The Sari Shop (16 page)

There was a knock at the door. Tina went to the door and opened it. The maid stood outside, dressed in a bright fluorescent pink sari with a gajra of jasmine flowers in her hair. ‘There is someone downstairs who says Rina Memsahib invited him. The guards want to confirm it with memsahib.’

‘Tell them to wait in the hall. I am coming downstairs,’ said Rina, her attention on the mirror again.

This was very irregular, and the maid knew it. But she did not dare to say a word, for Rina Memsahib had quite a temper. When she was angry, she could say cold, hard words dripping with sarcasm and didn’t mind who she insulted in the presence of others.

Usually, brides sat coyly in a room, surrounded by giggling girls and having their pallu and jewellery adjusted and readjusted by matronly women, who did this along with a stream of advice for a young bride.

But none of this for Rina Kapoor! She prided herself on being a modern, enlightened young woman. She had insisted on being alone, with only her sister and the flown-in Dolly for company. She also had asked all the domestic help and the security guards to come to her if in doubt, instead of bothering her mother, who was busy receiving the wives of VIPs. The maid nodded and left.

After a few minutes, when Rina had finished adjusting her jewellery and her pallu till she was completely satisfied, she swept down the stairs and went to the hall, where Ramchand stood trembling flanked by the security guards and the maid. His ears were red and he felt immensely humiliated. The maid chewed her nails and stared at him with open curiosity. A heady smell of jasmine flowers pervaded the huge hall.

‘Yes?’ Rina Kapoor asked, knowing well that she looked striking.

One of the guards spoke, his hand still tightly gripping Ramchand’s elbow. ‘Memsahib, he was downstairs. He says you invited him.’

‘I am your sari-wala,’ Ramchand quickly blurted out in fear. Rina looked puzzled for a moment, failing to recognize him, but finally an amused smile began to play on her lips.

‘And I invited you, did I?’ Rina asked, still smiling. Ramchand did not reply. He did not like the way she was smiling. But then she surprised him by turning to the guards suddenly and saying, ‘Yes, I did invite him.’

At this, the two guards left Ramchand standing there and quietly slunk away. Rina looked at Ramchand. He stared back at the gorgeously decked-up bride, completely dazzled. She gave a quiet laugh, turned and went back upstairs, the hem of her lehnga sweeping the marble staircase regally.

*

And so it came about that Ramchand ended up enjoying Rina Kapoor’s wedding thoroughly. He didn’t speak to a single person. He just wandered around taking in everything, sipping a glass of a cool green drink he didn’t know the name of. He nibbled at paneer pakoras that hired waiters in smart black and white uniforms were carrying around on trays. He also
had many delicate looking things that he didn’t know the names of, delicious little things that you picked up with a toothpick stuck in them. Finally, when the baraat came, he stood at the back of the welcoming crowd, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the groom on the horse. At the head of the wedding procession there were wildly dancing relatives, then came the groom on his horse, with a little decorated silk umbrella over his head.

For a long time, the dancing and the welcoming continued, gifts were exchanged and Ramchand watched tirelessly.

Then the baraat was welcomed into the red and white shamianas for dinner. Ramchand heard someone say that the mahurat for the actual wedding ceremony was for very late at night, and only close friends and family would stay on for it. Ramchand thought that he’d better eat now, with the baraat and then leave soon. It would take him a good half an hour to cycle back.

So he entered the fluttering red and white shamianas too. More delights were in store for him. Guests were being welcomed with a sprinkling of rose water. The tents had been used to create a large hall. Chandeliers sparkled at you when you looked up. Ramchand couldn’t get over it. Chandeliers in a tent! Flowers had been strung around everywhere. Rina had refused the usual red throne-like chairs on which a couple sat before and after the actual wedding ceremony. Instead, an old-fashioned swing as big as a small bed, covered with red silk, stood in the place of honour. A makeshift water fountain completed the decor. The guests were offered delicacies on silver platters.

The dinner was even grander. Wine and meat were not served, for the Kapoors were strict vegetarians and teetotallers. The food, served in intricately carved metal dishes, was lined up on long tables covered with crisp white tablecloths. The dishes had little fires burning under them, fires just small
enough to keep them warm. Ramchand was mystified. How did they do that? The china plates that the guests were given were warm and clean and dry, accompanied by pretty white paper napkins with floral blue borders. Ramchand wondered what one did with these beautiful pieces of folded paper. He decided to wait and see what the other guests did. He was so intimidated by the spread before him that he couldn’t taste everything. He helped himself liberally to fragrant pulao and a few other things that he couldn’t identify.

Ramchand was surprised to see so many people he knew. Or rather, so many women who bought saris from Sevak Sari House. There was Mrs Gupta, in that beautiful emerald green sari she had bought a few months back, with her new glimmering daughter-in-law in tow, who was covered in jewellery. Mrs Gupta was introducing her to everybody. The daughter-in-law was greeting everybody warmly. There was a fixed smile on her face. And there was Mrs Sandhu, though she was wearing a shimmering pink salwaar kameez. Well, but she was a sardaarni, so that was natural. She was talking volubly to another woman who looked like a sardaarni too. The two passed Ramchand on their way to the table to refill the table, and Ramchand overheard Mrs Sandhu say in an anxious voice, ‘And, you know, there is so
much
syllabus, such fat books, and Manu is getting dark circles under his eyes. He works so hard. I hope he gets through. His life will be made. Just if he gets through these exams, he can live comfortably for the rest of his life…’ Her voice trailed off as the two women passed out of Ramchand’s hearing. Mrs Sachdeva was there in a plain beige silk sari that he still remembered her buying. Oh, that awful episode! She was wearing glasses and was talking learnedly to a tall, bald man who somehow did not look as if he belonged to Amritsar. Maybe he was a visiting professor. And there was Mrs Bhandari with her handsome husband, in that peacock blue-green brocade that she had bargained for
till even thick-headed Mahajan’s head had begun to ache. Ramchand stared at everyone. He was a little surprised to see all these women and their saris here. Somehow, to him, it was astonishing that the women and the saris existed beyond the shop, beyond his sphere. The shop, his whole existence, where things began and ended for him, was only the starting point for these people. While he just sat displaying saris to customers, they bought them, wore them and
did
things wearing them.

He looked around. Hari had been right. The cream of Amritsar was present here. Ramchand suddenly became aware of his scruffy shoes, his smelly feet, his silly striped shirt and his uncombed hair. He began to eat more hurriedly. He knew that it was unlikely that any of these people would remember him, but just in case somebody did, and mentioned it to Mahajan… He shuddered to think what would happen.

At the end of the dinner, he was shocked to see people wipe their dirty hands on the beautiful paper napkins, and then, regardless of the blue floral border, crumple them up and throw them away. Really, these people had no sense. Maybe this was the done thing, but couldn’t they see how thin and fragile the paper was, how intricately made the little flowers were, how soft the napkin was to touch. He slipped his own napkin into his pocket.

Finally, the forty desserts were served. A hush fell over the gathering when dinner was cleared away and the forty desserts were set out on the tables, in big dishes. Ramchand tasted three, and then, feeling full, excited and a little confused, cycled back home.

*

Three days after Rina Kapoor’s wedding, Ramchand had a surprise. It was a quiet morning and he was sitting in the shop
talking to Hari. Hari had watched
Gadar
for the second time, and he was telling Ramchand the whole story, scene by scene. Ramchand was completely absorbed.

In the middle of this, Rina Kapoor came into the shop, alone.

Ramchand was astounded. Brides never ventured out alone for months after their wedding! They had to be present at post-wedding ceremonies, there were invitations to lunches and dinners, special pujas had to be performed. He had heard of how things worked in families. But this was surprising. And she was wearing a plain yellow salwaar kameez instead of bridal finery. She wasn’t decked with jewellery either. She was just wearing diamonds, not the multiple strings of gold that newly wed brides wore. He usually disliked all that glitter, though he thought that Sudha had looked beautiful even when she was a newly wed woman indiscriminately covered with all the jewellery she owned. But then, Sudha was different.

Ramchand sat dreaming and gaping. He saw Rina’s large alert eyes dart around the shop quickly, and stop when they spotted him. She headed straight towards him without hesitation. Ramchand panicked for a moment. She had kept quiet on her wedding day, maybe she had come to complain about it today. She would denounce him to everybody. She would tell Mahajan that he, Ramchand, had dared to turn up at her wedding uninvited. She would insist that he be sacked right now.

These thoughts made Ramchand’s palms sweat. Meanwhile, she came and stood opposite to him, quietly, looking straight at his face.

‘Namaste,’ Ramchand stuttered.

‘Namaste,’ she said in a low voice, with the same amused look on her face that he had seen last time.

‘Saris, memsahib?’

She smiled again, enigmatically. ‘Okay, show me some saris,’ she said, sounding as if she was giving in to a request of his.

Suddenly, Mahajan appeared at the top of the stairs and rushed towards her energetically. ‘Madam, I saw your car and driver down below. Please sit down. Why did you bother to come all the way? You should have just called up and we would have gladly sent anything you needed. Ay Hari, get some Coca-Cola for Madam. With a straw. Make sure the glass is clean. Sit down, I’ll show you saris myself. Ay Gokul…’

Rina held up a haughty hand. It immediately stopped the stream of words gushing out of Mahajan’s mouth. He looked at her respectfully, his face silent and enquiring.

She pointed to Ramchand. ‘What is his name?’ she asked.

‘Ramchand, madam,’ answered Mahajan.

‘Let him show me the saris. In peace,’ she said pointedly. Mahajan took the hint and went away, looking puzzled.

Ramchand was completely confused. She had come alone, she had been married only three days, people didn’t buy more saris after just three days of their wedding, she smiled without any reason, she looked as though she knew something about him, a secret about him, that he did not know himself.

Ramchand turned to the shelves and then remembered he hadn’t asked her what kind of saris she wanted.

‘What sort of saris, memsahib?’ he asked her.

She threw her head back and laughed, a throaty laugh that went well with her voice.

‘Silk saris,’ she said, after composing herself.

Ramchand took out the saris and showed them to her. Rina hardly looked at the saris, just throwing quick, perfunctory glances at them. Instead, she talked to Ramchand. She asked him questions about himself, where he lived, how much he earned, was he married, etc. Ramchand answered politely. But
then she started asking him other things, his opinions on different issues, his tastes, his emotions. Ramchand quickly grew uncomfortable. It was the first time that a woman was asking him such personal things, and that too such a magnificent woman, and it flustered him completely. He went red, he grew awkward and garrulous, he said things he didn’t mean, he left sentences incomplete midway, hoping she’d understand what he meant.

She continued to look amused. Hari came up with a tray, bearing a clean glass of Coca-Cola and a straw in it. She accepted the glass and put it down on the floor by her, but left it untouched. She seemed to listen intently to him. This bothered Ramchand because he knew he was blithering away, speaking utter rubbish.

In the end, she thanked him graciously, picked up a blue and black silk sari randomly, gave him an intimate, amused smile again, paid for the sari and left in the long sleek grey car.

Mahajan came up to Ramchand when she had left. Ramchand expected him to be annoyed because Rina had sent him away, but he was beaming all over his face.

‘Very good, boy, very good. You must have made a good impression on them when you went to their place. That’s the way to keep customers coming back. Very good, very good.’

He spotted the untouched glass of the cold drink.

‘Didn’t she have that?’ he asked Ramchand, pointing towards the glass.

‘No, Bauji, she did not even have a sip.’

‘Then you finish it up, Ramchand. Finish it up,’ Mahajan said, still looking happy. ‘You deserve it.’

Ramchand smiled, and Mahajan went downstairs, rubbing his hands together gleefully.

No one was watching. Ramchand took up the glass that she had held with her beautiful white hands, put his mouth to the straw, and drank it all up, blushing furiously.

Spring had come and gone quickly, as spring often does. The balmy, fresh air scented with the spring flowers had given way to the dry, dusty heat of May.

Children had put away their kites because the rooftops from where they had exuberantly sent their kites flying into the sky during the spring months now baked inhospitably in the hot summer sun.

The air in the fruit markets became fragrant with the heady smell of ripe mangoes, and housewives set hard to work pickling the raw ones. Huge jars of pickled mangoes discreetly appeared on sunny terraces and courtyards, put out in the sun to process.