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We met Ananya’s parents at dinner. All buffet meals at Park Hyatt were paid for as
part of the package. They came to the coffee shop with three brown bags.
‘Kavita-ji, this is for you,’ Ananya’s father passed the bags to my mother.
‘No, no, what is the need?’ my mother simpered as she took the gifts.
The first bag had three saris. The second bag had four shirts for me. The third
bag contained sweets, savoury snacks and Goan cashews.
I cruised the buffet counters with Ananya.
‘Enough or does she want more?’ Ananya said.
‘It’s cool. This is exactly what works,’ I reassured her.
All of us sat at the table and ate in silence. I always found it scary to eat with
Ananya’s family, who ate their meals as if in mourning. If I found the lack of
conversation awkward, my mother hated it. She shifted in her seat several times.
The only sound was cutlery clanging on the plates.
My mother spoke after five minutes. ‘See, how times have changed. Our kids
decide, and we have to meet each other.’
‘Yes, initially we had a big shock. But Krish lived in Chennai for six months.
Once we knew him, we were ok,’ Ananya’s mother said in her naturally stern
voice.
‘What OK? You must be jumping with joy inside. Where would you find such a
qualified boy like him?’ my mother said. I prayed Ananya’s mother wouldn’t bite
at the bait. Of course, she did.
‘Actually, we do get qualified boys. Tamils value education a lot. All her uncles
are engineers or doctors. Ananya had many matches from the USA.’
‘Yeah, but they must be all dark boys. Were there any as fair as Krish? Looks-
wise you cannot match Punjabis,’ my mother said, without any apparent
viciousness in her voice. I almost choked on the spaghetti in my mouth.
‘Mom, they changed dessert today,’ I coughed, ‘do you like bread pudding?’