The early-morning rain had damped down the dust and the lingering cloud cover made the day pleasant. Aruna, who found the heat increasingly difficult to bear as her pregnancy progressed, appreciated the cooler weather more than most. Mrs Ali was sitting opposite her, reading the newspaper. Mr Ali came onto the verandah from inside the house. It was now Tuesday and he seemed fully recovered from his mad dash on Friday.
Mrs Ali looked up at her husband as she said, “The paper says that there will be a ten-kilometre fun run along the beach road. Do you want to go? After all, you have a lot of experience.”
Aruna stifled a grin. Madam wasn’t letting Sir forget what had happened that day. And rightly too, thought Aruna. Anything could have happened. He could have been hit by a vehicle; he could have suffered a heart attack. Her husband, Ramanujam, had visited the Alis’ the next day and he had been worried about tetanus.
There was a rattle at the gate and Azhar walked in. A round of salaams followed.
“Did you hear about the fun run on the beach?” Azhar asked his brother-in-law.
Mr Ali groaned. “Not you too.”
Azhar laughed and sat down on the chair next to his sister. On that Friday, he had come straight from the mosque, not that far behind Mr Ali, and had, with his customary efficiency, taken charge of the crisis, called a doctor and made Mr Ali comfortable. It was as if there had never been a rift in the family – almost.
After a few minutes of banter, Azhar stood up. “Right, I am off to the bank.”
Gopal, the postman, delivered the post to Aruna and turned to Mr Ali. “The postmaster said that he saw you running down the road the other day when he stepped out for lunch. Is this a new hobby, sir? He said he hailed you but you did not respond.”
“Isn’t your postmaster close to retirement now?” asked Mr Ali.
Gopal nodded.
“Tell him that his eyesight needs testing, otherwise he’ll be embarrassed one day when he greets some woman on the road thinking she’s his wife and she turns out to be a complete stranger.”
Pari came in carrying a bag of vegetables, greeted them all and then said to Mrs Ali, “Onions were really cheap today in the farmers’ market. I got a couple of extra kilos. Do you want them?”
“Yes, please,” said Mrs Ali, delighted by the news. Her curries used up a lot of onions. “How come you are not at the office?”
“The van is coming today with the luggage, so I’ve got to wait for it. I should thank Azhar-Maama for his help.”
The removal people had wanted the full amount to be paid and had refused to return Pari’s goods, even though they had travelled only two of the eight hundred miles from Vizag to Mumbai. It had taken a phone call from Azhar to his policeman-friend before they had accepted twenty per cent of the fee to return the goods.
“You just missed him,” said Mrs Ali. “By the way, did you see this article?”
Pari glanced at the paper. “Chaachi! I can’t believe that you are still teasing Chaacha about Friday’s dash.” She turned to Mr Ali. “Ignore what everybody says, Chaacha. I know you did it for me and I am grateful.”
“Thank you, dear,” said Mr Ali.
“Nobody is questioning why you did it,” said Mrs Ali to her husband. “But we are not in the dark ages, you know. We now have these things called mobile phones. All you had to do was take it out of your pocket and make one call.”
“I – ” said Mr Ali. It was clear from his thunderstruck expression that the thought had never entered his mind.
“Oh, look at this card,” said Aruna, waving a turmeric-bordered wedding card that had just arrived in the post.
The change of topic was successful; Mr and Mrs Ali looked at her with interest as she read out: “Shri Koteshwar Reddy graciously invites family and friends on the auspicious occasion of the wedding of his granddaughter Sujatha to Shri Raju Sekhar. The wedding is at Prahlada Marriage Hall at three in the morning on 13 August (at dawn it will be Saturday).” Hindu weddings are often held in the early hours because the time is decided by star charts and not according to the convenience of the guests. For early-hour times, the cards always made it clear which night it was so guests didn’t turn up at the wrong time.
Mrs Ali frowned. “Sujatha? Isn’t that the daughter of the man who caused trouble here?”
Aruna nodded.
Mr Ali said, “Raju, that’s the man I sent to investigate, the Christian man!”
Aruna replied, “Yes, sir. And Mr Koteshwar Reddy rejected the match because of the groom’s religion, but I got the feeling that Sujatha liked Raju. She has obviously prevailed over her family.”
“You are right.” Mr Ali shook his head. “I only sent Raju to their house to flush out the secret spoiler of the girl’s matches. I never thought it would actually lead to a wedding.”
Aruna smiled. “All that happens is for the good, sir. Let’s chalk up another success for the Marriage Bureau for Rich People.”
“Wah, wah!” said Pari, clapping.
Mr Ali took a bow. Even Mrs Ali seemed mollified. “Humph!” she said, but looked proud.
Rehman’s voice came from inside the house. “Ammi, is there more curry?”
Mrs Ali said, “He is twenty years older than Vasu, but he hasn’t grown up one tiny bit. I wonder where he gets that from.” She gave her husband a sharp glance and made a move to get up.
Pari touched her on the hand. “Stay here, chaachi. I’ll take care of Rehman.”
“You are a godsend,” said Mrs Ali relaxing back into her chair.
Pari jumped up, twirling the end of her plaited hair, like a cowboy twirling a lariat. Only Aruna seemed to notice the spring in Pari’s step as she stepped inside.
EOF