2 States - The Story Of My Marriage | Page 6

girl’s dorm?’ ‘There is a first time for everything,’ I said. ‘Cool, carry lots of books to make it clear what you are there for,’ Ananya advised.

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I reached the girl’s dorm at 8 p.m. I carried the week’s case materials, the size of six telephone directories. I knocked at her door. ‘One second, I am changing,’ her muffled scream came from inside. After three hundred seconds, she opened the door. She wore a red and white tracksuit. ‘Sorry,’ she said as she tied up her hair in a bun. ‘Come in. We’d better start, there is so much to do.’ She gave me her study chair and sat on her bed. The rust-coloured bed-sheet matched the exposed brick walls. She had made a notice board out of chart paper and stuck family pictures all over. ‘See, that’s my family. That’s my dad. He is so cute,’ she said. I looked carefully. A middle-aged man with neatly combed hair rationed his grin. He wore a half-sleeve shirt with a dhoti in most of the pictures. He looked like the neighbor who stops you from playing loud music. No, nothing cute about him. I scanned the remaining pictures taken on festivals, weddings and birthdays. In one, Ananya’s whole family stood to attention at the beach. You could almost hear the national anthem. ‘That’s Marina Beach in Chennai. Do you know it is the second largest city beach in the world?’ I saw her brother, around fourteen years of age. The oiled hair, geeky face and spectacles made him look like an IITian embryo. His lack of interest in the world expression told me he would make it. ‘And that’s mom?’ I quizzed. Ananya nodded. Ananya’s brother and father still seemed mild compared to her mother. Even in pictures she had a glum expression that made you wonder what did you do wrong. She reminded me of the strictest teachers I ever had in school. I immediately felt guilty about being in her daughter’s room. My hands tingled as I almost expected her to jump out of the picture and slap me with a ruler. ‘Mom and I,’ Ananya said as she kneeled on the bed and sighed.

‘What?’ I looked at a wedding picture of her relatives. Given the dusky complexion, everyone’s teeth shone extra white. All old women wore as much gold as their bodies could carry and silk saris shiny as road reflectors. ‘Nothing, I wish I got along better with her,’ Ananya said. ‘Hey, you have pictures of your family?’ I shook my head. My family was too disorganized to ever pause and pose at the right moment. I don’t think we even had a camera. ‘Who is there in your family?’ She sifted through the case materials to take out the economics notes. ‘Mom, dad and me. That’s it,’ I said. ‘Tell me more. What do they do? Who are you close to?’ ‘We met to study,’ I pointed out and pated the microeconomics booklet. “Of course, we will. I only asked to make conversation. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to,’ she said and batted her eyelids. How can such scary looking parents

create something so cute?
‘OK, I’ll answer. But after that, we study. No gossip for an hour,’ I warned. ‘Sure, I already have my book open,’ she said and sat on the bed cross-legged. ‘OK, my mother is a housewife. I am close to her, but not hugely close. That reminds me, I have to call her. I’ll go to the STD booth later.’ ‘And dad? I am super close to mine.’ ‘Let’s study,’ I said and opened the books. ‘You aren’t close to your father?’ ‘You want to flunk?’ ‘Shsh,’ she agreed and covered her lips with a finger. We studied for the next two hours in silence. She would look up sometimes and do pointless things like changing her pillow cover or re-adjusting her study lamp. I ignored all that. I had wasted enough of my initial years at IIT. Most likely due to a CAT computation error, I had another chance at IIMA. I wanted to make it count. ‘Wow, you can really concentrate,’ she said after an hour. ‘it’s ten. STD calls are cheap now.’

‘Oh yes, I better go,’ I said. ‘I’ll come with you. I’ll call home too,’ she said and skipped off the bed to wear her slippers.

‘Seri, seri, seri Amma…..Seri!’ she said, each seri increasing in pitch, volume and frustration. She had called home. Many students had lined up to make cheap calls at the STD booth, a five-minute walk from campus. Most carried their microeconomics notes. I helped Ananya with small change after her call. ‘Is he dating her?’ I overheard a student whisper to another. ‘I don’t think so, she treats him like a brother,’ his friend