My sister is devastated, even though their castes and stars are perfectly aligned. She told me over the call that the priest said, ‘Their souls have been searching for each other since birth’. She would have been much happier if they had never found each other. She didn’t even bother to ask what he looked like. The groom’s family was set to visit us on the second day of the New Year.
I was in Hyderabad with my friends, indulging in endless rounds of alcohol—coffee stouts have become my new favorite—until I received a call from my sister about the impending visit on New Year’s Eve. She told me on the call that on the same day, she finally told our parents about her two-year relationship with a thirty-year-old Christian investment banker. Being five years older than her, he felt he couldn’t wait any longer to marry. Perhaps she could have convinced our parents if time were on our side, but my mother’s response was immediate and typical: ‘Marry him on the tenth-day rituals after my death’. My father didn’t need to say a word. He knew my sister would never go against our mother’s wishes. He simply walked into his room and came out after a while, saying the priest had found a perfect match and they would be visiting on the second. Period.
I boarded the Narayanadri Express the next evening, heading home to Srikalahasti. Knowing how distraught I was, my friends came to the station to see me off and ensure I found my seat. They asked if there was anything they could do to help. I thanked them and bid them goodbye, though I secretly wanted to ask how one can cancel a groom’s visit.
I sat in a single-seat berth by the window. As the coach filled up, I craved just a minute of silence. From the seat behind me, I heard a father scolding his son about his math grades: ‘You shouldn’t stay outdoors playing with friends all the time. You are losing your focus on studies. You aren’t being serious. Now, tell me, what is 8+5?’ I looked back. It was a young boy, probably around five or six years old. I stared at his father, who sat with another infant on his lap, baffled by the absurdity of his lecturing such a small child. I also felt sorry for the infant, imagining his future.
I turned away, trying to let it be. Soon, I heard the father command the boy to recite the Govinda Namalu. I don’t even know them myself, so I turned again to watch. The boy was looking at the floor, hands joined in prayer, reciting beautifully. I was impressed, and other passengers began to take notice. Suddenly, the father cut him off. ‘You skipped a line! I taught you well, but you forgot because you’re staring at that shoe on the floor’. I saw the boy’s eyes swell with tears. I turned back and shut my eyes tight.
I woke up a while later to more commotion. It was 8 p.m., and people were eating dinner. I had no appetite. I felt something crawling on my toes and looked down. Ugh. A cockroach! I swiftly moved my feet to shake it off. I was about to stamp on it, but my mind was too heavy with other things, and I felt too exhausted to bother. I let it pass. It wasn’t a cockroach I needed to get rid of— it was my sister’s prospective groom. I watched it crawl calmly under my seat, and I eventually dozed off.
I reached the station at 5 a.m., an hour behind schedule. When I arrived at home, my sister met me at the door and immediately broke into tears. I know she wanted me to somehow convince my parents to allow her to marry her boyfriend, but I am equally helpless. We sat on the sofa in silence, staring at the floor until Mother interrupted us after a while. She told us to behave and uphold the family name in front of the groom’s family. My sister and I glanced at each other, and we knew the futility of arguing. We walked to our respective rooms.
They arrived earlier than expected. The uncles and aunts arrived before them. The groom’s family was welcomed with embraces and namastes, everyone laughing with joy. They sat across from each other with the priest at the helm. I stood behind my father. While the priest preached about a ‘match made in heaven’, both families were busy gorging themselves on vada, laddu, and jalebi. Everyone, except the groom. He sat between his parents, charming, with his head held high and smiling slyly, waiting for the moment his soul had been searching for. Finally, the groom’s father said, ‘Enough chatter. It’s tea time’. My father took the cue. He nudged my mother to bring my sister out. She had been waiting in the kitchen the whole time.
The cups were filled with hot tea, and my sister brought them out to serve the guests. Groom’s father picked up a cup slowly, looking at my sister with a satisfied face. Next, she turned to the groom. Just as he was reaching for his tea, my sister let out a piercing scream and dropped the entire tray on him. Before he could even react, she ran to her room and slammed the door.
The groom’s side was furious. My father rushed over, trying to clean the stains with his kanduva. The groom pushed him aside and poured water from a tumbler over himself to cool the burn. While my father was still trying to apologise and calm them down, they marched out of the house and drove away.
The whole family stood outside in a daze. My father collapsed onto the front steps. I stood exactly where I was, in shock, trying to grasp what had just happened. I looked down at the tray my sister had dropped. Something was moving. I had seen it yesterday, but I hadn’t been in the mood to stamp on it then. It crawled slowly under the sofa.
I whispered, ‘Thank you’.
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