2 States The Story Of My Marriage (24 page)

‘But how can i?’ Bala said.

‘You said you are over budget. I have a singer for you, free.’

I played with the paperweight in his office. Alone with him, I behaved his equal.

‘Who?’ he said.

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‘Radha Swaminathan, upcoming singer.’

‘Really? Never heard of her,’ Bala said.

‘She is still in the underground scene. She has trained in Carnatic music.’

‘But this is a popular concert. We’ll have dancers to complement the singers.’

‘Bala, popular music is cakewalk for Carnatic singers. You know that.’

‘Is she good? Have you heard her sing?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Sort of?’

‘Yes, I have. It’ll be fine. Plus you have Hariharan and S.P., can’t go too wrong.’

Bala stood up and walked towards his window.

‘Is she hot?’ Bala said, ‘Like good-looking?’

‘She is my girlfriend’s mother. I find the daughter pretty.’

‘What?’

‘I have to do this Bala. I am hitting all-time low with her. If I don’t do something
drastic, I can kiss my girl goodbye forever. They’ve got a Cisco guy lined up, pure

as fresh coconut oil.’

‘Your girlfriend is Tamilian?’

Yes, Brahmin, so you can deal with it for once.’

‘Iyenger or….’

‘Iyer, does it matter?’

‘No,’ Bala said and came back to his seat. ‘Now I know why you came to

Chennai.’

‘Apart from the fact that I was dying to work with a financial wizard like you,’ I
said.

‘What?’

‘Nothing, now, are you doing it?’

‘What?’

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‘Finalising the singers, Hariharan, S.P. and the new talent Radha.’

‘What will the agents say? We have a committee.’

‘Everyone in the committee works for you. They are your drones.’

‘But still,’ Bala said, in deep thought.

‘You decide,’ I sighed. ‘I have work. I haven’t cleaned up my mailbox in ages. I
still have those emails of yours asking me to push those Internet stocks, I should

delete them, right?’

Bala stared at me as I turned to leave. ‘Look, it is not personal,’ I said, ‘but this
is about my future kids.’

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31

‘Aunty, may I come in?’ I said.

Ananya’s mother looked at me through the mesh door with sleepy eyes. She

wore a nightie; I had disturbed her afternoon nap.

I had told my agents I would be out for a late lunch. Before coming to their

house, I stopped at Grand Sweets and packed two kilos of Mysore pak.

Aunty opened the door. I came inside. She went inside to change her clothes. I

flipped through The Hindu util she returned.

‘Uncle’s back?’ I asked.

‘He came last night.’ She yawned. ‘But he is in office now.’

‘Sorry to wake you up,’ I said and passed her the box of sweets.

‘What’s this?’

‘I wanted to apologise for the dinner that night.’

Aunty kept quiet and looked at the coffee table.

‘I am sorry about the Ratna Stores incident. I assure you, nothing cheap

happened,’ I said.

‘Chitra is a loudmouth,’ she responded. ‘She would have told the whole of

Mylapore by now.’

‘I can understand. We have people like that in Punjabis as well. People who

love to interfere in other people’s lives.’

Aunty ignored me. She went inside to keep the sweets in the fridge. She came

back with a glass of water and their family dish of hard, brittle spirals that didn’t
taste of anything.

I took one. My tooth hurt as I tried to bite it. I took the spiral out of my mouth
and faked I had taken a bite by pretending to chew. We had an awkward minute of

silence.

‘Aunty, I wnted to show you this,’ I said and opened my bag. I took out the

Carnatic music CDs and gave them to her.

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‘T.S. Subramanium? Whose is it?

‘Mine.’

‘What?’

‘I’m trying to develop a taste. I’m learning , but it’s hard. There’s the swara, the
raga, the shruti.’

‘You know about shruti?’

‘Only the basics. I am not an expert like you.’

She returned my CDs and gave a wry smile. ‘In Chennai I am a nobody. Even

Chitra is better than me. Though people say she knows the corporator of

Chennai, who asked Guruji to take her on. The corporator is in charge of the

kutcheri venues, so Guruji had to oblige her. Can you imagine how shallow she

is?’

‘There have ot be other gurus,’ I said.

‘I was ready for an advanced one. Anyway, I am sorry I overreacted that day.’

‘No, no, you don’t haave to spologise. I came ot apologise. And for a little

request.’

‘Request? What are you requesting me? You young people do whatever you

want, anyway.’

‘Nothis isn’t about Ananya and me. This is about our Citibank concert.’

Over the next half an hour I explained the upcoming event. I told her about the
Fisherman’s Cove venue, the who’s who of Chennai that we expected to be

present, the popular music concert for two hours divided between three singers,

and that I wanted her to be one of them.

‘Me?’ she echoed, shocked.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘I’ve never sung popular music,’ she said.

‘You have a trained voice. Switch on MTV and see the latest chartbusters.

Three Kollywood, three Bollywood. You are done.’

‘Why me?’ she asked, still bewildered.

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‘Actually, we are desperate. We need three singers and we found only two. My

boss gave me the job of finding the third singer. So, my appraisal depends on

you.’

‘Who are the other two singers?’

‘They are a bit known. So, the third one has to be fresh to balance things out.’

‘Who?’

‘hariharan and S.P. Balasubramanium,’ I said.

Aunty’s mouth fell open. She stood up and left the room. I followed her into the
kitchen. ‘Aunty, it is no big deal. It isn’t a public concert.’

Aunty answerd by placinga frying pan on the stove and poring oil in it. Once

the oil heated uo, she tossed in mustard seeds and curry leaves. A pungent smell

filled the kitchen. I coughed twice.

‘See, this is what I do all day. I cook, I don’t perform. I am an amateur. I can’t
even sit in front of Hariharan and S.P., let alone share the same stage.’

‘It’s fun night, not a competition. They sing after you.’

She tossed chopped onions in the pan. My eyes burned along with my throat.

“aunty, have you ever performed on stage before?’

‘No. OK, yes, a couple of times in the Tamil Sangam events where Ananya’s

father was posted. But his, five-star hotel, high-society, Hariharan….You’ve got

Hariharan, why do you need me?’

‘Only professionals will make it too commercial. We want to give our clients a

family feel. A casual vibe will be nice,’ I said.

Aunty shook her head. I continued to convince her until she had prepared the

evening dinner of tomato rasam, lemon rice and fried bhindi. I had followed the

recipe and could now make rasam from scratch. However, I still didn’t have her

on board.

‘Why are you doing this? I accepted you apology, didn’t i?’

‘that’s not why I am doing it.’

‘Then why?’ She covered the dishes with plates.

‘I am doing this because I think you are a good singer.’

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‘How do you know that?’

‘Because Ananya told me. She also said you’ve trained all your life. And I

believe her.’

She looked at me.

‘Don’t tell me the idea doesn’t excite you. Not even a little?’ I said as we came
back to the living room.

‘of course, it is a huge honour, but I can’t.’

‘Don’t say you can’t. C’mon, we will keep it a surprise. We won’t tell uncle. We
won’t even tell Ananya if you want.

We sat down on the sofa. I noticed the whisky bottle, the level was the same as
I had left it.

‘OK, here is the deal. You give a tentative yes now. You prepare the songs

when Ananya and uncle are not at home. If on the day of the concert, you want to

back out, let me know the night before and I will manage. If not, give it a shot.

Deal?’

‘I will chicken out at the end,’ she promised.

‘I’ll take the chance. Please,’ I said.

She took ten seconds, but she gave a brief nod at the end.

I sprang up the sofa in excitement. ‘Cool, your practice starts now,’ I said and
picked up the remote and put on MTV.

‘What are these songs?’ she said as the screen showed two hundred South

Indian dancers dancing on the Great Wall of China.

‘I’ll let you figure it out. And now, I better go to work,’ I said, ‘The Citi never
sleeps, but the Citi shouldn’t bunk office, too.’

I fist-pumped as I left Ananya’s house.

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32

People close to you have the power to disturb you the most. I should have torn

my father’s letter. I ended up reading it thrice.

Son,

I am omitting the ‘Dear’ as I am not sure I can address you as that anymore. I knew you
are on the wrong path the day you lost respect for your father. I am sure you remember
that day. You have broken all contact with me since.

I have learnt you are involved with a girl in Chennai. I don’t know the details. I can
only deduce so much from your mother’s conversations with her useless relatives.

We should choose the girl for you, not you. For you are on the path to becoming a
man of low character. Such are the values given to you by your mother and her siblings
that you may not even know how disgraceful your actions are.

That you chose to hide your actions from me only reinforces that at some level you
are ashamed of them as well.

Unfortunately,

Your father

I changed my sleeping position for the tenth time. I wanted to sleep, but felt

more alert than anytime in office. Forget it, he only wants to provoke you, I said to
myself again. Go to sleep, now! – I scolded myself. The funny thing about sleep is

you can’t instruct it to happen. Your mind knows the facts and repeats them to

you – it is late, only five hours when you have to wake up again, you need rest. Your
mind also has a million options on what it can think about; stars in the clear

moonless sky, the beautiful flowers at the Nungambakkam flower shop, the smell

of incense in Ananya’s house, your best birthday party. There are positive

thoughts somewhere in people’s heads all the time. But somehow, even one

negative thought will crowd them out. Maybe it is an evolutionary mechanism so

we can focus on the problem at hand rather than rejoice in all things wonderful.

But it makes life a bitch, as good memories have to make space for the next pain

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in the neck item. And what does one gain by losing sleep? I hope our genes

mutate ASAP so we can evolve out of this.

Memories of that day my father referred to kept coming back. What drama is he

going to do when I tell him about my marriage plans? I thought. Go to sleep, idiot, only
four hours to wake up, my mind scolded me.

My brain refused to relax. I sprang out of the bed at two and called home.

‘Hello?’ my mother said in a sleepy voice.

‘Sorry, it is me.’

‘Krish? Everything OK?’ she sounded panicked.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘What happened?’

‘Dad sent me a letter. I’m quite disturbed.’

‘Oh, really? What did it say?’

‘Not important. He knows about Ananya.’

‘Your friend, no? yes, so what?’

‘Mom, she is not just a friend. I want to marry her.’

‘Oh Krish, don’t start this so late at night. A girlfriend is fine, do whatever you
want in Chennai. But why are you forcing her on us?’

‘I am not imposing. I am telling you about my choice of life partner,’ I said, my
voice loud.

‘Stop screaming.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘If you have the guts, shout at your father.’

‘I don’t speak to him at all. You know I don’t care.’

‘Then why is that letter bothering you?’

I kept silent.

‘Hello?’ my mother said after five seconds.

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‘I’m here,’ I said, my voice soft.

‘Are you OK?’

I held back my tears as I spoke. ‘I’m lonely, mom. I don’t need this form dad.’

‘Tear the letter and throw it.’

‘I am battling Ananya’s parents here anyway. This is such a strange city, I am