my own life on my own terms. After that I had been determined not to let Ma or Nanna or Thatha decide my fate for me. But now when they were so close, the ties that bound me to them grew tighter, biting through my skin and conscience.
The saris strewn on Ammamma’s white bedspread were so laden in embroidered gold that they made my eyelids heavy to just look at them.
“The blue one,” Nate said, as he sauntered in, biting into a carrot. “And this,” he said, flicking his finger over a heavy sapphire necklace-and-earrings set.
“I’ll look like someone’s grandmother,” I said.
“So, big deal. Who are you trying to impress?” Nate asked with a smirk.
“Stop being such a wiseass, will you,” I said, and smiled despite myself. Ah, vanity! Even though I didn’t care for Adarsh Sarma’s marriage proposal, I still wanted to look my best.
“If you really want to look nice, I say the yellow one with the red border. Classic Telugu movie sari, with that ruby necklace,” Nate said. “My girlfriend looks great in the classic yellow and red sari.”
I sat down on the bed and picked up the sari. “What’s your girlfriend’s name?”
“Tara,” Nate said without hesitation. “She’s doing her degree at St. Frances in Begumpet. Her father is an ex-army officer. They live in Sainikpuri and yes, her parents have met me and think I am the next best thing since instant coffee.”
I nodded. “Nanna was asking me about her.”
“Nanna knows about her,” Nate grinned. “He saw me with her once. We were having lunch at Ten Downing Street and Nanna came in with a colleague. We both saw each other and pretended we didn’t. Never talked about it. I guess Nanna didn’t want me to ask him what he was doing in a pub and didn’t want to know what I was doing there. Don’t ask, don’t tell, a good philosophy.”
“Does Ma know?”
“If Ma knew everyone would know,” Nate sneered. “Tell Nick about this pelli-chupulu. If Tara went through one of these ridiculous ceremonies without even telling me about it, I’d be pissed as hell for a very long time.”
When he left I sat amid the beautiful silk saris and contemplated my options. I had to go through with this afternoon. If I tried to back out now, it would reflect badly on my parents. And I had to tell Nick the truth. And I had to tell Ma, Nanna, and Thatha the truth.
It was very simply really. I just had to tell everyone the truth and hope that they’d still love me.
By the time the Sarmas were about to arrive, I was feeling like an object instead of a person. Ma had pulled and yanked and tucked and arranged for the nth time since I picked the blue-bordered sari to look like someone’s grandma.
“There,” she said with a satisfied glint in her eyes. “This boy is perfect, Priya. Even you can’t find anything wrong with him.”
“Wanna bet?” I felt like asking.
Sowmya came giggling inside Ammamma and Thatha’s bedroom where I was getting ready.
“They are here. Drove in a Mercedes,” she said with a big smile, unable to contain her joy at seeing me about to be fixed up with some loser who looked good on paper.
“They are very well off,” Ma explained, arranging Ammamma’s sapphires to her liking on my neck. “I wish you had worn the yellow sari. This is . . .” she clicked her tongue and then sighed.
“You look very nice, Priya,” Sowmya said and I smiled uneasily. I felt like a trussed up turkey with a timer that could go off at any time now.
I heard the voices of the guests from the hall in the next room—I closed my eyes and silently apologized to Nick. “I’ll make this up to you,” I promised him fervently, but I had no clue how I would go about doing so.
“If you both want to just talk a little, go sit on the swing in the veranda,” Ma instructed. “And don’t swing your legs like a junglee when you sit there. Be ladylike.”
“Do you want to tell me how to walk as well? Maybe you would like to continue giving me instructions after my marriage to make sure my husband doesn’t leave me?” I demanded sarcastically.
“With your attitude I may just have to,” Ma replied promptly. She was after all my mother, and my sarcasm had been inherited from her so my abilities were therefore diluted.