Denied Acceptance

“There is no such area marked on this map.” I exclaimed.“Look again. Maybe you missed it! It is ‘Boxi Pindle’ you are looking for, remember.” my mother said taking a swift stride across the metal detectors at the entrance of the railway’s upper class waiting hall. With a loud chime, the mechanical voice of the scheduled announcer crackled over the radio, spilling a string of numbers which rendered the crowd utterly perplexed about their whereabouts. I rolled my eyes and waited for the cacophony to die but the announcement fired the uproar even more. “You heard it wrong Ma, it’s not here, and it’s not on the internet!” I shouted over the ruckus of chattering people, crying food vendors, and shimmering tea stalls. My father hurried towards the waiting hall clutching a fresh cup of tea, a copy of Sunday times tucked under his arm, humming to himself all the way to the chair and sat beside her. “Call the boy once more and make him explain the address to a taxi driver,” he said, “that’s what we did whenever we were sent to the northeastern sites. It was so close to the China border that you wouldn’t recognize where India finished and China began". I went out of the station for a taxi to ask the drivers about places that rhymed with ‘Boxi Pindle’, but every time I asked someone, he denied knowing it and one even suggested we came to the wrong city. Hanging my head low, I went back in. The three of us had traveled to Kota in a frenzy to meet the Mukherjee family, who like any decent Indian family, had posted in those neat little columns in Indian newspapers where desperate parents of socially inept youngsters put-up family approved dating requests alongside apartments-for-rent and help-wanted columns. As I entered the waiting hall, I spotted Ma with one hand over the ear with her phone clutched tight. The Mukherjee’s had finally picked-up Ma’s phone call and it looked like we were going to meet them after all. It was a cozy little home on the outskirts of the city. The air was fresh here and a quiet fall-over as the city was left behind. In a whirlwind of ‘pranam’, everyone met everyone. I touched the feet of Mr. Mukherjee and Mrs. Mukherjee, including the giant brother (who did not pick me up to break my back), went around to the girl, and asked her name. A whiff of her perfume reminded me of strawberries as I leaned over to hear her speak. “Indrani,” she said ever so softly, looking at her feet, her fingers curling one end of her golden stole, worn over a chocolate brown salwar and a long chestnut kurta. Her eyes were large, the whole sky could be in there, floating like clouds in the summer skies. Suddenly we were ushered in and asked several questions, followed by tea, some breakfast, and more questions. My mother was animated, talking to Mrs. Mukherjee and my father was discussing his adventures of Tamang. .“Let the couple talk”, said the brother a while later, “Yes, let them go out and talk” said Mr. Mukherjee pointing towards the hall with a comb in his hand which was bizarre because he was completely bald. I looked towards Indrani and our eyes met, for the first time. My heart fluttered and my stomach hopped.

I unfurled my hand hoping she would take it, a mulish grin lighting up my face. She walked right past me to the hall, looking down at the floor as she went. I followed. Before I could speak, she said “I agree to whatever my mother decides” and she jumped up with a jerk and ran to the kitchen without even a glance back at me. I stood there for ten minutes believing that she might return. When she didn’t, I slowly walked back in and joined the conversation, which now felt meaningless. I flicked my smartphone to check my mails and buried myself in the usual internet gibberish we all do when nothing of interest lies in front of us. Soon, it was time to go. Indrani was sitting inside, tongue within her teeth, typing on her smartphone. I walked up to her. “Can I have your phone number?”She raised her eyebrows and said “No! I cleared my throat and dragged myself back to the waiting auto. Her mother called Indrani and she flew past me dousing me again in that sweet strawberry aroma I so longed for. I prolonged my walk, waiting for someone to say something to her. I wanted her to know that I was a good man. That I was not wicked or vulgar or a thug or a fop or a thousand other things. What if I went away now she will never know me and I’ll never know her. I prayed for her to look back. Then something happened. I saw her turn around to look at me. I saw her smiling at me, her soft white hands covering her tender lips whispering in my mother’s ears. Her brother suddenly tapped on my shoulder and said “Don’t you want to know what’s Boxis Pindle? It’s that school. There” He pointed to the other side of the road, and they're on top of it was written in glowing light “Bakshi’s Springdale, School for Excellence”. I starched my head and looked around. Everyone was laughing, and Indrani was looking straight at me. Our eyes met and this time she did not turn away. We were married a year later.