It Wasn't Love at First Shalini and I (4 page)

I could see a little tear in her eye. Whatever I had said was not
overly romantic, but I think it was the situation and the very fact
that I was speaking which got to her.

“Every little detail about you makes me want to spend the rest of
my life with you. Remember the day my car broke down, and you
haggled with the auto driver for five rupees. That day I was sure that
you could manage, in fact you could make us both manage, even if I
stop earning from today itself. The way you made me shape up to fit
into the marriage photos, made me sure that you will always take
care of my health using one pretext or the other. The way you looked
at me when we decided on the wedding rings made me sure that no
one else’s smile could make me so happy. And the way you look not
only now, but every day, further makes me sure what a good wife
you will be.”

I heard a cheers and a wow from the crowd on the last line.

“Kriti, this is the first time I am actually saying this, and I know it
would have been far more romantic and personal if it were just the
two of us in this room and not 200.”

I heard a “Our eyes are closed. You love birds can do anything you
want.” This evoked a few laughs in the crowd and even brought a
smile to the teary eyes of Kriti.

“Kriti, I love you. Will you give me the honour of waking up
with you every morning, will you give me the honour, of making
breakfast for you, of having Italian food with you, the honour of
being forced to goto the gym because of you, the honour of seeing
that smile in your eyes every passing moment, the honour of calling
you my wife.”

And she broke down. Before anyone else could say anything, Hari
came and gave me a big hug. “Marry him Kriti or honestly, I will.
Believe me, there were stories in college and not all of them were
false.”

This evoked some more laughs from the crowd and a teary eyed
Kriti just nodded and I put the finger on her ring.

 

“And not to forget that you are so damn beautiful.”

More cheers and it was now her turn. She started to speak, but the
tears would just not stop. She tried again, and more tears. I went
ahead and took her in my arms and there was applause from the
crowd. She then took charge over herself and started.

“I don’t know when, how or where it happened. It wasn’t love at
first, but love, just happened. Maybe it was the day I saw you, or
maybe it was the day you started listening to me.”

She gave a mischievous smile from behind those tears and I
reciprocated with one as well.

“In fact it was the day you started listening to me that I decided
that I want to marry you. Hehe. But on a more serious, and true
note, I knew it was you after the first time we went out. You treated
me not like a girl, but like a lady. Every small little thing you did,
and still do, like opening the door for me, wait for me to be seated
before you sit, always pass the menu to me first. Above all, it is these
little things that a girl looks for in her partner. She looks for respect,
and then she looks for love. That is the path you followed.

Even I had so much written in so many sheets of paper for this
very moment, but as you said, I will also speak straight from the
heart. The day your car broke down and I haggled with the auto
driver, I noticed that you spent almost the whole night at the mechanic
to ensure that such a thing never happens again, the day you started
sweating it out in the gym to get into shape for today’s pic, I knew
that you will do anything to make me happy, the way you looked at
me when I finally selected the wedding ring after days and days of
shopping made me sure that no matter what, you will always hang in
there for me. And the way you look at me not only now, but every
day, further makes me sure what a great husband you will be. I have
said this many times before, but mainly in front of the mirror and
never in front of you. And I really don’t care if there are 200 people
in this room or just the two of us because no moment could be more
romantic. I love you.”

There was a huge applause from everyone present and she placed
the ring on my finger.

That was it, we were officially engaged now. Just then all the lights
went out. I heard Hari’s voice over the microphone. “Ladies and
gentlemen, as a tribute to the very dashing to be groom and way out
of his league beautiful to be bride, we have prepared a little something
for them.”

A screen appeared out of nowhere and music started playing and
photographs from my childhood started appearing. It was a collage
of all my greatest memories- graduation pics, pics when I got my
first job, my first paycheque, my first gift to my mother with my
first paycheque, admission to the business school, graduation from b
school, the day I met Kriti for the first time etc. Then there was a
similar collage of her photographs with similar details.

It was beautiful, and just like that, the evening was over. I was
engaged. As the engagement was more of a family affair with no
alcohol, atleast no alcohol officially, I had to take my friends out for
a drink to celebrate the end of my freedom. It was an only guys night
out and Kriti jokingly asked me to stay away from Hari and left to
be with her parents. There were 8 of us guys and we went to a new
bar which had just opened in Gurgaon. It supposedly had great live
music and a great blend of cocktails. We settled into the bar and
ordered a round of drinks. All lights then went out and all the focus
shifted to the stage. Apparently some locally famous singer from US
was playing. She had recently started making a mark on the American
stage. The lights went out, and then all of them shone at one bright
spot on the stage.

She was in a black dress. She was fair, had a dimpled chin which
gave a something special to her smile, long eyelashes, curly at the end,
like a princess would want them, kajal around her eyes, kajal to keep
away the bad omen from her beautiful face, a small parrot nose, which
twitched when she frowned, and black flowing hair, which I would
later know, she thought were brown.

It was Shalini.
1992
T

 

he first time I met Shalini was in the early nineties when twelve
year old boys still had innocence and girls still had the elusive
charm.

After a whole torturous year, class seven was finally over. Kids say
that they gradually start liking school as they grow old, but that is
not true. They actually start liking the girls they goto school with.
And as girls grow from class 5 to class 10, they obviously look better.
School just happens to be there. School is like the necessary evil, like
milk in chocolate milk.

But my life had always been screwed up. So I had gone to an all
boys school in a small but pretty little town up north. The only
thing that grew in that school was my, and other boy’s, moustache
and beard. And we did not shave, so it hung around, just beneath our
faces, like the nest of a very little bird.

So basically, I hated school. I hated getting up, I hated getting
ready, I hated taking out my bike, even though I used to like riding it
at other times, I used to hate getting late, I used to hate the punishment
on getting late, I used to hate the morning assembly, I used to hate
the bullies, I used to hate the nerds.

So I guess you get it that I basically hated everything about school.
But now it was over, over for a month atleast. I had passed class
seven, had done decently if not too well in the exams that happen
after every class. My parents were happy, I had actually outdone
my best performance with respect to rank in the class, and I was
happy, as my parents were happy which meant I would now sleep
till late, ride my bike with the destination not being the school
gates, play out in the field for much longer durations, not fake
studying when at home, read books (comics) out of will rather
than force.

Nothing could beat the holidays that come after exams are over.
You still do not have the new class books, so your parents really can’t
make you study, and school starts after around a month. Life gets
into good shape. It was during the long break after class seven that
my parents decided to take me out on a holiday. In fact a holiday had
been used as a bait for me over the last two months to get me to
study. We were not very rich people. As was the custom in the days
when they got married, my mother was a house wife while my father
ran a provision store. The store did well enough to feed the three of
us, and the earning had to be stretched to ensure that I went to a
good school, but it never made enough to allow the little luxuries
like holidays. My mother was looking forward to the holiday much
more than I was. She was so happy when I got a good result. The
entire year she had spent threatening me, loving me, and using all
other methods which only a mother can, to make me study had
borne fruit, and she was going on a holiday. Life was good. In fact,
the last holiday I remember we had was when I was in class 2, so it
really had been a long time.

This was a time of celebration. I had achieved what my parents
had hoped for, I had got good marks and a decent rank in the class
and the dreams of middle class Indian parents are restricted to only
that, that their children study and lead an honest life and have the
same dreams for their children. That was the reason for the expensive
school. My parents wanted to give their best shot at my education,
and hoped, that I would too. And looking at the results, I had not
disappointed them.

Even though school was over and the next class had not yet started,
my father would not let me sit at his provision store. He always
thought that I was meant for something bigger. So my mother and I
would sit at home the whole day and would discuss where we would
go and what all we would do. The very mention of a holiday had
brought a bigger smile to the ever jovial face of my mother and I
shared her excitement. We both, after days of deliberation had finally
decided Bombay as our destination.

Both of us loved hindi movies, even though we did not get
to watch too many, and Bombay was our Mecca. But then, one
day something happened that changed the plan. Dad came home
late one day and told us that one of his creditors had run away
from town. He did not owe dad too much money, but I looked
at my mom and I could see the stars in them dimming. She
looked at me and regained composure the way only a mother
can. She told my father that we could forgo the holiday. And
she said it with so much conviction and without a hint of
remorse, just like a wife can, to make her husband feel better.
The holiday was what she had looked forward to for the last
couple of months, or maybe even years, and she was being denied
that. My dad looked down. He was a good man who had always
wanted to keep his family happy. And he had succeeded so far
in life and there was no way he was going to let us down this
time. He told us that he would lend some money and would
take us out. Not as far as we had wanted to go, but to New
Delhi, the capital of our country.

My dad went to the railway reservation counter the very next day
so that no other creditor could have a say in our holiday. We were to
leave in four days and never had I seen my mother so excited. In fact,
never had I seen myself so excited. After 4 long days and even longer
nights, the day was finally here. I packed all my good clothes, a pair
of jeans, a cap, sunglasses, some t shirts and I was ready. Then my
mother packed in some more of my stuff and I was really ready. My
mother also packed all her good clothes and she was also ready. My
dad packed a smile, and that was what that holiday meant to him,
satisfaction for his family.

We lived in a small town and the railway station was no more than
20 minutes from our place, but we still reached 2 hours before the
scheduled departure. My mother and I were all dressed up, I had a
cap on and sun glasses which were too big for my face. I thought I
looked like the most handsome guy in the world and if no one else,
atleast my mother would agree to that. In full excitement we got off
the rickshaw that had been carrying us only to learn that the train was
3 hours late. We could have easily gone back home and could have
come back well within time but my dad decided that the holiday
had begun, so we stuck around.

Luckily, it wasn’t too hot that day and I went around, exploring
the place. I think I used to act a little too young for my age, or maybe
it was the nineties, but I still got my kicks by climbing up and running
down stairs and running after dogs or cows or whatever animals. My
parents had found a bench and were sitting there while I was
upto my usual banter. I wandered off and returned 10 minutes
later to my parents, cap in hand and sunglasses in pocket. My
parents had apparently made some friends and I was introduced
to them.

Dad: “Beta, say hi to Sharma uncle. Like us, he is also going to
Delhi on a holiday.”

I scowled. I did not want a new uncle to tag around in my holiday
which I had achieved. But I was a nice boy, so I folded my hands and
said Namaste.

Sharma uncle: “Beta, which class are you in. Class 5?”

Okay, I did look young for my age. But class five? I mean, come
on. I looked at my mother. I know she knew what I wanted to say“Why don’t you let me shave so that I can look atleast my age if not
older?”

To be honest to her, I hardly had any facial hair. She understood
and tried to save the day.

 

Mom: “No bhaisaab, he has just passed class seven. And he has
done very well in his exams.”

She added the last part to make me happy. But the damage had
been done. I looked as if I was in class five. I saw a dog and was about
to leave the scene of embarrassment and play with the dog when
Uncle’s Aunty came from the restroom, a big bag on one side and
Shalini on the other.

That was the first time I saw her. That was the first time she saw
me.