IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?

When Ananya woke up, it was dark and raining. She jumped out of the bed and rushed to make coffee. It was seven pm already. They were due to fly to Kerala in barely four hours. She went about packing the last of the things they would need. She gently woke Mihir up around eight. “We’ve to leave in an hour. You know I hate to wake you up otherwise.” He mumbled something in reply and pulled himself out of the bed. “There’s coffee for you and if you need, toast too.” He mumbled his thanks. “So, you’re done packing, no?” “Yeah babe. Don’t worry.” He came around behind her and hugged her as he whispered “This afternoon was something.” “Yeah, have you seen my charger, Mihir?” “No, do we have to go Anu? We could just stay here…” “Yes… no! I mean, we have to go. C’mon, I want you to meet Ammumma (grandmother). She’s looking forward to meeting you.” “It’s no big deal Anu. We can go around meeting extended families later.” She lost her temper. “Will you just stop? Later? It may not be a big deal for you but it is for me. We’re getting married in four months, if now isn’t the time to meet each other’s families, then when?” “Alright, fine. But if I’m not allowed to steal a kiss anytime I want while we’re there…”

On the taxi ride from the Kochi airport to Alleppey, the sleepy little town her mother’s side of the family called home, she couldn’t sleep. She was tired, yet she couldn’t quieten her monkey mind- jumping from one worry to the other, listing everything that needs to be done, every family member yet to be met. These next four days at her grandmother’s place were supposed to be a break from all the planning, but these nagging to-do lists were the only things on her mind. She was aware of Mihir’s head resting on her shoulder- How is he doing this? Even as the wedding crept closer, he was unsettlingly calm, as if disregarding all that needed to be done would do the trick. She had accepted when he proposed, because it fit into her scheme of how things should be. Married by twenty eight, welcoming a little Rose (or a little Arvind) by thirty two. But how should she have known that it would all be this exhausting? A wedding is not only a beautiful celebration of love (or of compatibility, most of the time) but also what it entails is the persuasion, the negotiations, the planning down to the tiniest details and the tiresome shopping trips. Adding to this chaos were relatives on both sides who either did not approve of their match and there were the rituals that “cannot be ignored just because the marriage is with an outsider”. And perhaps the scariest was what her mother had said, after meeting Mihir for the first time, she had taken her aside, “He’s a nice and qualified boy. But I think there’s something missing…are you sure this is what you want?” Is she sure he is what she wants? How can anyone ever be so sure? What if this marriage is a hasty foolish decision? Is this how it will all be in the future? A series of bad decisions and the ensuing unhappiness? She registered that inquietude had become her constant companion now. She rested her head against the top of Mihir’s head lolling on her shoulder and impelled herself to sleep.

She woke up to the aroma of ishtu (a stew with vegetables and coconut milk) and appams (Rice and coconut pancakes) wafting from the kitchen and carrying with it, Ammumma’s song (interspersed with humming where she forgot the words) about fishermen and the sea. When she walked in to the kitchen, Ammumma stopped and turned to face her. “Good morning moley. Slept well?” She walked over and hugged her, “Like a baby, Ammumma. Can I make you a coffee?” “Not for me, dear. You have and make some for that boy also.” The appam on the pan was done. “I still can’t believe this. I’m seeing you after six years. The last time you came, you were still in college. And now, my Ammukutty getting married!” She wiped her forehead with the free end of her sari. “How time flies no?” She paused and indicated their neighbour. “I was telling her just yesterday how you used to love coming here as a child. You’d beg me to make you banana fritters the whole day. You and that Lakshmi’s grandson, Nandu, you two would keep chasing each other around the house the whole day and raise hell. Now look at you, already a bride.” She poured the batter for the next pancake. “I wanted to visit you Ammumma all these years, but somehow things would come up.” “I know, moley. That’s what I told Lakshmi too. She was complaining that Nandu hardly calls her anymore. Life in big cities is…different, no. Everyone is busy.” Ananya had nothing to say. What is this busy-ness that keeps you away from loved ones? “I don’t want to see you with that long face, Ammu. Take that chair, sit near me and tell me about this boy. Your mother mentioned that he is nice, MBA and everything, but I want to hear it from you.” “Yes. He is nice. His name’s Mihir.” “Mee heer?” She said tasting how the name sounded on her lips. “Nice name it is.” “I met him while I was working in Kolkata. We had some friends in common.” “Very nice. How’s his family like?” “They are a business family, settled in Delhi. Loud, but okay, well-meaning people.” “Tell me more about the boy.” “Well, he’s interested in his family business; he will take over after…” “Tell me about him, not his job.” “Well, he’s nice, Ammumma.” “Lakshmi’s dog, Jackie is also nice, moley.” Ananya chuckled. “What do you want to know then?” “About him. Is he kind to you? What is his dream for the two of you? Why do you two want to get married?” “Yes, he is kind and cares for me. I don’t know what he dreams about our future actually. He wants to live in America for a while, so I will go with him too, I guess.” Ammumma sighed, exasperated. “Have breakfast. I hope Meeheer mon isn’t like you.” “You asked me why I wanted to get married. I don’t know why. I think that is what I should be doing, that’s why.” “Eat, moley.” Mihir walked in to the kitchen, exactly the way he had woken up, with ruffled hair and a lopsided smile. “I heard your banter. Wow. All I got was Mihir, America and Delhi. And Jackie?” He laughed and scooted over to her Ammumma to touch her feet. “Tell him he doesn’t need to do that! I’m not that old!” Ammumma laughed and fetched a plate for him. Ananya had never thought about how she would now need to be the interpreter and told him what she said. “Smells delicious. What is this?” “Appam and Ishtu.” Ammumma replied without missing a beat. English wasn’t so lost on her after all. “Coconut ishtu. Coconut you like?” “Yes, I love. My mamma also makes idli-dosa and chutney at home. I also make.” “Cooking dosa every day?” “No, Dadi only sometimes, not every day, no.” Ananya felt a strange sense of pride seeing the two understand each other.

That evening when Ananya returned from the market, she saw them sitting on veranda. She went about preparing the tea when Ammumma joined her. “You’re right. He is nice. He helped me set up the mobile phone you bought for me. He put all the important numbers and showed me how to make calls.” “The mobile phone?” Ammumma showed it to her. There it was: a touch screen phone with a bright screen and large text. “There is the menu and ‘Contacts’. See A? There it is, A-m-m-u. See, I will call you now.” And sure enough, Ananya’s phone rang. “Pick up, pick up. And go out on the veranda.” She could barely hide her glee. Ananya’s eyes welled up. “Hello? Ammumma?” “Yes Moley, it’s me. This is better than going over to Chacko’s house to use his large landline phone and you can call me whenever you want.” Outside in the garden, Mihir was watering the plants. She walked over to him and hugged him. For once, everything seemed to get better.

On the eve of their departure, as Mihir watched the news, Ammumma sat Ananya on her bed. “You had four days to think, do you still not know why you want to get married?” “Because he’s a good person Ammumma, that’s what I think. And also, because he can cook.” Ananya chuckled. “When your Appuppa (grandfather) first came to meet me and my father, he only asked me one thing. Do you know what that is?” She paused, for effect. “He told me he’d heard me sing once during a temple festival and asked me if I will continue to sing after we get married because he was just about as talented as a toad.” “That’s so sweet…” “When I would sing, he would join. He always knew the songs I sang. And he tried, the poor man. But for his dear life, he couldn’t carry a tune. But with time he got better, I will give you that.” “That’s why you, Amma and Maman (maternal uncle) would all make him sing at family gatherings, isn’t it?” “Yes, but do you see what I am trying to say? We’re all like Appuppa was, not tone-deaf I mean, but imperfect and stumbling on our way, learning to be better everyday. That’s the only thing we need to remember. Meeheer is a good soul. He spent hours teaching me how to call and to take a photo on this new phone. People with such dedication are rare.” “I know Ammumma.” “So don’t you see? That’s why you should be marrying. So that you can stumble and pick each other up.” Ananya nodded, taking it all in. She looked out of the window. It was a full moon. Their wedding was just a few more full moons away.

The next day as their taxi zoomed away back to the airport, she kept waving until Ammumma’s frail figure could no longer be seen. She laced her fingers with Mihir’s, rested her head on his shoulder and tried to sleep – the only difference was that this time, she felt she finally knew: “Yes, this is what I want.” And for once, her monkey mind also agreed.