Take One Arranged Marriage… (3 page)

‘I think so,’ she said cautiously. ‘At least my father doesn’t complain about my cooking any longer, and he’s the fussiest eater on the planet.’

‘I’m not fussy at all,’ Vikram assured her. ‘Besides, I employ a cook, so culinary skills aren’t high on my list of suitable wifely qualities. Is there anything you’d like to ask?’

‘Yes,’ Tara said. ‘There’s something I really want to know. What made you agree to an arranged marriage in the first place? You don’t seem the type.’

Vikram shrugged, his light-hearted mood dissipating a little. She was right—five years ago, if someone had told him he’d be marrying a woman his parents had chosen for him, he’d have laughed them out of the room. Things had changed a lot since then.

‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ he said lightly. ‘I got tired of living alone, my parents would have found it difficult to adjust to a daughter-in-law from a different community—an arranged marriage just made more sense.’

It was a simplified version of the truth, and it would have to do till he got to know Tara better. He was still in two minds about marrying her. She was very attractive, but she was also very young—he felt positively ancient
compared to her. A ‘desi’ Humbert Humbert with a legal-age Lolita. The thing that tilted the balance in her favour was the fact that she seemed absolutely transparent and straightforward. His last girlfriend had been a complex mass of half-truths and evasions, and he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

‘Were you seeing someone?’ Tara asked, her curiosity piqued by his reference to a daughter-in-law from another community.

Vikram, unused to answering questions about his personal life, was tempted to retort that it was none of her business. Then, as he met Tara’s clear gaze, he realised that it
was
her business. She had just as much right to ask questions as he had—probably more, given that hers was a more vulnerable situation.

‘I was dating a girl called Anjali for a while,’ he said curtly. ‘It didn’t ever reach the marriage stage—she wasn’t what I’d expect my wife to be.’

‘What
do
you expect from your wife, then?’ Tara asked in a low voice. The dismissive tone in which he’d spoken of Anjali jarred on her—he’d sounded uncaring, and just a little hard.

Vikram shrugged. ‘I have a fairly busy social calendar because of my work. My wife would need to accompany me to parties and
events, host people at our home. The house needs some work as well—I have a housekeeper and a cook, and they’re both fairly efficient, but there’s a lot that can be improved.’ He smiled briefly, before continuing, ‘Nothing much else that I can think of—except the obvious. Although I’m not keen on kids for a while, and I assume you aren’t, either.’

Tara felt her cheeks heat up in spite herself. Kids. She’d never even thought of kids. She
had
thought of ‘the obvious’—thought about it more often and for longer than she cared to admit. She’d even had an embarrassingly erotic dream about Vikram, which she’d been trying to push to the back of her mind. She stayed silent as he continued.

‘I’m not a very demanding person. If we marry, you’d be free to lead your life the way you want. I travel a lot, and I work long hours. I won’t be around much—I’d expect you to be independent and able to take of yourself.’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ Tara said before she could stop herself. ‘I’m not exactly the clingy type.’

‘I know,’ Vikram said, his lips quirking. ‘From what I’ve seen of you so far, you seem to be about as clingy as The-Cat-That-Walked-by-Himself.’

Tara tried to frown, but ended up laughing. The discomfort she’d felt at the way he’d spoken about Anjali was gone—after all, she didn’t know the full story. Perhaps Anjali had been one of those dreadful ‘girlfriends from hell’ kind of women? And Vikram looked so sexy when he smiled, she thought, it was impossible to think ill of him.

The food arrived, and Vikram skilfully guided the conversation towards Tara’s plans to become an environmentalist and specialise in the conservation of indigenous ecosystems. He didn’t speak much, except to interject with a question here and there. It was a ploy he used often at work—making someone talk of something they were passionate about to get them to reveal more about themselves.

By the end of the meal he knew enough about the ecosystems in eastern India to write a monograph on the subject—he also knew a lot more about Tara than he had before. His initial impression of her being extremely intelligent was confirmed, and he’d developed a healthy respect for her commitment to her research work.

‘I’m sorry I talked so much,’ she said as they walked towards the car. ‘I get a bit carried
away when I’m talking about something that interests me.’

‘You apologise way too often,’ Vikram replied. He took her hand gently as they stopped by the car. ‘Tara, I’d like to spend more time with you, to get to know you better, but I know your parents won’t be in favour of that.’

Here comes the brush-off
, Tara thought despairingly, while a separate part of her brain thrilled to the touch of his hand. She’d handled this all wrong, she thought. She should have let him do more of the talking. And ordering him to ask her questions had been a terrible move—what could she have been thinking? And the worst thing, quite apart from not being able to do her PhD if he didn’t marry her, was that in addition to thinking he was hot she’d actually started liking him.

‘So, given that it’ll be difficult to get any more time together, I guess we’ll have to decide now.’ Vikram took a deep breath. ‘Tara Sundaram, will you marry me?’

It came out sounding a lot cheesier than he’d intended, but the impact on Tara was satisfying. She looked stunned, staring at him with her pretty lips parted slightly, her breath coming a little faster. He realised he wanted to kiss her very badly, and to avoid succumbing to the
temptation he released her hand, stepping back to lean against the car.

Tara took a few seconds to find her voice. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked finally, her voice sounding childish and more than a little shaky to her own ears.

Vikram nodded. ‘I am. You’d be free to do your doctorate, work at whatever you want …’ He raised a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, his hand lightly caressing her cheek.

For a second Tara had actually forgotten completely about her career aspirations, she was too busy trying to get her head around the fact that Vikram really wanted to marry her. When he mentioned the PhD, though, a rush of relief coursed through her.

‘Thanks,’ she blurted out.

Vikram winced. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from her at this stage, but it definitely wasn’t gratitude.

‘Let’s get back and tell our families, then,’ he said, opening the door for her before walking around to slide into the driver’s seat. ‘I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.’

Tara nodded silently, acutely aware of the awkwardness that had crept into the conversation. He was right—their parents would be thrilled. The magnitude of the step she was
taking was just dawning on her, though, and an entire flock of butterflies seemed to have set up house in her stomach.

She clenched her hands together, willing herself to stay calm as they sped through the streets towards her parents’ home. It was done now, she told herself firmly, sneaking a quick glance at Vikram’s impassive profile. No turning back, even if she wanted to.

‘W
HERE
would you two like to go for your honeymoon?’ Vikram’s mother asked brightly. ‘Europe?’

She and Vikram were at Tara’s home to finalise some of the arrangements for the wedding before Vikram went back to Bengaluru. There were apparently a whole bunch of auspicious wedding dates in November, just a little over a month away.

Tara gulped. A honeymoon. That made the whole thing sound a lot more real. She glanced at Vikram quickly—as usual, it was difficult to gauge his reaction. Quite possibly he was as appalled at the thought of a honeymoon as she was.

‘I don’t have a passport,’ she said, trying to buy some time.

It was perfectly true, anyway. She’d asked her father once if she could get one and he’d
sneered at the idea. Serve him right, she thought nastily. He’d have one less thing to brag about if she ended up going to Goa on her honeymoon. He was at his insufferable best right now, puffed up with pleasure at the thought of marrying his daughter into the general manager’s family.

Vikram’s mother looked disappointed. ‘Oh, dear. And there isn’t enough time to get one now. You might as well get it done with your new surname after you’re married. It’ll have to be some place in India, then.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’ll leave the two of you alone to discuss it.’

‘Do you
want
to change your surname after we marry?’ Vikram asked after his mother had left.

Tara gave him a startled look—it hadn’t occurred to her that she had a choice in the matter. ‘Isn’t it expected that I change it to yours?’

‘Who’s doing the expecting?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows. ‘Not me, definitely, and I don’t think anyone else’s opinion counts.’

It probably didn’t to him, but Tara herself didn’t have the courage to be quite so careless of other people’s views. Perhaps she’d get that way once she got away from her parents, she thought, her spirits lifting at the idea.

‘Honeymoon destinations,’ he said, as if the little interlude hadn’t happened at all. ‘Goa—Kerala—Rajasthan? Or something a little more out of the way?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tara said flatly. ‘I haven’t been to any of them, so it’s all the same to me.’

His face took on the remote expression that she’d mentally termed his switched-off face.

‘No preferences at all? Beaches? Backwaters? Palaces? No dream holiday destination?’

She shrugged. ‘Nowhere that’s suitable for a honeymoon,’ she said. ‘I’ve always wanted to go on a tiger safari. We went to Gir for a vacation when I was kid, and saw lions in the wild, but I’ve only seen a tiger once, and that was in a zoo.’

‘Let’s do that, then,’ Vikram said, surprising her. ‘We can go to the Jim Corbett National Park, or to one of the reserves in MP—Band-havgarh or Pench.’

‘Won’t that look a little odd?’ Tara asked.

Characteristically, Vikram shrugged. ‘It’s our business where we go,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to pull a few strings to get us a booking in time. And we can do Khajuraho either before or after.’

Tara’s face promptly flamed in embarrassment—Khajuraho was famous for its erotic
temple sculptures, and she did
not
want to spend the rest of her life having her leg pulled by people who knew she’d gone there on her honeymoon.

‘OK, the Taj Mahal, then,’ Vikram said, noticing her confusion. ‘I suggested Khajuraho because it’s in the same state as Pench, but if the idea bothers you we can go and see the Taj.’ She looked unconvinced, and he added ‘By moonlight?’ in encouraging tones.

‘I can’t decide which would be worse,’ she muttered, and he laughed outright.

Tara had decided quite early on that Vikram’s laugh was one of the sexiest things about him, and an automatic little thrill ran through her. His laugh or his voice—the jury was still out on which was sexier. Maybe she should invite her friends to meet him and then do a poll. She realised suddenly that he was saying something, and gave him an enquiring look.

‘What’s the Taj done to upset you?’ he repeated.

‘It’s a tomb!’ Tara said defensively. ‘Besides, I’ve already seen it.’

It had been a hateful trip, staying in a cheap hotel and going to the Taj on a bus full of other penny-pinching small-town tourists. Seeing
the Taj with Vikram would be something else all together—but visiting a monument to love when they were both marrying for convenience seemed ironic to say the least.

‘Hmm,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I’ll figure something else out, then.’ He touched her hair, threading his fingers slowly through its length. ‘Let me know what you want to do about your surname.’

‘I’d like to keep my own, if it’s all the same to you,’ Tara said. ‘I don’t like the sound of Naintara Krishnan.’

She stood up abruptly. The feel of his hands tangling in her hair was doing weird things to her insides, and the temptation to jump on him and claw his clothes off was immense. But both their mothers were in the next room. Being caught making out with her fiancé in the living room of her parents’ house would give bringing shame to the family a completely new and different twist.

‘Something wrong?’ Vikram asked when she got up and moved away.

‘No,’ Tara replied. ‘I’m tired of sitting in one place like a lump of dough, that’s all.’

He grinned at that, lounging back on the cushions. ‘You don’t look very doughy,’ he
said. ‘More like a jumpy kitten. Come back here.’

There wasn’t even a hint of command in his voice, but Tara found herself obeying him automatically, going and sitting next to him on the sofa.

‘Nervous about the honeymoon?’ he asked softly, and she nodded.

‘It’s not just the honeymoon, it’s the whole marriage thing!’ she blurted out. ‘It’s taking on a life of its own. My mum is obsessing about my trousseau, yours is picking out honeymoon destinations, there’s a bunch of my dad’s relatives coming down from Chennai I’ve never met before in my life. I’ve completely lost track of what’s happening! And I’m finding it difficult to get my head around the whole thought of being married. This isn’t like going away to college, is it? It’s like a … a … brand-new life I’m getting into, and I don’t feel prepared. You seem so completely in control, and you know exactly what you want. I feel like a confused mess in comparison!’ She ran out of breath and stopped.

‘I’m a little nervous, too,’ he said quietly.

She blinked. ‘Are you?’ she asked, ‘Seriously?’

Vikram’s voice had a wry undertone as he
replied. ‘Seriously. I guess I’m just better at hiding it than you are.’

‘Lawyer training.’ Tara sighed. ‘Playing your cards close to your chest. I wish someone had taught
me
how to do that. I inevitably say exactly what I’m thinking.’

‘That’s one of the nicest things about you,’ Vikram said, and smiled. ‘Don’t look so tragic, Tara, it’ll work out. We’re both sensible people, and each of us knows what the other one is expecting from this marriage. There’s no reason for things to go wrong.’

Put like that, their wedding sounded like a dry and soulless business arrangement. Tara sighed again. She’d told Vikram she didn’t believe in romance and being swept off her feet, but a small dose of affection would have helped.

Vikram watched her square her shoulders unconsciously, as if to prepare for a not very palatable task. Her smooth forehead was puckered in thought, and her lips were pursed slightly. She looked determined and vulnerable at the same time. So far he’d been very careful not to touch her, beyond a casual peck on the cheek or a caress on the hand, but the temptation to kiss her now was immense.

‘You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?’ Tara asked, her head still downcast.

‘I’ve been away from work for almost two weeks,’ Vikram said. ‘I need to get back and get things in order before November.’

Tara didn’t reply, and he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping her face up so that he could look into her eyes.

‘Cheer up,’ he said quietly.

She blinked, a little breathless, ‘I am! I mean I’m cheerful enough. Just a little jittery.’

‘Maybe this will help …’ he said.

She shivered at the promise in his husky voice, staring mesmerised into his eyes as he bent his head. He kissed her very gently, his lips feather-light against hers. The sensation was exquisite, but Tara felt herself begin to panic. She didn’t know how to respond. Her impulse was to drag his head closer and make him keep kissing her, but she had a feeling she should be doing something herself—moving her lips? Doing something with her tongue? She could have screamed in frustration when he released her after barely ten seconds.

‘See you in a month,’ he said softly, and she stepped back.

They didn’t have much time to talk after that, as Vikram’s mother came bustling into
the room after a few minutes to take Tara’s opinion on a menu for the wedding reception.

The next month was crazy. Vikram went back to Bengaluru after putting an embarrassingly large diamond on Tara’s finger, and both his mother and Tara’s threw themselves into wedding preparations. Tara stayed out of them as much as possible, concentrating on getting some preliminary reading done for her PhD before the wedding took over her life. Vikram called a few times, and e-mailed often, but the conversations had a surreal quality to them—they ended up discussing trivial things, like whether the colour of the tie he was wearing to the reception would clash with her sari, rather than the fact that they were days away from committing to spending the rest of their lives together.

The wedding itself was to be a quiet family affair—Vikram wanted it that way, and Tara’s father had reluctantly agreed. Tara felt a bit of a fraud as her mother carefully arranged the folds of her green and gold brocade sari.

The whole thing didn’t seem real yet, she thought, moving her head irritably. In addition to the weight of her already heavy hair, she had enough flowers pinned in it to stock a
moderate-sized florist’s shop for a week. She was extremely sleep-deprived—she hadn’t slept much the night before, and the ceremony was starting at an unearthly hour in the morning because that was the ‘auspicious time’ the Krishnans’ priest had come up with. And she was very, very jittery.

The enormity of what she was doing had just begun to dawn on her, and the result was as fine an attack of nerves as one could have hoped for.

‘This’ll be your first night—’ her mother started to say.

Tara cut across her rudely. ‘If you’re going to tell me the facts of life, Mum, you’re some ten years too late.’ Her mother flushed painfully, sending Tara into one of her instant guilt trips. ‘Sorry, Amma,’ she muttered.

Her mother recovered with dignity. ‘It’ll still be your first time. If you need to know something, ask me.’

‘Yeah, right …’ Tara muttered to herself.

Her mother hadn’t even bothered to tell her about contraception—if she thought her daughter was all that innocent, wouldn’t that be the least she’d do? Or maybe she
wanted
her to get pregnant, Tara thought darkly, so that she’d give up all hopes of having a career, or
even a life of her own. Anyway, she’d sorted things out for herself, going to the gynaecologist mother of a friend of hers and getting three months’ supply of the Pill.

She was still brooding when her closest friend, Ritu, entered the room.

‘I’ll take over, Aunty,’ she said cheerfully to Tara’s mum. ‘Only the make-up to be done, right?’

Tara’s mother escaped thankfully, and Ritu pulled up a chair.

‘Nervy?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Tara nodded.

‘I take back everything I said about this being a bad idea.’ Ritu said. ‘I saw your fiancé for about five minutes outside, and he’s gorgeous. Most women would kill for a night with a man like that.’

Tara gulped. Other than a kissing session with a college classmate, which she’d entered into on a purely experimental basis, she was terribly inexperienced when it came to men. And Vikram looked anything but inexperienced. He’d probably slept with dozens of women. The thought of the wedding night had her tied up in knots. She was so unsure about what to do and how to behave. The thought of actually getting into bed with Vikram was
scary and exciting at the same time, and a little shiver went through her.

‘Feeling cold?’ Ritu asked, oblivious to the turmoil in her best friend’s mind. ‘It’ll be warmer in the main hall—it’s actually getting a bit stuffy. There are dozens of people around. You sure you don’t have some gatecrashers in there?’

Tara grinned unwillingly. At some point, the ‘quiet family affair’ had got completely out of control, probably because the ‘family’ on either side numbered over a hundred people. The noise filtered in even through the closed doors of the changing room. Everyone was talking and laughing at once, the priest was chanting Sanskrit mantras at the top of his voice, and to add to the pandemonium there were live musicians playing traditional music to accompany the mantras. The plaintive strains of the
nadaswaram
in the background intensified the fluttery feeling in Tara’s stomach, and for an instant she had a childish impulse to cover her ears with her hands.

After about ten more minutes her mother turned up again, to lead her out to the wedding pavilion.

‘I can’t see—stop shoving me!’ she hissed,
her eyes discreetly lowered as her mother had instructed.

She was seething as she was finally pushed into her seat in front of the sacred fire by various over-helpful female relatives. The noise was much louder, and the heavy beat of the drum seemed to make her heart pound harder. Her eyes began to water—the priest had just poured a pot of butter into the fire, and it was smoking dreadfully.

‘Such a coincidence, meeting you here,’ an extremely sexy voice drawled into her ear.

She spun towards the sound and found herself looking right into Vikram’s eyes.

‘Calm down,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘Not changed your mind, have you? You look more like you’re at a funeral than a wedding.’

‘I feel ridiculously over-dressed,’ Tara muttered, taking in the sight of Vikram in a white T-shirt over a
veshti
, the single white cotton kilt-like lower garment that was traditional male garb for any South Indian religious occasion—weddings and funerals included.