Match Fixer

Readers on StoryMirror who have been patronizing enough to read and follow my ramblings ( those who haven’t start soon please) would have by now figured out that I am a Tamilian and my wife a Punjabi. We are married since 1982. Sorry, this story is not about my wife and me. Well, it is; but about the key character who turned out to be the dealmaker (rather a matchmaker).

He was all of 7 years old then, my saala, Sonu. I was an intermittent visitor at his house, so we knew each other. When we ( my wife and me) were seriously contemplating marriage, my wife used to be very tense about her mother and feared that she could well be a spoilsport! I had my own tensions about how I was going to deal with it at my house.

The day came when it was decided that I should visit my wife’s home and announce to her mother (no, I was not invited by her mummy to have tea). I mustered enough courage and entered her house.

To my surprise, Sonu opened the door (it was probably left open because he was too small to reach for the latch). The household was silent and I wondered where everyone had gone! Anyway, I took a seat and the little boy sat in front of me, keenly staring.

“Where is everyone gone?” I asked him

“Neighbours house, but they are coming.”

“How’s school?”

“Boring.”

“Studies?”

“I don’t like.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation and I sat in the silence wondering if this was the storm before the calm. Why would they all run away from me and hide in their neighbour’s house?

“You are going to marry Didi, isn’t it?”

I was stunned. How did this little urchin of a boy know?

“Who told you?” I asked 

“Everyone is talking about you.”

“What? What is everyone saying?”

“Anita didi wants to marry you. My other sisters are ok. My mother was crying a lot.”

“Crying? But why?”

“I think it is all a drama. I think she likes you too but is afraid to say so. Shall I show you something, come?”

The elf of a boy led me to another room and pointed to a big box/trunk.

“You see that?” he asked.

“Yes, but what is special about the trunk.”

He ran up to the trunk and opened it.

“Come, see.”

I was afraid that I was intruding into the privacy of the family. I could well be mistaken for a burglar if I started digging into the trunk. But I was curious.

The trunk was full of a motley variety of items; sarees, clothes, utensils, glasses, cups and saucers and god knows what else.

“Why are you showing this to me?”

“Mummy has bought all this for you.”

I was confused. What was Sonu trying to tell me? 

“For me? Sarees, vessels?”

“You don’t know. When didi gets married mummy is going to give all this to her, and you.”

“Dowry?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I heard mummy saying this”.

“Sonu, do you like me?”

“Of course jijaji, I like you very much. I had fun with you in Haridwar, remember? You carried me on your shoulders across Lakshamjhula? In the train, you told me the story of how you got black? Remember, you fell in a drum full of tar?”

I could not help laughing out aloud. My saala had already started calling me jijaji.

“You will be riding a ghodi (ceremonial she horse used in Punjabi weddings) na, on the wedding day?”

“I don’t know son, first let your mother come and talk to me.”

“Can I sit on the ghodi with you?”

His innocence was killing. Here I was worried and tense about my alliance; this boy was already planning the wedding!

I would have loved to kiss and hug Sonu then and there, but the ladies of the family chose that very moment to barge in.

“What are you two doing in this room?” My wife asked.

“Nothing. Sonu was showing me my dowry.”

The tension eased and my mother-in-law broke into a relieved smile. Sonu had decisively fixed the match for us.