The Rule Breakers Read online

  Unbeknownst to them, their father Rajinder was pacing up and down the garden path outside their home, waiting for both girls to get home. He couldn’t understand why they were late. His tea, which Rudra kaka had served him, remained untouched on the verandah.

  The cedar and maple trees swayed in the breeze, their tall branches almost touching the bright blue skies, as fluffy white clouds floated by leisurely. A small waterfall made a bubbling sound as the girls passed it. A mongoose crossed their path.

  They walked on, engrossed in their narrative of Suraj, oblivious to the beauty of the mountains, the scenery, the chilly mountain air, the stream or anything else they passed. It was only when they reached the gate of their home and saw their father waiting outside, did they realise that something wasn’t quite right. Their father never waited for them outside.

  Chapter 2

  September 1995

  Joshimath

  ‘Ah, there you are. What took you so long?’ asked Rajinder, as he spotted the girls.

  ‘Papa, extra class,’ said Vidya, before Veda could answer. She knew her sister couldn’t lie as efficiently as her. Veda’s expression would be a dead giveaway that she was guilty of chatting with boys, something they were forbidden to do.

  ‘Did both of you have extra class?’ Rajinder narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

  ‘No Papa, didi had extra class and I waited for didi,’ said Vidya smoothly.

  Veda shot her a grateful look.

  ‘Why? How many times have I told you to come straight home after class? Doesn’t she doesn’t know the way home, that you have to escort her?’

  Vidya and Veda kept quiet and looked down.

  ‘Sorry, Papa,’ said Vidya in a tiny voice, modulated to convey helplessness, respect and fear in just the right proportions. It was a voice she had learnt by trial and error, and it was guaranteed to pacify their angry father.

  ‘Sorry, Papa,’ Veda echoed, imitating her sister. But for Veda, the palpitations she felt and the nervousness she experienced at her father’s displeasure, were very real. For Vidya, it was just something she orchestrated to get out of a situation, which she knew could turn unpleasant. It was a skill that she had honed over the years. She had realised that it was easiest to deal with her father that way. Any argument they put forth would only result in more reprimands. This was the best way to avoid any more scolding.

  ‘Hmm . . . okay. Anyway, go get dressed. Your mother is waiting for you. Veda, wear a saree and be ready. We are going to have visitors,’ said Rajinder.

  ‘Eh? Saree?’ Veda asked.

  ‘Go inside, your mother will explain,’ said Rajinder, not wanting to engage in any more conversation. Now that both girls were here, he was relieved.

  The girls rushed inside and found their mother in the kitchen with Paro didi. The delicious aromas of all kinds of savouries wafted from the kitchen. They could see that whoever was coming was important, judging by the culinary preparations that were underway.

  ‘Ma, what is this that Papa is saying? Why should didi wear a saree?’ demanded Vidya.

  ‘We are expecting visitors, girls. Both of you go and change into some nice clothes quickly. And Veda, please wear that pink chiffon saree that you wore for your school graduation ceremony. Wear some of my jewellery too, I have laid it all out for you. Brush your hair and leave it loose. And yes, apply some make-up as well. There is a marriage proposal for you.’

  ‘What?’ asked Veda, stunned.

  ‘You heard me. They are coming home today to see you,’ said her mother, as she expertly peeled boiled potatoes.

  ‘Who are they, Ma?’ asked Veda, unable to believe what she was hearing.

  ‘Some people who are related to the boy. Now go and get ready quickly,’ her mother waved her away, as though it was a common, everyday occurrence.

  Veda could not believe this was happening.

  ‘I . . . I don’t want to get married, Ma. I don’t want any boy to see me,’ she protested meekly.

  ‘Veda, you know what our situation is. We have four girls. And this marriage thing—it all takes time. Just because we start the process doesn’t mean you are getting married. But we should start looking for boys now itself. Then, by the time you finish your college and all of that, something might click,’ her mother said, a little impatiently.

  ‘But Ma—’ Veda tried to reason with her. But her mother wasn’t having any of it. She just wanted Veda to hurry up and get ready. Otherwise, she would have to face her husband’s anger, and she was not ready for that. She also genuinely thought this was a good opportunity that had come their way. It was not often that a prospective groom’s relatives, of their own accord, asked for a meeting to see a prospective bride. As far as Kamala was concerned, this was a godsend, and she wasn’t going to throw it away.

  ‘Look, don’t argue with me,’ interrupted Kamala, not letting her finish. ‘Also, there is no boy coming today. It is only his relatives, who live in the neighbouring town, who are visiting us. Once they see you, they will pass on the details to the boy’s parents,’ she said, all in one breath.

  ‘Ma, you know I want to study, and I want to get a job in a city. You know that is my dream,’ Veda continued to protest.

  ‘Look, beti, you have to be practical about these things. You know how things are here. Sometimes, you have to sacrifice what you want in the interests of the family. You must think about your three younger sisters. Four girls are not so easy to manage, and you know that,’ Kamala reasoned with her daughter. She hadn’t expected Veda to protest this much. She thought it had been made amply clear to them that they would have to get married soon. Why was Veda not being understanding about this? All she was asking her to do was to get ready and look nice.

  Rajinder entered the kitchen then. He had heard the exchange between Veda and her mother.

  ‘Look, Veda, it does not matter what you want or do not want. We don’t always get what we wish for—that is life. What was the condition on which I agreed to let you attend college? Do you remember?’ he asked her, now looking directly at her.

  Veda hung her head.

  ‘Yes, Papa. I remember,’ she murmured.

  Her father had made it clear that she would have to get married before she graduated from college. It was on that condition that he had agreed to let her do her BA. She had wanted to apply for English Literature at St. Stephen’s College in Delhi. It was her cherished dream, and her excellent academic grades meant she had a good chance of getting in.

  ‘It is a very prestigious college, Papa. Many notable people have graduated from there,’ she had explained to her father.

  ‘No, no. We cannot afford the fees. Then there will be living expenses like hostel and other things. Also, Delhi is a big city. I am not sure if it is safe. It is out of the question,’ Rajinder had thundered. ‘Just apply to the government college here. It’s not like there are no colleges in this town.’

  So Veda had applied to the college in Joshimath, and when the results came out, her name was among the top in the list of successful applicants. Veda had initially been upset. This was not the college she had wanted to go to.

  ‘Didi, don’t feel sad. Maybe after you finish your degree you can get a job? Then you can go anywhere you want,’ Vidya had comforted her.

  After she had joined the college, the excitement of this new life had taken over. The course itself was interesting, and being a diligent student, Veda had soon become a favourite with the teachers. She had quickly adjusted to college life, happily taking part in many extracurricular activities. She also joined a few clubs, and the first two years had flown past quickly. Occasionally, she would think about how things would have been different had she got into St. Stephen’s, and had her father allowed her to go. But she was not filled with bitter regret. Life wasn’t too bad.

  When Rajinder had laid down the condition that Veda would have to get married before she graduated, she hadn’t given much thought to it. That had just sounded like one of her father’s
rants about raising girls.

  So now, this felt like a bolt from the blue. She had never expected this.

  ‘Beti, they are already on their way. You cannot let us down. Go now. Wear the saree and get ready. Vidya, you too. Go and change into a nice salwar kameez,’ their mother’s voice was now a whiny plea.

  With their father around, there was no chance of protesting any more.

  Veda’s heart sank on hearing her mother’s words. They were already on their way, and Veda had not even been consulted or informed in advance. This was what she had dreaded all her life. She did not want to be paraded around like a display-doll for a boy’s relatives. But she was too meek to protest. She also knew that if she did protest, it would make her parents look bad. She could not see any way out of it.

  ‘Okay, Ma, I will get ready,’ she said, and retreated to the safety of her room with Vidya.

  She took out the pink saree that her mother wanted her to wear. She knew how to wear a saree, as she had practised it since she was sixteen. Now, she draped it expertly, adjusting the pleats as she looked into the full-length mirror.

  Vidya, too, quietly got dressed, putting on a full-length skirt that she had worn for a cousin’s wedding.

  ‘I hate this,’ muttered Vidya, as she applied lipstick and eyeliner, handing them over to Veda when she was done.

  ‘I have it worse. I am the one being paraded around,’ Veda sighed in agreement, as she took the eyeliner and the lipstick from Vidya. When she was done, she glanced at herself in the mirror, wishing she had looked this nice when she had met with Suraj.

  ‘Didi, you look stunning! See how beautiful you look when you make a small effort. Why don’t you dress like this every day?’ Vidya asked.

  Veda just pulled a face at her, lips curling into a grimace as she thought of the people who were to arrive.

  The special guests arrived right on time. There were two older gentlemen and four elderly ladies, two of whom Veda had met before at various social events. She was meeting the others for the first time.

  They all sat in the garden, where Rudra kaka had arranged chairs.

  ‘Be careful, didi. Don’t trip in the saree,’ whispered Vidya, as Veda served them tea and the savouries that had been prepared earlier.

  The mood was celebratory and the conversation flowed smoothly. Veda had been told that after she served them, she and Vidya were to go inside. They weren’t allowed to sit with the guests. So they sent their younger siblings to eavesdrop.

  ‘Didi, they are saying that they like you. They are saying they will inform the boy and get back soon,’ Vandana reported back to Veda and Vidya.

  Veda groaned. ‘Oh, God!’ she said.

  ‘Why, didi? Isn’t it a good thing if they like you?’ asked Animesh.

  ‘You buddhu! It is a good thing only if Veda didi likes the boy,’ Vaishali answered him.

  ‘As though she will be given a choice,’ said Vidya angrily.

  But there was nothing the siblings could do, other than watch helplessly.

  ‘These aunties have no other work,’ whispered Vidya. She was furious at the way things were unfolding.

  They heard loud laughter and they saw their parents nodding in agreement, talking animatedly.

  After the guests left, their father was in a great mood.

  ‘Veda, the boy is earning very well. He is working in a multinational company in Pune. They are a very good family. The boy’s father is a retired academician. They have their own home too, in Pune. More than anything, he is a single child. So, everything that they have will automatically go to him. I think this is an excellent match,’ he said.

  Vidya was standing behind their father, and she pulled a face behind his back when she heard this. Veda was terrified that her father would see what Vidya was doing.

  ‘Did you hear me? I said I think you should say yes, if the boy likes you,’ Rajinder was telling her now.

  Veda nodded mutely.

  A thousand things came to her head, but not a single word escaped her lips. Her father and mother were almost joyous. It seemed as if this wedding had been fixed even before she had met the prospective groom.

  Later, in the privacy of their bedroom, long after everybody had gone to sleep, Vidya and Veda discussed this.

  ‘How does any of that matter? It doesn’t matter to me whether he has his own house or whether he is a single child or whether his father is an academician. I don’t want this marriage,’ Veda confessed.

  ‘I know, didi. I know. But look, he hasn’t even met you yet. Only these silly aunties have met you,’ Vidya said.

  ‘Yes, but if he does approve of me—then?’ Veda asked.

  ‘Didi—just look at it this way. You will have to get married soon. Why don’t you at least start meeting the eligible men? It doesn’t mean that it will instantly click, right? And who knows, you might like one of them?’ Vidya consoled Veda.

  ‘I don’t know, Vidya. All of this is just too sudden for me. I wasn’t even thinking of marriage. I just want to focus on my final year of graduation and do well in my exams. These things will distract me,’ Veda said.

  ‘Look, didi. Papa is not going to let you say no. He has made up his mind. You know how it is. Maybe he will be as good-looking as Suraj,’ said Vidya, trying to lighten Veda’s mood.

  But it had the opposite effect.

  Veda felt even more despondent.

  ‘I am not even comparing him with anyone. I am . . . just sad,’ she said.

  Chapter 3

  September 1995

  Kailash Mandir Colony, Pune

  The Kailash Mandir Colony in Pune woke up slowly, like a gargantuan monster stirring from its sleep. It slowly came alive with early morning sounds—the hurried footsteps of the newspaper delivery boy as he rushed from home to home, the thud of the newspaper as it landed on the mat in front of each apartment, the milk crates with packets of milk, the flower-lady delivering garlands of chrysanthemum and jasmine to the devout households, their fragrance still lingering in the narrow corridors outside each home, the early morning joggers and walkers in their track pants and running shoes, domestic house-help arriving to clean, sweep and mop. In the apartments, the children were being prepared to leave for school. Outside, an army of school buses arrived one after the other, and were waiting to whisk the children away.

  Inside one of the buildings, in a flat on the third floor, Padma Devi had been awake since five o’clock, practising her meditation and her kriyas for an hour. She stepped out now for her morning walk, wearing her canvas shoes, pulling her maroon button-down sweater over her saree and tying a woollen scarf around her head. Outside her building, she was greeted by two of her friends from the colony, Kanti behen and Shanta, both around her age, in their late sixties. They had been friends for the past thirty years, having moved into the colony at the same time. They had all bought modest two-bedroom apartments with their life savings, while the complex was being constructed. Since then, many office complexes had sprung up around the colony, making it a prime real estate location. The prices of land, and consequently the prices of the apartments, had quadrupled. It was almost impossible now to purchase any real estate in that area, unless you were a multi-billion-dollar corporation or a business tycoon.

  Amongst the swanky new high-rises in the neighbourhood, Kailash Mandir Colony stood out like a sore thumb, with its three-storied buildings, faded yellow exteriors that needed a facelift, mosaic-tiled flooring and narrow staircases without lifts. None of that bothered the residents, though. This was where they had lived for most of their adult lives.

  ‘Shanta, how is your knee? Better today? That oil I sent yesterday—did it help?’ asked Padma Devi as she joined her friends. The women began their daily walk around the colony. These morning walks were a combination of exercise, psychotherapy and socialising, all rolled into one. As they walked, they spoke about everything under the sun. Rarely did the three women miss their walk. They had been nicknamed ‘The Trimurti Brigade’ by their
husbands, a moniker which they were secretly proud of.

  ‘Yes, yes, Padma. It was excellent. My daughter massaged it in, and I sat in the sun for half an hour, like you suggested. And poof, the pain vanished,’ answered Shanta, as they walked briskly.

  ‘Ah, good. Have you got any more matches for Kanika?’ asked Kanti behen.

  ‘What to tell you, Kanti behen. So many matches, but she rejects everything. She says none of them are good enough. And now that she has quit her job and joined that social work, she hardly has time for anything,’ she trailed off.

  ‘It’s okay, Shanta. It will happen when the time comes. See my son, still unmarried at twenty-eight. No interest in marriage, he says. Is marriage a hobby, that you need to have “interest”? In our times, we just got married. We didn’t think much about it. But children these days, I tell you. . .’ Padma Devi’s voice reflected her disappointment in her son’s stand on marriage.

  ‘At least if we were from the same community, we could have considered getting Kanika and Bhuwan married,’ said Shanta.

  ‘Yes. It’s important to marry within the community. I want only an Agarwal bride for my son. And I don’t want any of these modern girls who want to work and all that. I want somebody content to be at home, and to look after the house. I think men and women have their roles. It is when one tries to take over the other’s role that all problems are caused,’ Padma Devi was firm.

  Her comment about ‘modern girls’ was not lost on Shanta.

  ‘What do you mean “modern girls”, Padma? What is wrong with Kanika working? The work that she is doing helps so many people,’ she asked, indignant.

  Padma Devi immediately realised her folly. Not wanting to offend her friend, she said, ‘Oho, baba—I did not mean our Kanika. I meant those girls who wear tight tops and roam around with boys shamelessly. Kanika is both a son and daughter rolled into one. You are fortunate, Shanta. You ought to be proud of her.’

  Shanta, mollified by the compliment, beamed.