Sumeetha Manikandan's Blog - Posts Tagged "perfect-groom"
What's the secret that this bride is hiding?
Diana is a 40-year-old woman with gray eyes, blonde hair and a lovely dimple. She was writing something in her notebook when I entered. She looked up and smiled at me. I sat beside her and waited until she finished and gave her the paneer pakoras to taste.
“Hmmm. Very nice, Nithya. I am thinking of adding a couple of Indian snacks to the menu. There has been a noticeable increase in Indian customers here,” she said, eating the pakoras with relish.
“How about it Nithya? You can make this stuff from home and send it around to the restaurant. I’ll pay cash. What do you say?” she asked.
Diana’s suggestion seemed God-sent but I also wanted it to be my ticket out of the house.
“My mother-in-law is coming from India today. So most likely she will take over the kitchen. I can come here and make the snacks, if you don’t mind. How about that?” I asked.
She seemed pleased to hear that. “Sounds better. We can serve them hot! Great. So how long is your mother-in-law here?”
“For about three months I think. She might leave earlier if my sister-in- law’s marriage gets fixed,” I said.
“I still can’t understand why you won’t leave him? Divorces are also common in India. My Indian friend Malathi is divorced and happy.”
I bit my lip while I pondered her question. She never really understood why a younger sister would have trouble getting married if the older sister got divorced.
The Perfect Groom
Click here to buy 'The Perfect Groom
“Hmmm. Very nice, Nithya. I am thinking of adding a couple of Indian snacks to the menu. There has been a noticeable increase in Indian customers here,” she said, eating the pakoras with relish.
“How about it Nithya? You can make this stuff from home and send it around to the restaurant. I’ll pay cash. What do you say?” she asked.
Diana’s suggestion seemed God-sent but I also wanted it to be my ticket out of the house.
“My mother-in-law is coming from India today. So most likely she will take over the kitchen. I can come here and make the snacks, if you don’t mind. How about that?” I asked.
She seemed pleased to hear that. “Sounds better. We can serve them hot! Great. So how long is your mother-in-law here?”
“For about three months I think. She might leave earlier if my sister-in- law’s marriage gets fixed,” I said.
“I still can’t understand why you won’t leave him? Divorces are also common in India. My Indian friend Malathi is divorced and happy.”
I bit my lip while I pondered her question. She never really understood why a younger sister would have trouble getting married if the older sister got divorced.
The Perfect Groom
Click here to buy 'The Perfect Groom
My Journey to ‘The Perfect Groom’
My journey to The Perfect Groom began on a lazy afternoon when I got an enthusiastic phone call from a distant relative. Her daughter’s marriage had been arranged and she gushed on about how good the groom was, how rich his family was and how happy she felt that her daughter was going to be in the US.
I congratulated her and made polite conversation for a while. For some reason, her conversation kept playing on my mind all through the day. ‘He is such a perfect groom’, ‘He is all that I wanted for my daughter’, ‘His family is rich and he is the only son’. And I was reminded of an anecdote that an old friend of mine told me about a girl, almost a decade ago.
That was when I got the idea to write a story about that unknown ‘girl’. I had no details about her except for what had happened in her life. But I instinctively knew that she was bold, caring, broad-minded and yet innocent and naive. And my heroine Nithya arrived on my pages. I am sure that Nithya’s perilous journey through love and relationship will capture the reader’s heart and hold it.
I do not know what happened to the girl whose anecdote inspired me to write this novella. Hopeless romantic that I am, I wish with all my heart that she found a man like Vasu to share her life with.
P.S. A special thanks to my friend Anupama who shared that anecdote with me all those years ago.
I congratulated her and made polite conversation for a while. For some reason, her conversation kept playing on my mind all through the day. ‘He is such a perfect groom’, ‘He is all that I wanted for my daughter’, ‘His family is rich and he is the only son’. And I was reminded of an anecdote that an old friend of mine told me about a girl, almost a decade ago.
That was when I got the idea to write a story about that unknown ‘girl’. I had no details about her except for what had happened in her life. But I instinctively knew that she was bold, caring, broad-minded and yet innocent and naive. And my heroine Nithya arrived on my pages. I am sure that Nithya’s perilous journey through love and relationship will capture the reader’s heart and hold it.
I do not know what happened to the girl whose anecdote inspired me to write this novella. Hopeless romantic that I am, I wish with all my heart that she found a man like Vasu to share her life with.
P.S. A special thanks to my friend Anupama who shared that anecdote with me all those years ago.
A Chapter Reading from 'The Perfect Groom'
Download, share or listen online to Sumeetha Manikandan’s reading of her first chapter from 'The Perfect Groom'.
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The Perfect Groom: Chapter 2
I was jarred awake when my mobile phone rang.
Disoriented, I checked the time. It was around twelve am. It was Divya, my sister calling from India.
“Nithya! Hi, How are you? What time is it now? Did I wake you up?”
She always asked the same question. I shook myself awake and sat up.
“Divya! It’s okay. I am awake anyway. Ashok is not back home yet. How are you and how is mom?”
“Amma is fine. She is asking if you have any ‘good news’?”
‘Good news’ actually meant, ‘Are you pregnant yet?’
“Do you think you will get pregnant this month?”
“By any chance, do you think you will not get your periods?” I was tired of answering these questions.
“Ayyo! You are calling me in the middle of the night for this? Tell Amma that we are not planning any sort of ‘good news’ as of now,” I replied.
“Sorry! It is just that your mother-in-law keeps calling Chittappa all the time and keeps telling him that you are not pregnant yet.”
I already knew that. My aunt and my mother-in-law had a conference call last week to share their angst at my inability to produce an offspring. My mother-in-law acted as though her investment in me as a brood mare was a total waste, and my aunt was full of suggestions about how to get pregnant. She even started suggesting ‘positions’ best suited to get pregnant.
“Listen! I have some good news then. I passed the interview in Wipro. I will be joining next month once I get the offer letter.”
This was the best news that I had heard ever since I got married. I could feel myself getting teary, as happiness filled me. At least Divya was able to accomplish what I couldn’t.
“Divya! This is great news. Wonderful. What will your salary be?”
“Starting will be twenty-five thousand rupees. I may be in the US project team. Won’t that be great? Then I can come to California and stay with you.”
God forbid! NO! You are too innocent to see us in all our married glory.
“Yeah sure. Let’s see. Did you get the money that I sent?”
“Nithya, stop sending money. Now that I have got a job I don’t want to inconvenience Athimber,” she said.
They never believed me when I told them that it was my own money that I was sending.
“Okay. But if you need money for anything just give me a call,” I replied.
“I don’t think we need money now. Our days of struggle are over Nithya. We don’t have to depend on Chithi or Chittappa for anything now. In another six months, I am going to look for a house and get out of here,” she said enthusiastically.
We lived in a dilapidated one-room apartment on the by-streets of Mylapore Kutchery road that our Chittappa gave us for free.
“I hope it happens. You have no idea how happy I am,” I said fervently. “I know. Anyway take care. Go back to sleep,” she said happily.
“Bye, take care.”
My mother was the eldest in the family and she had a younger stepsister. Her stepmother married her at a young age to an alcoholic whose only achievement in life was siring my sister and I. Her stepsister married a smart army colonel who retired as a Major. My father died in an accident, when I was in the tenth standard. He never held down a permanent job and in the end we found out that he had been borrowing money from others, and was bringing it at home as salary. With debts amounting to one lakh rupees, rent, household expenses and school fees, my mother was completely overwhelmed.
My uncle ‘Chittappa’ had by then retired from the army and had built himself a swanky bungalow in Mylapore.
With nowhere else to go, my mother went to her stepsister for help. Chittappa gave us his old house near Madhava Perumal Kovil to stay. My mother became her sister’s glorified servant and helped with cooking, laundry, and housekeeping.
So, this was indeed good news. If Divya could get my mother out of Chittappa’s house both physically and mentally, it would be great for everybody. She had spent half of her life slaving for them and now it was high time that we looked after her. My situation was hopeless in any case but I had striven hard to hide it from all, especially my mother.
Just as I was turning off the light to settle back to sleep, the phone rang again. It was my father-in-law.
“Amma Nithya! How are you? How is Ashok? I just left your mother-in- law at the airport. She has boarded the plane,” he said.
That’s just great!
“Ok.”
“Is Ashok there?” he asked hesitatingly.
“No.” I did not want to talk to him more than necessary. In fact in those three years, I had avoided speaking with him. Once I was naïve enough to think that he was unaware of our situation. But recently I realized he knew everything; and despite that he had arranged our marriage.
He was silent for a while then asked, “Nithya! Is everything set for your mother-in-law’s visit in US? Where is Ashok? Will he be picking her up at the airport?”
“He has gone out with Sunil,” I said. “Oh! Will he pick her up or not?” he asked hurriedly. “He told me that he would...” I said and hesitated.
“I hope he goes alone to the airport. I just want her to be comfortable there. I hope you understand,” he said in a worried voice.
“Really? I thought you wanted to know something else. You know everything right?” I asked him.
He immediately got defensive, “I don’t know what you are talking about. Don’t try to act smart with me. You were almost a servant in Narasimhachari’s house. Your mother didn’t even have one gram of gold to give you. You were living on your uncle and aunt’s mercy. Your father didn’t even leave money to educate you or your sister. You have lived on other people’s charity all your life. I got you married to my son, gave you jewelry, paid for your ticket to USA. Would any father-in-law do this? And you know what, I bore the entire marriage expenses too and you have the audacity to ask me questions? Just who do you think you are?”
I tried to interrupt, but something was wrong with my voice.
He continued, “Just keep one thing in mind. While Saroja is in the States I want you to make sure that everything is normal. She is a heart patient so please don’t argue with her or tell her anything. We will speak more about this when you come down here. Until then I don’t want any more discussion about this. Do you understand?”
He didn’t expect a reply and put the phone down.
Disoriented, I checked the time. It was around twelve am. It was Divya, my sister calling from India.
“Nithya! Hi, How are you? What time is it now? Did I wake you up?”
She always asked the same question. I shook myself awake and sat up.
“Divya! It’s okay. I am awake anyway. Ashok is not back home yet. How are you and how is mom?”
“Amma is fine. She is asking if you have any ‘good news’?”
‘Good news’ actually meant, ‘Are you pregnant yet?’
“Do you think you will get pregnant this month?”
“By any chance, do you think you will not get your periods?” I was tired of answering these questions.
“Ayyo! You are calling me in the middle of the night for this? Tell Amma that we are not planning any sort of ‘good news’ as of now,” I replied.
“Sorry! It is just that your mother-in-law keeps calling Chittappa all the time and keeps telling him that you are not pregnant yet.”
I already knew that. My aunt and my mother-in-law had a conference call last week to share their angst at my inability to produce an offspring. My mother-in-law acted as though her investment in me as a brood mare was a total waste, and my aunt was full of suggestions about how to get pregnant. She even started suggesting ‘positions’ best suited to get pregnant.
“Listen! I have some good news then. I passed the interview in Wipro. I will be joining next month once I get the offer letter.”
This was the best news that I had heard ever since I got married. I could feel myself getting teary, as happiness filled me. At least Divya was able to accomplish what I couldn’t.
“Divya! This is great news. Wonderful. What will your salary be?”
“Starting will be twenty-five thousand rupees. I may be in the US project team. Won’t that be great? Then I can come to California and stay with you.”
God forbid! NO! You are too innocent to see us in all our married glory.
“Yeah sure. Let’s see. Did you get the money that I sent?”
“Nithya, stop sending money. Now that I have got a job I don’t want to inconvenience Athimber,” she said.
They never believed me when I told them that it was my own money that I was sending.
“Okay. But if you need money for anything just give me a call,” I replied.
“I don’t think we need money now. Our days of struggle are over Nithya. We don’t have to depend on Chithi or Chittappa for anything now. In another six months, I am going to look for a house and get out of here,” she said enthusiastically.
We lived in a dilapidated one-room apartment on the by-streets of Mylapore Kutchery road that our Chittappa gave us for free.
“I hope it happens. You have no idea how happy I am,” I said fervently. “I know. Anyway take care. Go back to sleep,” she said happily.
“Bye, take care.”
My mother was the eldest in the family and she had a younger stepsister. Her stepmother married her at a young age to an alcoholic whose only achievement in life was siring my sister and I. Her stepsister married a smart army colonel who retired as a Major. My father died in an accident, when I was in the tenth standard. He never held down a permanent job and in the end we found out that he had been borrowing money from others, and was bringing it at home as salary. With debts amounting to one lakh rupees, rent, household expenses and school fees, my mother was completely overwhelmed.
My uncle ‘Chittappa’ had by then retired from the army and had built himself a swanky bungalow in Mylapore.
With nowhere else to go, my mother went to her stepsister for help. Chittappa gave us his old house near Madhava Perumal Kovil to stay. My mother became her sister’s glorified servant and helped with cooking, laundry, and housekeeping.
So, this was indeed good news. If Divya could get my mother out of Chittappa’s house both physically and mentally, it would be great for everybody. She had spent half of her life slaving for them and now it was high time that we looked after her. My situation was hopeless in any case but I had striven hard to hide it from all, especially my mother.
Just as I was turning off the light to settle back to sleep, the phone rang again. It was my father-in-law.
“Amma Nithya! How are you? How is Ashok? I just left your mother-in- law at the airport. She has boarded the plane,” he said.
That’s just great!
“Ok.”
“Is Ashok there?” he asked hesitatingly.
“No.” I did not want to talk to him more than necessary. In fact in those three years, I had avoided speaking with him. Once I was naïve enough to think that he was unaware of our situation. But recently I realized he knew everything; and despite that he had arranged our marriage.
He was silent for a while then asked, “Nithya! Is everything set for your mother-in-law’s visit in US? Where is Ashok? Will he be picking her up at the airport?”
“He has gone out with Sunil,” I said. “Oh! Will he pick her up or not?” he asked hurriedly. “He told me that he would...” I said and hesitated.
“I hope he goes alone to the airport. I just want her to be comfortable there. I hope you understand,” he said in a worried voice.
“Really? I thought you wanted to know something else. You know everything right?” I asked him.
He immediately got defensive, “I don’t know what you are talking about. Don’t try to act smart with me. You were almost a servant in Narasimhachari’s house. Your mother didn’t even have one gram of gold to give you. You were living on your uncle and aunt’s mercy. Your father didn’t even leave money to educate you or your sister. You have lived on other people’s charity all your life. I got you married to my son, gave you jewelry, paid for your ticket to USA. Would any father-in-law do this? And you know what, I bore the entire marriage expenses too and you have the audacity to ask me questions? Just who do you think you are?”
I tried to interrupt, but something was wrong with my voice.
He continued, “Just keep one thing in mind. While Saroja is in the States I want you to make sure that everything is normal. She is a heart patient so please don’t argue with her or tell her anything. We will speak more about this when you come down here. Until then I don’t want any more discussion about this. Do you understand?”
He didn’t expect a reply and put the phone down.
The Perfect Groom: Chapter 3
Ashok didn’t come back home in the night nor did I expect him to. He would probably go pick up my mother-in-law straight from wherever he was. I couldn’t sleep after the upsetting call with my father-in-law. I quickly took a bath and got dressed in a sari.
While I was making breakfast, Ashok called me. “Hello.”
“Yes?”
“Amma’s flight is delayed by 3 hours. I am at the fucking airport. If my father Desikacharya, the bastard, calls, tell him,” he said in a drunken drawl.
“Ok,” I replied.
God! He is drunk. I just hope he sobers up before his mother arrives or else there will be another conference call from the inquisition squad in India.
I quickly prepared lunch and thought I would go and meet my friend Diana.
Diana owned a restaurant right around the block. We became friends three years ago. I had been in the neighborhood park, brooding over my hopeless situation and crying. I didn’t notice anyone and no one bothered me. I didn’t know how long I sat there. Suddenly I felt a hand comforting me. It was Diana. She said that she had been watching me for a long time.
“There, there, dear! Don’t cry.”
I poured my heart out to her. Sometimes it is easier to talk to strangers. Things that I had kept hidden from my mother and sister tumbled out of my mouth. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I was glad that I had Diana to fall back on, in this strange country.
I made paneer pakoras for her to taste. She loved Indian snacks, especially samosas, and was forever asking me to give her recipes to try. I wrapped the pakoras in aluminum foil and went to the restaurant.
Diana is a 40-year-old woman with gray eyes, blonde hair and a lovely dimple. She was writing something in her notebook when I entered. She looked up and smiled at me. I sat beside her and waited until she finished and gave her the paneer pakoras to taste.
“Hmmm. Very nice, Nithya. I am thinking of adding a couple of Indian snacks to the menu. There has been a noticeable increase in Indian customers here,” she said, eating the pakoras with relish.
“How about it Nithya? You can make this stuff from home and send it around to the restaurant. I’ll pay cash. What do you say?” she asked.
Diana’s suggestion seemed God-sent but I also wanted it to be my ticket out of the house.
“My mother-in-law is coming from India today. So most likely she will take over the kitchen. I can come here and make the snacks, if you don’t mind. How about that?” I asked.
She seemed pleased to hear that. “Sounds better. We can serve them hot! Great. So how long is your mother-in-law here?”
“For about three months I think. She might leave earlier if my sister-in- law’s marriage gets fixed,” I said.
“I still can’t understand why you won’t leave him? Divorces are also common in India. My Indian friend Malathi is divorced and happy.”
I bit my lip while I pondered her question. She never really understood why a younger sister would have trouble getting married if the older sister got divorced.
“Ashok and I have an agreement. I can’t back off now,” I said morosely.
She scowled and pursed her lips as she considered my situation.
“What agreement? He’s just taking advantage of you. Can’t you see that? And have you thought of what you want to do, once you go back to India?” she asked.
I have thought about nothing else in all my time here.
I looked directly at her and said, “I want to go back to India and start a restaurant like yours. I have studied hotel management.”
She seemed pleased with my decision.
“That’s good. At least you have a definite plan. So when is your sister getting married?
Does she like anyone?” she asked.
Despite having many Indian friends, Diana never really understood the concept of arranged marriages. We had several interesting conversations and arguments about how people get married in India after one or two meetings.
“My sister just completed her engineering. Next month she will be joining Wipro. She will need some time to get settled in her job,” I said.
“That could be another three to four years. What about Ashok’s sister? How old is she?” she asked pondering deeply over my situation.
“She is twenty-two years old. They are actively looking for a match. My mother-in-law wants Ashok to find someone for her from the US. But he is not very keen,” I said.
“I’m not surprised. So you are going to lead this sham life for the next four years. Do you think it is worth it?” she asked me directly.
I was afraid to answer that. She was right. It was not worth it. But I just needed to pretend that everything was fine, until Divya got married. That’s all.
While I was making breakfast, Ashok called me. “Hello.”
“Yes?”
“Amma’s flight is delayed by 3 hours. I am at the fucking airport. If my father Desikacharya, the bastard, calls, tell him,” he said in a drunken drawl.
“Ok,” I replied.
God! He is drunk. I just hope he sobers up before his mother arrives or else there will be another conference call from the inquisition squad in India.
I quickly prepared lunch and thought I would go and meet my friend Diana.
Diana owned a restaurant right around the block. We became friends three years ago. I had been in the neighborhood park, brooding over my hopeless situation and crying. I didn’t notice anyone and no one bothered me. I didn’t know how long I sat there. Suddenly I felt a hand comforting me. It was Diana. She said that she had been watching me for a long time.
“There, there, dear! Don’t cry.”
I poured my heart out to her. Sometimes it is easier to talk to strangers. Things that I had kept hidden from my mother and sister tumbled out of my mouth. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I was glad that I had Diana to fall back on, in this strange country.
I made paneer pakoras for her to taste. She loved Indian snacks, especially samosas, and was forever asking me to give her recipes to try. I wrapped the pakoras in aluminum foil and went to the restaurant.
Diana is a 40-year-old woman with gray eyes, blonde hair and a lovely dimple. She was writing something in her notebook when I entered. She looked up and smiled at me. I sat beside her and waited until she finished and gave her the paneer pakoras to taste.
“Hmmm. Very nice, Nithya. I am thinking of adding a couple of Indian snacks to the menu. There has been a noticeable increase in Indian customers here,” she said, eating the pakoras with relish.
“How about it Nithya? You can make this stuff from home and send it around to the restaurant. I’ll pay cash. What do you say?” she asked.
Diana’s suggestion seemed God-sent but I also wanted it to be my ticket out of the house.
“My mother-in-law is coming from India today. So most likely she will take over the kitchen. I can come here and make the snacks, if you don’t mind. How about that?” I asked.
She seemed pleased to hear that. “Sounds better. We can serve them hot! Great. So how long is your mother-in-law here?”
“For about three months I think. She might leave earlier if my sister-in- law’s marriage gets fixed,” I said.
“I still can’t understand why you won’t leave him? Divorces are also common in India. My Indian friend Malathi is divorced and happy.”
I bit my lip while I pondered her question. She never really understood why a younger sister would have trouble getting married if the older sister got divorced.
“Ashok and I have an agreement. I can’t back off now,” I said morosely.
She scowled and pursed her lips as she considered my situation.
“What agreement? He’s just taking advantage of you. Can’t you see that? And have you thought of what you want to do, once you go back to India?” she asked.
I have thought about nothing else in all my time here.
I looked directly at her and said, “I want to go back to India and start a restaurant like yours. I have studied hotel management.”
She seemed pleased with my decision.
“That’s good. At least you have a definite plan. So when is your sister getting married?
Does she like anyone?” she asked.
Despite having many Indian friends, Diana never really understood the concept of arranged marriages. We had several interesting conversations and arguments about how people get married in India after one or two meetings.
“My sister just completed her engineering. Next month she will be joining Wipro. She will need some time to get settled in her job,” I said.
“That could be another three to four years. What about Ashok’s sister? How old is she?” she asked pondering deeply over my situation.
“She is twenty-two years old. They are actively looking for a match. My mother-in-law wants Ashok to find someone for her from the US. But he is not very keen,” I said.
“I’m not surprised. So you are going to lead this sham life for the next four years. Do you think it is worth it?” she asked me directly.
I was afraid to answer that. She was right. It was not worth it. But I just needed to pretend that everything was fine, until Divya got married. That’s all.
