life?’
‘If she’s a burden for you, I can take over her responsibility.’ Puri said angrily. ‘She’s a first-division student, and he cheats at exams.’
Seeing no point in going any further with the conversation, his mother got up. Puri looked at Tara and said in English, ‘You’re worrying your head for nothing. Concentrate on your books. So many changes are taking place in the world, but our parents cannot look beyond their own problems. Marriage is not the end of life. When you’re ready, there won’t be a shortage of boys willing to marry an eligible girl like you.’
His comforting words brought tears to Tara’s eyes. She felt as if some indescribable fear clutching at her heart, mind and body had suddenly been lifted.
The June heat turned their one-room house into an inferno. She spread out a mat on the veranda, lay down on it and thought: If Somraj hadn’t been caught cheating or if I remain engaged to that man, continuing my studies is improper only because he does not have his BA degree. A woman is not born inferior to a man, she becomes that through social pressures.
She remained lost in thought: If I ever get married, it’ll be to a really intelligent and capable man. How can I marry someone I don’t consider my equal? A woman’s worth is measured by her ability to find a mate. Why does a woman always have to play second fiddle? If a woman can’t look up to a man, why should she think he’s right for her? How can she love and respect him?
The naming ceremony of Surendra’s nephew was on the first Sunday in July. She had invited Tara with affectionate insistence. Tara went to her place near Amritdhara in Gwal Mandi at eight in the morning. Dhurries and cotton sheets had been spread out for the guests on the floor of a largeroom. In the right-hand corner, an old granthi, the Sikh priest, was reciting from the Guru Granth Sahib placed before him on a low table. This book of scripture rested on a cushion of silk. Surendra’s father sat beside it, waving a white flywhisk over it slowly and with apparent devotion. Men sat on one side of the room, women on the other, separated by a two-foot wide aisle.
Since Tara had arrived a little late, the place she found was next to the divide, beside the men. Surendra caught her eye and made a gesture to cover her head with her dupatta. Surendra never covered her head outside her home. Next to Tara sat Gurtu and Kanak, their heads covered with a dupatta or a corner of the sari. They smiled at her. All the women had their heads covered. Most of the men present were Sikh, with turbans on their heads. Some Sikhs with short hair wore turbans too. A modern gentleman had come wearing a Western-style hat. He could not leave his head uncovered, and sat with the hat on his head. Another person who had neither a turban nor a hat had covered his head with a handkerchief.
Asad Ahmed, a friend from the Student Federation, had arrived just after Tara. She was glad to see him. Asad had a nice sense of humour. When he spoke at a meeting or at the Study Circle, he was always brief and to-the-point. After the meetings, at times, they walked together up to the Shahalami Gate, and if she needed him to escort her, she could ask him without hesitation. Many people were sitting near the entrance, so Asad had to cross over to the centre of the room, where Tara was sitting on her side of the aisle. They saw each other, and exchanged nods of greeting.
Asad had short, curly hair. He never wore a hat or a turban. He was not familiar with the customs of a Sikh ceremony, but when he saw that others who sat facing the Granth Sahib with their hands joined reverently, he too put his hands together.
A Sikh gentleman sitting next to Asad nudged him and motioned him to cover his head. Asad looked at others around him, and when he saw the man with the handkerchief on his head, he too put his hand into his trousers pocket to take out his own. There was none. Tara watched all this, trying
‘If she’s a burden for you, I can take over her responsibility.’ Puri said angrily. ‘She’s a first-division student, and he cheats at exams.’
Seeing no point in going any further with the conversation, his mother got up. Puri looked at Tara and said in English, ‘You’re worrying your head for nothing. Concentrate on your books. So many changes are taking place in the world, but our parents cannot look beyond their own problems. Marriage is not the end of life. When you’re ready, there won’t be a shortage of boys willing to marry an eligible girl like you.’
His comforting words brought tears to Tara’s eyes. She felt as if some indescribable fear clutching at her heart, mind and body had suddenly been lifted.
The June heat turned their one-room house into an inferno. She spread out a mat on the veranda, lay down on it and thought: If Somraj hadn’t been caught cheating or if I remain engaged to that man, continuing my studies is improper only because he does not have his BA degree. A woman is not born inferior to a man, she becomes that through social pressures.
She remained lost in thought: If I ever get married, it’ll be to a really intelligent and capable man. How can I marry someone I don’t consider my equal? A woman’s worth is measured by her ability to find a mate. Why does a woman always have to play second fiddle? If a woman can’t look up to a man, why should she think he’s right for her? How can she love and respect him?
The naming ceremony of Surendra’s nephew was on the first Sunday in July. She had invited Tara with affectionate insistence. Tara went to her place near Amritdhara in Gwal Mandi at eight in the morning. Dhurries and cotton sheets had been spread out for the guests on the floor of a largeroom. In the right-hand corner, an old granthi, the Sikh priest, was reciting from the Guru Granth Sahib placed before him on a low table. This book of scripture rested on a cushion of silk. Surendra’s father sat beside it, waving a white flywhisk over it slowly and with apparent devotion. Men sat on one side of the room, women on the other, separated by a two-foot wide aisle.
Since Tara had arrived a little late, the place she found was next to the divide, beside the men. Surendra caught her eye and made a gesture to cover her head with her dupatta. Surendra never covered her head outside her home. Next to Tara sat Gurtu and Kanak, their heads covered with a dupatta or a corner of the sari. They smiled at her. All the women had their heads covered. Most of the men present were Sikh, with turbans on their heads. Some Sikhs with short hair wore turbans too. A modern gentleman had come wearing a Western-style hat. He could not leave his head uncovered, and sat with the hat on his head. Another person who had neither a turban nor a hat had covered his head with a handkerchief.
Asad Ahmed, a friend from the Student Federation, had arrived just after Tara. She was glad to see him. Asad had a nice sense of humour. When he spoke at a meeting or at the Study Circle, he was always brief and to-the-point. After the meetings, at times, they walked together up to the Shahalami Gate, and if she needed him to escort her, she could ask him without hesitation. Many people were sitting near the entrance, so Asad had to cross over to the centre of the room, where Tara was sitting on her side of the aisle. They saw each other, and exchanged nods of greeting.
Asad had short, curly hair. He never wore a hat or a turban. He was not familiar with the customs of a Sikh ceremony, but when he saw that others who sat facing the Granth Sahib with their hands joined reverently, he too put his hands together.
A Sikh gentleman sitting next to Asad nudged him and motioned him to cover his head. Asad looked at others around him, and when he saw the man with the handkerchief on his head, he too put his hand into his trousers pocket to take out his own. There was none. Tara watched all this, trying
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