‘But what is wrong with the family?’ Mr Murjani asked his wife, as they prepared for bed. They had returned from a dinner with the Balanis, in the Oberoi Sheraton Hotel. The Lalwanis had been there and also the Premchands. After dinner all the young people had disappeared into the discotheque. Mr and Mrs Murjani had returned home alone.
‘How will Rani be happy so far from home, in a strange country? Those Lalwanis talk and laugh so loudly. And Mrs Balani wears dresses, like a Parsi or a Christian. I have not seen her yet in a sari. The first time the boy came here with Pinky, his clothes looked fit only for a servant. They do not seem suitable,’ Mrs Murjani complained. Her husband struggled into his pyjamas.
‘They live abroad. Life there is different, more casual. The family is of good reputation, well-known to everyone, and that is what matters. The boy has a future, even if he doesn’t want to enter his father’s business. Balani has his own factories in the States, one for ballbearings and the other for the production of medical equipment. This is a good line for India, too. Through him we could achieve a tie-up. I have been looking for some time for a new line; India needs such equipment. Balani too is interested in a tie-up – I had a long talk with him. He will speak to his American associates.’
‘Business, business,’ Mrs Murjani muttered, rubbing cream on her face before the mirror.
‘They have money; Rani will be denied nothing. She will live as she is accustomed to; this is what matters. And there is such a strong liking between the boy and the girl. It is noticeable to everyone. How will you marry her to someone she does not like, but you find more suitable? We live now in modern times, and she is a strong-willed girl. She takes after me,’ Mr Murjani said with a note of pride.
‘I am well aware of that,’ Mrs Murjani replied, and closed the lid on a jar of moisturizer with a savage snap.
‘Be thankful she has chosen this boy. I like him.’ Mr Murjani got into bed. ‘I am looking for a way to expand abroad. I see nothing wrong with a daughter in America. We shall become an international family.’
‘She too will learn to wear dirty jeans, or dresses like her mother-in-law.’ Mrs Murjani bit her lips in frustration.
‘She will do as she wishes. I am not worried. She is a sensible girl at heart. After marriage you will see how sensible she will become, all this rebellion will be forgotten. At this age the blood is hot. She should have been married two years ago, when I suggested.’ Mr Murjani reached out to put off the light.
Mrs Murjani lay quietly beside him. Her thoughts strayed back to the trouble over Sham Pumnani, that had thankfully been averted. She thought of Lakshmi, devoured by an unfeeling family. She remembered her terror out on the rocks of the dhobi ghat, and the sudden vision then of the precariousness of existence. She had hoped to secure as a husband for Rani the son of some minor nobility, or an industrialist wealthier than Mr Murjani. But the reality was far from a disaster. As lawyers the Lalwanis were famous names throughout India. And the Balanis were known for entrepreneurship, not only in India, but in every expatriate community of Sindhis settled about the world.
‘Marriages are made in heaven,’ Mrs Murjani sighed, and resigned herself to the matter.
She closed her eyes, and the gleam of gems filled her mind. The diamond setters must return immediately; jewellery for the dowry must be finished quickly, for the Balanis wanted an early wedding. They would delay their departure to America, if the marriage could be quickly arranged. Thank goodness, thought Mrs Murjani, that she had preparations in hand. You never knew when something like this would blow up, with a daughter of marriageable age. But in America, where would Rani get a chance to wear lavish gems; she had heard the social life was unbelievably casual, and people preferred costume jewellery. Before sleep descended she saw a picture of Rani, in dirty, torn jeans and frayed sneakers, with a thick collar of diamonds about her neck. Mrs Murjani gave herself thankfully to oblivion.
*
Coming out of the disco, Kamal caught Rani’s hand. Their hearts still pumped from the exertion and music. He pulled her near him and grinned.
‘You’re quite sure about this?’ he asked.
‘Quite sure,’ Rani answered and gave a laugh. The others had gone on ahead; they were alone in the lift. He pulled her nearer and kissed her.
It was all going to happen soon. They were going to Paris for their honeymoon. By the Autumn she would be in America. Just in time, Kamal said, for the beginning of the academic year. They had found numerous ways to be alone, and discussed their future together in detail. She was going to take a Masters in social work. Kamal agreed with her decision. Application forms for colleges were already on their way. Once, he asked her what made her choose that subject. She did not tell him about the dhobi ghat, and the old crone whose hut she had peered into. Or those sights of the city, suddenly seen with new clarity, on her way to the Samtanis. Or Lakshmi. She thought a lot about Lakshmi.
Her mother was once more obsessed with diamonds, and now there was no escape.
‘There’ll be nowhere to wear it all, in America,’ said Kamal.
‘I’ll lock it up in a box and think of it as an investment,’ Rani decided.
‘Sneakers and jeans, preferably old ones, is all you’ll need on campus,’ Kamal added.
‘Please don’t tell my mother that. She might call off the engagement.’ Rani began to laugh imagining her mother’s expression at the sight of her daughter, as she was soon determined to appear, in frayed sneakers and dirty jeans.
They reached the glass doors of the hotel. The rain sluiced down beyond. Kamal put up an umbrella as they hurried to where he had parked the car. But Rani suddenly darted away and ran ahead of him.
‘Hey,’ he shouted. ‘Where are you going?’
She did not know why she ran, nor when she would stop, nor where. She held her face up to the rain and let it pelt freely down upon her, and laughed aloud, again and again.