away from him, and lay down at the very edge of the mat, feeling terrible embarrassment.
“Can I hold your hand?”
“Do I have to?”
“No, you don’t have to,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Be a dutiful wife,’ Ammamma’s voice in my head commanded. I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I whispered.
He pulled me closer.
I let him. My face flushed.
He touched me slowly, looking into my face. His breath felt uncomfortably close.
I shut my eyes tightly, feeling funny. This wasn’t anything like Ammamma had warned. This was a good funny.
><
I opened my eyes. Through the rusted mosquito netting I could see pink streaks across the sky. I scrambled up. Grabbing fresh clothes, I pulled the door to our flat closed and hurried to the bathroom at one end of the corridor. A quick bath and I was back. I pushed the door open. Srikar looked up. He’d freshened up, too. Probably in the bathroom at the other end of the corridor. Unable to meet his eyes, I closed the door. Wordlessly, he pulled me into his arms. I buried my face in his shoulder, feeling a smile tremble on my lips.
Chapter 17
Everything is New
E verything in my new life was different – exciting most of the time, overwhelming occasionally. The faster pace of the city. Living in quarters so close that we could hear raised voices from the flat next door. Movie songs fed through outdoor loudspeakers for major Hindu festivals. The amplified prayer call from the nearby mosque at dawn. Over Christmas and Easter, the Church joined in. Auto-rickshaws darting through traffic, unmindful of traffic rules. Cinemas in real theatres. How I wished I could have shared this with Chinni. This, and my newfound knowledge about the pleasures of marriage.
Back when I was still a giggly teen, when Chinni and I were still best friends, when the most vexing problem in our life was which of Chiranjeevi’s many movies we liked best, my friend and I had giggled and speculated about what exactly happened between a married couple. I hoped Chinni hadn’t had to do any teeth grinding.
In the village, getting up early was something I’d hated. Now I was eager to begin the day, make tasty food for Srikar, iron his clothes, do all those little things a wife did for her husband. I felt great pleasure in having the right to touch him on the shoulder to draw his attention, ask his opinion on a new recipe.
We shopped together, filled water together, laughed together. While I took care of the cooking, Srikar cut the vegetables for me. The first time he picked up a knife, I was shocked. “What are you doing? This is my work!”
“I’m just cutting vegetables, not putting flowers in my hair.”
“How can you joke about such a thing? What if Geeta or Sandhya see you?” Sandhya was our neighbour on the other side.
“ Pulla , you need to stop worrying about others, start living for yourself.”
Bah! What did men know of such things? I made sure the front door was locked when we cooked. Didn’t want anyone to think I was harassing my husband. I watched as he put the milk to boil, another thing he did in the kitchen.
“What?” he said.
“I can’t believe you are… his grandson.”
He gave a short laugh. “I grew up seeing his terrible treatment of my grandmother, as well his own daughter. Then I started to hear things about him that no child should hear – the beatings of people who got in his way, the breaking of bones of others who displeased him, and so on. My grandmother said I must always remember, what kind of a person I became was up to me. I’ve tried to be as unlike my grandfather as possible.”
I was glad he was a good person, but it embarrassed me when he did things that were women’s work – he folded the bedclothes and put them away. Once he even came shopping with me for utensils, helping me select a few. While he was paying for them, I slipped into the shop next door, a bangle store.
“What are you looking at?”
I turned at
“Can I hold your hand?”
“Do I have to?”
“No, you don’t have to,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Be a dutiful wife,’ Ammamma’s voice in my head commanded. I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I whispered.
He pulled me closer.
I let him. My face flushed.
He touched me slowly, looking into my face. His breath felt uncomfortably close.
I shut my eyes tightly, feeling funny. This wasn’t anything like Ammamma had warned. This was a good funny.
><
I opened my eyes. Through the rusted mosquito netting I could see pink streaks across the sky. I scrambled up. Grabbing fresh clothes, I pulled the door to our flat closed and hurried to the bathroom at one end of the corridor. A quick bath and I was back. I pushed the door open. Srikar looked up. He’d freshened up, too. Probably in the bathroom at the other end of the corridor. Unable to meet his eyes, I closed the door. Wordlessly, he pulled me into his arms. I buried my face in his shoulder, feeling a smile tremble on my lips.
Chapter 17
Everything is New
E verything in my new life was different – exciting most of the time, overwhelming occasionally. The faster pace of the city. Living in quarters so close that we could hear raised voices from the flat next door. Movie songs fed through outdoor loudspeakers for major Hindu festivals. The amplified prayer call from the nearby mosque at dawn. Over Christmas and Easter, the Church joined in. Auto-rickshaws darting through traffic, unmindful of traffic rules. Cinemas in real theatres. How I wished I could have shared this with Chinni. This, and my newfound knowledge about the pleasures of marriage.
Back when I was still a giggly teen, when Chinni and I were still best friends, when the most vexing problem in our life was which of Chiranjeevi’s many movies we liked best, my friend and I had giggled and speculated about what exactly happened between a married couple. I hoped Chinni hadn’t had to do any teeth grinding.
In the village, getting up early was something I’d hated. Now I was eager to begin the day, make tasty food for Srikar, iron his clothes, do all those little things a wife did for her husband. I felt great pleasure in having the right to touch him on the shoulder to draw his attention, ask his opinion on a new recipe.
We shopped together, filled water together, laughed together. While I took care of the cooking, Srikar cut the vegetables for me. The first time he picked up a knife, I was shocked. “What are you doing? This is my work!”
“I’m just cutting vegetables, not putting flowers in my hair.”
“How can you joke about such a thing? What if Geeta or Sandhya see you?” Sandhya was our neighbour on the other side.
“ Pulla , you need to stop worrying about others, start living for yourself.”
Bah! What did men know of such things? I made sure the front door was locked when we cooked. Didn’t want anyone to think I was harassing my husband. I watched as he put the milk to boil, another thing he did in the kitchen.
“What?” he said.
“I can’t believe you are… his grandson.”
He gave a short laugh. “I grew up seeing his terrible treatment of my grandmother, as well his own daughter. Then I started to hear things about him that no child should hear – the beatings of people who got in his way, the breaking of bones of others who displeased him, and so on. My grandmother said I must always remember, what kind of a person I became was up to me. I’ve tried to be as unlike my grandfather as possible.”
I was glad he was a good person, but it embarrassed me when he did things that were women’s work – he folded the bedclothes and put them away. Once he even came shopping with me for utensils, helping me select a few. While he was paying for them, I slipped into the shop next door, a bangle store.
“What are you looking at?”
I turned at
Similar Books
