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Travails of a married man
This is a work of fiction........

My name is Ramesh.

This is a story set in the 1980s. The mid 1980s, if you like. 1986, if you must know the exact year.

It all started one day, a long long time ago. It must have been the summer of 1967………..

I was, in those days, a teenager.....a 15 year old lad living in Calcutta. In Alipore. New Road, to be specific.

I had a friend who stayed nearby, also on New Road. His name was Probir.

Probir and I weren’t all that close. He was neither an acquaintance nor a friend but someone in between. He was someone I could go and meet, unannounced, at a moment’s notice, if I were bored. If I bicycled real hard, I could be at his place in a few minutes. I usually visited him about once a month, on days when my other cronies were not available.

Probir has a sister. Her name is Rani. She is several years younger than him. She must have been all of ten year old at that time.

What stood out about her were her eyes. They were large and round and gave her an aura of helplessness. If I close my eyes, I can see her clearly – skinny, awkward, flat chested, helplessly staring, almost myopically, at us with those large round lovely eyes.

Probir never allowed her to play with us. Whenever she asked, he used to rebuff her harshly. She would slink away, hurt and disappointed.

After a few years I moved away to another city to study engineering and I lost track of Probir and Rani. Several years were to pass before I met Probir again. More than a decade would pass before I met Rani again.

Fast forward to 1986……………..

I have joined a well known organization in Madras as Regional Sales Manager. I am new to Madras and ask an old friend whether I can stay with him for a few days. “Yes” he says, so there I am, ensconced after office hours at his place in Adyar. My family will join me as soon as I get admission for our daughter and find a suitable accommodation.

I learn that Probir is also in Madras; that he works for a well known engineering company there. I learn that he too stays in Adyar, not very far from where I am put up. On an impulse, I call him. “Let’s meet” he suggests. “Today?” I ask. He hesitates for just a fraction of a second and says “Yes”. We agree to meet at 8 p.m. at his place. He gives me directions.

At 8 p.m. I reach his place, with a sense of pleasurable anticipation. I look forward to all the gupp shupp that we will exchange about old times, about our boyhood days in Calcutta. (These days we are both married. I have two kids, having married very early. He has none, having just got married himself). I look forward to meeting his wife.

I ring the bell.

The door is opened by a very attractive woman in her mid twenties. She has lovely hair, cut short at the shoulders and attractively styled. I detect a western accent when she looks at me, eyebrows arched and asks “yes?”. She is around five feet five inches tall (that would make her 165 cm. tall) in her bare feet. Her complexion is wheatish. She has lovely eyes.

I assume that it is Malini, Probir’s wife.

“Malini?” I ask. “No” she replies, without telling me who she is. All the while she is coolly appraising me.

“I’m Probir’s friend” I answer, lamely. “My name is Ramesh We are old friends, from the Calcutta days”.

“Come in” she says and I walk in to the drawing room.

There’s no sign of Probir.

She shows me to a seat and takes one nearby. The silence is uncomfortable. I somehow get the impression that she isn’t too happy at my presence.

“Who are you?” I ask. It appears unusually blunt to my ears.

“I’m Probir’s sister, Rani” she says.

“Rani!” I exclaim. “Don’t you remember me?” I used to come to your house quite often in Calcutta.

“Yes, I remember you” she says distantly.

Apart from telling me that Probir is taking a bath and will be out shortly she doesn’t say much else. I figure she doesn’t want to talk so I keep quite. That’s how we spend the next ten minutes or so.

A little later Probir walks in, briskly toweling his hair. He has on a pair of jeans and is bare chested, water droplets rolling down his back.. “Hi Ramesh!” he says, smiling widely “you know Rani don’t you?”. “Yes” I mumble. My hopes of a pleasant evening with him are receding fast. “I’ll stay for a few minutes and take my leave” I decide.

“May I offer you some tea?” Rani asks politely. “Yes, please” I answer though, to be honest, I had come here with visions of drinking something stronger with an old friend.

She goes off to make the tea.

Just then the doorbell rings and I open the door. Standing in the doorway is another attractive lady. This must be his wife, Malini, I conclude. She looks at me strangely and I tell her I am Ramesh, Probir’s old boyhood pal from Calcutta. She smiles, nodding as if to say “I understand”.

Malini is a lot warmer than Rani and soon we are talking like old friends. Probir joins us. So does Rani with a cup of steaming tea.

After abut twenty minutes I look at my watch. It’s nearly 8 p.m.”. I have to go” I say. “No! Stay!” says Probir. “Have dinner with us”.

“We are going out for dinner” Malini says hastily. “There’s no food at home”.

I again feel that pregnant silence.

“I must be going. I told my friend that I will have dinner with him” I lie. I promise to have a meal with them another day.

A few days later, as part of my marital duties, I am visiting all the schools trying to get admission for our nine year old daughter. I have obtained “local influence” with one school and meet their principal. There are hordes of other anxious parents waiting to meet the principal. I wait for hours. Finally she meets me. I tell her that her good friend Mr. X has recommended that I meet her for the admission for my daughter. “Yes, X spoke to me about it” she confirms. “However, we have only one seat left and we normally have a panel that interviews both parents before taking a decision. I will give your child the admission but I don’t want to bypass the panel. Please come here tomorrow morning at 11 a.m. with your wife for a panel interview”.

The equation is clear: no panel interview no seat.

It can also mean: No wife, no panel interview, no seat.

Summary: I need a wife. Immediately.

I mull over the possibilities as I exit the school. Can I call my wife over to Madras at such short notice? Impossible. She is in the midst of packing and getting her all the way here just for a few minutes of a panel interview (especially when the seat has been assured to me by the principal) seems excessive.

I come to a conclusion. I need someone to act as a wife temporarily. I think of various possible potential temporary ‘wives’.

Rani! She appears the perfect choice. (In retrospect this whole thing looks hare-brained today but back then, in the “heat of the moment” it looked a very bright possibility to me.)

I decide to “drop in” unannounced that evening to meet Probir and casually to ask Rani whether she would be game acting ‘mom’ for just a short while the next day.

With a thumping heart I ring the doorbell that evening. Rani opens it, as before. This time she seems a bit friendlier. “Hi!” she wishes me brightly. “Hi!” I reply as I walk in to the drawing room. She tells me that Probir is not yet back from the office.

“I have a very strange request of you” I tell her nervously. She looks amused. “What?” she asks.

I explain about the visit to the school, and the meeting with the principal. “I need a ‘wife’ for a few hours to get this admission” I tell her. “Will you help me”? I wait for her response.

She is silent a long while. My heart falls. “She won’t do it” I tell myself.

“I’ll do it. But only on one condition” she says. “I don’t want Probir or Malini to know about this”. She doesn’t explain why. I am in no mood to ask.

“OK” I say.

Probir leaves for work at 8.30 along with Malini (who has a bank job). I agree to pick her up at 10 a.m.

She is ready and waiting the next day. She is her usual withdrawn self. I give her some quick details about her ‘daughter’ as I take her to the school.

We nervously wait to meet the panel.

Half an hour later the panel calls us in. “This is Sarita, my wife” I tell them. They ask her some questions which she answers very suavely and confidently. Ten minutes later we walk out of the panel meeting.

“The principal would like to see you both” the peon tells me.

I hadn’t banked on this! Meeting the panel with an ‘imposter’ wife is one thing but meeting the principal in such a situation is something altogether more complex.

I don’t reveal my inner worries to Rani. “We have to meet the princi too” I tell her. She just nods.

The meeting with the principal goes off very well. The principal is beaming as she shows us out of her office. “Don’t worry about the admission, Sarita” she tells Rani. “It’s done and Ramesh can pay the fees immediately”.

Sarita is quiet and withdrawn on the way home. She appears to have a lot on her mind. “Thank you” I tell her. Sincerely. From the bottom of my heart. She just nods without saying anything.

Sarita and our daughter Preeti come to Madras a few weeks later. Preeti starts going to school. Months pass…..

One day Sarita tells me that she needs to go to the school the next day. “Why?” I ask, alarmed. “I have to meet the principal” she tells me. “Why” I again ask with a sinking feeling, suddenly very tense. “I don’t know. She didn’t say. I just received a note from the class teacher asking that I meet the principal tomorrow at 11 a.m.” I nod dumbly. I am at a loss for words.

That night I am unable to sleep. I toss and turn. All kinds of ghastly scenarios play out in my mind, the foremost being the principal asking Sarita “who are you? I asked to see the mother. You aren’t the mother!”

I finally decide to hell with it! Let whatever happens happen. In a worst case scenario I can explain to both an astonished principal as well as an angry wife who the “other lady” was. I leave for the office a worried man.

At 12.15 I get a call. “It’s your wife on the line” the switch board operator tells me.

“Hi!” I mumble. “How did your meeting with the principal go”?

I expect the worst.

I am amazed when my wife tells me “Oh, it went very well. We spoke for at least twenty minutes.”

“What did the principal want?” I ask.

“She wanted a donation for the school” Sarita says. “That’s all!” and laughs gaily.

I breathe a sigh of relief.   Click here to go to Part 2
 

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