Chapter 14 - From the Frying Pan into the Fire

Shikha and Philip lived with the latter's parents in Bangalore. The house was a massive one, and Shikha and her husband had a suite to themselves complete with a furnished kitchenette. Sometimes, when Philip felt disinclined to go to the dining room of the house, food was sent to the room where it could be heated or refrigerated.

Shikha felt a little lost in the massive house. Her in-laws were cordial and affectionate to her, and did not deny the space she required, or so she thought in the early days of marriage. A couple of months after the marriage, Shikha started looking out for a job. She had tried to talk to Philip about her plans but he never seemed interested in what she wanted to do. She started sending out applications. When the call for interview came, she told Philip about it. He responded in a non-committal manner.

On the day of the interview, Shikha was sorting out her certificates when breakfast was announced. Not wanting to keep her in-laws waiting, she left the harmonium file on the writing desk in the little office room adjacent to their bedroom where the laptop was kept.

“Shikha is going for a job interview today”; Philip announced abruptly when they were having breakfast. There was something odd about the way Philip made the announcement. He seemed to want to get it out with.

“Why wasn’t I informed earlier?” asked her father-in-law. Shikha called him “daddy” like Philip did. “What job is it?”

“In ICRA. It’s a credit rating agency. They’ve called for an economist” Shikha replied.

“I know ICRA is a credit rating agency”. Daddy was rather rude, she thought. “I could have dropped in a word for you. But, why do you want to work anywhere else. If you want something to do, there’s plenty for you to do in our own concerns”

“No, daddy, I don’t want to do that, nor do I want you to recommend. I think I can manage”, said Shikha. She remembered that Lavanya had warned her about being intimidated by the position and importance of her father-in-law. “At the first opportunity, put your in-laws in their place or they’ll shit on your head”, she had said.

Philip seemed shocked at Shikha’s response to his father. He cast a quick furtive glance at his father who had sat back in his chair, and was looking at Shikha with narrowed eyes.

Shikha looked him straight in the eyes though she could feel butterflies in the stomach. “Shikha”, he said in a cold voice. “These firms drain you. It might be a nine to five job but you’ll end up working twelve hours a day. What’s the need for it? You are just married. You need to spend time for a family life”.

Shikha said nothing, but back in the room she asked Philip what she should do.

“You better listen to daddy. He’ll be offended if you don’t pay any respect to his views. Anyway, they’ll only pay you a pittance. Dad can give you a much better deal”.

“It’s not about money”.

“Then what is it about?” asked her husband impatiently. Shikha looked at him in utter dismay. They didn’t speak the same language, she realized. It was a frightening thought.

“Philip, I want to work. It has something to do with my sense of self worth. I’m going for the interview and am taking up the job if I get it. Please explain to daddy, in case he takes offence”.

“There is no ‘in case’”, said Philip, his voice rising. “He will be furious. He’s not used to people crossing him. And what the hell am I to explain to him? Self worth? You seem to have a lot of feminist ideas”.

Shikha saw red. She threw the file on the table and it knocked down a crystal table clock which broke to smithereens. Philip looked at it disgustedly. “Do what you damn well want to do, and face the music yourself,” he snarled. “Don’t ask me to mediate”, he said, and walked out of the room.

Shikha was dazed. What sort of a man had she married? She then faced the fact that they had not been comfortable with each other right from day one. Philip seemed to want to spend as little time as possible at home. And now this. He can’t even stand up to his father for his wife.

She had a sinking feeling – as though she was falling deeper and deeper into water with air supply being cut off gradually.

She shook herself out of the trance, took the file and put it back in the locker. Turning around at a sound behind her, she found Thimmamma sweeping up the broken pieces of the crystal clock.

Chapter 13 - What God Has Joined - - -

A year later, Shikha got married to Philip Kottayil. He was over six feet, handsome, well groomed, suave and chivalrous. He spoke English with a slight British accent. He was not comfortable speaking Malayalam, a fact which made Shikha feel a little uneasy. She remembered how comfortable she used to be with Siddharth, how they moved in and out of both the languages to communicate with each other. Shikha pushed these thoughts out of her mind while talking to Philip when he came to Chennai for the first time for the pennukanal. Nothing to grumble about, thought Shikha, looking at him and sizing him up, much to the consternation of Rani.

“He’s hardly stayed at home”, explained Theramma Varkey, his mother in reply to Shikha’s observation about the indifferent quality of his skills in his mother tongue. Shikha had ignored the warning that Rani was trying to send across to her by blinking her eyes rapidly, frowning and shaking her head ever so imperceptibly.

“If they think I am brash and unladylike, they can go to hell for all I care. It’s enough for me I try to fulfill papa’s wishes”, Shikha told her mother after they left.

“Did you like the boy?” asked Rani. Shikha shrugged and said nothing. Rani repeated the question. “How much can you know of a person at the first meeting, mama, that too when he is at his best behaviour”, retorted Shikha.

“A marriage is what the woman makes of it, my dear”, said Rani.

“Oh, and a man has no role in making a marriage a success?” Shkha bristled.

“Shikha, now that you have decided to put yourself through the formalities of a arranged marriage, stop rebelling”, said a worried Rani.

“Don’t worry, mama. All my rebellion died with papa. I agreed to this proposal only because papa wanted it so badly”,she said with a catch in her voice. Shikha and Rani were quiet for a moment and then the daughter continued, “You know how I hurt him before he left. I just can’t get that hurt look out of my mind”, she confessed to her mother for the first time, and felt better for doing it. “That’s the only reason I agreed to this proposal and go through this tamasha. The Kottayils and their massive wealth mean nothing to me. In fact, it makes me a little jittery. They seem to be so different from us”.

“Yes. They are a little different. That’s because Varkey’s mother is a non-catholic”.

Despite the sense of unreal that had encompassed her on that day when she put herself through that ‘sick’ practice of the boy and the family ‘coming to see’ her, appraise her in order to decide if she is good enough to be a wife, daughter-in-law and what else, she smiled hearing her mama talk about this catholic/non-catholic cultural divide in the Syrian community.

“Their women are street smart”, Kunjamma velliamma, mama’s maternal aunt had said during that Christmas dinner at Rani’s. Strangely enough, on this occasion, Shikha’s mind wandered to the occasion of that happy get together when her father was alive. Shikha had moved from the group comprising her mother’s generation to that of her grand mother’s generation. She felt much more at home in that company than with the previous one of her mother’s generation with its obsession with diamond and gold, textile shops and fashion, fairness creams – and the new found religious fanaticism.

“What do you mean?” Shikha had asked Kunjamma velliamma.

“Oh, these hotwater types - they can fool around with any number of boys, come out unscathed, and then settle for the most eligible bachelor – and lead a happy life , become excellent social butterflies, bake the best cakes’.

“How can you stereotype people like this?” asked Shikha, indignant.

“My child”, said the all knowing Kunjamma velliamma. “I”ve lived fifty plus years more than you. Allow me to complete. Our girls, the Catholic girls, they are quick to fall in love but don’t know how to get out of it, and end up messing up their lives”.

“Don’t generalize like this, velliamma. Anyway,what’s this hotwater business?’ Shikha wanted to know.

Velliammachi laughed and explained that during the baptism, the non-Catholics immersed the infant in water unlike the Catholics who only sprinkled water on its head. Because of the immersion, the water used was warmed so that the child wouldn’t fall sick. So people like Kunjamma who have something against the non-catholics call them “chooduvellam”.

“You know why I have this problem, nathuney”, explained Kunjamma velliamma “Where ever you meet these non Catholics – be it Jacobite or Mar Thoma – the first thing they ask is “which Church do you go to?’”

“That’s true”, agreed Shikha. “The Malayalee Syrian Christians in my school - that’s the first thing they ask me too when they realize that I am a Syrian Christian from Kerala. What is it supposed to mean?”

“They want to know if you are a Jacobite or Mar Thomite or a Catholic. When they realize you are a Catholic, just watch their facial expression. Oh, they are such a clannish group”

“Kunjamma, you are brainwashing my grandchild”, said velliammachi laughing.

“She had better know the world she lives in ”.

“They have their points too”, said velliammachi. “They are much more disciplined than us Catholics. Our men should take a leaf out of their book. They are excellent businessmen. If they make a thousand rupees, they look ahead and see a day when the thousand might get reduced to a hundred and they’ll spend only ten rupees. We Catholics make ten rupees, look forward to a day we’ll make a hundred and spend a thousand.”

The conversation was getting more and more interesting.

“And they train their sons so well’, put in another velliamma whom Shikha did not know. “Even these big industrialists among them, once the sons complete their education, they are made to look for a job and work like anybody else so that they know the value of money and learn to empathise with the employees.”

“That’s very true”, said velliammachy”. That’s why they are such excellent employers.”

This conversation had fascinated Shikha who since then tried to substantiate the knowledge she got from her elders whenever she interacted with her Syrian Christian non-Catholic friends.

***

Varkey Kottayil called within two hours after they left her home and said that the “boy liked the girl. We are ready to proceed”.

Rani looked happy when she passed on the approval message to Shikha. “Now we can move on to the next formality. The orappeeru will be in Bangalore”.

The engagement was fixed for the 30^th of November, and the wedding, for the 26^th December, after the Advent Lent.

During the four weeks after the engagement, Philip took her out to dinner twice. They went for a film and to watch horse race.

Philip’s perfect table manners, super refined social graces and the overkill of chivalry irritated Shikha slightly. She found herself thinking of Siddharth and his easy ways, how he licked the sauce or gravy off the tip of his fingers while he joked about the tamasha in the Tamil Nadu Assembly, or explained the latest Apple gadget in the market or got enthusiastic about a recent book he had read.

“A penny for your thoughts”, said Philip.

Shikha gave a start but said quickly “They are worth less than that”.

They were at Taj Coromandel. She looked at him sitting across her, impeccably dressed, eating noodles expertly with chopsticks which he had asked for, touching the edge of his lips with the immaculate white napkin.

“Don’t you know it’s bad manners to stare?” he asked with a smile that made her a little uneasy. It was not a friendly smile. It seemed to be a smile which reflected an absence of self-confidence, she thought.

“Sorry”, she said smiling apologetically. “I was thinking how perfect your table manners are”.

“Oh, Schooling with Gabriel brothers, and then University in UK”, he said shrugging. I think my remark has pleased him, thought Shikha amused. A childish guy, looks like. Siddharth oozed confidence. He seemed to have a perfect grip over himself. Too much grip, she thought ruefully.

The marriage function was not what it would have been had Michael been around. Shikha missed her father intensely, and could never think of him without a deep sense of guilt at having hurt him time and again. Wherever he is now, I’m sure he’d understand. He loved me and was a good man, my father, thought Shikha in those terrible moments when she felt overwhelmed by a terrible feeling of loss aggravated by that nagging sense of remorse.

Shikha made an effort to forgive appachan, because he was her papa’s father. But the easy relationship which she had once enjoyed with him went missing. She was reserved and politically correct. But the change that came over velliammachy after papa’s death was something Shikha found so difficult to accept. Her joie de vivre vanished. She spoke and laughed much less, though she had sat like a rock during the funeral. Appachan simply fell apart and had to be given medical help before the funeral. The crowd that attended the funeral was mind-boggling and Shikha tried to distract herself watching the wreaths piling on the glass case of the mobile mortuary, and being removed over and over again as they kept piling up. Who are all these people, she wondered. What do they know of her dear papa? She kept breaking down. Her mama looked as though she was too bewildered to understand what had happened.

For Rani, the reality of Michael’s death sank in only after she and Shikha returned to Chennai after two weeks. Roshini, Michael’s sister, who had come down from the USA to attend the funeral, accompanied them and stayed in Chennai for two weeks. After she left, Alice and Davy came down and stayed on for a week. Eventually, Rani and Shikha were left to themselves to deal with Michael's absence which was so oppressively tangible.The vacuum he left behind sometimes consumed them. Emotions ran haywire at the dining table where his empty chair seemed to deliberately shout out his absence. During the night prayers after dinner, Rani and Shikha would break down. The reality that he'd never be with them again would come crashing down on them, particularly when the Bible was read. Ever since Shikha remembered, it was her father who read the Bible when he was at home.

Maria cheduthy hovered around them during the meals, and during prayers she brought her low stool and sat with them in the living room. Shikha was grateful to her for her sensitivity.

Papa’s death gradually rectified the equations between Shikha and her mother.

The engagement was in Kochin at the Kuttiparambil House. It was a low key affair with 500 guests. The marriage was in Bangalore where Varkey Kottayil had a mansion in a prime location. The reception was in a five star hotel. More than 1500 people attended. Shikha missed her father terribly, and that dampened her mood throughout the Church ceremony and the reception, though she made an effort to put on a cheerful front. Besides, there was no great excitement about Philip.

“Love will follow, Shikha”, Lavanya had assured her when she came to visit Shikha before marriage.

A heavy silence had followed. Shikha was looking unseeingly at the wine red brocade sari –the Manthrakodi - which she had taken out of the wardrobe to show Lavanya. Then Shikha raised her eyes slowly to look at Lavanya who had been studying her friend’s face closely.

“Any news of Siddharth?” Shikha asked quietly.

“No. Just vanished from my list of friends. He must be completing his MBA”

“Yes” said Shikha looking into the distance. “He’ll go places”

Chapter 12- While the Storm Clouds Gather

Shikha topped the college in the final exams, and cleared the UGC examination too, with enough scores to fetch her UGC research fellowship. After her break up with Siddharth, she decided to take her life into her own hands. Enough of allowing the family to mess around with her, she thought bitterly. She thought of Siddharth often, but not without resentment. He hadn’t even given her a chance to talk. He had dropped her like hot potato, which hurt her deeply. Did she matter only that much to him? The path of true love did never run smooth, they say. Guess it was’nt true love. He didn’t care enough to brave the family differences and resistance. He took the easy way out. What a fool she had been to fall in love with such a calculating man who could fall in and out of love when he found it expedient!

Shikha heard from him only once after that shattering day in the college canteen. He sent her an email – a cold business like mail which sounded like a demi official letter. He felt it was foolish to think that a marriage in which the parents of the girl and the boy refused to accept each other and see each other as equals would be a success. There would be too many complications. His parents were also dead against this alliance after Shikha’s family humiliated their father. After all Shikha’s and his relationship was not so deep that it could be terminated. He was sure Shikha would come out of it unscathed, just as he too would, given time. One had to be sensible. Life had enough problems without complicating it further. After all a marriage was for life and it made sense not to build it on shaky foundations.

Love, she thought bitterly. She was a fool to think that Siddharth loved her. In weighing its worth against the advantages and disadvantages of relationship between families, Love was the loser. For Siddharth, love was certainly not blind. It wore lens which afforded detailed vision of future. ‘ Guess this is what is meant by falling in love intelligently.’, thought Shikha ruefully.

She decided to put him out of her mind though it was not easy. She debated throwing off his handkerchief, and the books he had given her, but then decided against it. I have to learn to face my loss, my disillusionment. But, from her ipod, she deleted Annie’s Song which Siddharth used to sing so soulfully. It brought tears to her eyes and filled her with a terrible longing for him who finally proved to have feet of clay.

She replied to his email in a line: Thank you. You make your position very clear.

She wondered why she had been a fool enough to believe that love can overcome all obstacles arising from external factors. She had begun to move on but was a changed person. Not that she was not focused before, but after the Siddharth fiasco, she seemed to have developed a horse vision which did not escape the notice of her friends. Only her friend Lavanya who was in IIT knew what had happened between Siddharth and her. She told her one day that if Siddharth did not have the mettle to face the ordeals of love, it was better he was out of her life, and there was no point in wasting her time brooding over such a calculating person who loved with his brain. Shikha nodded in agreement. Falling out of love is not so easy, she thought as she listened to Lavanya.

Michael wanted her to do research. Her fellowship made it possible for her to walk into any research institution in India. Shikha had actually started doing her home work on the economic research centers till her father expressed his desire that she go in for research.

“NO, papa. I’ve decided to take up a job”, she said. She was surprised to hear herself say that. A job had not crossed her mind. Guess I feel the need to make a statement now and here that I’ve been completely weaned, she thought.

“You are making a mistake, Shikha”, said Michael. “The fellowship - - “

“My mind is made up, papa”, cut in Shikha quietly. “Mistake or no mistake, a job it is going to be. And about mistakes”, she couldn’t help adding, “I’d rather learn from mistakes than from antiquated wisdom”.

She regretted what she said when she saw her father’s expression, but immediately her heart hardened when she thought of the nasty and high- handed manner in which he had dealt with the matters of her heart.

Though her decision to work was prompted by that desire to defy her parents, she soon found that she was excited about working. It gave her a sense of power – a feeling that she was in control. Of her life. She remembered what her cousin Meera had told her when they met during Christmas before last. She applied for jobs, and got selected where ever she applied and, within a month of the publication of results, she decided to take up a job as an economist in a Calcutta based bank. The appointment was due only after three months during which she went to her old college as a guest lecturer, a job she enjoyed so much that she was tempted to look for a teaching post. She hadn’t yet signed the contract with the bank.

And then one day – it was the Independence Day- her father told her. She couldn’t believe her ears. She couldn’t believe that a parent could be so ignorant of and insensitive and impervious to an offspring’s feelings.

“The boy is the only son of Varkey Kottayil. You know he is the biggest industrialist in our community”.

Michael’s face was expressionless. His voice too was devoid of intonation. But he looked her in the eye, which was a rare thing after their argument over Siddharth. It appeared as though he had been steeling himself for this moment.

Shikha said nothing. She was too shocked and angry to speak.

“The boy – his name is Philip- did his schooling in Yercaud, graduated from Warwickshire University and did his MBA from Kellogs. It’s only two month since he came down to take over his father’s business. He is the only child, the sole heir to the entire wealth of Varkey.”

Shikha continued to look at her father incredulously, saying nothing.

“Shikha, think about it and tell me by tomorrow.”

“There’s nothing to think”, said Shikha with finality. “I’m not interested”, and she turned to go.

“Wait a minute Shikha”, persisted Michael, “You are not interested in this case, or is it that you don’t want to get married now? What is it?”

She was amazed that her father thought it was a simple matter to switch off her feelings for a person and switch it on for another.

“Marriage is the last thing on my mind at the moment”.

She said nothing more, and quietly left the room.

Her mother spoke to her several times, tried emotional black mailing but Shikha was unrelenting. She would listen to her quietly, and then put a lid on the conversation with a firm “No”.

Her parents did not know how to handle her.

“Why don’t you go to Kochin this weekend?” asked Rani, at the dining table. “It’s a long time since you saw your grandparents.” Rani, apparently was hoping that velliammachi would talk her into agreeing to the proposal.

Shikha glared at her.

“Shikha, are you going to nurse that grudge for ever? Appachan is old, you know?”

“So he wants to do as much damage as he can before he is taken up to his heavenly abode?”

“Shikha”, shouted a shocked Rani.
”Yes, mama?” answered Shikha in a deadly quiet voice.

“Leave it, Rani”, said a nervous Michael.

“Don’t you want to see your heroine velliammachy?” Said Rani in a half sneer.

Shikha was not sure about velliammachy’s role in ‘handling’ Siddharth’s grandfather, and she didn’t want to know. She was afraid that if she discovered that Velliammachy too was a party to the shameful act, she would lose faith in mankind. So she didn’t ask. But velliammachy was a different person when she spoke to Shikha over the phone after that episode. She seemed to be probing and would become philosophical at times and would offer unsolicited advice – most unlike her, Shikha thought.

“No. I don’t want to see anyone”.

“How long can you live like an island?” Rani was in one of her rare moods that perplexed even Michael. It’s her genes that are resurfacing in Shikha, Michael thought.

“I don’t know”, said Shikha nonchalantly.

“You know, Shikha, papa and I were saying that you should go to a counselor?”

Shikhas head jerked up from her plate to look angrily at her parents.

“I will go”, she snapped,” if both of you go too. If the entire Kuttiparambil clan go. Then the shrink can say what is wrong with whom”.

“That’s enough Shikha”, said Michael. “People are listening”. He meant Maria cheduthy who was unusually quiet in the kitchen.

Switching over to English, Shikha spat out in a controlled voice. “Do you care for anything else other that appearances, papa? Have you ever been honest with yourself? Doesn’t anything else matter to you other than your image, your family prestige, your standing in the society and all that bullshit? Are you capable of feeling like an individual independent of the Kuttiparambil address? You just exist, papa. It’d be worthwhile finding out what it feels like to live, be alive and breathing and kicking, and not just exist as per some fossilised norms made by some weird forefathers”.

Michael looked stricken. Not angry, Shikha thought. That look is strange. He got up and walked away from the dining table without finishing his breakfast – something Shikha has never seen him do before.

That was the last meal they had together. Ever.

That evening he left for Brazil on an official visit. Before leaving for the airport, he called Shikha and told her that she should not just brush aside the proposal in order to teach him a lesson. He asked her to think about it while he was away. When he got back, he would accept her decision whatever it was. “But remember, this is an excellent case. The Kottayils have the same background as us. Whatever you might think, it is definitely more advantageous to marry a person with the same cultural and social background. We have only your welfare in mind Shikha, whatever else you might think. If you still feel strongly against it, we’ll respect your decision, like I said. But I honestly believe this is the best thing that can happen to you”.

Shikha said nothing. She did not want to counter what he said. He was leaving on a long journey and she didn’t want to upset him. She looked at him with a small smile.

A week later, as he was returning home, his flight crashed into the Atlantic Ocean. There were no survivors.

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!