Under The Mango Trees

Chapter Thirty Six : In Between Two Indian Families Part Two

Dev's brother tapped his leg in reassurance which encouraged him to get up. His face was stony like a statue, but his gait did not betray his indignation. He brushed past me, leading the way as if this was his house, but he did so naturally and abstractedly with no hint of arrogance. He was a head taller than me and despite his tallness, he wasn't all gangly and awkward, the blue kurta fit his body snugly in a way that accentuated his broad shoulders and torso and there was an easy elegance in his walk. I judged him to be two or three years older to me, not more than that, yet he exuded a maturity that suggested he had the wisdom of someone who knew about the world. Perhaps it was that smile secretive of the knowledge that it hid, the smile that I couldn't forget from our first meet.

I didn't enter my bedroom where he would be, prolonging it by scooping out ice cream in the kitchen. It was still eight pm and I didn't envision them going away before ten pm at least. My mother had prepared food accordingly, there were still late-night snacks and sweets untouched. A big cloth bag containing the sweets that their family had brought over for Diwali lay on the middle of the countertop among used pots and dishes. Eventually, a lot of time had passed for me to keep evading the situation so I had to go to my room with the already melted two bowls of vanilla ice cream.

Dev was sitting on my bed, right next to the cotton shorts that I had worn earlier. I didn't remember leaving it there, he must have touched it or rather pushed it to make space for himself. Mortified, I quickly placed the two bowls on Pavitra's bed and yanked the cotton shorts, over half of which he had been unknowingly sitting. He got up midway and out of the cotton shorts, the chewed carrot fell out on the floor. I nearly put it back in my mouth, panicked, till I registered the look of surprise on his face. Turning back, I walked briskly to the dustbin in the kitchen, threw it, cursed and calmed myself. When I entered again, I was serene like a saint and served him the ice cream which was now a soup, all done gracefully.

"You would not want to watch Netflix," I mumbled to myself while sitting on Pavitra's bed. I didn't blame him for keeping away from the ice cream bowl as far as possible, one would feel guilty eating that at a time where one's sibling's fate was hanging by the words uttered by their parents. His hands were gravely folded on his lap and he concentrated on the faint voices that emanated from the living room, those voices felt as distant as the vehicles running down the street and the firecrackers exploding in the sky. He suddenly opened his eyes as if he had heard something important. Those deep-set eyes were a shiny honey colour under the warm glow of the paper lantern.

The change in his physiognomy evoked curiosity in me too and I leaned conspicuously towards the door. "Did you hear something?" But the moment I listened, there was a long pause. I was getting frustrated every minute so I blurted out,  "Can you tell me what happened between Pavitra and your brother? I know you feel as if you're breaking your brother's trust, but you're only saving another family---"

"We covered for all the wedding expenses! Right from booking the hall to the varieties of food! We even respected the groom's choice of keeping only vegetarian options, that too from his favourite restaurant. It cost us so much, but we didn't complain one bit. We considered our daughter's future and we wanted to do everything we could do for her," I heard my mother rambling feverishly. She was right, after all, times were changing and the groom's family had to take up half the burden. I couldn't help but look critically at Dev, wondering what he had to say to this. He grimly noticed my laser-sharp eyes, but he wasn't brave enough to say anything in defence.

"It wasn't like that . . . " the soft voice of Dev's mother was cautious and respectful. "My husband and I offered to pay for everything. We have been saving up for our son's wedding, just like people do for their daughter's wedding. But Pavitra's father refused to accept money from us . . . "