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Mum walked by, smiling knowingly and then paused, turned around and winked.
At Purva.
I could do little more than roll my eyes.
‘We are engaged!’ said Purva once Mum had gone, his face expressing mild surprise.
‘You know, Purva,’ I said, putting my hand in his.
‘Yes, darling?’ he said tenderly, leaning in so that his face was but a few inches from mine.
‘I really, really need to pee.’
4
9.00 p.m.
I grimaced as I straightened my back. Anju Aunty – Purva’s mum – had just given me another tour of her side of the family. The following had happened in the last twenty minutes:
Number of times I was kissed: twelve.
Number of times I was told that I was very pretty: fourteen (Yay! Whoop! Whoop! Don’t I love it?).
Number of times I was told that Purva is a very lucky man to have found me: seven (Smug smile of agreement).
Number of times I bent down to touch someone’s feet: twenty-nine.
Being the would-be daughter-in-law was already proving to be back-breaking work ( no pun intended).
The bespectacled six-year-old boy from Anju Aunty’s family who had followed me closely as I met every person in the room now went up to his mother, tugged at the pallu of her sari, pointed a thick finger at me and asked, ‘Mummy, who is that girl?’
His mother smiled a warm smile and looked benignly at her cherubic little son. ‘That’s your new chachi,’ she said.
‘Thaathee?’ the boy repeated with a drawl.
‘Chaa-chee,’ said the mother.
‘Tha-thee,’ said the boy, sucking his thumb and jutting out his chin.
‘Say cha,’ persisted the mother.
‘Cha,’ repeated the boy obediently.
‘Chee,’ said the mother.
‘Chee,’ the boy agreed.
‘Cha-chee,’ said the mother.
‘Tha-thee,’ said the boy obstinately.
The mother took a deep breath and I knew that she was reaching out to the ocean of patience that God creates in would-be mot
hers during the nine months of pregnancy. Out of the blue, the boy started screaming and crying loudly. He began to wipe his eyes with the back of his hands, though I could clearly see that there were no tears. The drama, I thought indignantly, feeling for the mother with all my heart.
‘Why are you crying now?’ said the mother, looking at me exasperatedly. I nodded sympathetically and a glimpse of the future – a dozen kids clinging to me, screaming ‘maa-meee’ – flashed in front of my horrified eyes. My head reeled. My heart beat faster. The image was gone in a second, but it left me feeling weak. A wave of panic swept through me. I had just got engaged. What happens next? Marriage? Then kids? Then more kids? Then their kids! Where does it all end? Had I thought this through? Oh dear!
My line of thought was disrupted as the sounds of the boy, sobbing most pitifully, reached my ears.
