My "arranged" love-story.

"This blue saree will do, ma!", I said firmly, hoping that my mom would not ignore the tone of finality in my voice, "and I most certainly will not wear that garish kasu malai!"

My mom looked forlorn. She assumed her most persuasive tone and tried one last time, "Vandana, you should look like a bride today! It will be very embarrassing for us if Srikanth's sister turns up better dressed than you!"

"I am not a bride yet. I have told you a million times before, if I don't like the guy, I say no and that's it!"

"Yes yes, but you will like him. He works in an MNC in Chicago. Do you think I should wear this kasu malai?", my mom asked, excited again at the prospect of imposing the monstrous family heirloom on the unsuspecting visitors.

Let me make myself clear. Do not mistake me to be one of those shyly grinning, drawing-kolams-with-delicate-toe, avid arranged-marriage proponent types. I am not and will never take a tray bearing four cups of strong filter coffee and will most definitely not look down when I serve coffee to the guy.

Well, in my defense, there were just three cups (Srikanth's dad had to fly out for a business meeting), I did not make the coffee and I took a real good look at the guy.


And Srikanth's sister, Niveditha (she pronounced it like "ivy"!) came dressed in baggie pants and a short top, chewing bubble gum to complete the look. I threw a look at my mom that could have killed but she was busy making small talk with Srikanth's mom.

"BE Mechanical from IIT Madras? I see...our Vandana is a gold medalist too" and then in a much lower voice, my mom adds, "She has a Bachelor's degree in Architecture from Anna University." She also throws an accusing look at me as if to say, "If only you had become an engineer or a Doctor..."

At this point, my mental state is vacillating between deep embarrassment mixed with humiliation and indignation. I plop myself down unceremoniously on my sofa and pick up last week's Kumudam. I stare at the same page for several minutes while I mentally put down all Mechanical Engineers from IIT, Madras.

"Umm, do you also have difficulty reading Tamil?", a gentle voice, a smile not to wide so as to suggest that he is trying to hard, not too small to not show off his dimples. But his question certainly did not please me. Mr.America can't read Tamil. How cool!

"I believe the least a person can do in his life is learn his or her mother tongue well. I can read Tamil very well."

"I agree. I've been trying to pick up bits of it reading stuff online...", having expected a hearty volley back, I must say I was taken aback a little.

"The kesari is delicious!"

"Mom made it. I can hardly hold a ladle straight."

There! Now let's see Mr.America digest that. So much for his perfect idea of a dainty, homely wife!

"Mm, I don't blame you. Being an architect must be a pretty demanding job! More interesting than anything I do atleast!", he chuckles.

I bite my tongue. I can't think of anything wrong with what he said and that annoys me. I so do not want to like Mr.America.

"Vandana, why don't you sing us a nice song? Mrs.Krishnamurthy tells me that Srikanth is a big fan of carnatic music! He has attended MS's concerts in America."

God! My mom is literally gushing now. Yes, am sure he is a big fan! Rich Mr.America appreciates music made by the little Indians.

"I am not prepared ma. I'll probably forget all the lines and mess up."

N"ivy" who till now was disinterestedly studying her nails, suddenly looks up, "Oh, do sing, Vandana. I would love to hear you sing too! I can always chip in with the right lines."

The nerve of that girl! Chip in with the right lines?! Now, you've asked for it lady. Stand back and prepare to be amazed.

"Our Niveditha has been learning to sing for the past five years..."

I launched into one of my favourite songs, drowning out Mrs.K's voice, a short, nevertheless complicated song. I finished with a flourish, thrilled with my perfect rendition.

"Wow! That's amazing, Vandana! You do have an excellent voice!"

Ah...so, Mr.America approves...now why does that make me grin like this? I turned to N"ivy" and she smiled at me and cooed, "That was lovely Vandana!" I noticed Mrs.K perceive me with additional interest. I can hear her saying already, "Our Vandana sings so beautifully, why don't you sing the song that you sang when Srikanth and I came to see you for the first time, Vandana?"...

"Now, I know what I will listen to in my free time after we get married!", Srikanth winks at me and my heart suddenly skips a beat. Darn! He reminds me of the cute guy I had a crush on in my first year...only, Srikanth looks better.

No, am not falling for his curly locks and evil dimples. I have heard one too many horror stories about unsuspecting Indian brides and their green card holding husbands...

My mom suddenly stands up and with a knowing smile, tells Mrs.K and N"ivy", "Let me show you Vandana's medals and a few photographs." And before I can object, am left alone in the room with Srikanth. He seems relaxed and comfortable.

No! Think of the horror stories! Concentrate!

"You know, Vandana, I am planning to come back to India for good."

I tried to appear nonchalant. People should appear to do that at times, be nonchalant that is. It makes them look cool, not that I wanted to look cool or anything.

"To be honest, the money is great and I can't complain but I just think I will be happier here."

And before I could respond, the gang returned and my mom surveyed us closely. She seemed satisfied with what she perceived. Unconsciously, I had been leaning forward to listen to what he had to say. I stood up immediately.

"Well, it's been nice talking to you, Vandana. I will call you sometime soon!"

A firm handshake and a gentlemanly nod and they were gone.

Now, I am not going to pretend that I did not like him. I did. But one can-almost-be-termed-a-conversation and good looks alone just did not tilt the scale enough. This state of my mind changed quite dramatically over the next few weeks. With every passing day that he did not call, I began to eagerly wait for his call more, anticipate brilliant conversations lasting several hours with him and in general, pine in a very unhealthy fashion (atleast in my opinion) for any interaction with him.

The call came. Three weeks later. i recognized his voice immediately. I was seething with anger and thrilled all at once.

"Hi Srika, Srikanth!", I gushed, just like my mom, into the receiver. Sometimes, I have an incredible tendency to get on my nerves.

"Vandana? I am sorry I couln't call earlier. Some thing came up."

What a vague excuse!

"Uh Huh, am sure. How are Niveditha and your parents doing?"

"Good. I was a bit worried that you would be annoyed at me. I really should have called earlier!"

"Yes, I guess you are right."

And so on and so forth, we had a pretty good conversation over all. Just short of an hour. I hung up smiling and had to stop myself from flitting about happily. That's just not me. Anyway, mom seemed pleased with the proceedings - "Your father would have been so happy" - and cooked up goodies almost everyday for me!

Srikanth called up pretty regularly after his first call and in general, things were quite nice and dandy. I continued to be a bit defensive with Srikanth though, just in case...but a hint here and there, a few spontaneous compliments and I was expecting a formal proposal pretty soon. Which is why I was quite unprepared for what was to follow.

He called me on a Sunday evening. He probably thought going to work the next day with a whole week in front of me would distract me enough to not feel too sorry for myself. He was wrong. I cried the whole week.

"Vandana, I called to say I will be flying back to Chicago next week."

And here I was thinking he was asking me if I would marry him within a week's time. I was about to open my mouth in protest when he said,

"I am not sure if you were already expecting this or if this comes as a surprise to you but I am getting engaged day after tomorrow. Her name is Sheetal, I've known her for five years and it was quite a struggle to get my mom to agree but it all worked out in the end..."

Obviously, this was all a bad dream. I pinched myself and realized that moment that Sheetal is one name that I would hate for the rest of my life. I could not talk coherently for sometime, somehow I was not thinking logically - too many thoughts swirling in my head, nothing seemed to make sense - Why? Why did he flirt with me then? Why?...I did what my dad always used to tell me - "Just take a deep breath, its not as bad as it seems..." - and the thought of my father brought tears to my eyes. I took a deep breath and said,

"Well, I am happy for you Srikanth. I hope Sheetal keeps you very happy. I have a few designs that I need to finalize, talk to you later."

I hung up the receiver and closed my eyes. The phone rang again and I let it ring.

Bits and pieces of conversations that we shared over the past few weeks came floating back inside my head, I remembered the way he winked at me, the look in his eyes after I finished my song...and a fresh surge of tears wet my cheeks.

My mom walked in and in a single breath, I blurted out to her, "Amma, Srikanth called...said no, he has a girlfriend..." and buried my face in her saree. She held me tightly and did not let go for a long time.

I must say I recovered pretty well after this incident. He tried calling a few times after that day but mom always gave him the right excuse before he could say much and I was grateful to her for that. I really did not fancy playing the part of the pitiable girl whom the cute guy dumped! I found myself thinking often if this was my doing after all. Maybe I had found the perfect guy and let him go because I was too conceited? Maybe I will see a hundred other guys but never find my charming Mr.America again...well, anyway easy come, easy go. Only in my case, it was not an easy go. I did not realize the depth of my feelings for him until he said goodbye.

So, you will not be surprised why I almost ran into him, deep in thought, at Spencers and still did not recognize him. He looked quite different too - quite a visible stubble, dark glasses, a crumpled white tshirt and an old pair of jeans.

"Vandana."

And that's all he said.

I froze.

Familiar feelings, a giddy rush of blood to my cheeks, a sudden nervousness. I felt my heart beat so fast, I almost feared for my health, in one dim cavern of my mind. Surprisingly, I managed to think pretty logically in those few moments. I realized if I would ever feel anything like love, it would be like this. I also noticed something strange - that he looked back at me with almost the same intensity of feeling with which I was looking at him now - was it pity? sadness?

Anyway, I had made up my mind. Since neither of us had said almost nothing, I decided for once to speak my mind and not listen to my ego.

"Srikanth, I just wanted to say that I was very disappointed the other day after you called...no, disappointed is not the word. Agony is probably closer to what I felt. I like you a lot (darn! I just cannot say the word love) and was hoping you would propose. I cried for a week, as a matter-of-fact. But, am over it now. I can..."

"Vandana, I love you."

Literally, a hundred butterflies flying in my stomach and all around me. I must be dreaming. Again! No, I smell his musk. He is really hugging me!

"I just wish you wouldn't jump to conclusions! Gosh, I can't even play a joke on you without you turning my life upside down!"

Although I would have loved to stay in his arms for a much longer time, I moved away and demanded (hoping my loud inquisition would make him not notice my tears of joy!),

"And why this sudden urge to play such a mindless prank on me? Sheetal is not even such a believable entity!"

"Then, why are you crying?"

(Cursing inwardly), "Answer me now. Why?"

"Because I had to be sure...that you were sure."

And that was that. I really needed no further justification. Ofcourse, I couldn't let him know that.

"You know, Mr.America. This just will not do. Before we get married, we need to establish some ground rules of conduct that we will adhere to and..."

"I take it, that's a yes."

You bet your bustle, Mister. It is a yes. And that, in short, is the story of how I married Mr.America. I will not have you think that I am just your mushy, little Indian girl who was swept off her feet by an NRI.

...Oh, what the hell, think what you want. I am married to the guy with the dimples!

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