Bhumi Airan was the epitome of all things good – in all the extended relatives, she was touted as the ideal daughter. She would be up at 6, and by 7:15, feeding her father two piping hot paranthe with some jeera aloo to the sound of her mother reciting the Maa Durga aarti in unison with a rigorous ringing of the hand-held puja bell. In about 30 minutes, Bhumi would have laid two more paranthe, the same sabzi, with the addition of some steaming arhar dal and rice in a 4-tier steel tiffin and handed it to her father as he would be picking the keys to their Alto and making his way out- “Ye lijiye, papa (‘Here, papa, please take this’)”, she would say. The overtly respectful “lijiye” and not the more common and perfectly acceptable “lo”! Finally, in another hour, sneaking in a 500-rupee note in her brother’s wallet (“Where did this money come from?”, he would wonder aloud on awakening. “That is none of your concerns”, Bhumi would reply assertively in the evening), she would take off to her office – a small-time “fashion designer” she casually worked for a few hours a day (something she was pursuing unasked, purely out of interest, but which nevertheless weighed like guilt on her parents’ conscience).
One may even venture so far as to say that she was sort of the de facto head of her family. She shrewdly budgeted how much ever her PVC granules-trader father brought home (the family’s means being modest, to be polite, and frugal, in earnest). She led the family’s social dealings. One time, her father had partnered with his brother-in-law (Bhumi’s maama) to manufacture plastic clothes hangers. A month into the business, in a momentary exasperation, the otherwise warm-dispositioned maama happened to neglect to respond to a query by her father. No sooner had the slightly crestfallen man entered the house that evening than Bhumi’s phone call had reached her maama, politely informing him that her Papa would not be returning and that maama could return their investment per his convenience.
The folks and the sibling regarded her as a person of sound judgment, with their best interests at heart. The comparative scarcity of resources notwithstanding (the comparison being, as it always is, with the maasi, maama, bua and chacha), the family had always been a proud one, conducting themselves with utmost dignity in all situations. After all, their sustenance was not at anyone’s mercy! Less or more, whatever they possessed was theirs and theirs alone! And this spirit of amour propre was, in no small part, owed to Bhumi. For it was she who propelled the family to keep their heads high whenever the circumstances and the society had them waning.
Come her 24th year (and a coeval cousin marrying exceptionally well), for the family, money became all the more conspicuous by its scantiness as it was now about time to settle Bhumi down. Mrs. Sheela Airan and Mr. Shankar Airan navigated through numerous suitors, digging into their not-so-deep pockets to engage the services of marriage brokers, to send out matrimonial ads in newspapers, to commute, from their residence in Aligarh, however far across the length and the breadth of the country they caught a whiff of the existence of an eligible bachelor who would have them, to make their acquaintance, bringing along expensive sweets as host-gifts, and in going out of their league to arrange a welcome when the boy’s side deigned to reciprocate the visit. They did not want to risk going empty-handed to their daughter’s potential in-laws, lest the latter take offence and revoke their interest. So what if it was only a customary first visit (for the girl’s family to carry out a preliminary ‘due diligence’, so to speak), where no promises are made from either side, and nothing might eventually concretize? No hoop was too hard to jump now that their daughter’s happiness hung in the balance! Bhumi’s parents, haunted by the looming spectre of their daughter losing her prime years, were going out on a limb to land her the best match possible. This went on for about 3 years, and for 3 years, Bhumi’s parents worked themselves into a frenzy over her marriage.
Bhumi did not speak a word.
The year was 2004, and “God being merciful,- as her mother put it, finally, an unthinkably wonderful match presented itself.” The boy – Rishabh Airan – was the only son of a quite renowned business family of Moradabad, who preferred a traditional, homely, dutiful girl over any number of riches any daughter-in-law could bring. Her biodata being approved, Bhumi’s parents set out for the hometown of her intended- Bhumi and her brother in tow- for the prospective groom, and more importantly, his ménage, to form an opinion of her in person. The word-of-mouth referral of the boy’s side was such that even the modality of surveying their residence and place of work was foregone. And any query Bhumi’s parents may have wished to pose, if only just out of curiosity, they stifled, terrified that the same may be construed by Rishabh and his family as the former doubting the latter’s credentials. And surely they were entitled to some sort of inquiry! After all, should Rishabh and his family nod their acceptance of the alliance, it was a given that Bhumi’s parents would spend a sum befitting the groom’s stature on the wedding functions and the gifts!
Once at the decided venue for the meet-up, Sheela ji and Shankar ji paced around at the entrance till Rishabh and his parents arrived, upon which they ran towards the latter, bowing lower with each step, hands folded, murmuring a “Namaskar, ji”, before ushering them in to where Bhumi was seated.
With the Moradabadi Airans settled in by the Airans of Aligarh, while in Moradabad, the two families engaged in conversation. Rishabh’s father asked about the PVC market and what Bhumi’s brother (who was, incidentally, also named Rishabh but lovingly called ‘Rishu’ by all) aspired to do post-college. Bhumi’s father asked about their choice of beverages and snacks. Rishabh’s mother inquired about Bhumi’s hobbies. Bhumi’s mother inquired if the refreshments, of which she and her husband had hastened to relieve the waiter and serve by themselves, were up to the mark.
Bhumi watched in silence.
After all was said and done, Rishabh and his family retired to their home, non-committal. Things had appeared positive, but the quintessential “yes” had not been conveyed per se. Bhumi, her brother and her parents stayed put in Moradabad, waiting, with bated breath, to hear from the middleman. Morning transitioned into afternoon, and finally, as the evening was upon them, it so transpired that the boy’s side was a tad bit hesitant in signifying their approval of the match on account of the cosmetic concern regarding Bhumi’s gapped teeth. Shankar ji at once veered into action, got in touch with a dentist and offered Rishabh’s family his assurance that a bonding procedure (costing Rs. 10,000) would be duly performed on Bhumi before the wedding. That brought them closer to signing on the dotted line. Now the only matter of business that remained was that even though the groom’s side was not looking for the budget of the wedding to be proportionate to their standing, the 7 lakhs that Bhumi’s parents had proposed was felt to be less; something in the ballpark of 10-12 would be more like it. Bhumi’s father and mother conferred for a little while and then signalled their ‘thumbs-up’ to put up the figure of 12 lakh rupees, albeit a little skeptical about how they would go about it.
Bhumi did not make a peep.
At last, the ice was broken – Rishabh’s dad hugged Bhumi’s father, his mom, her counterpart, in mutual congratulations. A small Roka was executed, and Rishabh and Bhumi were ‘stopped’ from henceforth searching for a companion, both now set to marry. Bhumi’s mother wept tears of relief – Bhumi was going to be married; and of elation – Bhumi was going to be married beyond all expectations.
“A magical phenomenon seemed to be underway as the wedding date was approaching”, Bhumi’s mother still relays to anyone who would listen. Her husband (who was obviously working harder than ever to make good on his promise of the surplus 5 lakhs) was suddenly witnessing an upward trend in his business, and money seemed to be coming in at a faster pace and in a greater volume than they had ever reckoned. Attributing this change in circumstances to their daughter’s bhagya, her good fortune, the family earmarked the entire earnings for Bhumi and lost no time in taking the wedding celebrations up a notch, or rather, several notches, to a 15 lakh-high. Everything from the bridal trousseau (jewellery, clothes, accessories, furniture, kitchenware, the works), to the gifts for her in-laws, to the venue for the functions was made bigger, grander. All that mattered was outdoing the in-laws’ expectations to secure a lifetime of respect for Bhumi in her marital house.
Again, somehow, Bhumi held her tongue.
On the day of the wedding, as the mother-daughter duo was having a sentimental moment minutes before Bhumi was supposed to be brought in for the marriage rituals, she said to her mom, “Mummy, I seem to have very few finger rings…” And what was there, Sheela ji did not waste a second in pulling out the rings from her own hands and setting them aside to be taken by her daughter.
The Var Mala ceremony took place, followed by the Kanyadaan and the Phere and finally, after an immensely tearful Vidaai, which saw Shankar ji poignantly asking Bhumi to ‘uphold the respect’ of the Rs. 10,000 expenditure he had incurred on correcting her teeth by refraining from eating a corn-cob as advised by the doctor (‘Mere 10,000 rupay ki laaj rakhna, bhutta mat khana’) – she was sent off.
As parents of a newlywed girl, tradition expected that Bhumi’s mom and dad send over gifts for their son-in-law and his family and even his married sister and her husband and her in-laws on each of the festivals for the first year of marriage. And send, they did! Bhumi’s first Holi, first Teej, first Karwa Chauth and first Diwali, and Rishabh’s first birthday after their marriage, and his and Bhumi’s first wedding anniversary, and even the first time his parents’ anniversary fell after their marriage – all saw presentations by Sheela ji and Shankar ji, which were quite extravagant for them.
And this charade, though not as elaborate but still quite an overdo, was kept up for over a decade. For Bhumi’s parents were still so taken by the station of her in-laws that they were bent upon avoiding anything which could be seen as a lapse on their part by the latter, and in turn, cause even the tiniest bit of embarrassment to Bhumi.
Bhumi had the first of her sons in 2006 and the second, three years later, and for both their naati, her parents periodically went on an almost no-holds-barred shopping spree – from a solid silver pichkari for Holi to 8-gram gold guineas on Diwali, everything was fair game. And the one time when Bhumi’s eldest was to meet her Nani-Nana, Sheela ji had already hooked up her parents with a silver glass to place in his hands. After all, the 9-year-old should have a respectable reply to offer when asked back home in Moradabad how his great-grandparents received him the first time they ever saw him!
Related Articles
Reverse Wax Museum
Remorse
A Dish Best Served Cold
“When we had shifted base to Delhi owing to Rishu’s job, Bhumi and Rishabh ji had sent curtains and a TV for the new house…Rishu never buys his office formals as Bhumi brings him a couple of pairs on her annual visit…We are doing nothing for Bhumi and Rishabh ji”, Sheela ji would tell her sisters regretfully. And while she still may not have had the audacity, for the fear of displeasing the in-laws, to check out her daughter’s dwelling unit within her matrimonial home, she would swear that the next time she visited Bhumi in Moradabad (the crisp, half-a-day-long visit that was bound to overlap with a festival or another occasion), she would make it a point to bring along cash envelopes to perform the Milni in honour of the in-laws – the Milni! Which is typically only a one-time formality reserved for immediately after the wedding!
Around the same time, Rishu (who now had a well-paying job and had also replaced Shankar ji as the primary bread-winner) had turned up without a weather- or event-appropriate ensemble at a family function, and Bhumi was seen taking long, brisk strides in his wake, convincing him to don her husband’s suit – “Ruko, beta. Yeh pehno. Baat samjha karo (‘Stop, baby brother. Wear this. Understand what I am saying’)”
Otherwise, Bhumi still holds her peace.
About the Author
An alumnus of Amity Law School, Noida, Mehal Gupta (née Jain) was an associate editor with Live Law before she traded Supreme Court news for her penchant for crafting customised jewellery (demi-fine!). Her other fondness (“fondness”, not “flair”!) for the written word, coupled with an overpowering urge to call out some of her gender for their convenient claims of equality and the misguided notions of empowerment, has now first surfaced in the form of this short narration. And if Mehal is to be believed, the story is but an account of events, unfolding before her nosy and hitherto preadolescent self, in a family she is closely related to!”
