The Stars

The Stars

Finally, finally the stars match!

The sound of crisp snow crunching under my Sorrel boots is the only one that fills the air. I walk with my hands in my pocket, all hunched up against the cold. But it doesn’t help. The cold still creeps into my skin and my face feels frozen. I’m unable to move any muscle. Everything has gone numb. As my heart has. I hasten my steps. I look ahead and see Seven Eleven, about a block away.

I brace myself and continue walking until I find my feet inside the store.

The warmth inside envelopes me like a snug blanket. I feel the sensation returning to my face slowly, thawing the outer skin so that I can finally move my face muscles. But, my heart is still numb. I walk through the narrow aisles of the store, my fingers touch a box of crackers momentarily, before shifting their attention to a bag of chips, then to a package of nuts. I am indecisive. I didn’t need to get anything, but I have to. I can’t go back empty handed.

My mother thinks I’m in desperate need of some important provision, hence my rush to the store. And what would The Chopra’s think? Surely something must be really important if I had to leave them in that manner, in the midst of such crucial discussion pertaining to my life, my future. So what shall it be? I look around helplessly. What object can take such precedence?

Then my eyes fall on it, elegantly wrapped in golden paper that shines beautifully: truffles! I pick one golden box and pay for it. What is a better gift than truffles for The Chopra’s, for giving me such good news, for clearing my hazy, ambiguous future, for telling me the stars match! That thought sends my head spinning, my heart beating at an unusually fast rate, and my forehead perspiring profusely. I step outside of the store and welcome the sudden gush of cold breeze.

There’s a snow-covered, wooden bench outside the store, which I slump my body in. I search the thick pocket of my enormous winter jacket and find my cell phone. I press the speed dial and wait for an answer.

Carina, my colleague and best friend, picks her phone up within two rings. “Nick?”

“Hey…what’re you doing?” I try to sound blasé, while my insides are tumbling all over like I’ve just stepped out of a very fast roller coaster.

“How was it? Tell me…tell me!” I laugh at her eagerness.

“Apparently they match, the stars…you know…” I don’t finish my sentence, for her shrieking voice emanates through the phone violently. I hold the phone away from my ears.

“Nick…that is so awesome!” she exclaims. “Are you excited?”

“I don’t know…I guess.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

I fall silent. I know I should be exhilarated, but I am not. My heart is really numb, void of any emotion, except for anxiety.

“What’s wrong?” Carina asks.

“Nothing. I don’t know. I didn’t think it’ll actually happen, after so many…you know…matches.” I know I sound helpless, unsure.

“Nick…” Her voice is soothing; I cling to the phone like it is Carina. “You’re nervous and rightly so, under the circumstances. But, I also know how important this is to you and to your family. I know how much your mother wants this. Two years, Nick. Two years of searching for the right match, and about how many all together? Seventeen if I’m not mistaken, right?”

I nod as if she can see me. She continues, “This is it, Nick. Finally, you’re getting married. Be happy, dude!”

“I should be. But, Car, I don’t even know her,” I say.

“Yeah…well…don’t they give you time to get to know each other before tying the knot?” I smile despite my confused state of mind. Carina Flint knows more about arranged marriages than I do.

“Yes, I think they do. So, see you tomorrow then?” I ask hopefully. Seeing Carina at work is one thing I look forward to everyday.

“You bet,” she laughs. Then, “And, Nick, it’ll all work out well, don’t worry too much. Weddings are such wonderful, happy moments. I want you to enjoy every bit of the journey leading up to your standing at the altar. So, relax and let it all fall into place.”

I sigh deeply. “Car? What would I do without you?” And I mean it. I’d be lost without this cheerful, full of life, amazing woman in my life.

“See you tomorrow, bye.” She hangs up abruptly.

I walk back to my house with the box of truffles. It’s starting to snow again and my heart feels light. Carina was right. This is my wedding and I should enjoy every moment of it.

Mr. and Mrs. Chopra leave soon after I reach home, the box of truffles snuggled possessively in Mrs. Chopra’s corpulent arms. She smothers me with kisses and says she can’t wait to have me for her son-in-law.

Mr. Chopra shakes my hand vigorously and exclaims how lucky their daughter, Anu, is. My mother’s face is beaming brilliantly and her eyes glisten with gentle tears. After they leave, she hugs me fiercely.

“I’m so happy, Nikhil. I get to see you married before I die. God has answered my prayers. Oh, here’s Anu’s number, give her a call. It’ll be good if you two can talk before the engagement.” She releases me and thrusts a piece of paper into my hand. She then leaves hurriedly to the kitchen, muttering something about having so much to do in so little time.

I stare at the piece of paper. What will I say to her? What will I say to my future wife? Again, I feel the anxiety dawning on me like hot fever. Before my head gets all muddled with confusion, I walk outside and grab a shovel to clear the snow-covered driveway.

As I shovel the feather-light snow off my driveway, I wonder about the whole process of match making. I am in my mid-thirties, run my own consulting firm, own a big house, drive an expensive car and I don’t think I look all that bad, either. Why then, am I settling for an arranged marriage?

At first, when my mother started looking for a suitable wife for me, I had laughed. I told her there was no way I was marrying the woman of her choice. But when I saw how disappointed she was, how sad she was that her only son refused to marry the woman of her choice, my heart softened.

I can’t see my mother unhappy. It’s one of my weaknesses. Ever since my father died, five years ago, she has become very dependent on me and I know, by agreeing to marry the woman of her choice means I am respecting her. After a while, like an acquired taste, I became comfortable with the idea of match-making. Surely, my mother knows who would suit me best as a wife.

But what I didn’t realize throughout the whole process is the role of the stars. I didn’t realize the astrologer matches my birth date, my time of birth and my name to that of the woman’s. And only when they match with the woman’s, will there be a wedding. Two years later, my stars have matched with someone’s. Clearly, she’s made for me

One week to my engagement.

I’m filled with anguish as I walk into my office. But, as soon as my eyes spot Carina, every anxiety leaves me. She is most definitely my sunshine that makes me happy when the skies are grey!

“Hey you,” I call out.

Carina looks up from her work station. She is smiling but why do I feel like something is wrong? Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing! Nothing at all. So, how are you? Excited?”

“Far from it. Walk with me,” I motion. She gets up and we walk into my office. I am a property consultant. And I have four appraisers who work for me and one secretary. Although Carina is one of the appraisers, she’s more in-tuned with my administrative needs than my secretary is.

“Tea?” she asks. I nod and watch her make a detour to the pantry adjacent to my office.

She returns shortly with a steaming cup of Earl Grey – the only tea I drink, black. She perches herself at the edge of my desk and throws me a sultry look, and flutters her lashes.

“What?” I ask, laughing.

“Have you met your wife-to-be?”

“Nope. Actually I’m meeting her this evening, for coffee.”

She stretches the vowel ‘O’ until it resembles the sound that owls make.

“Cut if off, will you? I don’t know what I’m going to say to her. I’m all nervous, my insides are in perpetual churn, my head is in a big jumble of confusion. God, Car, what am I doing?”

“You’re getting married, the old fashioned way, according to your culture. You’re making a lot of people happy by doing this – your family, your mother and your future wife’s family…isn’t this what you wanted, all these years?”

I look up at her from above the rim of my cup. Carina’s face is crumpled in a big question mark. She looks different. At least her expression is different, unexplainably poignant. Where is the full-of-life, fun-loving person? I get this uncanny feeling that something is wrong. I’m about to ask when the shrill of the phone on my desk interrupts us.

My first meeting with Anu takes place at Starbucks. She sits in front of me across a round table and her eyes are studying the pattern of the table. I am surprised to see her clad in a traditional Indian costume, with bangles almost reaching her elbow, long, dangly earrings that stretch below her jaw, and a nose ring. I wasn’t expecting this, a demure Indian bride. I thought anyone who’s lived in Canada most of her life would not be so conservative.

“Is this how you always dress?” I ask suddenly, then wish I hadn’t for she lifts her eye lids and probes into my eyes, with her brows narrowed together. First date and I have made her mad. Then, she laughs, to my utmost relief.

“No!” she says. “This is what my mother wants me to wear, I feel like a dork, and in Starbucks too! Imagine if one of my friends sees me…I’ll be so embarrassed. Please, tell me you don’t expect me to be dressed this way always.”

“Most definitely not!” We laugh. This is not so bad. They call for our drinks. I approach the order counter and pick up two mugs of tea. As I place them on the table, Anu reaches over and pours two packets of sugar into one mug; she stirs it before adding some cream.

Then, much to my utter dismay, she pushes the mug to me and does the same with hers. Of course, don’t all Indian men drink their tea with cream and sugar? I feel like screaming.

The Stars4.055