Yes. I am very sure. He told me his name.”
“Why? Why should he be following you?”
“He wants me to go with him to America.”
“He wants you to go work for him?”
“I don’t know. I told him I was not a prostitute.”
“No. You didn't. What did he say?”
“He said he was making ‘small talk’.”
“What is small talk?”
“I do not know. Perhaps, he was doing research on a village girl with a skin problem.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I ran away and came home.”
“That is so weird,” Geeta said. “Be very careful with foreigners. Some of them, even if educated and rich are not to be trusted.”
____________________
It was late in the evening the next day. The sun worked its way across the sky, giving the village no respite from the heat. At this time of the Sunday evening, few villagers were around, except at the canvas-roofed tea stall where a few men had gathered, chewing on beetle nut leaves, drinking masala tea, discussing the day's events, restlessly waiting for the rains.
Geeta, Govind, and Sunita stood in the shadow of the enormous banyan tree outside Sunita's father's shop, which sold produce, household essentials, and some basic pharmacy stuff. They watched Rahul drive up in his fancy car, wearing a comfortable, short-sleeved shirt with stylish skinny jeans. He stepped out, quickly surrounded by children skipping and prancing around him. The Pied Piper shooed the children away and walked towards them.
Sunita immediately went on the offensive, emboldened by having Geeta by her side. “Please go away. My father is in the shop,” she shouted in English.
Geeta took her hand and whispered. “Do not be nervous. Just relax. Let us find what he wants from you.”
Rahul heard her and grinned. “I don’t want anything,” he said. “I’m just being friendly.”
Geeta stepped forward. “Why? Why should you be trying to be friends with my friend?”
Before Rahul could answer, Sunita took a few steps away from Rahul, shading her eyes from the sun. “I do not want your pity.”
Rahul seemed amused. “There is no reason for me to pity you.”
Sunita placed her hands on her hips, inching forward, making Rahul step back. “Did I not make myself very clear yesterday? With respect, sir, I do not want to be your friend.”
Geeta stepped in front of her friend. “Sir, why are you keeping on bothering my friend? She does not require you to be her friend.”
“Why not?”
Sunita pushed Geeta aside. “I just do not want to. I don’t know what you want, and I do not care. Please leave me alone and go be friends with your own type of people.”
Rahul shrugged his shoulders, rolling his eyes. “Wow! Where did that come from?” He took out his phone and pointed it at Sunita.
Sunita covered her face with her hand. “No. No pictures.”
Rahul smiled. “Quite a feisty one, aren’t you? I am sorry. I didn’t mean any harm.”
“I don’t care for your difficult English words. Please leave me alone.”
Rahul retreated, walking back to his car. “Okay. But you will hear from me.”
“For what, sir? What is it you want?”
Rahul walked away, saying nothing.
Sunita wasn't done. She was getting braver by the second, especially now that he was retreating. “I don’t want to hear from you,” she shouted.
Geeta turned to her friend, exasperated. “You should have allowed him to tell you what he wanted. He seemed quite pleasant.”
Sunita looked away. “You find taking pictures of a diseased girl that nobody wants to marry, pleasant? And why does he want to be friendly with me? Why does he not want to be friendly with you?”
“You know he cannot do that. I am married.”
Sunita drew unruly lines on the ground with her sandals without making any impression on the hard earth. She stopped, clearing her throat. Her eyes squinted. “You do not find something funny going on here?”
Geeta laughed. “Stop thinking more than you need to think.”
“No, seriously….”
Geeta winked. “Maybe he wants to marry you.”
Sunita chuckled, pushing her away, amused by her levity. “Be serious.”
Geeta went back to her role as her wise older sister. "Who knows with foreigners? They don't think like us."
Sunita stared past her friend at the lifeless brown hue that covered the village. A dog stared at them, then sulked away. A woman carrying a pot of water on her head and a smartphone in her hand walked towards them.
The woman smiled at Geeta. "How is our little Govind doing?"
Sunita did not wonder at the woman claiming Geeta’s child as “our” Govind. Such were the village customs that made a child as much the village’s as the parents. She remembered reading about a prominent woman in America who said it took a village to raise a child. Her observation seemed universal. But it was more than that in the village, which owned everything and everyone, controlling all the villagers with a single unified culture and customs.
“He is growing up so fast,” Geeta replied.
“Bless you,” the woman said. She walked away without the courtesy of a smile or a word to acknowledge Sunita’s existence. Sunita had been snubbed many times before, but it still hurt.
The village settled into slumber mode, gobbling time, overcoming the lingering daylight from the dying sun. Lights came on sporadically in the homes. This time of the evening brought Sunita a calming feeling, but tonight, her calmness was overtaken by the turbulence raging in her mind, trying to unearth the hidden side of the mystery surrounding her.
Geeta pulled at the sleeve of her churidar. "Hey, what's going on?"
Sunita continued looking at the horizon. “Nothing.”
“Come on tell me. What are you hiding inside that thinking, intellectual brain of yours?”
Sunita smiled. She had a bachelor’s degree in zoology and was considered a smart, learned woman by the villagers. However, nobody acknowledged her smartness to her face, and it made her feel good when Geeta called her 'intelligent'.
Sunita turned to her friend, her eyes gleaming with pride. Her friend's subconscious complement so overtook her, that for just a moment, she forgot to dwell upon the reason for Rahul's mysterious behavior, instead taking a lighthearted attitude to his interest in her. She winked at Geeta and said, "I think Dr. Rahul is writing a book about an old village spinster with medical problems."
Geeta came close to her, face-to-face, looking serious. "Yes, that is a possibility. But I wish you had allowed him to tell us about it. You never listen to me, do you?”
Sunita took a step back. While she was indebted to Geeta for being her friend when other villagers shunned her, she often wanted to let her know that marrying Hari and having a child did not give her the wisdom to tell her what to do, especially when she did not have a clue about her feelings as an unmarried, diseased girl.g
Sunita squinted, keeping the sun away from her eyes, taking a step back from her friend. “I wonder what he meant by I would hear from him?”
“Perhaps, he wants to offer you money for writing a book about you. That may be the reason why he wants you to go to America with him.”
Sunita laughed. “Who knows? I might accept.”
____________________
| Author Notes |
Please note that when the conversation is in English (it is stated as such), it may be grammatically incorrect, stated in the style of the local English learners. However, when they speak in their own language, the dialogue is translated into regular English, and modified to incorporate the meaning.
This first Chapter, describes the initial contact between Sunita and Rahul, the man from America. |
By Shanbreen
Mrs. Lalita Vikram moaned, wiping tearless eyes. "You don't love your mother, do you?" she said, slapping her forehead with the palm of her hand.
Rahul paced the floor. "Come on, Ma. You know I love you. I come to see you every year."
"But why, in such a big world, do you want to marry her?" Mrs. Vikram made a face as if distaste lingered in her mouth for having eaten bland Western food cooked for her son. "I introduced you to three girls, but you did not want to marry any of them. And now you tell her you want to marry this diseased Agarwal girl. Why?"
Rahul threw up his hands, but his voice remained calm. "All the girls you want me to marry are too frivolous and young."
"So? Most men like younger girls."
"Ma, I am almost thirty-four. I want somebody who is well educated, speaks English, and can converse intelligently with me and my colleagues. Someone with common interests."
"Common interests? That is all nonsense. Women's interests can be changed to be the same as their husband's... just like I did when I married your Papa."
Rahul's eyes clouded in disbelief. "Ma, come on."
"What about Kanti? Bhisans' daughter. She is from a good family. Very educated, and very beautiful."
"Kanti? She's about half my age and can't speak a word in English. She dropped out of college after a few months."
Mrs. Vikram frowned. "So? How much education do you need?"
Rahul rolled his eyes. "Look, Ma. I'm going for an arranged marriage...."
"That's what I am trying to tell you. You marry them and then change them to your liking."
"It doesn't work that way. Some traits are inherent or based on experiences. In the village, Sunita is considered old, but in America...."
"But the girl is diseased. Nobody wants to marry her. That is why she is old."
Even though Rahul had mentally prepared himself to answer the vitiligo question, he knew it was going to be hard to convince his parents. "Diseased? Ma, Sunita has what is known as focal or localized vitiligo. They are discolored patches located in a concentrated area on her skin. According to Sunita's dermatologist, a skin specialist, Dr. Sharma, who practices in Nawa Gao, vitiligo is not contagious."
Mrs. Vikram cut him off. "I don't want all your science knowledge. Just tell me, why... why do you not want to marry someone who has no discoloration disease?"
"Ma, calm down. I want to marry her because she is closer to my age and well-educated. I can talk with her, and she will have no difficulty carrying an intelligent conversation with my friends and colleagues in English."
"So?"
"...So, nothing. Her parents, as you know, are reasonably well off. I have seen her and found her quite acceptable."
"Acceptable? For marriage, there should be more than her being acceptable."
"She's quite appealing too."
Mrs. Vikram flashed angry eyes. "That's because she hides the spots with a scarf. And that's not the end of it. We don't know how much more is covered by her clothes."
"Ma, Sharma told me the discoloration covers a very small area, hardly noticeable which can easily be covered by cosmetics."
Mrs. Vikram called out to her husband. "Suresh, are you listening to what your son is saying? He has fallen in love with that diseased Agrawal girl and is taking advice from some quack." Then, exhaling loudly, she wailed. "What will we tell our friends? They will think there is something wrong with our son, too. How will we survive in our village?"
Rahul tried to hug his mother, but she turned her face away. "Come on, Ma? I've talked with her a few times, and I like her. She's not a giggly 17-year-old. She can give as well as she gets."
Mrs. Vikram grimaced. "What is this nonsense about her giving as well as she gets? She is definitely getting you and our family, but what is she giving?"
Rahul shook his head. "Forget it, Ma. I was trying to explain that she has a mind of her own. That's a plus in my circle of friends."
Mrs. Vikram's eyelids narrowed into slits. Then, with her characteristic manner in cornering someoneâ?"fangs out, ready to sink into fleshâ?"she triumphantly put forth her question, seemingly hopeful that her coup d'état would turn the tide in her favor: "What about our grandchildren?"
"What about them? It's not contagious if that is what you are asking."
"People say it is family-based."
Rahul hesitated. His response stuck in his throat, needing extra effort to spill the words out. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, fine-tuning the words in his mind. "You are asking if it's hereditary? Yes?"
"Yes."
Rahul knew that children with vitiligo were likely to have a family history of vitiligo. "Trust me," he said. "It's not hereditary. The chances of our children getting it are as good as any other couple's children. I asked Sharma, and he told me not to worry."
Mrs. Vikram screamed. "Sharma! Sharma! Sharma! What does that quack know? If I hear his name once more, I will go to his clinic and run him out of business."
Mr. Vikram came to life, twirling his thick, up-curled white mustache and stomping into the room. "Lalita, let him be. It is his life. If he wants to destroy it, then let that be his problem."
Mrs. Vikram looked up beseechingly at her husband. "How will we face the villagers?"
"Ma, Shanti will not be living here to be a problem for you. And the villagers will soon forget. Besides, when did the villagers' opinions matter? They are more interested in pleasing you. You are the richest people in the village."
Mrs. Vikram frowned. "Thank you for the money you send us every month. You don't have to throw it in our faces. It is every son's duty to do that. But please beta, please listen to me. Do not marry her."
"Ma, like I keep on repeating, I need a smart, educated woman, not a giggly girl. I need someone who can relate to my colleagues. Do you know of anyone like that other than Sunita?"
"The only woman... forget it... She is older than you and is a widower. You cannot marry her. We will be struck by bad omens for the rest of our lives."
Mr. Vikram, bloated with weight, shook a finger at him. "Son, you are very smart, but you seem to have forgotten social matters of our village. Do you know that her father has offered money for someone to marry her?"
"I don't care," Rahul replied. "I like her. Her vitiligo does not matter to me. She's well educated... a bit reserved, but I like that about her."
Mrs. Vikram leaned forward towards her son as if she had a profound revelation. "Of course, she's reserved. Everybody would be reserved in her place."
Rahul's parents looked at each other, sending messages with their eyes. Mr. Vikram turned to his son. "You know, we would not mind if you don't want to get married. It is better to do that than spoiling the good blood that has flowed through so many generations in us."
"Papa, Sunita's father is a merchant. We are of the same..."
"No, we are not," Mr. Vikram thundered. "We are Vaishyas and are landlords. Don't ever compare our status with the Agarwals." Then, toning his voice to a softer conspiratorial level, "Son, like I said, you don't have to marry..."
"Ha! Ha! Come on, Papa, you know how that will be? It will be the same story next year. Ma will be on my case just like she has done over the years, constantly reminding me I am not getting any younger to have children."
____________________
Sunita entered her home from the backdoor on padded feet, tiptoeing past her mother in the kitchen, craving "her time" after a hard day at work.
Her mother heard her. "Are you home, beta? I just left lassi for you in your room. Drink it fast before it becomes warm."
"Thank you, Ma."
"Take rest. I will call you for dinner when your Dada comes home."
Sunita turned on the fan and removed the scarf to inspect the discoloration, starting at the base of her neckline. She examined her spots religiously at the end of each day, even though she knew the discoloration would not fade or disappear.
She found no new spots.
There were times when the light hit her body from a particular angle, making the discoloration blend in with her pale brown skin, making her feel desirable, like a girl without blemishes. At times like that, she was transferred to a fantasy world, but there was no Prince Charming in the village to sweep her off her feet.
The cold lassi felt good in her dust-filled throat. The one-hour ride in traffic from her work in the sweltering heat was taxing, but she loved her jobâ?"planning and modifying the caged environment of the animals in line with their habitats in the wild.
Sunita heard the door open. Her father greeted her mother with great excitementâ?"loudly, joyfully. Something exciting must have happenedâ?"a big sale by her father, perhaps? She increased the volume of her smartphone, playing an old love song just before her parents walked into her sparsely furnished room with smiles wider than the emojis stored in her phone.
"Lower the phone sound. Your Dada has brought such good, unbelievable news for you," her mother said.
Sunita went on the defensive. "For me? What news?"
"There is a person who is interested in marrying you."
Sunita was curious, but the defense mechanism she had built over the years suppressed her enthusiasm. She downplayed her parents' excitement with a wave of her hand. "Dada, you never understand. I have told you a hundred times that I cannot let you buy a husband for me."
"Listen. It's not...."
"What is there to listen? I have heard it all. Life is not fair. I am lucky you have some money to pay for her marriage... What more must I say?"
Sunita's hard protective shell found cracks. She couldn't afford to build castles in the air. It would be too emotionally draining when it did not work out, as it likely would not. She broke down, her eyes collecting little pools of water, seeping out, slowly meandering down her face. Here we go again. Hours of exhaustive argument that would only bring to light what she had so well brushed under the rug.
"I told you I am not marrying anyone bought with your money."
Her father raised his voice. "Will you stop your nonsense and listen to me? There is no money payment. This request for a meeting is from Vikrams. You know? The Vikrams who live up on the hill? Their son, Rahul, and his parents want to meet you. He is from America."
Sunita's eyes opened wide, the size of saucers, her pupils enlarged, bright like a full moon in the darkened sky, but reality, sheltered within her karma, intruded. The tears stopped flowing. She frowned, shaking her head. "No, no, it cannot be true.
You must have made a big mistake."
"No. We are not stupid. It is very true."
It took her some effort to calm down. "Hare Rama, so that was what it was all about," she whispered, as if saying something under her breath would somehow make sense to the unbelievable scenario unfolding before her.
"What did you say?" her mother asked.
"Nothing. Please, can you tell me who came to talk to you?"
"Their driver came to the store and delivered the message to Dada."
Sunita's disbelief overtook any rational comment she could make. "I have a strong feeling Mr. Rahul is making fun of me."
Her Dada looked perplexed. "Why? Why make fun of you? For what purpose?"
"Do you not wonder, why? Why me?"
"That is a puzzling question," her father replied. "But he must see something very good in you to consider you being his wife. They are coming to see and talk to you in person."
Close to a minute passed. The silence became overbearing. Sunita tried to unscramble the thoughts arising in her mind. "I see now why he tried to talk to me," she murmured.
Mrs. Agarwal frowned, pushing her husband aside and stepping forward. She raised her voice. "He talked to you? When? Why didn't you tell us? What did he say?"
"Yes, he talked to me. It was nothing. He just wanted to know me." Sunita's mind was a whirlpool trying to suck in the information, moving from one thought to the other, trying to find a footing in a turbulence of motley thoughts. Why did he want to marry her?
"Did you ask him why?"
"No. Geeta and I believed he was writing a book about a village girl."
Mrs. Agarwal shook her head. "See, this is what I mean. You don't tell us such important news? We could have guided you."
Sunita looked away as if collecting her thoughts, taking time to respond. "There is something very wrong going on. Does it not make you wonder why the Vikrams are interested in me in spite of my medical problems? Also, they are above our social status. Dr. Rahul could have any of the beautiful, young girls in the village or the city. He is good-looking, very rich, and very well-educated."
Mrs. Agarwal approached her daughter, ran her hand through her hair, and kissed her forehead. "God works in different ways. Perhaps he has a medical impurity, like you have."
"I doubt it."
"I know it has been hard for you but let us all hear what they have to say when they come here tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? We must postpone it. What... what will I say to them?"
Her mother looked pensive, but her heart, full of hope, reflected in her eyes. "Why are you taking so much pressure? Stop worrying. Be shy, smile a lot, and talk softly if they ask you a question. Do not look at their eyes. Look down at the floor, and do not talk about your disease."
Mr. Agarwal came back into the picture, asserting his leadership role. "It is very good news but let us not get our hopes up too much. This is just a starting meeting. Who knows? They may change their minds."
Sunita's heart started to race. Her parents had lit many diyas in the temple, bowing their heads to the gods for someone to marry her, but she had not received a single proposal other than those who were lured by the offer of money. But now....
Her mother smiled at her, "Do not worry," she said, stepping out of the room, followed by Mr. Agarwal. She looked at her husband, smiling broadly. "Finally, our daughter is getting married. But the Vikrams are so snooty. They seldom speak to me, deliberately ignoring me when sometimes our paths cross."
Mr. Agarwal looked at his wife tenderly. "I am sure that will change, once Sunita is married, but let us not count the chicken... what is that English saying?... ah yes, before they are born."
The moment her parents walked out of the room, Sunita called Geeta.
"I cannot believe it," Geeta said.
"Me, too."
"It's a miracle. The Gods are smiling at you. You are so very lucky."
"It's not for sure but I am so nervous. They are coming tomorrow to meet me."
| Author Notes |
Dr. Rahul Vikram, who had followed Sunita in Chapter 1, tells his parents of his intentions of wanting to marry, Sunita. Sunita and her family, the Agarwals, react to the Vikrams coming to meet them.
The Vikram family: Dr. Rahul from America Mr. Vikram, Rahul's father Mrs. Lalita Vikram, Rahul's mother The Agarwal family: Sunita Agrawal Mr. and Mrs. Agarwal, Sunita's parents Geeta: Sunita's friend Mr. Vikram, Rahu |
By Shanbreen
Mrs. Lalita Vikram wiped her tearless eyes, slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand, and moaned, "You don't love your mother, do you?"
Rahul paced the floor. "Come on, Ma. You know I love you. I come to see you every year."
"But why in such a big world do you want to marry her?" Mrs. Vikram made a face as if distaste lingered in her mouth for having eaten bland Western-food cooked for her son. "I introduced you to three girls, but you did not want to marry any of them. And now you tell me you want to marry this diseased Agarwal girl. Why?"
Rahul threw up his hands, exhaling noisily, but his voice remained calm. "All the girls you want me to marry are too frivolous and young."
"So? Most men like younger girls."
"Ma, I am almost thirty-four. I want somebody who is well educated, speaks English, and can converse intelligently with me and my colleagues in America. Someone with common interests."
"Common wifely interests? That is all nonsense. Women's interests can be changed to be the same as their husband's... just like I did when I married your Papa."
Rahul's eyes clouded in disbelief. "Ma, come on."
"What about Kanti? Bhisan's daughter. She is from a good family, very educated, and very beautiful."
"Kanti? She's about half my age and can't speak a word in English. She dropped out of college after a few months."
Mrs. Vikram frowned. "So? How much education do you need?"
Rahul rolled his eyes. "Look, Ma. I'm going for an arranged marriage...."
"That's what I am trying to tell you. You marry them and then change them to your liking."
"It doesn't work that way. Some traits are inherent or based on experiences. In the village, Sunita is considered old, but in America...."
"But the girl is diseased. Nobody wants to marry her. That is why she is old."
Even though Rahul had mentally prepared himself to answer the vitiligo question, he knew it was going to be hard to convince his parents. "Diseased? Ma, Sunita has what is known as focal or localized vitiligo. They are discolored patches located in a concentrated area on her skin. According to Sunita's dermatologist, a skin specialist, Dr. Sharma, who practices in Nawa Gao, vitiligo is not contagious."
Mrs. Vikram cut him off. "I don't want all your science knowledge. Just tell me, why... why do you not want to marry someone who has no discoloration disease?"
"Ma, calm down. I want to marry her because she is closer to my age and well-educated. I can talk with her, and she will have no difficulty carrying an intelligent conversation with my friends and colleagues."
"So?"
"...So, nothing. Her parents, as you know, are reasonably well off. I have seen her and found her quite acceptable."
"Acceptable? For marriage, there should be more than her being acceptable."
"She's quite appealing too."
Mrs. Vikram flashed angry eyes. "That's because she hides the spots with a scarf. And that's not the end of it. We don't know how much more is covered by her clothes."
"Ma, Sharma told me the discoloration covers a very small area, hardly noticeable which can easily be covered by cosmetics."
Mrs. Vikram called out to her husband. "Suresh, are you listening to what your son is saying? He has fallen in love with that diseased Agrawal girl and is taking advice from some quack." Then, exhaling loudly, she wailed. "What will we tell our friends? They will think there is something wrong with our son, too. How will we survive in our village?"
Rahul tried to hug his mother, but she turned her face away. "Come on, Ma? I've talked with her a few times, and I like her. She's not a giggly 17-year-old. She can give as well as she gets."
Mrs. Vikram grimaced. "What is this nonsense about her giving as well as she gets? She is definitely getting you and our family, but what is she giving?"
Rahul's frustration spills out. "Forget it, Ma. I was trying to explain that she has a mind of her own. That's a plus in my circle of friends."
Mrs. Vikram's eyelids narrowed into slits. Then, with her characteristic manner in cornering someone--fangs out, ready to sink into flesh--she triumphantly put forth her question, presumably expecting her coup d'état would turn the tide in her favor: "What about our grandchildren?"
"What about them? It's not contagious if that is what you are asking."
"People say it is family-based."
Rahul hesitated. His response stuck in his throat, needing extra effort to spill the words out. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, fine-tuning the words in his mind. "You are asking if it's hereditary? Yes?"
"Yes."
Rahul knew that children with vitiligo had a greater possibility of having a family history of vitiligo. "Trust me," he said. "It's not hereditary. The chances of our children getting it are as good as any other couple's children. I asked Sharma, and he told me not to worry."
Mrs. Vikram screamed. "Sharma! Sharma! Sharma! What does that quack know? If I hear his name once more, I will go to his clinic and run him out of business."
Mr. Suresh Vikram came to life, stomping into the room, twirling his thick, up-curled white mustache. "Lalita, let him be. It is his life. If he wants to destroy it, then let that be his problem."
Mrs. Vikram looked up beseechingly at her husband. "How will we face the villagers?"
"Ma, Shanti will not be living here to be a problem for you. And the villagers will soon forget. Besides, when did the villagers' opinions matter? They are more interested in pleasing you. You are the richest people in the village."
Mrs. Vikram frowned. "Thank you for the money you send us every month. You don't have to throw it in our faces. It is every son's duty to do that. But please beta, please listen to me. Do not marry her."
"Ma, like I keep on repeating, I need a smart, educated woman, not a giggly girl. Do you know of anyone like that other than Sunita?"
Mrs. Vikram looked up at the ceiling, taking time, as if searching her memory bank. "The only woman... forget it... She is older than you and is a widow. You cannot marry her. We will be struck by bad omens for the rest of our lives."
Mr. Vikram, bloated with weight, shook a finger at him. "Son, you are very smart, but you seem to have forgotten village social matters. Do you know that her father has offered money for someone to marry her?"
Rahul was frustrated. "I don't care," he replied. "I like her. Her vitiligo does not matter to me. She's well educated... a bit reserved, but I like that about her."
Mrs. Vikram leaned forward towards her son as if she had a profound revelation. "Of course, she's reserved. Everybody would be reserved in her place."
Rahul's parents looked at each other, sending messages with their eyes. Mr. Vikram turned to his son. "You know, we would not mind if you don't want to get married. It is better to do that than spoiling the good blood that has flowed through so many generations in us."
"Papa, Sunita's father is a merchant. We are of the same caste."
"No, we are not," Mr. Vikram thundered. "We are Vaishyas, but we are landlords. Don't ever compare our status with the Agarwals." Then, toning his voice to a softer conspiratorial level, "Son, like I said, you do not have to marry..."
"Ha! Ha! Come on, Papa, you know how that will be? It will be the same story next year. Ma will be on my case just like she has done over the years, constantly reminding me I am not getting any younger to have children."
____________________
Sunita entered her home from the backdoor on padded feet, tiptoeing past her mother in the kitchen, hoping for some "alone" time after a hard day at work.
Her mother heard her. "Are you home, beta? I just left Lassi for you in your room. Drink it fast before it becomes warm."
"Thank you, Ma."
"Take rest. I will call you for dinner when your Dada comes home."
Sunita turned on the fan and removed the scarf to inspect the discoloration, starting at the base of her neckline. She examined her spots religiously at the end of each day, even though she knew the discoloration would not fade or disappear. There were times when the light hit her body from a particular angle, blending the discoloration with her pale brown skin, making her feel desirable, like any other girl without blemishes. At times like that, she was transferred to a fantasy world, but there was no Prince Charming in the village to sweep her off her feet.
The cold Lassi felt good in her dust-filled throat. The more than one-and-a-half-hour bus ride from her work in the sweltering heat was taxing, but she loved her job--planning and modifying the caged environment of the animals in accordance with their habitats in the wild.
Sunita heard the door open. Her father greeted her mother with great excitement--loudly, joyfully. Something exciting must have happened at the shop...a big sale by her father, perhaps? She increased the volume of her smartphone, playing an old love song just before her parents walked into her sparsely furnished room with smiles wider than on the emojis stored on her phone.
"Lower the phone sound. Your Dada has brought such unbelievable good news for you," her mother said.
Sunita went on the defensive. "For me? What news?"
"There is a person who is interested in marrying you."
Sunita was curious, but the defense mechanism she had built over the years suppressed her enthusiasm. She downplayed her parents' excitement with a wave of her hand. "Dada, you never understand. I have told you a hundred times that I cannot let you buy a husband for me."
"Listen. It's not...."
"What is there to listen? I have heard it all. Life is not fair. I am lucky you have some money to pay for my marriage. What more is there to say?"
Sunita's hard protective shell couldn't afford to build castles in the air. It would be too emotionally draining when it did not work out, as it likely would not. She broke down, her eyes collecting little pools of water, seeping out to meander down her face. She closed her eyes tired of the exhaustive arguments that would likely start, only to bring to light what she had so well brushed under the rug.
Her father raised his voice. "Will you stop your nonsense and listen to me? There is no money payment. This request for a meeting is from Vikrams. You know? The Vikrams who live up on the hill? Their son, Rahul, and his parents want to meet you. He is from America."
Sunita's eyes opened wide, the size of saucers. Her pupils enlarged, bright like the full moon in the darkened sky, but reality, sheltered within her karma, intruded. The tears stopped flowing. She frowned, shaking her head. "No, no, it cannot be true. You must have made a big mistake."
"No. We are not stupid. It is very true."
It took her some effort to calm down. "Hare Rama," she whispered, "so that was what it was all about." Sunita, didn't quite know what to think. She played with her thoughts, trying to make sense of the unbelievable scenario unfolding before her.
"What did you say?" her mother asked.
"Nothing." She turned to her father, "Please, can you tell me who came to talk to you?"
Before her father could open his mouth, her mother piped in. "Their driver came to the store and delivered the message to Dada."
Sunita's disbelief overtook any rational comment she could make. "I have a strong feeling Mr. Rahul is making fun of me."
Her father looked perplexed. "Why? Why make fun of you? For what purpose?"
"You tell me. Why would such an important person want to marry me?"
Her father scratched his head. "That is a puzzling question. But he must see something very good in you to consider you to be his wife. They are coming to talk to us in person."
Close to two minutes passed. The silence became overbearing. Sunita tried to unscramble the thoughts arising in her mind. "I see now why he tried to talk to me," she murmured.
Mrs. Agarwal frowned, pushing her husband aside, and stepped forward. She raised her voice. "He talked to you? When? Why didn't you tell us? What did he say?"
"Yes, he talked to me. It was nothing. He just wanted to know me." Sunita's mind was a whirlpool, going in circles from one thought to the other, trying to find a footing in a turbulence of motley thoughts. Why did he want to marry her?
"Did you ask him why?"
"No. Geeta and I believed he was writing a book about a village girl."
Mrs. Agarwal shook her head. "See, this is what I mean. You don't tell us such important news? I could have guided you."
Sunita looked away, collecting her thoughts, taking time to respond. "There is something very wrong here. Does it not make you wonder why the Vikrams are interested in me despite my medical problems? Also, they are above our status. Dr. Rahul could have any of the beautiful young girls in the village or the city. He is good-looking, very rich, and very well-educated."
Mrs. Agarwal approached her daughter, ran her hand through her hair, and kissed her forehead. "God works in different ways. Perhaps he has a medical impurity, like you have."
"I doubt it."
"I know it has been hard for you but let us all hear what they have to say when they come here tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? We must postpone it. What... what will I say to them?"
Her mother looked pensive, but the hope in her heart reflected in her eyes. "Why are you taking so much pressure? Stop worrying. Be shy, smile a lot, and talk softly if they ask you a question. Do not look at their eyes. Look down at the floor, and do not talk about your disease."
Mr. Agarwal came back into the picture, asserting his leadership role. "It is very good news but let us not get our hopes up too much. This is just a starting meeting. Who knows? They may change their minds."
Sunita's heart started to race. Her parents had lit many diyas in the temple, bowing their heads to the gods for someone to marry her, but she had not received a single proposal other than those who wanted her for her father's offer of money. She could never agree to marry someone like that. But now....
Her mother smiled. "Do not worry," she said, stepping out of the room, followed by Mr. Agarwal. She looked at her husband with joy shining in her eyes. "Finally, our daughter is getting married. But the Vikrams are so snooty. They seldom speak to me, deliberately ignoring me when sometimes our paths cross."
Mr. Agarwal looked tenderly at his wife. "I am sure that will change once Sunita is married, but let us not count the chicken... what is that saying?... Ah yes, before they are born."
Sunita called Geeta the moment her parents walked out of her room.
"I cannot believe it," Geeta said rather loudly. Sunita pictured her with her mouth wide open, the words in a hurry to get out.
"I, too," she replied.
"It is a miracle. The gods are smiling at you. You are so very lucky. Do you want to come over for a talk?"
"No. I am too nervous. I will talk to you after the meeting tomorrow."
| Author Notes |
Sunita: 28-year-old unmarried girl with vitiligo living in the village
Geeta: Her best friend Rahul Vikram: The man from America visiting his parents in the village. Mr. and Mrs. Vikram: Rahul Vikram's parents. Mr. and Mrs. Agarwal: Sunita's parents The dialogue used may seem strange to the readers. Keep in mind that most people in the village did not speak English. The dialogues between the people living in the village are translated into English directly as they would likely speak in their own language. Rahul, who speaks good English, does not speak in English to his parents. His words are also translated verbatim into English in the story. When Sunita or Geeta speak in English, their dialogue may not be worded as we would here in America. The Chapter brings forth the display of culture and customs, personified by the discussions regarding the possibility of marriage between Rahul and Sunita within their respective families. |
By Shanbreen
Chapters 1 and 2. Rahul shows his interest in having Sunita as his wife. Chapter 1 shows Rahul dicretely trying to meet Sunita. who has vitiligo. In Chapter 2, the Vikrams and the Agarwals try to come to terms with Rahul wanting to marry a "diseased" woman whom nobody in the village wants to marry.
Sunita anxiously awaited the arrival of the Vikrams. Her mother seemed just as anxious. She stared at her daughter with angry eyes. “Stop yawning. Go quickly and drink some tea I have prepared. It will wake you up.”
Sunita sympathized with her mother being so stressed out. She had worked tirelessly late into the night, cleaning the house and preparing sweets for the guests.
A crowd gathered outside their house as the villagers watched the Vikrams arrive in their shiny chauffeur-driven car. Sunita and her mother went to the door to greet them. "Welcome, welcome," Mrs. Agarwal said. We are very happy and honored to have you in our humble home."
Without a word, Mrs. Vikram looked at Sunita up and down as if trying to find some good in the commodity her son was thinking of purchasing.
“Please sit down,” Mrs. Agarwal said.
Mrs. Vikram turned her nose upward, sniffing the air before sitting on the plastic-covered sofa. The others followed suit. Mr. Agarwal sat next to Mr. Vikram. Rahul pulled a folding metal chair placed against the wall. He winked at Sunita and sat close to where she sat.
“Thank you for meeting us on such short notice,” he said.
Mrs. Agarwal smiled. “No problem at all.” She approached Rahul and gestured, “Please, sit on the soft sofa.”
Rahul smiled back. “I’m good. Thank you.”
Sunita twisted the end of her scarf, looping it through her fingers, discreetly observing Rahul, trying not to look overly anxious. He certainly was not bad on the eyes, which further disadvantaged her as good-looking people tended to do.
“I can smell the rains are coming,” Mr. Agarwal said, but no one responded, making the uncomfortable gathering all the harder to bear.
Mrs. Agarwal kept smiling as if stopping would create a negative impression on the Vikrams. She exhaled, taking the next step forward towards hospitality. “Sunita, would you get tea and sweets for our esteemed guests?”
But Mrs. Vikram intervened, motioning her to sit down. She turned and addressed Mrs. Agarwal, “Let the children talk. Why don’t you get the tea?”
Mrs. Agarwal was stunned. She looked at her husband, but he turned his head, pretending not to be interested in womanly talks. Sunita seethed with anger at her mother's humiliation, but she looked down, eyes to the floor.
Mrs. Agarwal hurriedly got up, mumbling. “Yes, yes. It is good for the children to talk.” Her wide-faced smile lost its elasticity and returned to an ordinary smile.
Nobody spoke when she left the room. Mr. Agarwal shifted his weight from one hip to another, eyeing Mr. Vikram. He smiled at him, but Mr. Vikram turned his face away. Mrs. Vikram sighed as if the situation was too hard to bear, while Rahul looked around as if every corner of the house had a mystery to be unearthed.
Mrs. Agarwal brought tea and sweets to the coffee table. She offered a cup to Mr. Vikram, then turned to Mrs. Vikram.
“I don’t want anything,” Mrs. Vikram said, gesturing for her to move on.
Mrs. Agarwal’s voice was sweet as syrup. “Some sweets, perhaps? They are homemade.”
Mrs. Vikram glared at her. “I said, ‘No’!”
Rahul shifted in his chair, shaking his head, looking away, seemingly embarrassed.
Mr. Vikram sipped his tea, wetting the bottom of his mustache before setting the cup on the coffee table. “Don’t you even have a napkin to wipe my mouth?”
Mrs. Agarwal hurried to the kitchen. “I am sorry to make such a mistake.” She brought three cloth napkins, each a different size, pattern, and color, for the three guests.
Nobody touched her homemade sweets.
Rahul sipped his tea. “This is good.”
“Thank you, beta.” Mrs. Agarwal ventured into uncharted territory, addressing Rahul as her son, her ‘beta’. While every child, however old, was the village’s child, it became an exception where the Vikrams were concerned. There was no way in hell that Rahul would be any other mother’s son. He belonged to Mrs. Vikram and no one else, especially not to the Agarwals.
Mrs. Vikram glared at Mrs. Agarwal, her eyes bright like embers from burning coals, her nose in the air. However, Mrs. Agarwal, protected by her bulletproof shield, warded off her insulting behavior, continuing to smile at everyone, doing everything she could not to screw up her daughter's chances of being married. She attempted to converse with Mrs. Vikram but found no common interest to speak with her. Just the same, she tried.
“Beautiful jewelry,” she complimented Mrs. Vikram on her diamond bracelet, but instead of receiving a ‘thank you’, Mrs. Vikram scowled, providing no encouragement for Mrs. Agarwal to converse with her.
The Vikrams controlled the sparse conversation with silence, holding the upper hand that came easily to people talking to others of lower financial or social status.
Mrs. Vikram cleared her throat. “Let’s get to business. We have wasted enough time on unnecessary talking. Rahul, my son,” she said, enunciating ‘my son', "Do you want to say something before we go home?"
Rahul turned to Sunita. “So, what do you think?”
Before Sunita could say anything, Mrs. Vikram interjected: “Come on, son. There is nothing for her to think about other than being very grateful to you for considering to marrying her.”
Rahul grimaced. “Ma, please.”
Sunita’s blood started to boil. She raised her eyes to look daringly at Mrs. Vikram before lowering them back to the floor. "I am okay,” she whispered.
Mrs. Vikram snickered. “My, my, she has an attitude, doesn’t she?”
Rahul’s voice was soft but stern. “Ma, please, don’t.” He smiled at Sunita, but Sunita didn’t smile back. Instead, she plucked up courage to ask, “Sir, can you tell me please, why you were not honest with me?”
Rahul grinned. "You know, you don't have to call me 'Sir' or 'Dr.'. I insist you don't do that, especially since we are getting married. Then, widening his smile, the well-sculptured white teeth uncovered, stretched in the totality of his mouth, he winked at her. “I was wondering when you were going to bring that up." His eyes twinkled. "Regarding my not being honest with you? Well, I didn’t want you to think I was making fun of you.”
Sunita smiled at his subtle humor but quickly reverted to the question in her mind. “Why do you want to marry me?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Vikram intervened, bossy as ever. “Why marry her?”
Rahul ignored his mother, continuing to look at Sunita.
Didn’t he need to blink?
“Sir… I mean… Rahul… Why do you want to marry me?” Sunita repeated. “You know I have vitiligo.” But before Rahul could reply, she left caution to the wind, stood up, and removed her scarf to show the patches of discoloration at the base of her neck. “Please know exactly who you want to marry.”
Sunita’s parents recoiled in shock. Their eyes rolled back into their sockets in disbelief. Her father cleared his throat. Her mother swayed like a leaf on a windy day, clutching her forehead with both hands, desperately hoping for the gods to intervene and let her daughter’s faux pas be overlooked by the Vikrams.
On the other hand, Mr. and Mrs. Vikram remained stoic, their faces showing disgust as if they were forced to watch an uninteresting display of crudeness.
Mrs. Vikram stood up, glaring at Sunita. "How far do they spread? And you better tell the truth. I will undress and inspect you personally if it comes to that."
Rahul jumped up, glaring at his mother. “Ma, stop! There will be no inspection of any kind.”
Mrs. Agarwal hastily got up and stood next to her daughter. “You have nothing to worry. Just three small spots on her back. Very tiny. Not noticeable. It is matching her beautiful regular coloring. Very beautiful girl. Educated, but good with housework, too.”
Mrs. Vikram frowned. “Don’t forget the ones in front, near her neck. The ones she tries to hide with that horrible cloth she calls a scarf. So unbecoming.” Then, turning to her son, "Well? What do you want to do?"
Rahul turned to Sunita. “If I am not mistaken, they have a federally approved cream called…called, OP…Opze…lura that may help you restore some pigmentation over time.”
Sunita breathed deeply. “I have read about Opzelura, but from my reading, it is for nonsegmental vitiligo. My dermatologist told me that mine is segmental.”
Mrs. Agarwal snorted. “Oh, that quack…”
Rahul ignored her and turned back to Sunita. “Vitiligo is not contagious, and I don’t care whether you have it or not. To me what is important is that you are closer to my age and are well educated." Then, as an afterthought, he smiled. “You are quite pretty, too."
His finding her “quite pretty” made Sunita happy. It was tantamount to stating that she was acceptable to him just the way she was---a compliment she had not received from anyone other than her parents, who constantly reminded her that her good looks were marred by the evil disease that had inflicted her body.
Mrs. Vikram turned to Rahul. “Son, I would like to talk to you.”
“What now? Can’t it wait till we get home?”
“I want to talk now before we leave.”
Mr. and Mrs. Agarwal looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders. Their eyes darted between Rahul and his mother; anxiety vividly displayed on their faces.
“Can we have some privacy?” Mrs. Vikram demanded.
Mrs. Agarwal rolled her eyes. “You want us to leave?”
Mrs. Vikram waved her arm, sweeping the Agarwals away with the flip of her hand. “Yes, go to the other room.”
Sunita scowled but left the room with her parents. “Do we have to take this from her?”
“Shush … sh... They will hear you,” Mrs. Agarwal whispered.
Sunita patted her mother’s back. “Don’t worry, Ma. It will be okay.”
“Close the door!” Mrs. Vikram commanded.
The Agarwals crowded at the closed door, trying to eavesdrop.
Mrs. Vikram addressed her son. “Do you see what I see? How can you think about marrying someone like her? She has no respect for me. Please, let us end this before it goes any further.”
Mr. and Mrs. Agarwal gasped. “Oh, Bhagavan. What will we do?”
Sunita, too, was taken aback. But Rahul came to their defense. “Mom, I want to get married to her. Will you please stop being so insulting?”
Mrs. Vikram shrugged. "I guess what I think is not important. Perhaps your Papa can make you understand. “Say something,” she demanded of her husband.
Mr. Vikram stood up authoritatively but quickly sat down as if his jelly-like legs were not ready to support the bulk of his body. "Are you sure about this?" he asked.
“Yes,” Rahul replied.
Mr. Vikram sighed. “Well, it is going to be your funeral. You want to marry this girl who has no personality and is diseased, so be it.”
Sunita almost shouted, telling them to leave their house, but she looked at her mother, so hopeful in getting her married, and kept her mouth shut.
Once again, Rahul came to the Agarwals' rescue. "She's not diseased and has a lot of personality."
“What will we do if it doesn’t work out?” Mrs. Vikram said as if making a last-ditch effort to insert a wrench and stop the gears from turning.
Mr. Vikram lowered his voice. “If it does not work out, Rahul can always get rid of her. You know, divorced women are not looked kindly in the village.”
Rahul shook his head. “How can you say that? It’s not fair to the poor girl.”
“Not to worry. It is not like we will be stopping her from any chance of marrying someone else. Nobody wants to marry her, anyway.”
Mrs. Vikram brightened up. “That is a very good point.”
Rahul sighed. “Come on, Papa. That will hardly be an issue. We will be staying in America where such things don’t matter as they do here. As long as it is not contagious, nobody cares. It is a private business between two people. Society has nothing to do with it.”
“It may not affect you, but it certainly will affect us,” Mrs. Vikram said. “The villagers will pity us.”
Rahul seemed amused. “I love you guys, but nobody will pity you. You not only control what goes in the village but also what goes in the villagers’ minds.”
Mrs. Vikram displayed a rare smile. “Yes, you are very right.”
Mr. and Mrs. Agarwal looked at each other, worriedly shaking their heads.
Sunita was angry; ready to call the proposal off. “How can I marry someone whose parents think of divorcing me even before I am marrying their son?”
Her mother’s voice quivered. “Don’t think of the parents. You will not be living with them. But Rahul, as you can see, is a gem. A wonderful man.”
“Come on back,” Mrs. Vikram shouted.
The Agarwals went back to the sitting room following the authoritative call.
Rahul smiled. “Sunita, do you accept my proposal?”
Sunita’s parents let out a synchronized sigh. But before Sunita could reply, Mrs. Agarwal spoke, her words tumbling in a hurry to get out. “Yes. Accept. I mean… yes, of course, we accept the proposal.”
Rahul turned to Sunita, raising his eyebrows.
Sunita shrugged her shoulders. “Yes.”
“Of course, you accept,” Mrs. Vikram snickered. “But don’t expect a party from us. You can have your sangeet and the Mehndi party in your home, although we would prefer you not to have them. Besides the puja ceremony, which will be a private affair, we will not participate in any celebrations. We will leave immediately after the puja ceremony… after the Saptapadi.”
Sunita’s mother beamed. “Thank you very, very much.”
“I will send you the date for the marriage early tomorrow morning. Look at it very carefully and give me an answer later in the day… before five in the evening, no later. The marriage must take place on Wednesday. My son has booked his tickets to go back to America on Friday.”
“We are very grateful,” Mrs. Agarwal replied, “but please give us some more time?”
“No!”
The forceful abruptness took Mrs. Agarwal by surprise. The painted smile on her face drooped downwards into a frown, but she quickly recovered. “Okay. We agree.”
Mr. Vikram stood up. “Come on, Rahul. Let us go home.”
The Agarwals stood up with the Vikrams. “Thank you. Thank you for coming.” Sunita’s mother led the Vikrams to the door. She tried to hug Rahul, but Mrs. Vikram pushed him away. Rahul helped his father walk with a hand around his waist.
When the Vikrams stepped out, Mrs. Vikram ranted. “What a waste of time. We could easily have done this on the computer with the program where we are able to see everyone. It would have saved us so much embarrassment of going to their house in front of the villagers.”
Rahul called out softly to his mother. "Ma, stop it. They will hear us.”
Mr. Vikram turned his face. “I cannot understand how you can sleep with a diseased girl. You don’t even have her horoscope made.”
“Sorry, you know I don’t believe in horoscopes. And please, she is not diseased. You make it sound like she has a plague or something.”
“Well….”
Mrs. Vikram pouted. “She is full of disease, and her parents think they are just like us. I hope those Agrawals remain on their side of the community and do not try to be friendly with us.”
As soon as Mrs. Agarwal closed the door, Sunita called Geeta.
Geeta was ecstatic. “Wow! Wow! This is a fairy tale. You know? Like the Cinderella story you love so much. The whole village will be talking about it for many, many years.”
“You have not met his parents. They are horrible… noses up in the air. My family is like dirt to them.”
“Why worry? You will be in America.”
“I know, but what about my poor parents?”
“Your parents can ignore the Vikrams like they have always been doing.”
“I still don’t know why he wants to marry me.”
“Stop overthinking. No negative thoughts. He is marrying you. That is all that counts.”
____________________
The next day, Rahul called to take Sunita for a drive. She was nervous. What if he tried to do ‘marriageable’ things before they were married?
In the car, silence ruled their togetherness. She fidgeted, not knowing what was expected of her. “Your parents do not like me, do they?” she blurted out; sure, it was not the right thing to say now that they were to be married.
Rahul didn't respond. His eyes were glazed as if he was having an out-of-body experience. The car drove bumpily on the unpaved road.
“Dr. Vik… Rahul?”
He came out of his trance. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to interfere with your thoughts, but your parents are not liking me and my family, are they?”
Rahul grimaced as if he had tasted a rotten fruit, the crawling bugs squashed, soft, and mushy, making it hard for him to speak. He scratched his well-manicured beard while she pictured him chewing on his thoughts, using his tongue to tease out the right words from those jumbled in his mind.
“They mean well. They just don’t know how to display emotions. But we… we will be in America. You will not have to worry about them.”
“And my family? They don’t deserve your mother being so rude.”
“You know how village politics are?”
“But why is that an excuse for them to being so very rude.”
He looked at her looking at him, then quickly turned his eyes back to the road.
“I’ll talk to my mother,” he said, pinching his lips together, ending the conversation as if explaining to her required too much effort.
Silence crept in once again. She squeezed her hands, one with the other, sliding her tongue over her lips, trying to reignite the conversation but finding no words to help carve a pathway for further talk. Rahul seemed so reserved, unlike yesterday when he had come to her house.
Where had yesterday’s Rahul gone?
“Will your friends like me?”
“You’ll be very happy in America.”
“I am sorry to be asking you again, but why are you marrying me, Sir… I mean, Rahul. You can have any girl you want—those without any disease.”
Rahul threw his hands up, placing them on the steering wheel just in time to avoid hitting a tree. His frustration echoed in his voice. “As I explained yesterday, you are educated and speak in English which most village girls do not. Besides, you are more my age. I look at the inside of the person rather than the superficial outer beauty.”
She pouted, trying to inject humor into their conversation. “Didn’t you say you found me quite pretty? Are you taking it back?”
To her delight, he laughed. “I love your spunkiness.”
“What is spunkiness?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“Where are we going?”
"Driving around. I want to tell you a bit about life in America."
“Yes?”
“In America, you can take classes in subjects that interest you, work if you want to. Whatever you want. I will be very busy with my work.”
“What are you telling me?”
“Just that our marriage will be different. Not what girls in the village have. You understand?"
Wrinkles gather on Sunita’s forehead. “In big cities here, they are also like that. Same as in America.”
“Give yourself time to adjust. Attend social clubs; find friends.”
“We will have common friends, won’t we?”
Rahul exhaled loudly as if he had been holding his breath for the right time to let go. “I am too busy with work to have friends. They are mostly colleagues and acquaintances.”
Rahul’s doomsday picture of her life in America was something Sunita was the least bit concerned about. As long as he was with her, everything would be all right. She smiled. “I am sure I will be able to adapt.”
____________________
It was around one in the morning. Except for the sounds of crickets chirping and Mr. Agarwals’ gentle snoring, it was very quiet. When Sunita was a young girl, her father’s snoring was a lullaby that made her feel safe. Even now, the sound was a soothing balm that helped her go to sleep.
But tonight, it wasn't working.
Sunita went to the window, looking out at the rain-awaiting village. In the eerie glow of the sparsely placed streetlights, she saw Madhav, the sweeper, lurch forward, the bottle in his hand crashing on the ground. Tomorrow, he would not be available for work. But she understood his predicament. Madhav's life was somewhat like hers. He was a prisoner of the system in which he was born, and she was a prisoner because of her disease. But unlike her life, which was diverted by a miracle of God's generosity, his would never change. He was resigned to his karma with no escape from it other than the respite he got from the country liquor on which he wasted his meager earnings. A kick on his behind with a stern warning of losing his job and he would get back on with his life.
Sunita’s feelings tugged at her emotions and flooded her mind at the thought of her life away from her village. She was and would always be a ‘village’ girl even though the villagers had never made her feel a part of the village. She wanted to be married, but she had never expected to leave her home.
America seemed exciting in movies and magazines. It would be a great place to visit. But she was forsaking her home for a place so far away, with someone she hardly knew. But the die was cast. Sunita went back to bed and sobbed into her pillow. Eventually, she closed her eyes, listening to her father’s snores, praying for the strength to face her new life, desperately hoping to preserve the attachment of her umbilical cord to her beloved village.
| Author Notes |
Sunita: 28-year-old unmarried girl with vitiligo living in the village
Geeta: Her best friend Rahul Vikram: The man from America visiting his parents in the village. Mr. and Mrs. Vikram: Rahul's snooty, rich, parents. Mr. and Mrs. Agarwal: Sunita's parents The dialogue used may seem strange to the readers. Keep in mind that most people in the village did not speak English. The dialogues between the people living in the village are translated into English directly as they would likely speak in their own language. Rahul, who speaks good English, does not speak in English to his parents. His words are also translated verbatim into English in the story. When Sunita or Geeta speak in English, their dialogue may not be worded as we would here in America. The chapters in this book are full of cultural and custom nuances that the Western readers could find interesting. It should be remembered that in the village, being married and having children, is the very essence of being a successful woman. The book continues to relate about Sunita's marriage, her life in the U.S., her ties to the village, and the unearthing of the mystery why Rahul married her. |
By Shanbreen
In keeping with the wishes of the Vikrams, there was no wedding party. However, Mrs. Agarwal had a gathering at which she invited Geeta and a few of her friends to have their hands and feet painted with henna. The private Sangeet party, too, was canceled. There was no availability for a professional singer from Nawa Gao at such a late date.
The Agarwals would have liked to have Rahul take the bride to his house in a baraat—the groom’s wedding procession in which Rahul would ride a horse covered with rose petals, personifying his symbol of power, courage, and strength. But more importantly, the baraat would have been a visual display for the villagers, a subtle reminder of the Agarwals’ rise to power.
Despite the narrow window for completing the marriage arrangements, Sunita's parents took care of everything. On the other hand, Rahul's parents remained in the shadows, smiling in public and defending their son. "What to do? Our son believes in taking care of the unfortunate." But they were quick to scowl when no one was around, "Aye, aye yo, what has he done? Why did we send him to America?”
Sunita wore a red sari with an embroidered gold-colored flowery pattern that Geeta thought looked stunning on her. The sari clung to her like a layer of skin, ready for unpeeling and making a precious offering of her body to her husband. But the intimate performance on Suhag Raat---the first night after the marriage ceremony---was a big worry for Sunita.
She had watched Bollywood movies that showed the role people played in flirting with each other. She even had a copy of the Kama Sutra hidden under her mattress. But her most trustworthy advisor was Geeta, who was more than happy to give her advice beyond what the cinemas and the book offered.
“Listen to me. You have no experience at all to talk about. I have my husband eating from the palm of my hand. You are Laxmi, you have womanly wiles to lure him to your bed. To excite him so that he will be at your mercy, pleading for more. You understand?”
”I know all about what to do before but not when… You know what I mean?”
Geeta explained the nitty-gritty of lovemaking in detail, focusing her design on how Sunita should concentrate on leading Rahul away from her discolored spots.
“The less you show your discolored skin, the better it will be.”
”But the actual act…”
“There is nothing to it. You have the urges, don’t you?”
Sunita blushed. “I do, but… as you know, it was so shameful when my Ma caught me.”
For Sunita, like all other unmarried village girls in the village, being intimate with a man was always on her mind. Sex was the very essence of humanity that made Lord Krishna hide Gopis' clothes when they bathed in the river. But the momentous occasion only came to fruition after they were married.
Sunita, however, had never expected to be married, and other than Geeta, she had no experience with other unmarried girls, giggling at lewd jokes, and laughing at the inadequacy of being inexperienced. She felt foolish carrying the nervousness of teenagers as an older woman on her wedding night. But aside from being old, Sunita also faced the barriers of not being normal.
She was worried she would fall way low on the scale that promoted desirable women as those who were juicy, unblemished plums, sweet as sugar that no man could resist. Yet she had tried to overcome her shortcomings, taking every precaution, covering her body with the spray of exotic perfumes, hoping the aroma would sway him away from dwelling on her abnormalities, luring him to the lotus she harbored for his entry into heavenly splendor.
While Rahul was in the bathroom, she removed her sari and remained in bed, lying still like a corpse in a well-padded open coffin. When he came out, she sat up but avoided looking at his oil-glistening naked body.
Her body started shaking. Her heart went into overdrive,--lub-dub, lub-dub--waiting to explode out of her ribcage. Was she supposed to take her clothes off, or was he supposed to do that? She hesitantly raised shy eyes at him. “What… what do you want me to do?”
He smiled. “Nothing. Just relax.”
She got up and stood before him, scared her inexperience would outpace her wifely duties. He threw her back on the bed, tearing off her undergarments. His lovemaking was fierce as if he was warring with her, hurting her. She suppressed the cry that rose in her throat and lay there counting the minutes, waiting for him to get off her.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Rahul huffed and puffed, making loud, throaty sounds. But just as she was beginning to enjoy the act, he jerked himself off from her with a loud wailing sound.
Sunita was startled, frightened even. “Are you okay? Everybody will hear you.”
He turned his face to her, shrugging his shoulders. “Let them. Everybody knows what we are up to.”
In the morning, she came out of the bedroom behind Rahul, eyes cast to the floor, while her husband walked virile-straight, head held high, a conqueror, victorious in his task. However, she, even without any experience, knew he had done nothing to be proud of.
He had grappled and faltered like a child riding a bicycle without training wheels for the first time. But how could it be? He was from America, where, according to what she had read, sex was a common thing, irrespective of whether one was married or not.
He had to have had sex, especially at his age.
She asked how he was doing.
“I’m good,” he smiled. “And you?”
She was embarrassed, not knowing how to respond. “Yes… yes,” she stuttered. “You… you were very, very good. ”
They stepped out of the room to the smiles of the Vikram household. Did the loud sounds tell the story of Rahul’s prowess in bed? Is that why he had made the sounds?
At breakfast, Rahul read the newspaper, grinning at her when he swirled the chair to cross his legs. He remained silent and didn't eat anything, only sipping his masala chai. She, too, remained silent, unsure of opening her mouth in front of her fire-breathing mother-in-law. After drinking his tea, he abruptly left, waving at her. "I'll be back."
His mother followed him.
Sunita, left alone, finished her breakfast of Mung Roti, made with pulses, onions, peas, and spices. She washed it down with a large cup of masala chai.
After Saraswati cleared the table, she tried to find Rahul, but he was nowhere to be seen. The Vikram house had large windows that brightened the rooms with the rays of the rising sun. The air-conditioners were on full blast. But while it seemed a cheerful place, the undercurrents of her mother-in-law pouncing out of a corner to confront her made her uneasy.
Sunita made her way to the kitchen to chat with the help. But unfortunately, Rita, the cook, had a hard time conversing with her, insisting on calling her Memsahib. Sunita felt like an intruder disrupting the workings of a well-oiled machine. Should she step outside into the garden? What if it didn't meet with her mother-in-law's approval?
Sunita wandered around the house, pacing the floor, going in circles. Eventually, she sat on the sofa in the living room, twisting her hands, not knowing where to place them.
Mrs. Vikram came into the room, glaring at her. “Just what I expected from you. This is no place for a free meal. Make yourself useful. Help Saraswati with sweeping and cleaning the house.”
“Has Dr. Rahul, sir… I mean Rahul. Has he come back?”
Mrs. Vikram smiled. “‘Dr. Rahul, sir,’ rolls so well off your tongue, doesn’t it? You must be quite used to it in your station in life. Such a pleasant sound.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Sunita stood in front of her, not knowing what to do. Should she just walk away from her presence? "Is Ra… Rahul here?"
“Why do you want to know? He has gone to the city.”
“Did he leave a message for me?”
“Yes, yes. He said something to tell you, but I don’t remember. Nothing important. Go on now. Enough of this unnecessary talking. Go help Saraswati clean the house.”
Sunita scowled and walked over to Saraswati. “How can I help you?”
Saraswati looked at her as if she had gone out of her mind. “No, Memsahib. I will handle everything. I am sorry you find me slow. I will work very much faster.”
Sunita smiled inwardly. The diseased girl was no longer to be laughed at. It was good to know that people who, a few days back, did not give her the time of the day now bowed down to her. She had a new identity. She was the village's new junior mistress.
But if truth be told, she wasn’t sure she liked that.
Later in the afternoon, Mrs. Vikram approached her. “You don’t have to stay here now that my son will be leaving tomorrow. It will be better if you stay with your parents until your visa arrangements are made.”
Sunita was startled. “Will I see Rahul before he leaves?”
“I don’t think so. There are so many more things he has to do. He will not be having any time.”
“Will he be calling me?’
“I don’t know. He has a lot of last-minute things to do.”
Sunita walked away, worried her husband might not call her, but relieved she didn't have to stay a minute longer with her mother-in-law, who constantly made snide remarks: "I don’t know how you people can be so ignorant. Covering the dust-filled sofa with plastic. Can you imagine?”
Mrs. Agarwal’s eyes opened wide when she saw Sunita return home. Her face lost color. She staggered, reaching for the wall, bracing herself against it to steady her crumpling legs. "Oh, my God. What have you done? Why are you back?"
"Nothing has happened. Dr. … I mean, Rahul is getting ready to leave, and it was better for me to get back.”
Mrs. Agarwal recovered. Her face took on a menacing look, ready to do battle. “Lalita didn’t want you there, did she?” she snarled.
“Let it go, Ma. It is my problem. I will handle it.”
Sunita ran off to meet Geeta, who hugged her before pushing her back to arm's length, examining her for tell-tell signs of whatever she wanted to find. "How was it?" she asked.
“How was what?”
“What do you mean ‘what’? How was the sex?”
“It was not like what you told me. He was very rough.”
“You must have made him nervous. Maybe it was your lack of experience...”
“But he probably has experience. Yet, he didn’t seem to care. Making loud sounds.”
“Yeah, some men are very loud.”
“ Did you have the same experience?”
“First time is always hard. It gets better with time.”
“I hope so.”
“Just think how your life has been changing. Soon you will be going to America. Married to a man like Dr. Rahul.”
Sunita’s rubbed her sleepy eyes. "I am so nervous. I don't know if I can ever make him happy.”
Geeta laughed. “You have nothing to do. Just produce children. He will be very happy.”
Sunita chuckled. “Oh, shut up.”
Geeta’s voice took on a serious tone. “You know I am going to miss you very much. Govind will cry all the time for you.”
“I am scared. I wish I didn’t have to leave….”
“You will be very fine. All men think they are in control of us, not knowing that we allow them to pull the strings. They are stupid that way." Then, winking at her, “Even if it is Dr. Rahul Vikram.”
| Author Notes |
Sunita: 28-year-old with vitiligo married to Rahul Vikram
Geeta: Her best friend Govind: Geeta's son Rahul Vikram: The man from America married to Sunita. Mr. and Mrs. Vikram: Rahul's snooty, rich, parents. Mr. and Mrs. Agarwal: Sunita's parents In Chapters 1 to 3, we saw the meeting between Sunita and Rahul and the Agarwals accepting Rahul's proposal. Chapter 4 portrays the first night and day of marriage. The sexual scene is important because it exposes the feelings of a woman who has the shame of vitiligo on her and the behavior of her husband towards her. So far, the chapters in this book are full of cultural and custom nuances that Western readers might find interesting. It should be remembered that in the village, being married and having children, is the very essence of being a successful woman. The dialogue used may seem strange to the readers. Keep in mind that most people in the village did not speak English. The dialogues between the people living in the village are translated into English as they would likely speak in their language. Rahul, speaks American English. However, with his parents and his in-laws, he talks the local language. His words are also translated as I perceive them to be in this story. When Sunita or Geeta speak in English, their dialogue may not be worded as we would here in America. So far, the chapters in this book are full of cultural and custom nuances that Western readers might find interesting. It should be remembered that in the village, being married and having children, is the very essence of being a successful woman. Each chapter can be considered anecdotes, used to portray the characteristics of people within the customs of the village. In the meantime, the mystery of why Rahul married Sunita continues. In the next chapter (Chapter 5), Sunita leaves the village to be with Rahul in America. |
By Shanbreen
Sunita's eyes blurred, the tears held back by sheer willpower to avoid the embarrassment of making a spectacle in public. She felt like she was looking from the outside, separated from the scene at the international airport where she was the primary player.
Was she having an out-of-body experience?
Like the girls in the village who left their homes to go and live with their in-laws, Sunita, too, was apprehensive about leaving her home. However, in the girls’ cases, the transfer from their homes to their in-laws' was not far—a hop, a skip, and a jump— from one house in the village to another or, in some cases, only as far as Nawa Gao. It was easy for them to keep in touch with their families and friends. However, Sunita was not only going to the other side of the world, but she was going into a different culture that she had no clue about. While she was sometimes sad and angry about how the villagers treated her, the village had been her home. It was the only place she was comfortable and had learned to love, overlooking the derogatory remarks often dished out to her. She was the abused child who returned to the familiarity of her home, which had provided a decorum of comfort through the proximity of her parents and her friend Geeta.
Her sadness stuck to her like superglue, giving her no way to tear off the intense despair without being a disgrace to her parents. Her friend, Geeta, was a tremendous help, without whom she would never have fit in; however, rocky her life in the village had been. But aside from the gloom of leaving her village, she was more worried about the unknown, going to a place to meet a husband she hardly knew.
But the die was cast. There was no way she could back out. Her birth in the village had been a regrettable incident, and she had a feeling that with her going away, the villagers would undoubtedly be happy to find that their community was left in a purer state of being.
Sunita expected her mother and Geeta to shed tears on her leaving, but it was her father who surprised her. She saw sadness covering his eyes and felt a tinge of happiness to see her father having emotions that he had never displayed for her. Her macho father, as far as she could remember, had never hugged anyone. The sideward hug he tried with her was awkward, but she took the lead, drawing him closer with both arms around his neck. The two of them drew each other into their gloominess before he shrugged her off as if the hug was nothing more than something people did when it was time to say goodbye. But Sunita knew better when he took her by the arm a few feet away from Geeta and her mother.
"Remember, you have a direct flight to America, and food is included in the ticket Rahul purchased for you." He handed her twenty-five dollars. "The fifty dollars in your purse are for emergencies only but buy something you like with this extra money."
Sunita's controlled tears broke the barrier of her resolve not to cry and started flowing. "I will be okay, Dada, I will be okay. I will do exactly what you want me to do. It will all be very fine."
When Sunita entered the plane, she found it claustrophobic, like being in a cave, with no noticeable escape from the back. She was nervous among so many rich and important-looking people, afraid of doing something wrong, but she restrained her fear with a mock smile. She followed the cues from everyone else, putting her carry-on in the bin above before taking her seat and squeezing herself between two rather large men with their arms firmly placed on the armrest. As the plane took off, she closed her eyes, praying for her safety.
It was not long before the hostess announced that dinner would be served. Sunita's nervousness increased. She discreetly looked at the kind-looking man on her left, subtly copying how he unhooked the tray table from the seat in front, pretending confidence. Dinner, fortunately, was served without any mishap. But when she lifted the aluminum foil off her tray, she saw pieces of meat in the gravy. Sunita immediately rearranged the foil to cover the tray.
Her stomach growled, and she tried to suppress the noise by holding her stomach in, hoping nobody would hear it rumble.
"Aren't you going to eat?' the man on her left asked.
"I do not eat meat."
"Why didn't you ask the hostess for a vegetarian meal?"
"I do not want any trouble."
He smiled, then pressed a button, calling the air hostess. "She'd like a vegetarian meal."
The hostess went through her notes. "You didn't order one."
"Do not worry. I am okay."
The hostess smiled, her kind eyes soothing Sunita's anxiety but not her embarrassment. "Hold on, I'm sure we have some extras."
Sunita nervously eyed the man. "Thank you," she said, her eyes following his use of silverware.
When she arrived at the U.S. airport, she followed the crowd through immigration. The officer in a cubicle looked foreboding.
"First time in America?"
"Yes. I have never been here before. But I have done everything properly. I have a visa. It is in my passport."
He stamped her passport without a smile, and she followed the signs to get her luggage.
She stepped out of the airport looking for her husband but could not find him. Just as she started to panic, a man approached her.
"Are you Mrs. Vikram?"
Vikram? No. I am Agrawal. "Yes," she said, sighing in relief, eyeing the placard with her name on it. "My husband, Dr. Rahul Vikram, sent you?"
"Yes."
"How much is it going to cost me for the car ride?"
He smiled. "Don't worry, it's all taken care of."
When she arrived at her destination, she was mesmerized by the splendor and vastness of her new home. It was so fanciful, better than her wildest dreams. But it was also very quiet. Did anybody live here? Oh, Bhagavan, please let Rahul be at home. What will I do if nobody opens the door?
A woman opened the door.
"Hullo Mrs. Vikram. I am Mariam…Welcome to America. Did you have a good trip? I look after the house for your husband…I have been with Dr. Vikram for almost six years... Do you want me to help you unpack?"
Sunita was amazed at the way the woman spoke. Had she rehearsed it? She spoke without a break, faster than a telephone number pressed on a speed dial. Beep, beep, beep… It was hard to understand her. Didn't she have to breathe like the rest of them?
She followed Mariam into the house. How could she ask her to do anything? She was a servant but so much better dressed than her. Besides, she was so confident… as if it were her house. "No, no, I am fine. Is Dr. Rah… Rahul not here?"
"He's at the office. I will help you get settled."
Sunita shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She had held on to her bladder for a long time, but now it was getting unbearable. She crossed her legs, scared she would succumb to nature’s call, and wet her clothes. "Please Miss, can you show me where the bathroom is? I need to use it very badly."
Sunita entered the bathroom and was amazed at the size of the private bathroom attached to her bedroom. There were lotions and creams on the counter.
Were they to be applied to hide her spots?
There was no urine smell and no water on the floor. Everything was spick and speck. She barely touched anything, quickly did her business, but could not bring herself to use toilet paper without wetting it. To her horror, she spilled water on the floor. What would Mariam think when she came to clean the bathroom? She unraveled more toilet paper to wipe the water before leaving the bathroom, ensuring everything was just how it had been.
She came out of the bathroom, her face a darker shade of brown from her ordeal there. Now that the urgency of nature's call was over, she saw her room as it was, making her subconsciously exclaim, "Oh my god, it's such a large room---like half my whole house in the village."
As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt embarrassed. She cast her eyes to the floor. "I am finished. Please let me know where I should put my clothes and belongings?"
"Leave your luggage in the foyer. I will bring it to your room. In the meantime, let me show you around."
Sunita didn't quite understand. Foyer? "Please. My English is not very good."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Leave your luggage right here in the hallway. I will bring it to your room after I show you around. It's a rather big house." This time, Mariam talked rather slowly. Sunita felt grateful for her intuitiveness in knowing how to make it easier to understand her.
My room? Was she not going to share a room with her husband? Not that she minded. Part of her was glad to have a place where she could hide from everyone.
"Where does Dr. Ra… Rahul sleep?"
"In his room. Over there." Mariam pointed at his door."
"That is fine."
Mariam showed her around the house like a real estate agent trying to sell prime property. They returned to the foyer, and Sunita helped Mariam drag her luggage to her room.
"I am sorry for my luggage. It is very heavy."
"No need to apologize. It has to be heavy. You are moving homes."
Mariam smiled. "Do you want me to help you unpack?"
Sunita wanted to prevent Mariam from seeing what she had brought from the village. Her few belongings, including her wedding sari, seemed out-of-place and outdated in such luxurious surroundings.
"No, thank you. I will be doing that."
"Can I make you something to eat?"
"No. I am doing very fine."
After Mariam left for the day, Sunita wandered around the house. She wanted to explore Rahul's room, but it was locked.
She went outside to the swimming pool and thought of texting Geeta but realized she would be fast asleep at this time. A short time later, the lights around the swimming pool came on as if by magic. It turned the place into a wonderland like the pictures in the housing magazines she had seen at the library in Nawa Gao. But while she was awestruck by the splendor of her new home, an intense feeling of sadness came over her. There was no Geeta to admire her new home, to lord over her, and annoy her with her superficial claim to superiority over her behavior in the village. Most importantly, however, she would not be there when she woke up in the morning.
Sunita thought she heard a noise and rushed back into the house, but there was nobody there, just her overanxious imagination, nervously getting ready to greet her husband.
Rahul came home late at night.
He pecked her on the cheek. "How was your trip?"
"My trip was very fine."
There was nothing natural about his greeting. He was so awkward. His pretense at a hug was far worse than her father's clumsy effort at hugging her. Sunita felt like a teenager who did not know what to do on her first date. She wiped her sweaty palms against her kurta.
Rahul gently reprimanded her. "Please talk to me in English." Then, in a more conciliatory tone, "You have everything you need?"
"Yes, yes, everything is very fine. How are you?"
He smiled. "Good. I'm good. Did Mariam show you how to get on the internet?"
"Please do not worry. I know how to do that. I just wanted to know if there were any payments…"
He grinned. "Don't worry about charges. Mariam takes care of that." Then he pulled out his wallet and fished out a credit card. "Here, use this to buy clothes and other things you like. You can purchase most things online or call Uber to take you around. The password is our last name. You can handle that. Right? If you need help, ask Mariam."
"Yes. I have used my card in Nawa Gao, but I don't need anything."
He tilted his head from one side to the other, up and down, his eyes narrowing into slits as if assessing which parts of clothing needed changes.
He strengthened. "Some new clothes perhaps?"
Sunita wished she hadn't listened to Geeta, and bought a pair of faded jeans which seemed to be in fashion, especially for travelling. "I will buy it here," she replied.
Rahul didn't respond. Then abruptly, "Look, I have an early morning meeting. Mariam will be back by nine in the morning. Ask her for anything you need. This is your home."
Sunita stood twiddling her thumbs, not knowing if he wanted her to follow him to do her wifely duties. She was too exhausted to share his bed that night and wished she would be left alone. The remembrance of her wedding night only made matters worse.
She kept her tongue on hold, wondering what she should do. But just as he was about to open the door to his room, she called out, "Do you want me to come with you?"
"No. Not tonight. I am too tired."
Sunita was relieved. "When will you come back tomorrow?"
"Probably late. You don't have to wait for me. I will take you out for a drive and show you the city this weekend."
"Thank you."
Rahul went off to his room.
There was a large TV with a curved screen in her room, so different from the TV she had in her home in the village. She didn't want to switch it on, worried it would make too much noise and wake Rahul.
Sunita climbed into her queen-sized bed and crawled under the comforter on the lavender-scented sheets, clothes, and all, exhausted and lonely, missing home. Did her parents miss her?
It was 8:00 a.m. in the village. Should she text Geeta? But she did not know what to tell her. How could she explain her feelings with a text message? She would call her in the morning, but not now when she was exhausted. Sunita could no longer keep her eyes open; she shut them and sent a mental message to her friend.
"I love and miss you very, very much. Good night."
| Author Notes |
Cast
Sunita: 28-year-old woman suffering from vitiligo. Geeta: Sunita's best and only friend in the village. Rahul: Sunita's husband Mariam: Works as Rahul's housekeeper. Nawa Gao is a fictional city a few miles from the village. This Chapter (5) deals with Sunita going off to America to be with her husband, Rahul. The Chapter brings forth emotions and feelings that not only provide a further sense of Sunita's character but also to portray the rather peculiar meeting between Rahul and Sunita when they meet for the first time in America. It is important to remember that Rahul and Sunita had spent only one night in the village after their marriage before Rahul had to leave for America. For those of you who did not read the first four chapters, Sunita Agarwal is an unmarried village girl suffering from vitiligo. Rahul comes from America and marries her despite his parents' objections and the shock of the entire village that had never accepted her because of her disease. Sunita had been an outcast who was unmarried at the old age of 28 years. The question: Why did a rich American who most parents in the village would love to have as a son-in-law, marry a 28-year-old girl with vitiligo? |
|
You've read it - now go back to FanStory.com to comment on each chapter and show your thanks to the author! |
| © Copyright 2015 Shanbreen All rights reserved. Shanbreen has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
© 2015 FanStory.com, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Statement