‘Don’t forget what I told you,’ she said in an admonitory voice. Her younger daughter was going to prove more difficult than her elder, she decided. I must go in to check what is happening: the time that the pandits have given is coming up, and there is no sign of either bride or groom!’ She looke d at Lata, frowning. I am no t even allowed gajak, which is so difficult to resist in winter.
Please eat something, please eat: they have made such delicious gulab-jamun s, but owing to my diabetes I cannot eat them even after the ceremonies. The Minister Sahib has been very kind to us. ‘It is so wonderful-the boy of my dreams, and such a good family. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ she now beamed at those who were coming up to greet her. They will be happy,’ she continued emphatically. ‘Why are you trying to annoy me when I am so happy? And Pran and Savita will be happy, you will see.
‘And Savita will fatten him up,’ added Mrs Rupa Mehra. Lata had attended his class on the Elizabethans, while Savita, the bride, had met him for only an hour, and that too in her mother’s com pany. Lata was studying English at Brahmpur University, and Pran Kapoor was a popular lecturer there. Oddly enough, she kne w him better than her sister did-or, at least, had seen him for longer than her si ster had.
There was no denying that Pran, at thirty, was a good boy, a decent boy, and bel onged to the right caste. Arun and Varun are always compla ining: why didn’t they choose a boy for their sister then? Pran is a good, decent, cultured khatri boy.’ And if Savita is not complaining, everyone should be happy with him. Even I have had to fast the whole day and it is not good for my diabetes. ‘Thin? What is thin? Everyone is trying to become thin these days. Pran Kapoor, soon to be her brother-in-law, was lank, dark, gangly, and asthma tic. ‘He is a little thin, Ma,’ said Lata a bit thoughtlessly. I have chosen such a good boy for Savita, and all everyone does is complain.’ Lata reflected that of the four brothers and sisters, the only one who hadn’t comp lained of the match had been the sweet-tempered, fair-complexioned, beautiful Sa vita herself. Everything I do is for you, and no one app reciates me. ‘They will only think it is becau se of my happiness at Savita’s wedding. ‘Let them see me!’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra defiantly, dabbing at her eyes hastily with a handkerchief perfumed with 4711 Eau de Cologne. They want to congratulate you, and they’ll think it very odd if they see you crying in this way.’ Several guests were indeed doing namaste to Mrs Rupa Mehra and smiling at her t he cream of Brahmpur society, she was pleased to note. ‘But it is too rich for a widow to wear.’ ‘Ma!’ said Lata, a little exasperated at the emotional capital her mother insisted o n making out of every possible circumstance. ‘If He had been here, I could have worn the tissue-patola sari I wore for my own w edding,’ sighed Mrs Rupa Mehra. ‘Now, now, Ma, you can’t cry on Savita’s wedding day,’ said Lata, putting her arm gently but not very concernedly around her mother’s shoulder. Eight years ago, eight years, thought Mrs Rupa M ehra miserably. Mrs Rupa Mehra believed, of course, in reincarnation, but at moments of e xceptional sentiment, she imagined that the late Raghubir Mehra still inhabited the form in which she had known him when he was alive: the robust, cheerful form of his early forties before overwork had brought about his heart attack at the height of the Second World War. Do you th ink it is easy for me, trying to arrange things for all four of my children with out His help?’ Her nose began to redden at the thought of her husband, who would, she felt certain, be partaking of their present joy from somewhere benevolently above. ‘I know what your hmms mean, young lady, and I can tell you I will not stand for h mms in this matter. The wedding guests were gathered on the lawn. Lata avoided the maternal imperative by looking around the great lamp-lit garden of Prem Nivas. A Suitable Boy By Vikram Seth Part One 1.1 ‘You too will marry a boy I choose,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra firmly to her younger daugh ter.