‘No, he is not well. Doctor has told him not to travel by air,’ my mother said.
‘There is a train to Goa form Delhi,’ Ananya’s father supplied. Ananya gave her
father a glance, making him return to his food.
‘We don’t travel by train,’ my mother said, lying of course. I have no idea why.
She continued, ‘Actually, Punjabis are quite large-hearted people. We like to
live well. When we meet people, we give them nice gifts.’
‘Mom, do you want dessert? There is mango ice-cream,’ I said.
She ignored me. ‘Yeah, we never meet anyone empty-handed. Oh and meeting
the boy’s side empty-handed is unthinkable,’ my mother said as I gently stamped
her foot.
‘OK, I’ve booked a car for sightseeing tomorrow. Please be in the coffee shop
by seven,’ I said.
‘Illa sightseeing,’ Ananya’s mother mumbled.
‘Sure, we’ll be there,’ Ananya said.
Ananya and I met for a walk post-dinner at Park Hyatt’s private beach.
‘My parents are upset,’ Ananya said, ‘your mother should learn to talk.’
The waves splashed the shore as many tourist couples walked hand-in-hand in
front of us. I bet they weren’t discussing the mood swings of their future in-laws.
‘Your parents should know how to behave,’ I said.
There we were, at one of the most romantic locations in India, having our first
marital discord. In an Indian love marriage, by the time everyone gets on board,
one wonders if there is any love left.
‘How can they behave better?’ she said.
‘I will tell you. But you must do exactly as I said,’ I said.
‘If it is reasonable,’ said my sensible girlfriend.
‘Step one, buy my mother an expensive gift.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, step two, when we go out in Goa tomorrow, always offer to pay.’
nora
(Nora)
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