2:30 am IST, 18th August 2013. While India trips are tiring because of long flight times, unreasonable layovers in different cities and completely opposite time zones, every NRI looks forward to them. Its like homecoming and could be compared to Lord Rama's return to Ayodhya after 14 years of kingdom banishment. Even though I was back in India in less than 5 months this time around, it felt like I had been away for eternity. For past five years the time spent away from home, be it five months or two years it has felt the same. The view from the airplane of Delhi in early wee hours of morning is gorgeous to say the least. Even though the city sleeps but there is light emanating from every corner of the city. The vibrancy of those city lights fills your tired body and battered soul with fresh energy.
As the plane touches down, I have my checklist of things to do ready. I need to rush to a restroom as Dubai airport did not allow me to visit one. Its strange and magically co-incidental as to how the water supply in one of the most visited airports can shut off at the time you arrive and that in two of the three male restrooms on that terminal. And of course you do not get ideas that you can always go into a female restrooms given that there are burqas available on sale in the same terminal. Apart from the call of nature, I need to prepare for a 45-60 minutes session of uncomfortable and routine questions asked by the immigration officer. Again its strange and funny, if a criminal who is wanted in India and is back in India by spending his own money, is not allow him to enter without fuss and extensive questioning. Add to it I have to wait for about 30-45 minutes to collect my check-in bag over the conveyer belt. I still could not give a logical reason as to why I checked-in a bag given that I did not do any shopping for my folks and family this time around. On top of that I need to rush home in order to get some rest before being paraded in front of people and a girl for a matrimonial proposal for the umpteenth time. The time needs to be cut somewhere in order to reach home early. I can bear the call of nature. So I dash towards the immigration counter.
Among many nice things about terminal three in Delhi's internal airport like cleanliness, systematic signs, the best thing is that it is not huge. You can walk around everywhere but not feel tired. The airport terminals in USA, especially the one in Detroit, are stretched over acres and if you do not take trames within the terminal, chances are likely that you will either miss your flight or tire yourself completely. I show urgency and I am able to scoot through hoards of first class and business class people of my flight. I hate them for I can barely afford to travel in economy and they always get to travel mostly in first and business class. I am third in the line at the immigration desk quietly smiling at the folks who are aggregating behind me. "You are a nerd you know that. You do this intensionally or is this by mistake? You know you will be asked questions and made to wait for 45-60 minutes on the immigration desk. Maybe this time they will take you to a detention cell and interrogate you like SRK was in My Name Is Khan". Why keep these people behind you waiting in early wee hours? BC, MC", remarks my inner voice. My inner voice managed to make it way to India as well and has just woken up into its Delhi incarnation. "Well, see who is sounding nice here? You know I need to get home early. I need to rest myself and more importantly you so that you are not crabby in front of those nicer folks I am going to meet today", I try to put up a rational and brave face even though I mostly knew what is the outcome of meeting today morning.
The immigration office calls me, looks at my passport and swipes it across a bar-code reader. Upon seeing the information displayed on the screen, I see wrinkles on his forehead and his eyebrows tighten up. "Here we go again. Their stupid system cannot differentiate between a genuine Gautum Gupta and a rogue Gautum Gupta. So much for the e-commerce revolution in India. What has NIC done all these years if they cannot resolve simple issues like that?", remarks the inner voice. My inner voice was sounding remarkably nice and logical today. But it was right. Past few visits back to India I have had to face routine questions for establishing my identity as there are far too many Gautum Guptas in India now. And even though I am innocent, the immigration office tend to ask such questions as a part of their duty. "My name is Gatum Gupta and I am not your culprit", I sometimes feel I should modify the dialogue "My name is Khan and I am not a terrorist" from the movie My name is Khan. I am all for providing information to them as long as it does not take an hours time. The immigration officer starts to ask a few more questions regarding my home address, my occupation in USA and so on. I felt like giving him a printout of my bio-data from the matrimonial website where my mother is hunting for a suitable bride for me.
"You are good to go", remarks the immigration officer. "But its been only 10 minutes, Sir. Trust me Sir, he is your man. Put him behind bars. This is your only chance.", my inner voice is surprised at my being relieved so soon by the immigration officer. I thank the immigration officer and proceed towards the baggage claim counter. My bag arrives shortly. I pass through the green channel and an officer asks me to pass the bags though the X-ray machines. "He's got nothing, Sir. Kadka hai", my inner voice is trying to explain my financial situation to the custom officer. I successfully have passed though all the hurdles and I am into the wild world of Delhi where I need to be smart and agile, among the sea of people where I am a mere drop, surrounded by the love and compassion of people that I long for in US, into the daily challenges which do not exist in US and back to life that I do not understand why I left behind. That's what the India trip is all about for me.
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4:00 am IST, 18th August 2013. The radio taxi is breezing across Delhi. For a moment, I feel like telling the driver that please slow down. But I decide against that. "Let's reach home early, eat something and then sleep well. If things do not work our this time as well, then maybe you can work from home this week", my inner voice keeps taking my mind back to the actual motif of the visit. Shortly, after 20 minutes I am home. It seems to have rained because the potholes in the road in front of my house are filled with water. There is also that sweet smell of rain in the air that I miss in San Jose. Ma and Pa show up on the gate of the house upon hearing the sound of a radio taxi getting pulled up in the road segment in front of our house. I pay up the taxi driver and get out of the taxi to touch their feet. My time away from home had certainly taught me the value of blessings of parents and elders. Even though I did not touch my parents feet earlier, I began to do that recently. I realize how much their blessings matter than everybody else. Ma tries to hug me. Her hands can barely reach out to my neck and I have to droop down and hug her. Its ironic how as I small child when I wanted to hug her and she lifted me in her arms and kissed my face and how now I have to droop so that she can reach my face. Pa just pats my back.
I drag my bags and place them in the central courtyard on the ground floor. I take off my shoes and go to see Baba. He is asleep so Pa wakes him up. I touch his feet and he blesses me back and asks me again "Tu aa gaya Monu. Khush raho.... Tu Banglore kab aaye ga? Ab to teri tarraki bhi ho gayi". As if he is still waiting for my answer since a left in March this year. I do not have an answer to his question. "Jaldi Baba", I try to bluff the truth in the lie I told him. Baba does not show any response. He is not wearing his hearing aid. My father helps him lie down again. I go into my Dadi's room. She is awake and looking effervescent as always. I touch her feet and she pulls my forehead close to her lips and kisses it gently. I want to wean away because of her susceptibility to germs on me but I let her kiss me. The warmth of some relations never wither away. "Take a kiss from where you get one, dude. You do not have hopes of getting a romantic one.", remarks my inner voice. "Tasli karke haan bolna", remarks Dadi. "Ji..", I acknowledge her back. I say goodbye to Dadi and move bag to the courtyard to get my bags. Chachi is also awake now and she in the courtyard. I touch her feet. I take my bags upstairs into our set of rooms.
Ma gives me paratha, warm milk and mithis. "These have come from the house of your would-be in-laws. We have been eating so much sweets and mithis in past few months. Every time they visit us, they bring us something.", says Ma. I do not fight back on the 'in-laws' remarks. "There are besan ke ladoos also, if you want to try", Ma offers some of the sweets to me. I do not say no to sweets so I happy to have two of them. "Gorge on, they will not make any difference to your figure now", remarks my inner voice yet again. Ma, Pa and Chachi are also sitting around me with their eyes pinned on me. I try to start some conversation which is unrelated to today's meeting with Pooja and her family but some how we end up discussing the today's meeting again. "Did you see her photo I sent you on Friday?", Pa inquires. "Which one? I haven't checked my gmail account in past few days", I try to act innocent to change the topic away from Pooja. "We cannot find a more suitable girl for you. She is tall, beautiful and well educated and is more than equal to you in every measure. And her family is like ours.", Ma tries to put the final nail in the coffin. "Sleep well, Beta", says Chachi as she leaves the room. "God, why is everybody so hell bent at this proposal only. Why is it that I do not want to think about it and somehow it just keeps coming back?", I am puzzled and surprised to see everyone's interest in Pooja and her family for our eventual marriage. I knew that everyone was interested but I did not knew that their level of interest was so high. "I did not see Tauji. Where is he? Maybe he will talk something else with me.", I am thinking of somehow diverting my mind somewhere else.
Its 5:30 am in the morning. "Get some sleep now. We will wake you at 7:30 am. We need to leave by 8:15 am", orders Pa now. I am not sleepy anymore and I want to talk to Ma and Pa. Seeing your family is therapeutic and relaxing in ways that the mind does not recognize. I go into my parents bedroom and try to sleep on Ma's side of the bed. She does not use mattress for health reasons. I cannot sleep but keep tossing around. "Maybe its the hard bed underneath", I think of a reason of not falling asleep. When Pa is done with his meditation later in morning I move to his side of the bed (which has mattress). I still cannot sleep. I again kept tossing around for no good reason.I try thinking of the my flights on way to Delhi. I try to think about the lady who was with me in the cab on our way to the airport and with whom I spoke again on Dubai airport, whether she has reached Ahmedabad. I try to think if males in UAE are even allowed to buy burqas for their girlfriends and wives. I try to think about my next trip to India. I try to think about the snide remarks of people in office after I get back. "It's the proposal that is going on in your mind, man", my inner voice cries out loud. I try to block all that was going on in mind with regards to my meeting today. But I cannot sleep. Finally its 7:30 am. "Get up its time", announces Pa. I have only managed to rest my eyes. My mind is still weary and tired.
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8:00 am IST, 18th August 2013. "Put on the purple one. This looks good.", remarks Papa with zest and humor as he chooses a T-shirt to be worn for the meeting. I am standing in a vest and a pair of jeans in front of Ma, Pa and Chachi. We are trying to decide which T-shirt among the four bought by Ma and Chachi is suitable for the occasion today morning. "Its a little loose but is fresh and looking good on you", adds Ma. I wear the white-purple T-shirt with numerous horizontal lines. I am too old for fashionable T-shirts now. I normally prefer single shades of dark T-shirts. But its good to wear a fashionable one once in a while.
I finally see Tauji. He is all dressed up for the clinic. But isn't 8:00 am too early and today is Sunday. He does not work on Sundays. Is he also coming along with us? "Ma, who all are going? Are Chachi and Tauji also coming with us?", I enquire from Ma. "Yes, if three of us go then it will not be auspicious. They are also coming with us", answers Ma. This superstition of hers did not come as a surprise as she had been feeding cows with chapatis over last one month on my behalf. I greet Tauji and touch his feet. He is happy to see me and he embraces me like his own son. I go downstairs and seek my Baba's blessings. He tells me to ask Pooja if she can cook and mingle well with us. Dadi tells me about Narela connection of Pooja's family. Office meetings are easier to handle. At least an hour before an office meeting there is no discussion with regards to what will happen in the meeting.
Pa is driving and I am seated next to him. The meeting is supposed to happen in a restaurant in India Habitat Center. Pa had shared photographs of the place on email saying that Pooja and her family had visited the place and chosen it for our meeting. So five of us are on our way for the meeting. The usual discussion about my brother and my sister in US ensues. I ask Chachi when is Divya is planning to come for winter vacation and why is Saurabh so lazy at booking his tickets. Delhi is crowded as hell on Sunday as well and it seems like we will be late for the meeting. Though I hate being late for any chore in daily life, I was happy that I have sometime to mentally prepare myself. "Do not crack silly jokes or take potshots at anyone. Maintain a smile always. Don't get crabby at anything. Ask if she can cook....", my inner voice was giving me a checklist of things to keep in mind. "Enough.. dude. I know.", I give an irritated shrug towards my inner voice. So as we enter the gates of the venue of my meeting, I am still not going into the meeting with a clear mind.
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"Touch his feet when he gets near", my Tauji advices as Pooja's father approaches us to welcome us to the venue. We are late as always but it seems he is okay and there is no expression of annoyance on his face. "I am not going to touch any stranger's feet even if I barely know them. Of course people whom I respect are exceptions", I have a secret pact with myself. Even though I nod my head in acknowledgement to Tauji's advice, I shake hands with Pooja's father. He takes five of us to the restaurant where we meet Pooja's mother, Pooja and her brother Rishab. Both Pooja and Rishab are seeking blessings from my elders by touching their feet and I fold my hands in namaste to Pooja's mother. "That is embarrassing enough. Should I attempt to touch the feet of Pooja's parents now?", I thought to myself. Well again the moment had pasted. There are quite a few people present in the restaurant. Pooja's parents have booked a big table near the bar in the restaurant. So as are taking our seats almost everyone else in the restaurant knows the purpose behind two families having breakfast together.
I am seated right across Pooja on the dining table with her family on one side and my family on the other side of the table. She is flanked with her brother and father on either side. As mush as I knew the outcome of the meeting, I still want to look at Pooja. After having spoken to her, spoken to her parents, spoken to her brother, meeting her father's friend in San Jose and flying all the way from San Jose to Delhi, I can at least look at her and see how she looks. Inner arguments aside, there is a strong dilemma if I should look at her. Its embarrassing enough to check-out a girl with a direct view and the situation of her brother and father sitting by her demands chivalry on ones part. But from a few glances here and there I am able to catch few glimpses of her. She is dressed in a blue salwar suit the kurta of which is sleeveless. She has left her beautiful and long black hair which are left un-tide. I cannot see her face as it is hiding behind those long hair and she is looking down. Finally as she looked up towards her father I saw that she is beautiful. She has beautiful eyes and her face is one of the fairest ones I have ever seen. Needless to say, she is more beautiful than her photographs which Pa had sent to me by email.
The breakfast that is being served is American which comprises of muffins, cakes and fruit juice. Pooja's mother is serving my parents and me. I personally never like the idea of girl's parents going out of their way to woo or impress a boy's family. Marriage and arrange marriages especially happen because of the interest of two families. One family should not take the burden of impressing the other family. In India such is the state of affairs where a girl's family goes though such experiences. I can understand Pooja's parents plight. I sitting quietly trying to think what am I going to say as I am hearing Pa talk to Pooja's father. Pooja is also talking to Pa about her London visit and other general things. I could see Pooja's father concern on me being so quiet and reserved. As I am trying to eat the muffin in my plate, Pooja's father asks me "Beta, how was your flight?". "Ji, it was good. 20 hours end-to-end is not bad. The flight from San Francisco to Dubai was 16 hours. The flight from Dubai to Delhi took about 2 hours 30 minutes", as I give some details regarding my travel. Pooja's mother asks me if I like the breakfast. "Well its American. I did not expect to get American breakfast first up in India", I reply to her to sound funny. "Dude, that is rude. You sarcastic bastard.", my inner voice castigates me. That did not come out well and it probably did not go well with the people seating around me.
My father is asking Pooja about her London travel. She is telling him about how sikhs brag about their relatives settled in London and Canada. "Hamare Caneda wale uncle aur aunty. Hamare Caneda main do makaan hain", she says as she tries to imitate the typical Punjabi accent. I find it funny because there was a sikh couple sitting right behind her. But she is oblivious to their presence and she is funnily castigating this bragging nature of sikhs. My family find her amusing and they laugh at her joke on sikhs while I am looking around as if to convey to the sikh couple, who by now are looking at Pooja, that I am not a part of this get together. Meanwhile, Pooja's mother serves me a sandwich with jam inside it which tastes very sweet and not to my liking.
"Why don't you take Gautum around, Pooja?", as Pooja's father tells us to spend some time by ourselves. "They have to decide now" , remarks my mother as she seconds what Pooja's father just said. We both get up and leave towards the garden in front of the restaurant. "I am sorry, I cannot speak in front of unfamiliar people immediately. Your father seem to be getting a little annoyed at my silence.", I tell Pooja as we step onto the stone walkway leading into the garden. "Its not a problem", replies Pooja with a gentle smile. She motions to take me to the adjoining amphitheater. Its hot and humid today in Delhi and there is a heavy cloud cover in sky with a little bit of sunshine.
"I love theater and plays. There are a lot of good plays enacted and staged here. Remember, Rang-de-Bansati? There were a few scenes in that movie that were shot here. ", as Pooja tries to strike a meaningful conversation in middle of our discussion of weather in Delhi and San Jose. "That's a common ground. She loves plays and theater", remarks my inner voice. "I do not remember Rand-de-Basanti so I cannot say if this is the same amphitheater. But yes, San Francisco also stages good musicals. I love the choreography and proses of the poems. It feels pure magic at times.", as I try to convey to her that I am also interested in theater.
"You want to sit somewhere?", I ask Pooja as we are looking around the amphitheater. There is a bunch of college students who making their way through the amphitheater. I was also like them five years ago. Five years which seemed a very long time ago. Frankly speaking that is the only memory of Delhi left in my mind now. For a brief moment felt as if Delhi had grown older while I was still 5 years behind in time. For a brief moment it felt that Delhi had left me behind or I let Delhi drift away. "Let's stand here", remarks Pooja as she leans against a wall that is her waist high. A few leaves of the plants kept behind her try to get into her long beautiful tresses. "How was your London trip?", I ask her to try to start another conversation. "It was good", replies Pooja. Pooja provides some details that she loved the street names and how the street names in London matched the ones in India, that she loved walking in the gardens in evening and that she saw some theaters and loved their pristine architecture. "Did you meet the new prince?", I ask her something I had written to her in one of my emails. She smiled a bit and said how could she meet someone from the royal family.
"Do you have any questions for me? Like about your job or career opportunities in San Jose. I know you will have to leave your job in order to come to US after marriage", I ask her as career for anyone is important and getting a job in USA as a spouse is not easy. "Gautum, I am not a girl who is obsessed with career. I try to be happy with what I have and I will find something that will keep me busy.", Pooja replies with a very clear mind. "Ins't she career oriented. As in, doesn't her job matter to her", I thought for a moment. "Do you have any other questions for me?", I ask her again. "Not that I can think of right now", replies Pooja. "Well, when you were harping about Caneda wali aunty and all, there was a sikh couple overhearing you. They were seated right behind you.", as I tell Pooja about her funny potshot at sikhs settled in Canada and London earlier in the restaurant to sound funny myself. "I am not afraid of anyone", Pooja replies with an uncomfortable tone which meant that my funny remark embarrassed her. "Do you want to go inside, maybe towards the reception? It is very hot and humid today", remarks Pooja. Her cheeks were turing read and she was beginning to sweat.
"What was your research paper about?", I ask Pooja about the research paper that she had presented while her visit to London. "It was about year end performance analysis of employees and how does it effect them. We did some survey and collected data on year end performance reviews. I contributed with some regression analysis on the collected data" , Pooja explains to me succinct and clear manner on the objective and content of the research paper. "I was rated average this time when I was supposed to be rated outstanding in my year-end performance review even though I was rated outstanding in four out of my seven performance goals in this year.", as I try to share my grievance regarding my performance analysis at work which had given me a few sleepless nights. "Why?", Pooja enquires back. "I was promoted this year so my manager said I needed to be put among the average population", as I try to express my displeasure of what had happened few weeks earlier in office. "It happens. I may also get a promotion next year", remarks Pooja as she expressed her indifference towards my grievance, I could sense that she did like the idea of discussing the performance analysis at work. I see a few sniggering faces of people, who knew that a boy and a girl were meeting for arranged marriage, in the varendah outside the American restaurant as we were making our way back to our families. "You ruined it dude. She is looking so uncomfortable", remarked my inner voice as both of us were entering into the restaurant. As we took our seats next to our families, my mother remarked "Pooja beta, you look so flushed? Are you feeling hot in this weather?". "Yes, aunty. its very humid outside", replies Pooja. "We cannot live without air-conditioners in this weather", my mother tries to talk more to her sensing that things did not go well when Pooja and me talked in alone. I myself had a blank face which was sweating now.
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As the plane touches down, I have my checklist of things to do ready. I need to rush to a restroom as Dubai airport did not allow me to visit one. Its strange and magically co-incidental as to how the water supply in one of the most visited airports can shut off at the time you arrive and that in two of the three male restrooms on that terminal. And of course you do not get ideas that you can always go into a female restrooms given that there are burqas available on sale in the same terminal. Apart from the call of nature, I need to prepare for a 45-60 minutes session of uncomfortable and routine questions asked by the immigration officer. Again its strange and funny, if a criminal who is wanted in India and is back in India by spending his own money, is not allow him to enter without fuss and extensive questioning. Add to it I have to wait for about 30-45 minutes to collect my check-in bag over the conveyer belt. I still could not give a logical reason as to why I checked-in a bag given that I did not do any shopping for my folks and family this time around. On top of that I need to rush home in order to get some rest before being paraded in front of people and a girl for a matrimonial proposal for the umpteenth time. The time needs to be cut somewhere in order to reach home early. I can bear the call of nature. So I dash towards the immigration counter.
Among many nice things about terminal three in Delhi's internal airport like cleanliness, systematic signs, the best thing is that it is not huge. You can walk around everywhere but not feel tired. The airport terminals in USA, especially the one in Detroit, are stretched over acres and if you do not take trames within the terminal, chances are likely that you will either miss your flight or tire yourself completely. I show urgency and I am able to scoot through hoards of first class and business class people of my flight. I hate them for I can barely afford to travel in economy and they always get to travel mostly in first and business class. I am third in the line at the immigration desk quietly smiling at the folks who are aggregating behind me. "You are a nerd you know that. You do this intensionally or is this by mistake? You know you will be asked questions and made to wait for 45-60 minutes on the immigration desk. Maybe this time they will take you to a detention cell and interrogate you like SRK was in My Name Is Khan". Why keep these people behind you waiting in early wee hours? BC, MC", remarks my inner voice. My inner voice managed to make it way to India as well and has just woken up into its Delhi incarnation. "Well, see who is sounding nice here? You know I need to get home early. I need to rest myself and more importantly you so that you are not crabby in front of those nicer folks I am going to meet today", I try to put up a rational and brave face even though I mostly knew what is the outcome of meeting today morning.
The immigration office calls me, looks at my passport and swipes it across a bar-code reader. Upon seeing the information displayed on the screen, I see wrinkles on his forehead and his eyebrows tighten up. "Here we go again. Their stupid system cannot differentiate between a genuine Gautum Gupta and a rogue Gautum Gupta. So much for the e-commerce revolution in India. What has NIC done all these years if they cannot resolve simple issues like that?", remarks the inner voice. My inner voice was sounding remarkably nice and logical today. But it was right. Past few visits back to India I have had to face routine questions for establishing my identity as there are far too many Gautum Guptas in India now. And even though I am innocent, the immigration office tend to ask such questions as a part of their duty. "My name is Gatum Gupta and I am not your culprit", I sometimes feel I should modify the dialogue "My name is Khan and I am not a terrorist" from the movie My name is Khan. I am all for providing information to them as long as it does not take an hours time. The immigration officer starts to ask a few more questions regarding my home address, my occupation in USA and so on. I felt like giving him a printout of my bio-data from the matrimonial website where my mother is hunting for a suitable bride for me.
"You are good to go", remarks the immigration officer. "But its been only 10 minutes, Sir. Trust me Sir, he is your man. Put him behind bars. This is your only chance.", my inner voice is surprised at my being relieved so soon by the immigration officer. I thank the immigration officer and proceed towards the baggage claim counter. My bag arrives shortly. I pass through the green channel and an officer asks me to pass the bags though the X-ray machines. "He's got nothing, Sir. Kadka hai", my inner voice is trying to explain my financial situation to the custom officer. I successfully have passed though all the hurdles and I am into the wild world of Delhi where I need to be smart and agile, among the sea of people where I am a mere drop, surrounded by the love and compassion of people that I long for in US, into the daily challenges which do not exist in US and back to life that I do not understand why I left behind. That's what the India trip is all about for me.
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4:00 am IST, 18th August 2013. The radio taxi is breezing across Delhi. For a moment, I feel like telling the driver that please slow down. But I decide against that. "Let's reach home early, eat something and then sleep well. If things do not work our this time as well, then maybe you can work from home this week", my inner voice keeps taking my mind back to the actual motif of the visit. Shortly, after 20 minutes I am home. It seems to have rained because the potholes in the road in front of my house are filled with water. There is also that sweet smell of rain in the air that I miss in San Jose. Ma and Pa show up on the gate of the house upon hearing the sound of a radio taxi getting pulled up in the road segment in front of our house. I pay up the taxi driver and get out of the taxi to touch their feet. My time away from home had certainly taught me the value of blessings of parents and elders. Even though I did not touch my parents feet earlier, I began to do that recently. I realize how much their blessings matter than everybody else. Ma tries to hug me. Her hands can barely reach out to my neck and I have to droop down and hug her. Its ironic how as I small child when I wanted to hug her and she lifted me in her arms and kissed my face and how now I have to droop so that she can reach my face. Pa just pats my back.
I drag my bags and place them in the central courtyard on the ground floor. I take off my shoes and go to see Baba. He is asleep so Pa wakes him up. I touch his feet and he blesses me back and asks me again "Tu aa gaya Monu. Khush raho.... Tu Banglore kab aaye ga? Ab to teri tarraki bhi ho gayi". As if he is still waiting for my answer since a left in March this year. I do not have an answer to his question. "Jaldi Baba", I try to bluff the truth in the lie I told him. Baba does not show any response. He is not wearing his hearing aid. My father helps him lie down again. I go into my Dadi's room. She is awake and looking effervescent as always. I touch her feet and she pulls my forehead close to her lips and kisses it gently. I want to wean away because of her susceptibility to germs on me but I let her kiss me. The warmth of some relations never wither away. "Take a kiss from where you get one, dude. You do not have hopes of getting a romantic one.", remarks my inner voice. "Tasli karke haan bolna", remarks Dadi. "Ji..", I acknowledge her back. I say goodbye to Dadi and move bag to the courtyard to get my bags. Chachi is also awake now and she in the courtyard. I touch her feet. I take my bags upstairs into our set of rooms.
Ma gives me paratha, warm milk and mithis. "These have come from the house of your would-be in-laws. We have been eating so much sweets and mithis in past few months. Every time they visit us, they bring us something.", says Ma. I do not fight back on the 'in-laws' remarks. "There are besan ke ladoos also, if you want to try", Ma offers some of the sweets to me. I do not say no to sweets so I happy to have two of them. "Gorge on, they will not make any difference to your figure now", remarks my inner voice yet again. Ma, Pa and Chachi are also sitting around me with their eyes pinned on me. I try to start some conversation which is unrelated to today's meeting with Pooja and her family but some how we end up discussing the today's meeting again. "Did you see her photo I sent you on Friday?", Pa inquires. "Which one? I haven't checked my gmail account in past few days", I try to act innocent to change the topic away from Pooja. "We cannot find a more suitable girl for you. She is tall, beautiful and well educated and is more than equal to you in every measure. And her family is like ours.", Ma tries to put the final nail in the coffin. "Sleep well, Beta", says Chachi as she leaves the room. "God, why is everybody so hell bent at this proposal only. Why is it that I do not want to think about it and somehow it just keeps coming back?", I am puzzled and surprised to see everyone's interest in Pooja and her family for our eventual marriage. I knew that everyone was interested but I did not knew that their level of interest was so high. "I did not see Tauji. Where is he? Maybe he will talk something else with me.", I am thinking of somehow diverting my mind somewhere else.
Its 5:30 am in the morning. "Get some sleep now. We will wake you at 7:30 am. We need to leave by 8:15 am", orders Pa now. I am not sleepy anymore and I want to talk to Ma and Pa. Seeing your family is therapeutic and relaxing in ways that the mind does not recognize. I go into my parents bedroom and try to sleep on Ma's side of the bed. She does not use mattress for health reasons. I cannot sleep but keep tossing around. "Maybe its the hard bed underneath", I think of a reason of not falling asleep. When Pa is done with his meditation later in morning I move to his side of the bed (which has mattress). I still cannot sleep. I again kept tossing around for no good reason.I try thinking of the my flights on way to Delhi. I try to think about the lady who was with me in the cab on our way to the airport and with whom I spoke again on Dubai airport, whether she has reached Ahmedabad. I try to think if males in UAE are even allowed to buy burqas for their girlfriends and wives. I try to think about my next trip to India. I try to think about the snide remarks of people in office after I get back. "It's the proposal that is going on in your mind, man", my inner voice cries out loud. I try to block all that was going on in mind with regards to my meeting today. But I cannot sleep. Finally its 7:30 am. "Get up its time", announces Pa. I have only managed to rest my eyes. My mind is still weary and tired.
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8:00 am IST, 18th August 2013. "Put on the purple one. This looks good.", remarks Papa with zest and humor as he chooses a T-shirt to be worn for the meeting. I am standing in a vest and a pair of jeans in front of Ma, Pa and Chachi. We are trying to decide which T-shirt among the four bought by Ma and Chachi is suitable for the occasion today morning. "Its a little loose but is fresh and looking good on you", adds Ma. I wear the white-purple T-shirt with numerous horizontal lines. I am too old for fashionable T-shirts now. I normally prefer single shades of dark T-shirts. But its good to wear a fashionable one once in a while.
I finally see Tauji. He is all dressed up for the clinic. But isn't 8:00 am too early and today is Sunday. He does not work on Sundays. Is he also coming along with us? "Ma, who all are going? Are Chachi and Tauji also coming with us?", I enquire from Ma. "Yes, if three of us go then it will not be auspicious. They are also coming with us", answers Ma. This superstition of hers did not come as a surprise as she had been feeding cows with chapatis over last one month on my behalf. I greet Tauji and touch his feet. He is happy to see me and he embraces me like his own son. I go downstairs and seek my Baba's blessings. He tells me to ask Pooja if she can cook and mingle well with us. Dadi tells me about Narela connection of Pooja's family. Office meetings are easier to handle. At least an hour before an office meeting there is no discussion with regards to what will happen in the meeting.
Pa is driving and I am seated next to him. The meeting is supposed to happen in a restaurant in India Habitat Center. Pa had shared photographs of the place on email saying that Pooja and her family had visited the place and chosen it for our meeting. So five of us are on our way for the meeting. The usual discussion about my brother and my sister in US ensues. I ask Chachi when is Divya is planning to come for winter vacation and why is Saurabh so lazy at booking his tickets. Delhi is crowded as hell on Sunday as well and it seems like we will be late for the meeting. Though I hate being late for any chore in daily life, I was happy that I have sometime to mentally prepare myself. "Do not crack silly jokes or take potshots at anyone. Maintain a smile always. Don't get crabby at anything. Ask if she can cook....", my inner voice was giving me a checklist of things to keep in mind. "Enough.. dude. I know.", I give an irritated shrug towards my inner voice. So as we enter the gates of the venue of my meeting, I am still not going into the meeting with a clear mind.
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"Touch his feet when he gets near", my Tauji advices as Pooja's father approaches us to welcome us to the venue. We are late as always but it seems he is okay and there is no expression of annoyance on his face. "I am not going to touch any stranger's feet even if I barely know them. Of course people whom I respect are exceptions", I have a secret pact with myself. Even though I nod my head in acknowledgement to Tauji's advice, I shake hands with Pooja's father. He takes five of us to the restaurant where we meet Pooja's mother, Pooja and her brother Rishab. Both Pooja and Rishab are seeking blessings from my elders by touching their feet and I fold my hands in namaste to Pooja's mother. "That is embarrassing enough. Should I attempt to touch the feet of Pooja's parents now?", I thought to myself. Well again the moment had pasted. There are quite a few people present in the restaurant. Pooja's parents have booked a big table near the bar in the restaurant. So as are taking our seats almost everyone else in the restaurant knows the purpose behind two families having breakfast together.
I am seated right across Pooja on the dining table with her family on one side and my family on the other side of the table. She is flanked with her brother and father on either side. As mush as I knew the outcome of the meeting, I still want to look at Pooja. After having spoken to her, spoken to her parents, spoken to her brother, meeting her father's friend in San Jose and flying all the way from San Jose to Delhi, I can at least look at her and see how she looks. Inner arguments aside, there is a strong dilemma if I should look at her. Its embarrassing enough to check-out a girl with a direct view and the situation of her brother and father sitting by her demands chivalry on ones part. But from a few glances here and there I am able to catch few glimpses of her. She is dressed in a blue salwar suit the kurta of which is sleeveless. She has left her beautiful and long black hair which are left un-tide. I cannot see her face as it is hiding behind those long hair and she is looking down. Finally as she looked up towards her father I saw that she is beautiful. She has beautiful eyes and her face is one of the fairest ones I have ever seen. Needless to say, she is more beautiful than her photographs which Pa had sent to me by email.
The breakfast that is being served is American which comprises of muffins, cakes and fruit juice. Pooja's mother is serving my parents and me. I personally never like the idea of girl's parents going out of their way to woo or impress a boy's family. Marriage and arrange marriages especially happen because of the interest of two families. One family should not take the burden of impressing the other family. In India such is the state of affairs where a girl's family goes though such experiences. I can understand Pooja's parents plight. I sitting quietly trying to think what am I going to say as I am hearing Pa talk to Pooja's father. Pooja is also talking to Pa about her London visit and other general things. I could see Pooja's father concern on me being so quiet and reserved. As I am trying to eat the muffin in my plate, Pooja's father asks me "Beta, how was your flight?". "Ji, it was good. 20 hours end-to-end is not bad. The flight from San Francisco to Dubai was 16 hours. The flight from Dubai to Delhi took about 2 hours 30 minutes", as I give some details regarding my travel. Pooja's mother asks me if I like the breakfast. "Well its American. I did not expect to get American breakfast first up in India", I reply to her to sound funny. "Dude, that is rude. You sarcastic bastard.", my inner voice castigates me. That did not come out well and it probably did not go well with the people seating around me.
My father is asking Pooja about her London travel. She is telling him about how sikhs brag about their relatives settled in London and Canada. "Hamare Caneda wale uncle aur aunty. Hamare Caneda main do makaan hain", she says as she tries to imitate the typical Punjabi accent. I find it funny because there was a sikh couple sitting right behind her. But she is oblivious to their presence and she is funnily castigating this bragging nature of sikhs. My family find her amusing and they laugh at her joke on sikhs while I am looking around as if to convey to the sikh couple, who by now are looking at Pooja, that I am not a part of this get together. Meanwhile, Pooja's mother serves me a sandwich with jam inside it which tastes very sweet and not to my liking.
"Why don't you take Gautum around, Pooja?", as Pooja's father tells us to spend some time by ourselves. "They have to decide now" , remarks my mother as she seconds what Pooja's father just said. We both get up and leave towards the garden in front of the restaurant. "I am sorry, I cannot speak in front of unfamiliar people immediately. Your father seem to be getting a little annoyed at my silence.", I tell Pooja as we step onto the stone walkway leading into the garden. "Its not a problem", replies Pooja with a gentle smile. She motions to take me to the adjoining amphitheater. Its hot and humid today in Delhi and there is a heavy cloud cover in sky with a little bit of sunshine.
"I love theater and plays. There are a lot of good plays enacted and staged here. Remember, Rang-de-Bansati? There were a few scenes in that movie that were shot here. ", as Pooja tries to strike a meaningful conversation in middle of our discussion of weather in Delhi and San Jose. "That's a common ground. She loves plays and theater", remarks my inner voice. "I do not remember Rand-de-Basanti so I cannot say if this is the same amphitheater. But yes, San Francisco also stages good musicals. I love the choreography and proses of the poems. It feels pure magic at times.", as I try to convey to her that I am also interested in theater.
"You want to sit somewhere?", I ask Pooja as we are looking around the amphitheater. There is a bunch of college students who making their way through the amphitheater. I was also like them five years ago. Five years which seemed a very long time ago. Frankly speaking that is the only memory of Delhi left in my mind now. For a brief moment felt as if Delhi had grown older while I was still 5 years behind in time. For a brief moment it felt that Delhi had left me behind or I let Delhi drift away. "Let's stand here", remarks Pooja as she leans against a wall that is her waist high. A few leaves of the plants kept behind her try to get into her long beautiful tresses. "How was your London trip?", I ask her to try to start another conversation. "It was good", replies Pooja. Pooja provides some details that she loved the street names and how the street names in London matched the ones in India, that she loved walking in the gardens in evening and that she saw some theaters and loved their pristine architecture. "Did you meet the new prince?", I ask her something I had written to her in one of my emails. She smiled a bit and said how could she meet someone from the royal family.
"Do you have any questions for me? Like about your job or career opportunities in San Jose. I know you will have to leave your job in order to come to US after marriage", I ask her as career for anyone is important and getting a job in USA as a spouse is not easy. "Gautum, I am not a girl who is obsessed with career. I try to be happy with what I have and I will find something that will keep me busy.", Pooja replies with a very clear mind. "Ins't she career oriented. As in, doesn't her job matter to her", I thought for a moment. "Do you have any other questions for me?", I ask her again. "Not that I can think of right now", replies Pooja. "Well, when you were harping about Caneda wali aunty and all, there was a sikh couple overhearing you. They were seated right behind you.", as I tell Pooja about her funny potshot at sikhs settled in Canada and London earlier in the restaurant to sound funny myself. "I am not afraid of anyone", Pooja replies with an uncomfortable tone which meant that my funny remark embarrassed her. "Do you want to go inside, maybe towards the reception? It is very hot and humid today", remarks Pooja. Her cheeks were turing read and she was beginning to sweat.
"What was your research paper about?", I ask Pooja about the research paper that she had presented while her visit to London. "It was about year end performance analysis of employees and how does it effect them. We did some survey and collected data on year end performance reviews. I contributed with some regression analysis on the collected data" , Pooja explains to me succinct and clear manner on the objective and content of the research paper. "I was rated average this time when I was supposed to be rated outstanding in my year-end performance review even though I was rated outstanding in four out of my seven performance goals in this year.", as I try to share my grievance regarding my performance analysis at work which had given me a few sleepless nights. "Why?", Pooja enquires back. "I was promoted this year so my manager said I needed to be put among the average population", as I try to express my displeasure of what had happened few weeks earlier in office. "It happens. I may also get a promotion next year", remarks Pooja as she expressed her indifference towards my grievance, I could sense that she did like the idea of discussing the performance analysis at work. I see a few sniggering faces of people, who knew that a boy and a girl were meeting for arranged marriage, in the varendah outside the American restaurant as we were making our way back to our families. "You ruined it dude. She is looking so uncomfortable", remarked my inner voice as both of us were entering into the restaurant. As we took our seats next to our families, my mother remarked "Pooja beta, you look so flushed? Are you feeling hot in this weather?". "Yes, aunty. its very humid outside", replies Pooja. "We cannot live without air-conditioners in this weather", my mother tries to talk more to her sensing that things did not go well when Pooja and me talked in alone. I myself had a blank face which was sweating now.
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