said, the combination of impatience and frustration clear in his expression. “The Ramnaths want a beautiful wife for their son so they can have good-looking grandchildren. They are all ugly people and the only hope of having a better-looking second generation is to acquire a pretty daughter-in-law. You fit the need perfectly.”
When Megha pouted and whined in protest her father frowned menacingly. “Stop this nonsense right now, Megha! You will have a highly-educated husband with an excellent job and his parents are well-off and they own a nice house, which he will inherit someday. You will lack nothing, so just be grateful.”
“I’m only twenty, Appa. I have only a bachelor’s degree. I don’t want to get married right now. I want to get a master’s degree and become a journalist. I want to earn my living.”
“Good girls from orthodox families don’t work for a living,” her father chided. “They get married so their husbands can provide them with a respectable home and a comfortable life.”
“But journalism is a good profession for girls, Appa—very respectable. My professor says I have excellent writing skills. I could easily get a job with a magazine or newspaper.” She had pleaded her case passionately. “Please, Appa, if not a job, at least let me finish my master’s degree. We can borrow a little money from Leela and Hema. After that I can help you and Avva pay off the loan.”
The shock was apparent on her father’s face. “I will never borrow money from Leela or Hema! No parent should ever borrow money from his children. Megha, I cannot afford to send you for another degree. I’m getting too old to support you. I might die soon. So stop arguing and get married, for God’s sake!”
Pleading with her mother had proved just as futile. Avva’s sad eyes looked sadder than ever. “We are married to our fate, child. Suresh appears to be your destiny, no? There is no escaping from what fate has written across one’s forehead. We cannot run from it and cannot hide from it.”
Megha was unable to come up with any more arguments. Professional writing classes were entirely out of the question. Being bright didn’t mean much because the small town of Palgaum didn’t offer anything like graduate scholarships to gifted students. Job opportunities for young, middle-class girls were limited, and in any case, her old-fashioned father would never allow her to work. No matter which way she looked at it, she was being sucked into the dark, bottomless pit of Hindu Brahmin conservatism, and there was no way out of it. Survival meant only one thing: Total compliance.
Squelching her cherished hopes, Megha reluctantly agreed to the marriage. She didn’t want to make her parents’ life more difficult than it already was. Perhaps if she’d been born unattractive, this wouldn’t have happened. For the first time in her life she considered her good looks a curse.
After some serious contemplation she made up her mind that if she was married to her fate, she would give it her best. She would try to accept it and make a life for herself. Maybe Suresh wasn’t such a bad man. In private perhaps he was kind and gentle and loving. Maybe even romantic. Her best friend, Harini, who got married only a few months earlier, had bagged herself a sweet and kind husband, and she was very happy. Megha, too, would be happy. She’d try her best, anyway. Mother Superior at the convent had always emphasized the timeless adage: God helps those who help themselves.
The wedding took place a few weeks later and was very small and unpretentious. Again, because that’s all Megha’s father could afford. Amma, the center of attention, dressed in a gaudy pink sari with gold designs accessorized by lots of diamond jewelry, looked like a giant ball of cotton candy sprinkled with glitter. She made a point of broadcasting that she had magnanimously agreed to a frugal wedding despite Suresh’s being her only son simply because of her
When Megha pouted and whined in protest her father frowned menacingly. “Stop this nonsense right now, Megha! You will have a highly-educated husband with an excellent job and his parents are well-off and they own a nice house, which he will inherit someday. You will lack nothing, so just be grateful.”
“I’m only twenty, Appa. I have only a bachelor’s degree. I don’t want to get married right now. I want to get a master’s degree and become a journalist. I want to earn my living.”
“Good girls from orthodox families don’t work for a living,” her father chided. “They get married so their husbands can provide them with a respectable home and a comfortable life.”
“But journalism is a good profession for girls, Appa—very respectable. My professor says I have excellent writing skills. I could easily get a job with a magazine or newspaper.” She had pleaded her case passionately. “Please, Appa, if not a job, at least let me finish my master’s degree. We can borrow a little money from Leela and Hema. After that I can help you and Avva pay off the loan.”
The shock was apparent on her father’s face. “I will never borrow money from Leela or Hema! No parent should ever borrow money from his children. Megha, I cannot afford to send you for another degree. I’m getting too old to support you. I might die soon. So stop arguing and get married, for God’s sake!”
Pleading with her mother had proved just as futile. Avva’s sad eyes looked sadder than ever. “We are married to our fate, child. Suresh appears to be your destiny, no? There is no escaping from what fate has written across one’s forehead. We cannot run from it and cannot hide from it.”
Megha was unable to come up with any more arguments. Professional writing classes were entirely out of the question. Being bright didn’t mean much because the small town of Palgaum didn’t offer anything like graduate scholarships to gifted students. Job opportunities for young, middle-class girls were limited, and in any case, her old-fashioned father would never allow her to work. No matter which way she looked at it, she was being sucked into the dark, bottomless pit of Hindu Brahmin conservatism, and there was no way out of it. Survival meant only one thing: Total compliance.
Squelching her cherished hopes, Megha reluctantly agreed to the marriage. She didn’t want to make her parents’ life more difficult than it already was. Perhaps if she’d been born unattractive, this wouldn’t have happened. For the first time in her life she considered her good looks a curse.
After some serious contemplation she made up her mind that if she was married to her fate, she would give it her best. She would try to accept it and make a life for herself. Maybe Suresh wasn’t such a bad man. In private perhaps he was kind and gentle and loving. Maybe even romantic. Her best friend, Harini, who got married only a few months earlier, had bagged herself a sweet and kind husband, and she was very happy. Megha, too, would be happy. She’d try her best, anyway. Mother Superior at the convent had always emphasized the timeless adage: God helps those who help themselves.
The wedding took place a few weeks later and was very small and unpretentious. Again, because that’s all Megha’s father could afford. Amma, the center of attention, dressed in a gaudy pink sari with gold designs accessorized by lots of diamond jewelry, looked like a giant ball of cotton candy sprinkled with glitter. She made a point of broadcasting that she had magnanimously agreed to a frugal wedding despite Suresh’s being her only son simply because of her
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