MARRIAGE

Aloka, with her unyielding optimism, ended up being hit the hardest. She sat alone in the bedroom, without stirring. Every few minutes, she tried explaining herself to anyone who cared to listen, mostly neighbours streaming in and out. 

She needed to darn new school sweaters for the boys and had sent Molly to get some yarn from the Lepchas who set up temporary shops near the bus terminus in winter. They were wrapping up for the year, she had heard, and clearing their stock at dirt cheap rates. 

Molly was late, yes, but not enough to make her worry. There were all those shops selling cosmetics and trinkets nearby, the girls always lingered there. Those who listened half-heartedly to Aloka's account failed to fathom its relevance now that Molly had turned up married and all, and sat in the living room, beaming with excited satisfaction. Rinku and Rimpa flanked her on either side, looking at the thick splash of red vermilion on the parting of her hair, and breaking out in helpless giggles every few minutes.

Proloy, who had been summoned back from office, stood outside the building, chatting with Dr Debdoot Das, now his son-in-law. He excused himself at the first opportunity and went to talk to Aloka in the privacy of their bedroom.

Aloka threw her hands up in the air. "Now what?"

"One down, Aloka. One down. You know what it means, don't you?" In his fervour, he had gripped her tight on the shoulders. He let go seeing her wince with pain. "The twins, with their reputation? They'll get their own guys. The problems are getting solved, can't you see?"

"Are you insane?" Aloka looked at him, horrified. "That man is as old as you are. Molly has married him. A man old enough to be her father."

"Well, he's never married before. Makes quite a bit of money. And look how decent he is. He could have taken advantage of her. But he did not. One phone call, they meet. He proposes marriage. Done."

Aloka looked at him with a frozen stare of disbelief. 

"Have you not seen how happy she looks?" Proloy continued. "We'll host a reception, of course. Debdoot, he deserves his name. Messenger of god. What more could we have given our Molly?"

He got up, too excited to sit at one place for long. "And yes, do not wake me before ten next Saturday, come what may."

And indeed Molly sat in the drawing room, face flushed with happiness. She, Komolika Kundu, was now the wife of a doctor. She was Dr Mrs Debdoot Das. Her old-fashioned name had not been an obstacle. The homework of yet-to-be-born children had not stood in her path. And she still didn't have the faintest idea about The Grateful Dead.

(EOM)

December 2, 2016