Chapter 11 - Back To Square One

“Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Michael Kuttiparambil. Magnificently manipulated.” She had walked into her parents’ room after her father came home from the office.

“What are you talking about, Shikha”, asked her mother.

“Don’t worry, my dear parents”, said Shikha in a deadly calm voice that scared Michael and Rani. “Siddharth has called it off. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with rotten people like you and your family”

Her parents said nothing.

“And you know something? I too don’t want to have anything to do with you or your God forsaken family. I’ll suffer you because you raised me. I’ll remember my duties as the only daughter of selfish parents who care more for their image than their daughter’s happiness. But don’t ever expect me to come with you visiting family and relatives. Don’t ever expect me to play the charming hostess when your snobbish relatives come here. It’s over. My honeymoon with Kuttiparambil family is over. I’ve had enough of this suriani and aristocracy bullshit”. Shikha was surprised at her own eloquence, but the words were spontaneous. She had to get them out.

She didn’t bring up the issue after that. She hardly spoke to her parents during the second year of her masters. Rani’s efforts to break the ice met with icy silence. Michael’s efforts at conversation were met with monosyllabic replies.

When Georgekutty, papa’s favourite nephew and Shikha’s cousin from both her parents’ sides, came to Chennai before he left for the USA to join the company which had recruited him for a fancy salary, she refused to speak with him or sit at the dining table during dinner. Rani pleaded with her. “No mama, I meant what I said. I want to have nothing to do with our aristocratic family”, she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “ I know that Georgekutty organized the intimidation drama. He and his noble, upper class cousins were all there when that poor man was summoned to appear before grand father Kuttiparambil. And I thought Georgekutty was a gentleman”, she said with a disgusted laugh. “I would have expected this twenty first century youngster to support me instead of behaving like an outlandish suriani aristocrat. Sick guy”.

Rani did not miss the sneer whenever Shikha uttered the word aristocrat. “Not all people think like you, Shikha”.

“Oh yes, I agree with you there”, said Shikha with vehemence.

The iron control under which Rani had been keeping herself snapped for a moment and she asked sharply, “Hey, young lady, who do you think you are? Remember we have lived several decades more than you. Credit us with the wisdom of that atleast”

“And what sort of existence is it that you had more than me? Cocooned in the suriani catholic sense of superiority and high moral grounds! You people feel that just because you give your ten percent to the church and charity, you have acquired 10 cents of land up there in heaven, which gives you the license to flout every other commandment.” Shikha got a malicious pleasure giving vent to her thoughts which she had been turning over and over in her mind ever since Siddharth dropped the bombshell that shattered her dreams and life. “There is no greater sin than arrogance, mama, and arrogance was what the Kuttiparambans showed when they summoned a man to the house and insulted him just because he was born poor. Tell me mama, what did you do or papa or that Kuttiparambil grand old man do to be born rich? Tell me! Get down on your knees and thank the almighty for the blessings he has given you instead of using them as muscles to beat up the less fortunate.”

Rani wished she had not started this argument. Shikha’s voice was rising and Rani was afraid Georgekutty would hear through the closed door. But Shikha was unstoppable.

“Break free from that suriani cocoon, you and papa, and find out for yourself that world outside is not what you think it is”.

Rani’s eyes filled with tears. Her daughter seemed to have transformed into someone she did not recognize anymore. Seeing her mother’s distress, Shikha flung the book she had in her hand across the room and slammed herself into the chair.

Georgekutty did not even try to say goodbye to her before he left.

Good, thought Shikha. The bloody blood bond. I can do without it.

Chapter 10 - The Sand Castle

Siddharth did not take her calls after that, though Shikha tried several times. On Monday, during the after noon session in college, he called to say he wanted to meet her.

He didn’t sound his usual self.

“What’s wrong, Siddharth?”

He hung up.

Shikha felt her heart bump against her ribs and then beat so loud that its drumming unnerved her.

He was waiting for her in the quiet corner of the canteen. His face was expressionless and his voice emotionless when he said. “Let’s call it off. It won’t work”

“”What?”, Shikha almost screamed.

“Quiet. People are listening”

She couldn’t care less, and told him so.

“But I care. Don’t make a spectacle of yourself”.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she started sobbing uncontrollably. Siddharth threw her his kerchief from across the table saying, “Get a grip on yourself, Shikha.”

When she quietened down, he said calmly. “Guess your father told you that my grandfather worked for yours?”

“How does it matter?”

“It matters”.

“Looks like you have a complex”, said Shikha recklessly.

Siddharth’s temper snapped.

“Complex? I just don’t want to have anything to do with you and your snooty people”, he said quietly and harshly between gritted teeth. “I just don’t have to put up with the goons in your family intimidating my grandfather”

“What happened”, asked Shikha, her heart sinking.

“Go ask your father’, said Siddharth getting up.

“Please, Siddharth, I know nothing about it. I have nothing to do with whatever happened”, she pleaded.

“Mebbe. But this marriage won’t work out. I want no complications in my life. So it’s bye. It was nice while it lasted”.

“You don’t care, Siddharth, you don’t care a shit for me”, said Shikha, broken and angry. “You wouldn’t walk out on me if you really cared”.

“Guess you are right”, said Siddharth. “Guess I don’t care enough”.

He waved briefly, turned around and walked away. Shikha looked miserably at his receding figure. She wished the earth would open up and swallow her, like it came to the rescue of Sita. She wanted to die. She sat in the canteen dazed.

“Something wrong Shikha?” It was Jayanthi ma’am, her Econometrics professor. Shikha looked at her with unseeing eyes.

“Shikha, what’s wrong?’

Shikha shook herself and stood up. “Got a piece of bad news, ma’am”, she said.

“Shall I arrange to have someone drive you home?”. The professor asked, sounding worried.

“No. it’s OK. I’ll be fine”, Shikha said, smiling weakly.

She looked down at her hand and found that she was clutching Siddharth’s handkerchief.

Chapter 9 - Cupid Strikes

Shikha was never one with a roving eye on the look out for someone to give her heart to. In her dealings with the opposite sex, she was very friendly, but reserved, as it became a girl of her upbringing. But the minute she set her eyes on Siddharth, she knew she had met her man. It was during the first day of practice for the Christmas Choir at the local Latin church that he caught her eye.

The choir practice was to begin at 4.30 in the evening. Shikha, as usual, was punctual, but she found the church empty. She sat on the bench in the front near the keyboard and waited. Ten minutes later, Siddharth walked in with a guitar. Seeing the church empty, he knelt in the pew behind hers for a minute or two and then sat down.

“Guess you’ve come for choir practice?” Turning around, Shikha asked pointing to the guitar.

“Quite obvious, eh?” he asked with a grin.

Shikha liked him instantly.

“I’ve come for the practice too”, volunteered Shikha.

“Guessed as much”, Siddharth replied.

“Am Shikha Michael”, said Shikha holding out her hand.

He shook her hand briefly and said “Mind stepping out of the Church? Father Dominic doesn’t particularly appreciate people talking in the Church”

So they went out and stood on the church verandah.

“What did you say your name was?” Shikha asked

“I didn’t say anything about my name”, he said and they burst out laughing.

“Siddharth”, he said.

She must have been looking at him with the query written all over her face, because he cut into her thoughts with “Yes, I’m a Christian. My father was rather unconventional about naming his children. My sister is Laxmi and my brother is Arjun and I am Siddharth Cherian”

For some strange reason, Shikha felt relieved that he was a Christian.

He was into the final semester in IIT, doing M. Tech in Computer Engineering. His basic Engineering Degree was from the Trivandrum Engineering College.

“I come to IIT once in a way. I have a friend –Lavanya’s her name- who was my senior in Rosary College. She is doing her research there. She lets me know when there is something interesting happening in economics”.

Shikha and Siddharth became thick friends during the choir practice, which lasted a week. They had a lot in common. They could talk intelligently on many subjects and time flew when they were together. Their tastes for books, movies and food coincided. In politics, both had that left leaning, though they disliked unionism without responsibility that was doing damage to Kerala. They were never at a loss for issues to talk about.

Shikha found herself very much at ease in his company. Her visits to the IIT became more regular. They went for movies or to restaurants, though Shikha took care not to mention to her parents that Siddharth was the “friends” with whom she went out. On her Birthday, Siddharth gave her Amitav Ghosh’s novel The Calcutta Chromosome, which she read and treasured, as it was his first gift. But she was careful not to let her parent’s eyes fall on it, because on the inside of the cover page, he had written “With love, now and forever” followed by his name. She had read it, at college or sitting late into the night after her parents went to sleep, which was nothing unusual as she never went to bed before 1 O’ clock in the morning. I love him, she thought, smiling at the inside cover of Ghosh’s book at midnight one day. She could think of no reason why papa and mama should object to accepting Siddharth as their son-in-law. He was brilliant, ambitious, charming, handsome, refined and an excellent human being. Besides, he never had his foot in the mouth and could easily carry on an intelligent conversation on any topic under the sun, qualities which Papa valued in a person. Besides, in Siddharth, papa would also be pleased to meet his match, thought Shikha happily. It was important to her that her parents approved of her choice, and that her parents enjoyed good rapport with the man she married.

She had decided that she’d tell them about Siddharth once he made his intentions clear to her. Till such day, I’d better keep quiet or papa and mama will start chaperoning me around. She remembered her parents’ anxiety before she left for London. “London is not Chennai, Shikha,” her mother had told her. “It’s a free society and unless a girl knows how to take care of herself, she’ll land up in trouble”.

“Just remember that you are there to study. Minimise socializing”. That was papa.

“Come on both of you, I can take care of myself. For goodness sake, stop worrying. Now that I’ve decided to go, why don’t you guys relax?” asked Shikha, a little annoyed at the never ending instructional sessions on how she should carry herself in London, what company she should keep, what people she should avoid - -

“Girls of your age think they are smart, Shikha, but remember the world is smarter”. Papa seemed genuinely anxious.

From the time she landed in Heathrow airport, her parents were tracking her movements. Text messages almost every hour from one of them. A ten minutes delay in replying to a text message would make them call her. Shikha was beginning to get thoroughly irritated with the remote control they were exercising from Chennai and intended to fix a schedule for keeping in touch with them that she hoped would obviate the need to track her movements by the minute. But before she could do that she had returned to Chennai.

No, she thought, it’s be stupid of me to tell them now that I’m in love with Siddharth. They’ll make it difficult for me to meet him. I’ll tell them the minute he proposes to me.

But there was a spring in her steps in those days when he was seeing her. She did not know that the world could suddenly look so different, so beautiful. She woke up in the mornings with a pleasant sensation, sometimes not quite locating the source of that feeling. Soon Siddharth would drift into her thoughts as though wafted in on the breeze that gently stirred the giant gulmohar tree with its golden flowers that she could see from where she lay. At home she was happy and chirpy, and the sessions at the dining table overflowed with lighthearted conversation and laughter. This is the shape of things to come when Siddharth becomes part of this family, she thought, delirious with joy. Shikha did not know that happiness could scale such dizzy heights!

By May that year, Siddharth got selection to the IIM and it was to be Ahmedabad.

“We’ll have to wait for a couple of years till I finish MBA and pick up a job”. That was how he proposed.

Shikha stared at him in sheer joy. “Is that supposed to be a proposal?” she asked incredulous.

“What do you want me to do? Go down on my knees and propose?”

“No. This is good enough”, said an ecstatic Shikha.

They were silent for sometime.

Then Siddharth asked, “Have you spoken to your parents?”

“Not yet. How could I till I knew you were serious?”

He raised his eyes to the sky as though in resignation. “Did you think I was fooling around with you?”

“I wasn’t sure”, she said, mischievously.

Shikha went into her parents’ room that evening. She didn’t want to discuss this at the dining table because Maria cheduthy would be listening.

Michael and Rani looked startled when Shikha told then about Siddharth.

“Not even a Christian?” was Rani’s instant reaction.

“He is a Christian”, said Shikha. “Siddharth Cherian is his name. He hails from Alleppey, but settled in Trivandrum. His father has a job in ISRO.”

“An engineer? Scientist?” That was Michael.

“No. Administrative”

“What’s his family name, do you know?”

“Padickalveedu”

“What?” exploded Michael, sitting bolt upright. “Cherian Padickalveedu, the son of Aviranchan? I know him.” Michael had turned red in the face. Shkha’s heart sank. He looked at Rani and said, “Avirachan was a peon in apppachan’s office in Kochin.’

A pregnant silence followed.

Then Shikha asked quietly, “So what?”

“So what? Are you crazy Shikha? Socially they are no match for us. Avirachan doesn’t sit down in appachan’s presence even now”.

“Siddharth is a perfect gentleman, very refined and intelligent. He just completed his masters from IIT and is going to IIM in Ahmedabad. I like him. That’s all that matters”.

“That’s all that matters? It doesn’t matter to you that your mother and I will not be able to face the world if you get married into that family with such an impoverished background?’

“It’s not on account of your merit that you are born into a rich family, papa and it is not Siddharth’s fault that his grand father was poor. They are respectable people and it’s ok with me. What else matters, papa?”

“Listen to her Rani. Why are you keeping quiet?” Shikha saw that Rani was crying.

“See! Your mother is crying. You’ve always been a source of misery to us, Shikha,” said Michael.

Shikha jumped up from the chair screaming, “How dare you!” and stormed towards the door. Before she opened the door, she paused a moment, deliberately got herself under control, turned around and told her parents calmly, quietly. “I am 21 years old, old enough to make my decision according to the law of the land. Don’t forget that”. She opened the door, went out and closed it gently behind her.

She then called Siddharth and told him “All hell has broken loose”.

“What happened?”

“I’ll tell you when I see you”. Shikha told him. Siddharth had gone to Trivandrum to tell his people about Shikha. He also sounded subdued. “I know. Appa told me. Wait till I return”.

Chapter 8 - Christmas at Rani’s

Christmas 2002 was, to use her cousin Davy’s favourite expression, an adipoli affair. There were more than a hundred people at the dinner hosted by Rani’s parents, and it was an occasion for Shikha to catch up with her mother’s siblings and their families and papa’s and mama’s common and close relatives.

Shikha and her parents had come down to Kuttiparambil house on 23^rd, and had had a quiet Christmas lunch there. Alice ammai and papa’s youngest sister Roshini ammai were already there with their families when they arrived. Alice Ammai’s children were both employed. Trupthi, the elder one was a software engineer with Wipro. The younger girl Meera was working in GE’s call center in Hyderabad. She had graduated in Physics with astounding marks and shocked the entire family by taking a break from studies to work in a call center. Michael was the one who protested most vehemently. He was so persistent in his protests that Rani had to tell him that children are ultimately the responsibility of the parents, and so he should stop being a pest before Alice was driven to tell him that.

“OK, OK”, he said. “But a call center! Surely there’s something better she can do”

“What else will she get so easily papa?” butted in Shikha.

“What’s the hurry? She doesn’t have to work to earn her bread, does she? To take up a night job”

“You make it sound like she’s going - - - “. Shikha’s words trailed off into silence at seeing the forbidding look on her mother’s face.

So Michael was a little reserved with Alice when they met at Kuttiparambil house, but she, in her typical style, won him over with her charming, open manner. She plonked herself into the sofa where Michael was reading the Manorama, grabbed his face and turned it towards her saying. “Chettai, punnara chettai”, she teased, “why don’t you look at me? Have I become unpresentable since we last met?”

Despite himself, Michael burst out laughing and the temperature in the Kuttiparambil house came down to normal. However, with Meera, he could not slip into the easy repartee that he usually enjoyed with Alice’s affectionate daughters. He was stiff and formal, and kept conversation to the minimum. At the grand dining table on Christmas Eve, Michael suggested that she come to Chennai where he could fix her a job. “That sounds like a good idea”, said Meera, smiling brightly. Super diplomat, thought Shikha, to whom Meera had justified, just an hour before, her decision to break free from the traditional mould of being a hanger-on on the family resources till the completion of education. “The economic independence and the space I get away from home and relatives, it’s a beautiful feeling, Shikha. Does a lot for my feeling of self worth”, she had said. And now she says it’s a brilliant idea, coming to Chennai and staying under the protective wing of her conservative uncle, thought Shikha wryly. “Amma had asked me not to get into arguements with Michaelachayan”, Meera explained with a grin when Shikha confronted her with her recent evolution into a “soapy” niece.

The preparation to go to Rani’s place for the Christmas dinner was elaborate. The formalities of visiting the daughter-in-law’s house was observed to the last detail. More than twenty kilos of fruitcake generously laced with brandy had been baked and kept ready by velliammachi four months before Christmas. It was packed in aluminium foil and then placed individually in new Tupperware containers bought specially for this purpose. Velliammachy’s fruitcake was legendary, and the Kuttiparambil household threw all health caution to the winds and helped themselves to the cake the day they arrived. Twenty bottles of wine – again made by Velliammachi- bottled in dark brown beer bottles, were packed in a carton. Other goodies included achappam, suhkiyan, halwa, avalose unda and kuzhalappam – all in huge quantities. Michael had brought ten kilos of Sohan pappadi from Chennai. There was enough to fill the trunk of the Appachan’s Honda City.

The Kuttiparambil turnout was also very elegant. Shikha looked stunning in a smart printed peacock blue raw silk Salwar set which she and Rani had selected from Fabindia. It gave a rich hue to her light complexion. Much as she would have liked to go in her usual jeans and a well-cut top, Rani insisted that she wear something, which showed her to an advantage.

“We want you to look your best”.

“I know”, said Shikha resignedly. “After all I’m in the marriage market”. Rani looked askance at her, not missing the not too pleased tone of her daughter, but said nothing.

Meera’s outfit caused a small storm in the Kuttiparambil teacup. Michael disapproved of the knee length skirt suit she wore. Shikha thought she looked smart and trendy in it. “Ask Alice to prevail upon her to get into something more conventional”, said Michael to Rani.

“Oh, come on papa, she looks lovely in it”, said Shikha.

“We are going to Kandanaad, not to Hyderabd or to Chennai”, replied Michael irritably.

Rani, who seemed to be in an assertive mood, reminded him it was none of his business.

“Besides, you wait and see the type of outfits that’ll greet you at my place”. Michael kept a poker face, but relaxed after sometime and Shikha found the ride to Kandanaad with him at the wheels, with Rani beside him and Trupthi and Meera in the back seat with her, a very pleasant one. Michael’s parents and his sisters and Roshini’s two school going children followed in the Inova taxi which was owned by Appachan.

Rani was right. The outfits men and women, both young and middle aged, turned out in would have put a Bollywood party to shame. Diamonds sparkled, mirrors and Zardosi work flashed from lehengas and sarees. From full length skirts to micro minis, smart well cut tops to body huggers, knitwear party clothes with heavy work to light loose silky dresses that draped seductively, formal suits to jeans, boys with ear rings and pierced eyebrows – it was all too much for Kandanaad. The local relatives invited to the party were staring shamelessly. Shikha heard Rani’s father’s cousin’s wife – in her late sixties – asking the girl who sat next to her whether some one whom she pointed out discreetly was a boy or a girl.

Liqour was served generously. Some of the ladies too helped themselves to it. Minors were directed to the table where coke and soft drinks were served. But all coke drinkers added a dash of hard liquor to the dark brown liquid in their Luminarc glasses, and many got foolishly drunk.

Shikha moved about relaxed and comfortable, meeting and talking to her relatives. She knew most of them for she used to visit them during her visits to Kerala. Besides, most of them came to Chennai once in a way and spent a day or two in her home. Her relatives were as diverse as diverse could be but she enjoyed an easy and affectionate relationship with each of them. “She takes after your mother in that aspect”, Rani had observed one day at the dining table in their Chennai home when Michael mentioned how Shikha had become a topic of discussion when he was home at Kuttiparambil house a week earlier. He had gone to attend the death anniversary function of his paternal uncle. When the immediate relatives had gathered at Michael’s house, Theramma ammai, the oldest member in the Kuttiparambil family - a nonagenarian - asked for Shikha. With senility just beginning to set in, she didn’t think it improper to grade her grand nieces and nephews in terms of preference. Shikha topped the list.

“How come you like your pardesi niece when you have so many others around you here who visit you often?” teased a relative.

“Shikha is a class apart. Others bring me the things I like to eat, say hello and then go away to those of their own age group in the house. Shikha spends time with me. She asks me about my childhood and youthful days, how life was in my village in Pulinkunnu before electricity and water connection came, and listens with great interest. She is a very affectionate and considerate girl”.

“I felt proud, Shikha”, Michael had said to his daughter after he related this incident. “It’s remarkable the way you hit off with people of all age groups and all class and caste”.

Embarrassed, Shikha refused to take the full credit. The old man has evolved, Shikha thought remembering the fuss he used to make about her mingling with the servants.

“Velliammachi tells me that people are different and we must accept them as they are. If you listen to them, you’ll find all of them are good and interesting”.

Sometimes she found it difficult to agree with velliammachi, especially when Accamma velliamma, appachan’s youngest sister started talking nonstop. She would go on and on about her four sons and three daughters, their spouses and children. Though Shikha tried to smile and nod and look interested, her mind would wander. How different velliammachy is, she’d think each time she spoke to Accamma velliamma. Velliammachy never bragged about her children though they were all extremely well placed and got the best marriage alliances one could hope for in the community. Michael himself belonged to the elite IAS fraternity and was the Chief Secretary to the Government of Tamil Nadu. His younger brother Antony uppappan, the last in the family, was the CEO of a mulit national Pharmaceutical company in Mumbai and his wife Shiny ammai who was from an “ancient, aristocratic family” from Trichur, had a boutique in Bandra, and she supplied diomonds to the rich ladies back home in Kerala. Their children went to Bishop Connan School in Mumbai and craved for pizzas and Mac only. Velliammachy had to take care that there was cereal and bread and butter and cheese for breakfast because they didn’t enjoy the “stupid things like appams and idlis”.

Both Alice ammai and Roshini ammai were probationary officers in nationalised banks and their husbands, who again were from ancient, aristocratic families, held enviable position in public sector companies. When Roshini ammai’s husband Roy uncle migrated to the US, she resigned and joined him in the USA with her children. They were there for a half a dozen years now and were doing extremely well. Strangely enough, her children loved appams and idli and all the naadan food.

But Velliammachi never ever bragged about her children or volunteered information about them unless asked. How different she was from Accamma ammai whom people avoided like plague during that Christmas dinner, in order to escape the harangue on her children - daughters and sons-in-law and grand children and their degrees and the prizes they won in the school and the Merc they owned and the size of their houses in the US and and and - - - . Shikha pretended that she was called to serve short eats and fled.

Rani and Shika’s aunts from both sides were sitting in one corner of the veranda, well furnished with a couple of coffee table sets, bean bags, modas and upholstered comfortable cane chairs. Shikha loved them because they loved her. She liked the attention she got from them. They were talking about the latest diamond counter opened by a leading jeweler in Kochin.

“I had a look at the place”, said Shiny ammai. “They charge eight thousand rupees more per carat that I do.

“Really?”

“Desire has opened a counter in Trivandrum. I think their rates are the same as yours”, said Leela aunty, mama’s cousin, not to be outdone in the diamond centric conversation.

Shiny ammai looked skeptical but decided against countering the point.

“It’s an elegant dress you are wearing, Shikha. From where did you pick it up?” asked Shiny ammai.

“From Fabindia”

“Oh really, I went to Fabindia in Bombay just a week back but didn’ find anything half as classy as this. I think Chennai outlets have better stuff”. The conversation then hinged around clothes and boutiques. Slightly bored by the trend of the conversation, Shikha’s mind had begun to wander when she heard something that caught her interest from the two aunts sitting next to her. Thankammaunty and Jaymol aunty who were sitting in the two seater couch next to the bean bag in which Shikha had settled down comfortably, were dicussing something in real earnest. Paadathil Johnny’s name was mentioned and Shikha butted in to find out how things were with him and his wife. He had taken to drinking so heavily that Laila his wife had walked out on him and refused to go back unless he gave up alchahol. Laila was the only child of Rajan, Mchael’s cousin.

“That’s what I was telling Jaymol”, said Thankammaunty. “Johnny has become a teetotaler now”

“What?” asked an astounded Shikha rather loudly, and suddenly everyone was listening. Laila had come to Chennai a month back with her two-year-old son on Michael’s invitation. He thought he could drill some sense into her head. The day before she arrived, Rani warned Michael at the dining table not to be too pushy with Laila.

“If she’s decided to go and stay with her parents, she has good reasons”, she said earnestly. “Don’t interfere too much with other people’s personal life”.

“I’m not willing to be politically correct and be a mere spectator”, said Michael raising his voice. “Laila is young and can do with some advice”.

“There are enough of her own people to do that”, insisted Rani.

“I’m her uncle, for goodness sake”, snapped Michael. “I have the right to guide her when she behaves so impulsively in so serious a matter”.

“What do you mean, papa? Impulsive? The last time I saw Johnny at Kandanaad, he was on four wheels, and behaving like a sick animal. I see no reason why anyone should put up with such behaviour”. Said Shikha, annoyed at her father’s attitude.

“Shikha, Johnny is her husband - - - “, began Michael in a dangerously quiet voice, but shikha cut him short rather agitatedly.

“Papa, I agree with you about the sanctity of marriage. But it isn’t enough if the woman alone tries to maintain the sanctity. Tell me, suppose my husband does what he does – throw up all over the place at a small family gathering, abuse me when I try to control him and push me down with the entire world gaping at the drama. Tell me papa, will you ask me to put up with such bullshit?”

Michael seemed at a loss to know what to say. In fact he looked at Shikha in consternation, and then looked at Rani as if to be shown a way out. Apparently, the thought of his daughter having to live with what Laila had been putting up with for so long rattled him.

“What’s not good for your daughter is not good for anybody else’s daughter”, said Shikha pushing the point. “Mama is right. Don’t try to send her back to Johnny till that fellow reforms himself. We’ll see that she has a good time when she comes here”

Laila had seemed very calm when she came to Chennai but would break down whenever she spoke of Johnny. What broke her ultimately was the fact that Johnny had begun to slap her even when he was sober. “Alchahol seems to have affected his brain”, she said dejectedly. Michael and his family could only listen. But Shikha drove her to the church where the Novena to our Lady of Perpetual Succour was conducted every Wednesday, and told her that prayers sent up from that Church never went unanswered.

So Shikha was more than delighted to hear that Johnny had given up drinking.

“But we didn’t know about it. Papa is in touch with Rajan uncle”, Shikha said.

“I too just heard about it”, said Thankamma aunty. “The Saturday before last, he went to Muringoor, to the Divine Retreat Center to attend a one week retreat. He’s a totally different man now”

“Oh, his reformation is only a week old”, said Shiny aunty wryly.

“No Shiny, I’ve heard of a lot of cases of people coming out of alcoholism at Muringoor. I think the greatest miracle that happens there is that. You know what’s the rate of success even at the rehabilitation centres”, said Thankamma aunty.

Shikha was delighted. It did not matter to her what brought Johnny to his senses. She knew that he was a good guy when not drunk. And she was happy for Laila. Please God, let him not regress, she prayed silently, and as she went to look for her father to inform him of this good news, she said a silent prayer thanking Our lady of Perpetual Succour for hearing her prayers.

The younger lot were in the far end of the room and Shikha joined them. Someone put a glass in her hand and poured out diet coke. Arun, her cousin, asked her if she wanted a dash of scotch in her coke. “Heavens, no. Liqour gives me migraine”, replied Shikha. Arun was Rani’s brother Varkey’s son. Born and brought up in the U K, he spoke English with a heavy British accent, which made it difficult for others to follow him. So he always spoke in Malayalam. He liked to show off his impeccable Malayalam which was much better than the Manglish spoken by some of her other cousins.

She helped herself to the cutlets and fried prawn starters that were being gorged by the group comprising youngsters between sixteen and thirty. Trupthi was talking with a couple of Shikha’s cousins who were working in the IT industry. They were discussing the housing and car loans being offered by banks. They seemed so engrossed in the conversation that Shikha moved on to the next clump of youngsters. Meera was the cynosure of attraction and all the young men seemed vying with each other to engage her in a repartee. Some of them were saving Meera’s phone number and email ID in the cell phones. Shikha made superficial conversation with those youngsters and moved on.

Shikha looked at the card table around which sat about half a dozen cousins and friends and smiled to herself. Thank god papa is in the other room, she thought. He’d be shocked at the drunken state of these boys who were cracking sleazy jokes and generously lacing the conversation with the F word in English and four letter words in Malayalam. She liked these cousins who always flocked together during these family gatherings. She stood behind one of them and announced her presence.

“Just so you will mind your language while I am around”, she said.

“Run away Saint Shikha”, said Georgekutty, good-humouredly. “We are not in a condition to control our tongues”, he said grinning.

“Papa was looking for you, Georgekutty”, lied Shikha. “I’ll just run across and tell him where to find you”.

“Spare me Shikha, please”, pleaded Georgekutty, genuinely scared at the thought of his uncle Michael seeing him in his present inebriated state. Shikha laughed and moved away, shouting to him over her shoulders “Was joking. Go ahead and get more drunk”.

Georgekutty who had just graduated from IIT Chennai, used to drop in at her house at least once in a month to have home grub. Michael liked him because he was an extremely well groomed and chivalrous young man. “He’ll stick out his neck for the family”, was what Michael used to say about him. Shikha could say that of almost all who sat round the card table, laughing uproariously and cracking obscene jokes. She appreciated the fact that they respected her discomfort with foul words and were perfect gentlemen when they conversed with her. Blood is a strange thing, she thought. The loyalty it generates is a great but beautiful mystery. She remembered how this gang of cousins took turns to be at mama’s uncle’s house when uncle was in the terminal stage of bone cancer. Lukose uncle had no children but in those difficult days, his wife Sosamma aunty was never left to deal with the situation alone. Sitting in Chennai, it is Georgekutty who organized his cousins to take turns to be at Lukose uncle’s place.

The blood bond never ceased to be a marvel for Shikha. How meaningful it made one’s life, she reflected.

Shikha, however, did not realize then this very same blood bond would one day jerk the carpet from under her!

Chapter 7 - The Princess and the Pauper

The first thought that came to Shikha’s mind at the thought of her mother’s house in Kandanad in the outskirts of Kochin was Rosa cheduthy, who inhabited her earliest memories of the place. She seemed to be the only factor about the house that did not change. During each of her visits there, she would see changes in the house. The house changed its shape several times. During one of her visits, she saw that the lovely colonial style slope roofed house had developed arms on both sides with the addition of new structures with RC roofing. Shikha felt sad because she had loved the original appearance of the house which reminded her of the castles in the fairy tales that she had read as a child. During the next visit, she noticed that the beautiful terracotta floor tiles were replaced with marble. Five years later, the marble gave way to granite. The in between space between the granite slabs were pointed with brass.

The people who lived there also changed, all except Rosa cheduthy. The thin emaciated, dark lady with buck huge buck teeth and salt and pepper frizzy hair weirdly framing the forehead looked the same as she did when Shikha, as a little girl, first met her when she went to attend her centenarian great grand father’s funeral. The last time Shikha saw her was almost a year ago for the 20^th death anniversary of great grandfather. She looked as she always did. She wore the same type of chatta and mundu - the three quarter sleeved chatta which was not seen anymore and mundu wrapped around her thin 5’3” body, reaching not quite up to the ankles.

Her mother’s grandfather whom Shikha did not remember having seen when alive, had died of a massive heart attack. In fact, Shikha’s earliest memory of her visit to her mother’s house was to attend his funeral. She remembered the day when his body lay in state in the massive living room of the house. People who streamed into the house went around the body in an organised row. But Shikha became fascinated by an elderly man who would come in at regular intervals, sit on the floor beside the body and start wailing loudly saying “Whom will I pull the panka for again?”

“What is Panka? Who is that man?” Shikha asked Rosa cheduthy when the gate closed on the last row of the funeral procession. Shikha was left behind with the other children.

“I’ll show you. Come”

Rosa cheduthy took her to a room, which once was in the front portion of the house but was now relegated to the back after the umpteen renovations and extensions overtaking it; but it still afforded view of the front gate. It was a beautifully furnished room with heavy ornamental furniture, a huge easy chair made of cane and rosewood. There was a spittoon under the easy chair, which shone like burnished gold. The floor was covered with terracotta tiles with designs.

“Look”, said Rosa Cheduthy pointing to the ceiling. Suspended from the ceiling and stretched across it were three rows of frilled cream coloured satin cloth. Thick cords hung down from it.

“Pull it”, said Rosa cheduthy. Shikha pulled it and the satin frills moved. She kept pulling it and letting it go and felt gentle warm breeze come down from the ceiling.

“The man you asked me about? He is Velu, the pulaya who used to pull this panka for your great grandfather. He came into the house when he was eight years old and spent the rest of his life with your mother’s grandfather who owned Velu’s family. His job was to pull the panka for him, hand over the spittoon to him, keep it clean and do little odd jobs and run errands”, explained Rosa cheduthy.

Appalled and outraged, Shikha asked, “ But he must have stopped pulling the panka after the fans were fitted?’

“You are a smart child – just like your grandfather”, said Rosacheduthy. “But no. Valia muthalali, that is your great grand father, did not like fans. So he did not allow the panka to be removed. Like he had always done, after his breakfast, he used to come into this room where he spent the whole day and sit in the great armchair under the panka and velu would start pulling it nonstop – from sunrise to sunset. He did it till he died yesterday. It’s Velu who first noticed that he’d died. Velu had poured out tender coconut water in the glass and taken it to him. When he did not respond, he shook him and he fell sideways”.

Shikha was almost five years old then. She felt utterly miserable and heartbroken at the thought of a poor little boy who grew old pulling the panka for his boss, not going to school, not having any fun in life. She felt an intense hatred for her great grandfather at that moment. With moist eyes she asked Rosa cheduthy, “Did he ever beat him?”

“Once in a way, when he was angry”.

And then Rosa cheduthy said something, which Shikha would never forget. “My dear child, do you know that Jesus has said that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to go to heaven?”

“So, great grandfather will not go to heaven?” Shikha asked, not quite unhappy.

“Let us pray for his soul”, said Rosa cheduthy and abruptly fell to her knees and started reciting the Our father, Hail Mary and Glory be followed by Eternal rest grant unto him Oh Lord etc etc..

Shikha did not want to pray for his soul. Let him burn in purgatory for sometimes she thought. But she kept her thoughts to herself.

Rosa cheduthy asked her not to repeat her stories to her parents. “If you do that, I will lose my job and my children will starve”.

But Shikha could not get Velu out of her mind. She tried to imagine herself pulling the panka from morning to night, and watching other children play. She cringed at the caning she got from her great grandfather when she dozed off while pulling the panka.

“Promise”, she said to her velliammachi later, holding out her hand palm upwards. “Promise you won’t tell anyone”

“What is this big bad secret, Shikhakutty?” asked velliammachy smiling indulgently.

“First promise”, insisted Shikha her hand still held out.

Velliammachi placed her hand on Shika’s and promised.

“God promise?”

“Oh oh, that I won’t do. God has said that we should not use his name lightly. My simple promise is good enough. Now tell me what you’ve been up to.”

Shikha poured out Velu’s story, her narration punctuated by sobs. Velliammachi looked at her five old grand daughter in surprise, as though she was being afforded a revelation.

“I won’t pray for great grandfather. He must pay for his cruelty to poor Velu. But I don’t want him to go to hell. Will he go to hell like Dives, velliammachi?’

“No, my dear. He was a good man”

“But he was cruel. He used to even beat Velu with a cane”

“He was not cruel. He loved Velu. That’s why he punished him, just like parents cane their children because they love them. But he was a very kind man. He made a house for Velu, got him married, and sent his children to school. Both the sons had government jobs”.

“So Velu won’t starve and die because great grandfather is dead?”

“Most certainly not. His children will look after him. And great grandfather would have left some money for him”.

Shikha looked more at peace with herself.

“Rosa cheduthy said that it is more difficult for a rich man to go to heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Is it true?”

“This Rosa cheduthy has destroyed your peace of mind, I see”, said velliammachy laughing. “No, my dear. It is not that way. In Jesus’ days rich men were cruel to the poor and did not take care of them. That is why he said it. If you are rich and kind to the poor, you’ll go to heaven”.

“Is papa rich and kind?”

“Yes, my little girl. Your papa is a very kind and generous man.”

Shikha looked relieved but she went on. “Then why did he look annoyed when I told him the stories Baby cheduthy told me about ST. Antony. He told mama to see that I didn’t spend too much time with the servants when I came here”.

“That’s because the servants here have not studied beyond three or four classes. So sometimes they use bad language, which your papa doesn’t want you to pick up from them. He takes good care of all the servants here.”

Shikha looked visibly relieved and was about to run off to play with her cousins when velliammachy asked her about the St. Antony’s story.

“St. Antony performed lots of miracles”, said Shkika. “One day, when he was a little boy, he was walking by the river side when he saw a pregnant woman bathing. He thought she was suffering from swelling of her stomach and chest. So he prayed to Infant Jesus to cure her. Immediately her chest and stomach became flat. When she went home, her people got scared. They asked her what had happened. She didn’t know. But she said she’d seen a boy looking at her while she bathed. They found out it was little St. Antony who was known to have supernatural powers. So they asked him to pray to God to reverse the miracle. He did and she became all right”.

Tears streamed down velliammachy’s face as she laughed helplessly. “No wonder papa was furious”, she said between paroxysms of laughter. “OK, run along a play with your cousins”, she said, wiping her face, and went to find Baby to tell her to be selective about the stories she told her precocious and sensitive grandchild.

Chapter 6 - The House in Order

She had been given a rousing send off from Rosary College when she secured admission in London School Economics, which was one of the reasons she didn’t want to return to Rosary College for her Masters.

“You are being silly”, her mother told her, but Shikha was insistent. Her father’s illness was the other reason. She somehow did not feel up to facing her old college with the secret of this terrible reality haunting her.

Ever since she returned from London, a burning feeling in the pit of her stomach was her constant companion. The thought of her father having a fatal disease obsessed her in her waking and sleeping hours. She always kept an eye on him for any sign of discomfort and was ever alert to attend to his comforts and requirements. Realising that her father was rather uncomfortable with the attention he was getting from her, Shikha tried to keep her concern as little conspicuous as possible.

Her mother seemed calm and brave but did not wish to talk about papa’s illness. Was she in a denial mode, Shikha wondered.

On Wednesdays, Shikha took part in the Novena to Our lady of Perpetual Succour in the nearby church. She drew great strength from prayers. During the family prayers in the evenings, Shikha sometimes found it difficult to control her tears. She would look at Michael covertly, not wanting to think of the day when he won’t be sitting there with them praying.

She remembered the song velliammachi taught her and sang it silently every night before going to bed.

Akkarakyu yaatra chuyyum zion sanchari

Olangal kandu nee bhayapedenda.

Kaatineyuym, kadalineyum

Niyanthrikkan kazhivullavan kadavilundu

(You sojourners in this world, don’t be afraid of the surging waves. He who can control the sea is with you).

Those first six months after she returned from England were traumatic. The burden of living in the company of impending death was weighing her down. Yet she had to act normal, for her parent’s sake. She yearned to tell velliammachi who, she knew, despite her sadness about her son being afflicted by a deadly disease, would have something consoling to tell her. But both papa and mama were adamant about not informing her paternal or maternal grandparents. Shikha found her mother’s silence on the issue oppressive. Her parents turned down her offer to accompany them during Michael’s visits to the doctor. The appointments usually were during college hours. Shikha, in a way, was relieved she was spared that ordeal. The thought of the three of them waiting to see the doctor with the death warrant hovering over them silently, was painful. She did not insist on accompanying them after the first time.

The new college and new friends did not help matters. Shikha lost her appetite and began to lose weight. Michael and Rani tried to maintain an atmosphere of normalcy in the house. They tried to make the usual light conversation at the dining table. But Shikha could not involve herself in the discussions as before. It didn’t seem to matter to her anymore if A.K. Antony’s Chief Ministerial chair was shaking or whether BJP would come back to power in the next general election with the India Shining campaign or if there was a vertical split in the Indian cricket team. Her father and his impending death seemed to fill her mind all the time.

It was on the 18^th of October that Rani texted her asking her to call. Shikha was in the University library when she got the message. As she rushed out of the library to call Rani, she could feel something like an icy hand clutch her heart while that burning sensation in the stomach surged upwards.

“Shikha, great news!” her mother sounded almost hysterical. “Dr. Dutta says papa’s condition is not motor neuron. It’s a manageable version of SLE”.

Shikha broke into a sob. “Are you sure Ma?”

“Yes. Dr. Dutta himself spoke to me. Guess you know that papa knows him from his Delhi days”.

“Oh Thank God Thank God Thank God! ”, sobbed Shikha into the cell phone. She packed up her books immediately and headed for the church where she attended the weekly novena . The church was locked but she went down on her knees on the steps of the Church and thanked Our Lady of Perpetual Succor profusely, tearfully.

Then she went home. Papa had dropped mama at home and had gone back to the office. Shikha was greeted by her mama smiling from ear to ear. Remembering a line from the Sudden novels, she said, “If not for your ears, your smile would go right round your ears, Ma!”

“Yours too Shikha”, replied Rani.

It was celebrations when Michael came home. Shikha threw herself at him and was crying and laughing at the same time. The dinner was a real spread, which reflected the culinary skills of the mother and daughter. Michael’s favourite dishes were all there. Prawn and mango curry, prawn olath sautéed in the forbidden coconut oil were the special dishes for the occasion. Shika made his favourite desert – tender coconut soufflé.

That was an unforgettable dinner for Shikha. After ages, she felt normal. She laughed and joked her heart out. They made plans for the Christmas vacation. Christmas was to be in Rani’s house this time because a get- together was being arranged by Shikha’s maternal grand parents. Rani’s brother Varkey was coming down from UK with his family. Grandpa Kuttiparambil and velliammachy would also be there. The world suddenly looked different to Shikha. Life is beautiful. No cliché, that, she thought.

But she couldn’t help that odd gut feeling that either something was on her father’s mind or he was not comfortable with himself. Impatiently, she shoved the thought out of her mind. Papa was not going to die. Nothing else mattered.