Bhuvana’s Marriage

I don’t know why I gave the man a lift. I am not the kind to voluntarily ask people to get into my car. After filling the tank in the petrol bunk at Mount road and settling the bill, I was waiting for the long queue of cars in front to crawl away. It was then that I saw him, alone, in the bus stop on the other side of the road.

“Should be at least fifty”, I thought. His Khadi shirt was slowly darkening due to sweat. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. One or two were perched on the tips of his eyebrows waiting to make the long fall to the muddy ground. His receding hairline and lean, almost malnourished body, was certainly not because of his age. He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other and nervously clutching his shoulder bag that was slung on his right. I had a feeling that he had been waiting for a long time for the bus.

I slowly crossed the road in my car and stopped beside him. “Excuse me. Where do you have to go?” I asked.

A surprise, that is natural when accosted by a stranger, sprung to his face. He involuntarily took a step back.

“Who is this? I don’t recall meeting you before”, he replied hesitantly, probably even embarrassed at not recognizing a friend.

“I don’t know you. I filled in petrol in my car and saw you standing in the hot sun. If we are traveling in the same direction, please get inside. I’ll drop you.” He gave me a confused look. Maybe he thought I was out of my mind.

“My name is Rajasekar. S T Rajasekar. I’m an accounts manager working in Saravana Exports,” I introduced myself. I fished out my wallet and showed him my card.

“No. No. Please…I don’t …I mean…. Of course I do believe you” came the flustered reply.

“Shouldn’t you know that I’m not an imposter wanting to whisk you away?”, I said with a smile.

“Why would you want to kidnap me? I’m neither rich nor a politician. Not even a girl.” He laughed heartily, his ultra-white teeth shone in the afternoon sun.

“Been waiting for a long time?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Where do you have to go?”

“T.Nagar. Thirumalai Street”

“Get inside.” I opened the front door for him.

“No Saar. You might have work elsewhere. I don’t want to disturb you unnecessarily. You carry on.”

“I’m going to Bazullah road only. I’ll drop you off there. Even I will have company. It is so boring traveling alone in this heavy traffic.”

“Made a mistake by not bringing my umbrella.” Saying thus, he craned his neck expecting the bus to come any time.

“No point waiting for the bus. Who knows! Maybe there’s another strike.”

“Do you really have to go Bazullah road only?”

“Aw! Come on! Please get in now”, I said irritably.

He still had his misgivings. But the tired legs had yielded to the offer and were already walking towards the car. Just as he was about to get in he stopped and said, “My name is Mahalingam. I’m a clerk in a private company,” as if to give himself an identity by introducing himself. Following this he got in and stretched his tired legs fully, took in a deep breath and then exhaled. He still had not put the shoulder bag down.
1
“Looks like you have something very important in the bag,” I remarked casually.

“Of course”, he clutched it even more tightly. “My daughter’s horoscope.” He laughed all of a sudden. “For a lower middle class family man, what else could be more precious than his daughter’s horoscope?”

The sweat remained on his forehead despite the stiff breeze. I admired the
responsibility in his voice. My thoughts dispersed as soon as they had formed. I suddenly remembered that I too was father of a girl. But I didn’t sweat. An after-shave lotion stifled that sickly sweet smell. Our economic differences were visible in our clothing. My costly pair of cotton trousers against his white handspun dhoti; my shining black pair of sandals against his ragged chappals.

“Even I have a daughter. Niranjani. What is your daughter’s name?”

“Bhuvaneswari. We call her Bhuvana.”

I almost told him that back home we called our daughter, ‘Nikki.’ But only almost.

“I have to give her horoscope to the boy’s family. That is why I’m going to Thirumalai street. Heard about the family through someone at office. I don’t think they will expect much. So thought I will give it a shot.” He continued eagerly. “If it is so fated, it will happen.” He sighed.

“Do you know the house number?” I asked as we neared the destination.

“Mmm.” He unzipped his bag and carefully pulled out some papers. Turmeric powder was smeared in the four corners of the horoscope. He confirmed the house number looking at another piece of paper.

As I stopped at a red signal, he turned to me and exclaimed, “Did you see this?” He handed out a passport size photograph. “This is Bhuvana.”

I wouldn’t call her extremely beautiful. She had a very innocent face. Big eyes.
Her jet-black hair was so tightly pulled back and braided that it seemed as if it were glued to her head. Small, thin earrings. “If they were black in this black and white photograph, they could even be red stones in those earrings,” I mused. “But definitely not diamonds.” For that childish face the bindi was a little too big. With a little bit of make-up she would have looked beautiful. Still those innocent face combined with those big eyes were definite to attract a second glance from many.

“This is Bhuvana,” he looked at me and beamed as he repeated.

“She looks so innocent and good-looking. How old is she?”

“She turned 19 last December.”

“Just nineteen? What is the need for such an early marriage?” Nikki had just completed twenty and was already planning for her future, which lay in an MBA following a computer course and followed by a foreign degree.

“Why the hurry? Huh! You think the marriage would be over soon after the search for a groom starts? I started out on these roads as soon as she turned 18. Till now not one groom has clicked,” saying so he gave the Bhuvana a long look before tucking it back in the bag safely.

“Eighteen? Do you realize that at eighteen a girl is still a kid?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

“That depends on what sort of family she is born in.” he retorted though only mildly.

I felt as if someone had slapped my head. I didn’t reply. Red turned to orange and subsequently green. I accelerated and presently we went past the Kalaivanar statue.

“I somehow managed to fund her schooling up to her twelfth standard. She has a younger brother and a younger sister as well. My wife too earns a bit by stitching clothes at home. But still is it that easy to get one’s daughter married off? Grooms nowadays are as costly as elephants and horses. I don’t know what I’m going to do. But at the same time, can one keep a girl at home for long without getting her married. One has to face such states of affairs,” As he poured out his feelings, a certain kind of weariness draped itself around him. Notwithstanding the comfort of the car.

He got down at Thirumalai street two houses earlier to where he had to actually go. “If they see me get down from a car, they would think that I’m rich. The groom would cost more. I will take leave now. Many thanks to you. Thanks to god I was able to travel by car today”

His hand lovingly caressed the car. “I will leave now” he repeated as he brought his hands together in front of his chest and pressed them against each other. I did the same. He hurriedly walked down the street, the slippers making a typical sound as he dragged them along the street.

I took a U-turn and went in the direction of Mylapore. I had to meet a friend. I didn’t have any work in Bazullah road.

I should say that God has been very good to me. Nikki graduated in flying colors. Then finished a computer course before flying off to the U.S on a student visa. After a postgraduate degree she worked in a computer firm there for a year and a half before returning to India. Now she is in a senior position in a firm in Bangalore. Her husband has an equally good postgraduate degree from the U.S. I had to shell out four lakh by way of dowry. As per the family welfare regulations, they have just one daughter who inherited all the love and wealth of her parents. She studies in an English convent.

It was obvious that God had not deserted me. Due to my hard work, I rose first to the post of General Manager and then to a Director, in my company. I was considered a financial expert by many. I retired at fifty-eight and then started my own firm-‘Nikki financials’. Which is doing very well.

My wife wears silk saris even in peak summer. She loves American diamonds and Kashmiri shawls. We live in Bombay and travel to Madras* once in three years. We have lots of relatives there. Moreover we have to breathe in the air surcharged with Tamil. A visit to the Marina beach is absolutely vital. Not to mention the mandatory trip to Kancheepuram-the home of silk saris.

Even now, I haven’t forgotten good old Chennai*.

I was inside the car, waiting to fill petrol. I had bought this Contessa after the Maruti, which came after the Ambassador. Bought it here-in Chennai only. Last week. Have to later get it shipped to Bombay. We wanted the first long distance journey to be traveled in this car to be made to a temple. So my wife, my daughter and her family and I have planned to visit a temple at Mangadu*. So I came here to fill up the tank.

It was a long queue and would take at least five more minutes. I got down from the car and looked around. The crowd, the traffic, the skyscrapers-all seemed to suggest just one thing. Chennai was well on its way to competing with the other big metropolises. Dish antennae on roof tops as far as the eye can see, Star TV’s and Sun TV’s dishing out soaps day and night. Is the face of all the cities so similar? Can’t one even distinguish two cities? “Saavugiraakki*! Can’t you see where you are going?” That was the differentiating factor. The autowallahs shouting in that typical accent at passers by was so common. Coming in an accent that could have probably got a patent if one had been applied, it was hard not to recognize Chennai. Buses and trucks zoomed from one side to the other. The city was in a big hurry that wasn’t present even five years back. In one rare instant when there was a brief hiatus, when there were no vehicles on either side, one man on the other side of the road caught my eye. Even though I couldn’t believe my eyes, I recognized him.

It was the same person!

His Khadi shirt was slowly darkening due to sweat. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead like the lights along Marine Drive. The same chappals, the same shoulder bag. Using his hand to shade his eyes from sunlight he frequently peered into the distance, awaiting the bus that never came. Hurriedly, I removed my black sunglasses and looked again. My contact lenses were indeed working well. It was him. No doubt. What was his name? Sokkalingam? Ramalingam? A pair of spectacles now rested on the bridge of his nose. His hair had almost completely disappeared. Still I could recognize him by the face.

My mind swirled for an instant. It was as if some naughty boy had turned back the hands of time. Me, on this side of the road near a petrol bank and he, on the other side waiting for his bus. The same scene was first played fifteen years back. Nineteen seventy….Yes! Almost fifteen years. Fifteen years!

The calendar had changed fifteen times. Six Prime ministers had come and gone. The world was one super power short. A freedom fighter had been released after twenty-eight years in prison. America had already launched the multi-million dollar ‘Voyager’ towards Jupiter.

The man was still standing there.

I snapped back to the present. After filling in petrol, I once again crossed the road and parked my car near him. A sense of déjà vu gripped me.

Stepping down, I folded my arms in reverence. “How are you Sir? Do you recognize me?”

That same surprise. His eyebrows rose in confusion. A shining globule of sweat dripped from his eyebrows and momentarily stung his eyes. Lines on his face betrayed his old age.

“Its me. Rajasekar. S T Rajasekar. Fifteen years before we had met the same way in an other bus stop. I also gave you a lift. Don’t you remember?”

That blank look on his face proved that he still couldn’t recollect. The hands still clutched the shoulder bag in a desperate manner. This reaction of his flooded back old memories and I recalled his name.

“You are Mahalingam aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That day you were going to Thirumalai street with your girl’s horoscope when I saw you here and gave you a lift. Come now also. Where do you have to go?”

“I vaguely remember…didn’t you also have to go to Bazullah road?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go?”

I laughed. “Come on. How does it matter now? Get into the car. We will talk on the way.” I opened the front door for him.

“What did you say your name was?”

“S T Rajasekar. Get in now.”

“Why the unnecessary trouble….” His voice trailed off. “I have to go to an address in Chintadripet.”

“What a co-incidence. Even I’m going that way.”

This evoked laughter from him this time. His teeth did not shine like last time. Senility showed even in his teeth, which had taken on a dull color now.

“You have a very good heart. But I’m sure my bus will arrive very shortly.”

“So what?” I retorted. “Think of this as a trip with an old friend.”

His tired face yearned to accept the invitation. Still his culture advised him otherwise. A bus that wouldn’t go to Chintadripet came, stopped and left.

“Forget about the bus Mr. Mahalingam. Get into the car I say. I am not supposed to park here. Anytime now there will be a cop and along with him, a big fine.”
“Thanks.” This was the excuse he wanted. He hurriedly got into the car, removed his spectacles and wiped both the lens and his forehead with the edge of his shirt. “I should have brought my umbrella with me. I completely forgot.” He justified the sweat.

I closed the door, came and took my place behind the steering wheel and asked him where he had to go.

“Past the bridge after turning around Periyar road.”

The Air conditioner was spewing out chilled air, which was a big comfort. Both of us were silent for sometime.

Just when I thought that he had probably gone to sleep, he spoke. “I am retired now.”

“You should have. It’s been fifteen years isn’t it?” I said.

“My wife expired three years back.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know how else to react. I had not faced such a sentence before in life.

“It was time for her to leave anyway…In a way I’m lucky though. After retirement I’m now working as a gumastha* for a school correspondent. I know the headmaster there. He helped me secure the job.”

I didn’t reply. I felt the bitterness of having bitten a tablet down my throat. The chill of the A.C vanished in a flash.

He opened his shoulder bag and extracted a dull paper packet out. While doing this, he arranged some other things in the bag and then put the packet back.

“Today being a Saturday, school is off.”

“Then why didn’t you rest at home? You look tired.”

“I have work. Once it is done, I’ll go home, drink a glass of cold buttermilk and have a nice siesta.”

Silence again. People, houses, roads, shops, cinema posters, cot-outs of politicians and political parties-we sped past all of them. In deep silence!

We came to Periyar road.

“Where do you reside now?” he asked.

“Bombay.”

“Do you come to Madras frequently?”

“Once in three years.”

“After Bombay, Madras should be pretty insignificant to you.”

“Still this is my birth place isn’t it?”

“Hmmm! The car seems new. The A.C is very good.”

“Thanks.” I turned a corner. “My daughter and family are coming down from Bangalore. We are all going to the temple at Mangadu tomorrow morning.”

“Very good. Have a nice trip. Don’t forget to pray to Karumariamman that my Bhuvana should get married soon.”

Never ever in my life have I been so horrified. I suddenly turned at him, alarm in me eyes. In the traffic that minor distraction was enough. I almost banged the taxi in front of me. “Be careful Sir. If educated people like you drive like this…..” The wise words of a cyclist.

“Bhuvana? Is that the Bhuvaneswari that you mentioned about the other day?”

“Yes. The stars somehow have not yet consented to her marriage. Even now I’m going to this Chintadripet address with her horoscope only.”

I could not talk. The words simply would not come out. Good they didn’t. I didn’t know what to say, how to react. My body was burning. With my head in a big tizzy I was amazed at how I managed to arrive at Chintadripet without an accident or two.

“The car is too big to fit this street. I’ll get down here itself and walk.”

Mechanically I stopped. Got down, went to the other side and opened the door for him. He got down.

“Thank you very much Saar. Shall I take leave now?”

When he got down the dull packet from his shoulder bag fell to the ground. He had forgotten to zip the bag.

I bent down. Due to the fall the packet had opened and what had been inside was on the ground now. I carefully repacked it and handed it over to him.

“Thanks Saar. Bhuvana had asked me to get her this. If you had not seen it now, I would have had to run to a store to buy it again.” Saying so, he carefully put it back into the bag and zipped it.

“I’ll leave now. Sorry for the trouble I had given you.”

The same slippers worn with several stitches on them made a typical sound as his feet hobbled down the narrow street.

I got into the car and sat down, gave my ‘Suzy’ sandals a wretched look and leaned back against the headrest.

That packet had contained a mini packet of ‘Godrej’ hair dye.



Glossary

· Saavugiraakki : A typical swear word used by auto and rickshaw wallahs in Chennai.
· Mangadu : A place about 15 kms away from Chennai
· Chennai : New name for Madras.
· Karumariamman : A goddess.
· Gumastha : Gofer





Story in Tamil written by R Soodamani.

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