The Sari Shop by Rupa Bajwa

ink, notebook and what not. He had to be careful with money for a while now.
    He finally arrived at the Kapoor House. Again he was asked to wait in the carpeted room. Raghu came in and told himhe’d have to wait for a while, the elder memsahib was with a visiting jeweller and the younger memsahib was on the phone. Ramchand nodded and started daydreaming. Raghu left, leaving the connecting door open.
    Ramchand never meant to eavesdrop, but she was speaking loud enough for him to hear. Maybe she thought he couldn’t understand English. Well, he couldn’t understand it very well, that was true, but he could follow bits and pieces of her conversation.
    Her husky voice was unusual and attractive to Ramchand’s ears. ‘Honestly, sweetheart, I am not like the rest of the girls in Amritsar,’ she was saying. ‘I find them so
stagnant
sometimes, so content with the petty little lives they have made for themselves. I can’t imagine being like that. I like to read, I like to explore new things, I like to take every day of life as a new experience. Now, look at me at this very moment. I have a stupid sari-wala and a greedy jeweller waiting for me, and still I am thinking of these other things. I think life is an adventure. And when you explore life, you also explore yourself. As you know,’ she went on, ‘my father is so wealthy that I never really need to work. Despite that, I made sure I finished my Masters in English Literature.
And
I have been topping my class. I am a creative person. My mind just can’t be still, and it can’t be content with all these things. Of course I like wearing good clothes, jewellery, living well and in comfort, because, after all, look at the family I belong to. But that is not
all
, it is not the end of the road for me. It is a means to an end, it is not the end itself.’
    Here there was a pause in the conversation. She seemed to be listening to the person on the other end of the line.
    Then she said triumphantly, ‘Exactly! That is
exactly
how I feel too! What about my soul? What about my creativity? In fact,’ she added, ‘yesterday I wrote another poem. One of the poems in which I find that I can express the true meaning oflife. And do you know when I wrote it? While a man who had brought over crystal bangles for me to see was waiting outside. I felt the urge and I knew that bangles could wait, but I needed to get the creative process going.’
    There was a pause. Then Ramchand heard her voice again.
    ‘In fact, I am even thinking of writing a novel. Someone had recently come from Delhi to a conference at the university and she said that I definitely have talent. And our own Mrs Sachdeva here, you know, has been very encouraging.’
    Here she paused, and appeared to be listening to a reply.
    ‘Well, I am glad you are supportive. When my father heard that I was in love with you, an army officer, he wasn’t pleased. He always used to tell his friends, “When my daughter gets married, the whole city will watch.” But, well, I convinced him. I am not one of those girls who’ll just marry a rich man and go to kitty parties. Besides, I don’t really need any more money.’
    There was another pause, a longer one this time.
    Then she said, ‘Bye, poochie, have to rush now. I love you so much. I can’t
believe
we are finally getting married. Just can’t wait for us to be together.’
    There was a click, and then silence after this.
    Ramchand sat quietly, still trying to take in the conversation. Out of whatever he had understood, one thing was clear. She had called him a stupid sari-wala.
    Ramchand reflected on this for a moment. But maybe that was just pre-wedding nerves, he thought charitably. And it must be especially difficult for someone like her, a person who sounded so different and sensitive. Ramchand felt torn up in two inside. He did not know whether to be annoyed with her for speaking of him insultingly or feel pleased that she was trying to find herself. ‘To express the