The Reluctant Matchmaker (20 page)

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Authors: Shobhan Bantwal

BOOK: The Reluctant Matchmaker
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Akka clucked impatiently. “But there is a brilliant solution to your problem in the way the movie ends.”
This was interesting. I was getting into this like an ant crawling into a bowl of sugar. “A Bollywood answer to a real-life problem? Let's hear it, Akka.”
Akka put her glass on the coffee table for a moment. “In the movie, it is the grandmother who saves the day. She reveals to the angry families that her sister had married outside their caste against everyone's wishes in her youth and she had found everlasting happiness. They all realize that if an old lady could be so happy with an inter-caste marriage, then true love is all that counts, not religion or pride.”
“So how did the movie end?” I asked.
“Eventually they have a Brahmin priest and a mullah performing both religious ceremonies.” Her eyes turned wistful as she picked up her glass and took another sip of scotch. “Such a nice movie that was. A classic.”
Dad shook his head. “Movies generally have happy endings, Akka. We need a practical solution.”
“
Arre,
I'm telling you, Ramdas, there
is
a real solution. I should go to this meeting with you. Then I can tell them how I went against my parents' wishes and married a man they thought was unsuitable. But we had a happy marriage, didn't we? He was a good man, and so handsome. Look at our children—so clever and good-looking they are—and so successful. I will bring my photos to the meeting, so they can see for themselves.”
Madhuri-pachi had a smirk on her face that said she was secretly enjoying this: the fact that her eldest sister was stuck with Akka's misguided need to help the family. “Akka might have a point, Kaveri,” Madhuri said to Mom. I could see right through the tongue-in-cheek remark.
Just then Maneel walked in. The hugging started all over again, with Akka pinching Maneel's cheeks and embarrassing him. “My goodness, so tall and handsome you have become in the last year. Your mummy says you have a beautiful girlfriend and all.”
Maneel gave Mom a dark, disapproving frown. “Mom couldn't wait to fill you in on the gossip, huh?” he said, hugging Akka back.
“This is not gossip,
charda,
” chided Akka. “This is a family issue. Your mummy and daddy are trying to find a way to talk to your girlfriend's parents, and I'm trying to help.”
“Is that right?” murmured Maneel, then he grabbed a napkin and a handful of
bajay
from the platter. He knew when to shut up and accept the inevitable. At times Akka was like a woman on speeding roller skates.
I was probably the only one who'd been seriously pondering Akka's suggestion. “I think Akka's idea sounds promising,” I said after a while.
Everyone gave me a
get real
look, but I persisted. “No, really, most old-fashioned cultures tend to respect the elderly, and we don't have anyone older than Akka at the moment. Why not use that to our advantage? Why not use every trick in the book? If they get a chance to meet Akka, Naseem's family might not dismiss the whole thing as romantic foolishness on the part of two young people.”
Mom put on a skeptical scowl while Maneel brightened up. “Meena may be right,” he said.
After prolonged arguing over the pros and cons of Akka's presence at the important meeting, everyone eventually agreed that it might be worth trying. They had nothing to lose.
And I felt so damn pleased that
I
was the one who'd more or less persuaded Mom and Dad to accept Akka's offer.
Akka had a goofy grin on her face. I wasn't sure whether it was because she'd succeeded in convincing the family or a result of the drink she was sipping steadily. “See, I knew you all would see the wisdom of my words,” she said, and finished the last of her scotch. “Now, let's discuss Thanksgiving. What are we going to cook on Thursday?”
Chapter 19
A
kka was proved right. Mom didn't want to admit it. Dad was somewhat willing to acknowledge it. But Maneel seemed ecstatic. Contrary to everyone's expectations, it turned out that Akka put on a superb performance on the day of the big meeting.
Naseem's parents, Dr. and Mrs. Rasul, as expected, were stubbornly opposed to their beloved daughter's marrying outside their Sunni Muslim community. Apparently they had an engineer picked out for her: the son of an immigrant Iraqi family like themselves. But Naseem had turned him down.
As my family returned from the dreaded encounter and walked in the door, I eagerly ran down the stairs to find out Maneel's fate. Fully expecting to see long, glum faces, I was astonished to see none.
A beaming Maneel had his arm around Akka's slim shoulders. “You deserve two glasses of scotch today. In fact, I'm going to buy you a bottle of the best single malt there is.”
“Oh, you silly boy, don't waste your money on me,” said Akka. “Go buy something for your pretty girlfriend instead.”
Mom and Dad looked a little weary, but the battle scars I'd expected were curiously absent. “Thank God, that's over,” said Mom as she took off her sandals in the foyer. “I don't think I could stand any more drama for the day.”
She had worn her most conservative, loose two-piece
salwar-kameez
outfit after debating whether a sari would be better. Dad had come up with the idea that a sari might overemphasize our Hindu-ness and antagonize the Rasuls even further. Apparently Naseem's mother had also worn a two-piece outfit, proving Dad's hunch was right.
“Looks like things went well,” I said, hoping someone would share all the juicy details. They all seemed to be immersed in their own thoughts.
“Not at first,” grumbled Dad. “That man nearly threw us out of the house. Some nerve. What the hell did he think—that we're riffraff from some primitive corner of the world?” Dad very rarely vented his anger so openly, so I was both amazed and amused. He was wearing a starched cream shirt, gray dress pants, and a coordinated sports jacket. Nobody could've mistaken him for riffraff.
“Well, we showed him, didn't we?” said Mom, sinking onto the family room couch and propping her feet up on the coffee table. “When they heard I was a medical doctor and you have a PhD in engineering, they calmed down.”
“Not right away, Mom,” reminded Maneel.
“There was more crying and sighing before they calmed down,” corrected Akka.
“Didn't Naseem tell them anything about our family before you guys got there?” I asked, wondering why those people had thought my parents were heathens.
Maneel looked embarrassed. “She was afraid they'd refuse to see us, so she told them only seconds before we arrived. She had no time to prepare them.”
“That wasn't fair to you.” I was disappointed in Naseem. How could she have let Maneel and my parents face the hostile Rasuls in that fashion? But then I could also see how she'd be terrified of her parents, especially if they were the kind who'd do something rash. “So how come you guys look like everything went okay?”
“Thanks to Akka,” said Maneel, grinning at the old lady. She was dressed in an old-fashioned Dharmavaram silk sari in a dull shade of ecru. A matching woolen shawl was thrown around her shoulders. Her bun was worn lower to make it appear more conservative. Instead of her modern eyeglasses she wore a pair of horn-rimmed ones she'd pulled out of somewhere. No jewelry of any kind adorned her neck or ears. The idea had been to look as stern, widow-like, and grandmotherly as possible.
“Exactly what did Akka do?”
Akka sat down on the couch next to Mom. “I just told those Rasuls about the misery I went through when my mother and father disapproved of my choice of husbands and how unhappy everyone was and how unnecessary all the fuss had been in the end.”
“She did a lot more than that,” chimed in Maneel. “She shed a few fake tears and told them how most parents eventually regret their selfishness if they don't look out for their children's happiness.” He threw Akka another grateful look. “You were fabulous.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” said Akka modestly. “And let me tell you, the tears were not fake. I get very emotional when I think of those days, when I was afraid I would never see my family and that I would make my parents ill or something.”
I was getting impatient with these little snippets of the episode when I wanted to hear a minute-by-minute account. “Tell me the whole thing, you guys—all the way from the start.” I looked at Maneel, all dressed up in a formal blue shirt, well-pressed black slacks, and shiny black shoes. He'd had a haircut the previous day. He looked handsome, solid, professional. “Are you and Naseem getting married or not?”
“I guess we are.” Maneel bent down to loosen the laces on his shoes, then took the shoes and socks off and parked his big feet on the coffee table, perpendicular to Mom's. “But it wasn't easy. Naseem's dad yelled at her and called her an infidel. Her mom bawled and hinted at committing suicide because the family would be ruined.”
Dad sat in his recliner. “Such dramatics. I have never seen a grown man beat his chest so much.”
Mom blew out a tired breath. “And Mrs. Rasul's wailing. I haven't seen that except in movies.”
Akka was quiet all this time, probably savoring her victory, so I said to her, “Just what did you say to them, Akka? It must've been compelling.”
“Not much, dear. All I told them was that I have not regretted for one minute the decision I made at eighteen.”
“Good for you,” I cheered on.
“It was my father and mother who regretted their resistance to accepting my husband into the family. Of course, I didn't tell the Rasuls that part,” said Akka. “But when my parents died, they went feeling very remorseful about the way they had treated my husband in the beginning.”
“They did?” Mom said, suddenly turning alert. Obviously this was news to her.
Akka nodded. “When my father suffered a paralytic stroke, it was my husband who served him, hand and foot.” She threw a pointed look at Mom. “Where were your big-shot papa and our other brothers and sisters when our ninety-year-old father had to be bathed and fed like a baby, and needed a bedpan? None of them came forward to take in a dying old man. It was my dear husband, God bless his soul, and I, who took care of him.”
Mom looked puzzled. “How come Papa didn't tell us that?”
I watched everyone's expression, intrigued by what appeared to be an ancient but rather dirty family secret coming to light. Maneel looked equally captivated. He and I exchanged a quick glance.
A wry smile crossed Akka's face. “That's because your papa was embarrassed to admit his lack of sense of duty. As the eldest son, it was
his
responsibility. But he and the others didn't want our father because he was a burden—he was bedridden and helpless. Our mother was too timid to ask any of her children for assistance, so my husband and I took both of them into our home. And my husband was only a professor, so all we had was a small, three-room house, while all the others had big houses and servants.”
“I didn't know all this,” whispered Mom. I could tell she was upset. The father and mother she had adored and thought of as demigods had feet of clay; they had shirked their duty toward their sick, elderly parents. And it was probably dawning on her that Akka, the aunt everybody disapproved of because of her outlandish ways, was the one who came up looking like a hero. “I'm sorry, Akka. I had no idea.”
“That's okay, Kaveri,” said Akka with a dismissive hand gesture. “It's not your fault. Your parents are basically good people. They regretted their mistakes. Before your papa died, he apologized to me for his behavior.”
Mom looked crestfallen. Dad cleared his throat and asked everyone if they wanted some tea. When Mom and Akka nodded, he gave me the look that silently ordered me to go to the kitchen and take care of it. I reluctantly left my comfortable seat to brew tea.
I had a feeling the elders wanted to talk some more about the surprise Akka had just dropped, without Maneel and me listening in. Fortunately Maneel followed me into the kitchen and filled me in on some of the afternoon's details.
I filled the teakettle with water and placed it on the stove. “So, our renegade Akka was your savior.”
He smiled. “She warned them about how they would never see their grandchildren if Naseem decided to elope with me.”
I went still. “You guys weren't really ... thinking of eloping, were you?”
“Not eloping, but Naseem and I've talked about getting married with just Mom and Dad and
our
family and friends at the ceremony. That is, if her parents really disowned her.”
“So you two are really getting married?”
“Definitely. I just don't know when. Now that Naseem's parents are convinced that the wedding's going to happen with or without their blessings, her dad's going to discuss it with their
maulvi
.”
I gave him a hug. “Congratulations, you big devil.”
“Thanks.”
I pretended to scratch my head in puzzlement. “Hard to imagine the guy who liked dressing up as Dracula for Halloween and scaring me to death, with a wife and kids.”
Perhaps because he was relieved and happy that his future looked more promising, and that put him in a generous mood, he smiled indulgently. “Maybe you'll be next to get married, Meena.”
I took out cups from the cabinet and placed the teabags in them. “If I can find a guy who's willing to marry a midget.”
Maneel ruffled my hair, something he rarely did. “But you're a beautiful midget with a big heart.”
“You're beginning to scare me, Maneel.” I threw him a suspicious look. “When did you morph into a nice guy who compliments his annoying little sister?”
But he refused to take the bait. “Any man would be lucky to have you for a wife. Like I told you, lots of guys are interested in you.”
“But I'm not interested in them.” And because my brother sounded so sincere in his compliment, I began to choke up and had to try hard to bite back the tears. He had changed. Was this what falling in love did to a person? In Maneel's case, it had matured him so much, I could hardly recognize him.
Suddenly my brother was a grown man. And he was going to be married soon.

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