Kamal took Caroline to India and married her there at a small, private Hindu ceremony, against her parents’ wishes. For Caroline’s thesis on Tamil family structure, she wanted actually to live in a Tamil family, in a traditional village far away from modern influences. So the newly-weds travelled around Tamil Nadu for a while, looking for just the right village, just the right family; the plan was for Kamal to help her get settled, and then decide on an engineering job not too far away – he had in mind a hydroelectric dam project somewhere in South India, and had sent off several applications. Invitations for interviews were already coming in.
It would mean separating during the week and only seeing each other at the weekends but it would only be for a while – their love was strong enough; it would only be nourished by the pain of parting.
Caroline found her place. The Iyengars lived in a village on the outskirts of Gingee, a small town a few hours’ drive from Madras. It was perfect: a traditional Hindu family, mother, father, five children, the eldest a girl of eleven. But best of all, the parents were both well educated, with degrees, and spoke English; the father, Viram, was headmaster at a private secondary school, and took a personal interest in Caroline’s thesis. He was able to explain to her everything she wanted to know, and for an hour a day he taught her Tamil. His wife, Sundari, had a bachelor’s degree in English, and loved reading; she and Caroline hit it off immediately, especially because they shared many favourite books.
The house itself was a little cramped, what with five children and another on the way, but they had a large back garden and it was an easy and quick thing to add a double room and a bathroom at the back where Caroline could live, and Kamal could visit at weekends.
Kamal got the job he wanted, at the Aliyar reservoir in the Coimbatore District. The dam had been built in the seventies for irrigation purposes, and had just been commissioned to generate hydroelectric power; the project consisted of a series of dams interconnected by tunnels and canals for harnessing the waters of several nearby rivers, all flowing at various elevations, for irrigation and power generation. It was exactly what Kamal wanted, for it not only challenged his engineering skill but was also of immense use to the farmers. A wonderful start to his career.
They hadn’t planned a baby just yet – but these things happen, and six months later Caroline found she was pregnant.
They were delighted. They made plans to build a nice house near the dam. She would finish her thesis and have the baby: perfect.
Who needed the Mitchells of Cambridge, who needed Kamal’s Daadi of Moti Khodayal? Not Kamal and Caroline Bhandari.
But they were forced to delay their plans for a while. They hadn’t built their house yet, for there wasn’t enough money, and both refused, for obvious reasons, to ask their families for help.
Then Kamal received a lucrative offer to go and work on another dam project in North India, on a two-year contract. He’d earn well and improve the family finances; they could have their home sooner. It was a magnificent offer. ‘That’s the benefit of a MIT degree,’ he said, laughing. ‘It’s an offer I can’t refuse.’
After the two years he’d come home, get back his old job but with a better salary – his present employers certainly didn’t want to lose him – and build their home.
The set-up with the Iyengars was so ideal it would have been nonsensical for Caroline to accompany Kamal to North India. She was happy with her Tamil family; Sundari and she were now close friends, and she was learning Tamil; moving to the north would mean a new language, a new environment, disruptive for all. Sundari was eager to help and advise Caroline in all matters concerning pregnancy and childbirth; with five, soon to be six children, she was an expert. Yes, it would be foolish for Caroline to move.
Caroline’s baby was a girl. Kamal could not come down for the birth, which was sad for both of them, but, after all, Caroline was in good hands and the future lay before them, round and glowing. Soon they’d have their own home and watch their daughter grow.
They named her Asha. Caroline took hundreds of photographs of her and sent them to Kamal accompanied by expansive, euphoric letters. What she didn’t tell Kamal, though, was that she was finding the adjustment to motherhood difficult, especially breast-feeding. But it was not a problem, since Sundari was there and her breasts seldom ran dry; she was still feeding her youngest, Kanaan, and the next baby was due in four months’ time.
‘I have enough milk for all,’ she said with a laugh, and took the squalling Asha confidently from Caroline’s arms and laid her at her breast. Asha’s lips closed around the nipple; the screaming stopped. Caroline breathed a sigh of relief and tucked her own breast away.
‘But what will happen when your baby comes?’ she asked. ‘You won’t have time for two little ones – three, counting Kanaan!’
‘Janiki will help. I will continue to feed her, but Janiki will do all the rest. Won’t you, Janiki?’
Janiki nodded eagerly. She was thirteen years old, the eldest child and the only girl, already her mother’s right hand in the home, helping to care for her youngest brother, Kanaan. She loved babies.
‘Of course, Amma!’ she said. ‘I will be her chinna-amma, her little mother.’