There is nothing more romantic than an unromantic marriage.
1.
I used to relate Kolkata to the hot, musty smell as we pulled into the Howrah station. I had looked out of the window, stark awake, hoping to uncover the mysteries of the elegantly crisscrossed railway tracks. The pleasantly off-key hum of ancient trains drifted in through the rusty bars.
Of course I don't remember those details. I am hoping that is how it had been.
I used to relate Kolkata to the hot, musty smell as we pulled into the Howrah station. I had looked out of the window, stark awake, hoping to uncover the mysteries of the elegantly crisscrossed railway tracks. The pleasantly off-key hum of ancient trains drifted in through the rusty bars.
Of course I don't remember those details. I am hoping that is how it had been.
My grandparents lived in a perpetually hot flat in Ballygung, the balcony dotted with parched potted plants. They liked card games and fried fish, disliked company. It was mid June. Lolita ushered me into sitting room, and showed me my blue strapped hawaai chappals. Gargi had a matching pair, but her feet were a little bigger. Shunil( my grandfather, obviously) took out the set of painting brushes he had gotten for me. I had grown out of painting recently, probably Gargi hadn't told him. Gargi who's grey hair and young wrinkles were suddenly conspicuous.
My parents had been married ten years ago,a hasty affair, to accommodate the last wishes of the grandmother I never met. There had been pomfret fry, rabindra sangeet and my mother's dream of a Jane Austen-ish romance. While the former two are reliable, Ashutosh was about as romantic as a counter at an insurance company. His passion for work coagulated with his mild thoughtlessness and dripped over my mother's iced cupcakes. They had stumbled through ten years of futile conversation and a general lack of laughter.
My parents had been married ten years ago,a hasty affair, to accommodate the last wishes of the grandmother I never met. There had been pomfret fry, rabindra sangeet and my mother's dream of a Jane Austen-ish romance. While the former two are reliable, Ashutosh was about as romantic as a counter at an insurance company. His passion for work coagulated with his mild thoughtlessness and dripped over my mother's iced cupcakes. They had stumbled through ten years of futile conversation and a general lack of laughter.
'These silly books you women read, well-dressed men and their ostentatious promises, how shallow na? They always say that its only love and nothing else, yet the hero is awfully good looking and awfully rich. Hypocritical, if you ask me"
But she had not, she had not asked him, Gargi had rolled her eyes and rolled over on the rickety bed of their one bed-roomed flat in Old Delhi. Ashutosh was a struggling engineer, and Gargi wished he was a struggling poet instead. If you ask me, she wouldn't have been any happier if he were. Gargi had wanted glamour, like most women of her kind do, and she would not admit it until years later. When she was to have me and she had made the customary trip to Kolkata, he had not called her every night. He had not said that he missed her.
My mother coaxed me to eat a large piece of fish. I relented eventually, with copious amounts of ketchup and a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. We watered the potted plants and Shunil showed me some drawings. Most of them of a broad shouldered girl, sitting alone in various settings. Lolita was gossiping with the maid in her musical voice. Inside the room I would share with my mother, Gargi was crying silently.
The summer stretched on in stages of dullness. We played cards in the evening, after which Gargi asked me to sing. The high notes went flat as she fell asleep, and I sat by the white grilled window, listening to the orderly chaos of the city. Waiting, waiting, not knowing what I was waiting for.
2.
July on the threadbare couch. I was impatient. Ashutosh was impatient. He ruffled my hair that my mother had just flattened. He wanted to take me to Science City. The life size dinosaur models there were a novelty. Gargi sipped her tea and looked at The Telegraph. "Don't you want to come too? And Baba was hoping to see Titli in Durgapur for a week."
"Yeah, I suppose I will come along too." Gargi wouldn't look up from her papers.
"I mean to Science City."
"I have work to do."
"I was hoping we could go to the recital later too."
Gargi wore a pale green saree that day. I have a picture too, of the two of them almost smiling, under a giant black umbrella. It's the only picture in which I wasn't accidentally covering the lens with my fingers. We pranced around the air conditioned halls, my mother shrieking whenever she thought I would trip, my father asking her to calm down. I think I fell asleep halfway through the recital, because I hadn't heard the song that Gargi tried to teach me the next day.
Ashutosh stayed for the rest of the week. He watered the stubby cactus on the terrace. The crows would chase him but he flapped his hands rapidly till they left us alone. He bought fresh fish from across the road, and helped Gargi measure the mustard that she cook it with. I watched their silhouettes as I sneaked to the refrigerator, free from the bitterness that I knew was the norm. Shunil took me away to show me how he sharpened his pencils with a blade and I was easily distracted.
Through the translucent windows of the hall, the ancient blue buses of Kolkata blared their musical horns to get our attention.
3.
I did not go home when summer ended. Ashutosh dropped off our things at the Ballygunge flat. I remember the smell of cologne on his bush shirt as he hugged me six times in a row. His lip trembled. I was mad at him for breaking the chimney of my doll house. I was so mad that I did not listen carefully when he told me that we would not live together anymore. That I would go to the missionary school by the river in Chandannagore and that I should learn my tables well. That he would come see me every three months from Delhi. That there is such a word as 'divorce'.
Gargi was shelling peas at the table. She turned on the radio as he left.
I skulked around school, hair braided, my english halting, my math deplorable. Bharat sat next to me in class, his fountain pen leaking illogical amounts of royal blue. We did not make eye contact as we spoke, only when we snickered at the teachers. Gargi was furious when the royal blue had stained my starched white skirt, even more so when I asked her where my father was.
Then when I was thirteen my cousin told me that her mother told her that Lolita had told her that Ashutosh had cheated on Gargi. It had been with his manager's daughter and my mother had been distraught.
I ate my fish without complaining that night. I also stayed up an extra hour studying, while Gargi tuned the harmonium. She would look up at me once in a while, searching for something she couldn't find.
4.
I broke it to my mother yesterday. I told her we had been dating for a year now, and that I might actually marry this one. I was very excited. She did not reply, walked over to the bookshelf, kneeling to sift through the row that held the photo albums.
"Ma?" I asked, as if apologetic for her failed marriage.
Gargi was famous in Kolkata now, they took her reviews very seriously in the literary community. I found her work when I clicked on the article links that my aunts texted me. I found them a little lofty but I called her and told her I was proud. She sighed slightly and before she hung up, always asked me to call my father. I never did.
"Titli, you must know, your father did not cheat on me. He loved me very much. I may have loved him too, but I could not live in his cage."
I backed up against the wall.
"We decided that summer. Just before that week he stayed here. We decided I should have you. I am after all, more artistic, more complete a person. We told everyone here that it was his fault. You know how people talk. You must understand. I needed out. I couldn't breathe."
I watched her lips move contemptuously, till my mother faded out completely and I could only see Gargi.
And Gargi was a stranger.
But she had not, she had not asked him, Gargi had rolled her eyes and rolled over on the rickety bed of their one bed-roomed flat in Old Delhi. Ashutosh was a struggling engineer, and Gargi wished he was a struggling poet instead. If you ask me, she wouldn't have been any happier if he were. Gargi had wanted glamour, like most women of her kind do, and she would not admit it until years later. When she was to have me and she had made the customary trip to Kolkata, he had not called her every night. He had not said that he missed her.
My mother coaxed me to eat a large piece of fish. I relented eventually, with copious amounts of ketchup and a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. We watered the potted plants and Shunil showed me some drawings. Most of them of a broad shouldered girl, sitting alone in various settings. Lolita was gossiping with the maid in her musical voice. Inside the room I would share with my mother, Gargi was crying silently.
The summer stretched on in stages of dullness. We played cards in the evening, after which Gargi asked me to sing. The high notes went flat as she fell asleep, and I sat by the white grilled window, listening to the orderly chaos of the city. Waiting, waiting, not knowing what I was waiting for.
2.
July on the threadbare couch. I was impatient. Ashutosh was impatient. He ruffled my hair that my mother had just flattened. He wanted to take me to Science City. The life size dinosaur models there were a novelty. Gargi sipped her tea and looked at The Telegraph. "Don't you want to come too? And Baba was hoping to see Titli in Durgapur for a week."
"Yeah, I suppose I will come along too." Gargi wouldn't look up from her papers.
"I mean to Science City."
"I have work to do."
"I was hoping we could go to the recital later too."
Gargi wore a pale green saree that day. I have a picture too, of the two of them almost smiling, under a giant black umbrella. It's the only picture in which I wasn't accidentally covering the lens with my fingers. We pranced around the air conditioned halls, my mother shrieking whenever she thought I would trip, my father asking her to calm down. I think I fell asleep halfway through the recital, because I hadn't heard the song that Gargi tried to teach me the next day.
Ashutosh stayed for the rest of the week. He watered the stubby cactus on the terrace. The crows would chase him but he flapped his hands rapidly till they left us alone. He bought fresh fish from across the road, and helped Gargi measure the mustard that she cook it with. I watched their silhouettes as I sneaked to the refrigerator, free from the bitterness that I knew was the norm. Shunil took me away to show me how he sharpened his pencils with a blade and I was easily distracted.
Through the translucent windows of the hall, the ancient blue buses of Kolkata blared their musical horns to get our attention.
3.
I did not go home when summer ended. Ashutosh dropped off our things at the Ballygunge flat. I remember the smell of cologne on his bush shirt as he hugged me six times in a row. His lip trembled. I was mad at him for breaking the chimney of my doll house. I was so mad that I did not listen carefully when he told me that we would not live together anymore. That I would go to the missionary school by the river in Chandannagore and that I should learn my tables well. That he would come see me every three months from Delhi. That there is such a word as 'divorce'.
Gargi was shelling peas at the table. She turned on the radio as he left.
I skulked around school, hair braided, my english halting, my math deplorable. Bharat sat next to me in class, his fountain pen leaking illogical amounts of royal blue. We did not make eye contact as we spoke, only when we snickered at the teachers. Gargi was furious when the royal blue had stained my starched white skirt, even more so when I asked her where my father was.
Then when I was thirteen my cousin told me that her mother told her that Lolita had told her that Ashutosh had cheated on Gargi. It had been with his manager's daughter and my mother had been distraught.
I ate my fish without complaining that night. I also stayed up an extra hour studying, while Gargi tuned the harmonium. She would look up at me once in a while, searching for something she couldn't find.
4.
I broke it to my mother yesterday. I told her we had been dating for a year now, and that I might actually marry this one. I was very excited. She did not reply, walked over to the bookshelf, kneeling to sift through the row that held the photo albums.
"Ma?" I asked, as if apologetic for her failed marriage.
Gargi was famous in Kolkata now, they took her reviews very seriously in the literary community. I found her work when I clicked on the article links that my aunts texted me. I found them a little lofty but I called her and told her I was proud. She sighed slightly and before she hung up, always asked me to call my father. I never did.
"Titli, you must know, your father did not cheat on me. He loved me very much. I may have loved him too, but I could not live in his cage."
I backed up against the wall.
"We decided that summer. Just before that week he stayed here. We decided I should have you. I am after all, more artistic, more complete a person. We told everyone here that it was his fault. You know how people talk. You must understand. I needed out. I couldn't breathe."
I watched her lips move contemptuously, till my mother faded out completely and I could only see Gargi.
And Gargi was a stranger.
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