The Dowry Bride by Shobhan Bantwal

young woman and wasn’t above admitting it. She had been blessed with good genes since both her parents were good-looking. And fair skin was valued highly by Indians, especially Brahmins, so she was more than grateful to God for giving her a light complexion.
    However, a little later, with a sinking heart she had let her eyes rest briefly on the rather small, uncomfortable-looking man named Suresh Ramnath. Utter disillusionment had settled in at once. Good heavens, this was the man her Appa and Avva had picked for her! What were they thinking? Her parents had to be insane to think of this individual as potential husband material. “Please, God, tell me that’s not the man I’m supposed to marry!” she’d whispered to herself.
    Suresh barely made eye contact with Megha. She wasn’t even able to see what color his eyes were. He sat slumped in the chair, kept his hands folded in his lap and nodded or shook his head appropriately when someone addressed him. Gaunt and oily-skinned, he had scant hair, a hooked nose and deep-set eyes. His khaki pants and baby-blue shirt were just shy of shabby. He seemed to swallow a lot, because his Adam’s apple seemed to bob up and down constantly. He was a delicate man. In fact, he could hardly be classified as a man. Each time his mother made a remark and said, “Don’t you agree, Suresh?” he replied, “Yes, yes, very true.”
    A boy still tied to his mother’s sari, Megha concluded. How on earth had he managed to become an important official at a major bank?
    Her father had assured her that Suresh was a responsible man with a master’s degree, a fabulous job and a bright future. And yet, during the entire visit, Suresh’s large, bossy mother did all the talking.
    And God, what a formidable woman Chandramma Ramnath was! Dressed in a bright green Dharmavaram silk sari and heavy gold-and-diamond jewelry, she had filled the small drawing room with her presence and the odor of her overpowering perfume the moment she charged in. She looked as if she were ready to do battle rather than meet her son’s potential bride. Her dark eyes bulged from their sockets and her skin was dark and scarred with acne. Thick hair sprinkled with gray was pulled back in a round bun at the back of her head. Her teeth were whiter than white against her wide lips. When she looked around the worn-out drawing room with an air of unconcealed contempt those lips had curled in what looked like a practiced sneer.
    She had studied Megha for a long minute, as if she was a ripe tomato to be purchased from the bhaaji market. Megha had shivered from the close, unblinking scrutiny. Even now the thought of that meeting made Megha wince. Had she sensed the malevolent vibes coming from Amma even as far back as her first contact with her?
    Although bride viewing typically involved asking the potential bride and her family pertinent questions about her education, hobbies, talents and such, Chandramma Ramnath’s list of questions for Megha was endless, bordering on harassment. “Can you cook?” was her first question.
    “Yes. My mother has taught me well.” That was one thing Megha could be proud of.
    “Good. Do you know how to play classical music? Sitar, violin, vocal music, anything?”
    “No, I-I’m afraid I’m not…musically inclined.”
    Amma frowned. “Well, why not? Music is important in a cultural sense, no? The human mind needs some culture. Our Shanti has had lessons in playing the sitar since she was ten years old. Anyway, are you any good at mathematics then?”
    “Reasonably good,” Megha had replied, afraid of saying anything more. She had always fared better at languages and social science. And what the hell did the ugly she-donkey want, a wife for her scrawny son or a rocket scientist for the space program?
    “What use is a woman if she cannot teach her children mathematics?” Amma retorted. “It is the basis of all rational thinking.” That particular remark was accompanied by a superior