While we made ourselves comfortable, she asked me if I was well and if my journey had been comfortable. Then she went out of the room, saying *Main bas abhi aayi.' Probably, she went to the kitchen.

Back in the drawing room, I was adapting to my would-be sasuraal. I liked the ambience of the room: the sofa and the chairs surrounding the center-table at one end of the room; the TV set at the opposite end, in a movable cabinet that had a lot of other stuff on its shelves decorative pieces, including small, flowery miniatures on the upper left, a toy-train on the right (possibly Daan's); the money-plant in one corner, between the sofas and chairs; a couple of beautiful paintings on the wall with the signatures of their makers at the bottom-right. The one in front of me was big, almost a meter long, and depicted the baaraat of a Prince, who was on his horse, with his bride being carried in a doli and a few people playing the shehnai.

*How are you feeling?' Girish whispered from the other end of the sofa, having his share of fun in all that was happening.

*I am doing fine,' I whispered back.

*Good,' he smiled.

A little later, somebody came into the room. A beautiful girl in alight green top and black denim, with a tray in her hand, carrying soft-drinks in beautifully carved gla.s.ses. It was Neeru. The day before, I had not noticed how beautiful she was. But how could I, when her still more beautiful sister was in front of me. Anyway, I was happy with one more thought, *Beautiful Saali too.'

So, this is how it started. With cold drinks and a whole lot of snacks, dry fruits and sweets. Neeru and her mom joining us with their chitchat. Questions from her mom: How was my family doing back in Orissa? For how long was I going abroad? And many more ... At times, she talked about their family, which means that I got to know once more, the things I already knew.

Deepu was in a.s.sam, working with an MNC. Pushkar and Amrit (a.k.a. Ami di) would be here in half an hour or so.

Already, there were so many similarities between Khushi and me. And, now, I saw so many similarities between our families too. Both were religious-minded and believed in simple living. Her mother, in each and every aspect, appeared just like my mother.

As we talked, I occasionally kept raising my eyebrows looking at Neeru, silently asking her about her elder sister's whereabouts.

*Have patience. She is getting ready. Sirf aapke liye hi,' she replied and laughed at me. Then she brought me a plate, *Take one samosa.'

*Haanji beta, lo na,' her mom insisted.

And this continued *Oh! Have some cashews.'

*Thanks.'

*Try this aaloo bhujia.'

*No, please. I'm stuffed.'

*No, no ... Take some. All right, try this dhokla then. You will love it.'

*A ... a ... all right. But this is the last one.'

*Arey, aap to kuch le hi nahi rahe ho ... Yehlona.'

*Nahin, please. Thanks. Bas, bas, bas! This is too much ...'

With so much, I feared constipation and, if not that, definitely loose motions.

Almost twenty minutes pa.s.sed and there was still no sign of the girl I had come there for. Back in that room, the four of us were talking to each other. At times, Neeru and Girish were smiling at each other.

Then all of a sudden, a voice traveled from inside, *Neeeeeruuuuuu!'

*Lo, ho gai taiyaar maharani,' Neeru said, getting up from her chair and going to Khushi.

Moments later, I heard two different footsteps approaching us.

There she was. My angel in a ravishing suit: pink kameez, sky blue pyjaami and a blended chunni with many shiny stones making uneven lines on it. Her hair, long and silky. Glossy lips and those glittering ear rings.

She looked at me and said, *Hi!'

*Hi!' I responded with a smile, amazed at how beautiful she looked.

There was a different kind of hesitation between us now, to talk to each other in front of everybody. Still, we went ahead.

With her eyes she asked how she looked.

And I said, *You look amazing.'

*Thank you,' she said and joined us.

She sat right in front of me. She really looked so beautiful in Indian-wear. I wished everybody in that house would vanish for a couple of hours, so that I could keep staring at her that way.

We all started talking. Every now and then, she was adjusting her chunni which kept sliding down her right shoulder. On her mom's insistence, she picked up a few cashews from the dry-fruits bowl, leaving the dhokla and rasgullas because they would mess her lipstick. At times, she looked at me and noticed how I was looking at her with everyone around and she silently begged me to take my eyes off her. But men will always be men.

To break her spell on me, she started talking to me.

*What time is your flight tomorrow?'

*7:30 in the morning.'

*So you'll have to leave the hotel at around 4:30, then?'

*Yeah, I have to wake up early tomorrow.'

And we all kept talking for a while. I was much more comfortable by then, apart from the fear of being offered more food. Girish wanted to leave. He had just risen from the couch when we heard a car arriving at the gate.

*Hey! Ami di aa gayi,' Neeru almost sang that, rushing to the door and peeping out.

*And Pushkar?' I wanted to confirm the arrival of another male too.

*Unke saath hi to aayi hongi,' Girish said.

And few seconds later, both Pushkar and Ami di came in, wiping their shoes on the door-mat. Everyone stood up to welcome them, as if they were the ones for whom we all had a.s.sembled. Seeing them, I got up too.

*Wow! Such a warm welcome for the second son-in-law of the house. Hmm ... I'm the next. Tough compet.i.tion, dude!' I thought to myself.

In her black top and blue denim, Ami di looked like a professional, 21st century lady. Her denim was in the latest, weird fashion-the one in which girls would fold up their jeans' legs a few inches above their ankles, showing the light, inner colour of the denim. I don't know what's so exciting about it. We guys used to do that while playing soccer in mud, in our school days. Her gla.s.ses had a stylish frame, and she had a different style of tying her hair at the back-of course, a modern one.

Altogether, Ami di appeared a *Yo! Yo!' girl.

A *Yo! Yo!' girl, in our term means ... a ... a ... Yo! Yo! kind of gal.

The thing which I liked most in her was the red and white bangles covering both her hands. Of course, they revealed that she got married that very year. According to custom, these bangles stayed on the hands of a newly-married girl for almost a year.

Pushkar appeared very simple to me.

After shaking hands and saying *hi' and *h.e.l.lo,' everybody settled down on the sofas and chairs. Conversation started again.

*So how are you, Ravin?' Pushkar asked.

*I am fine, thanks. How are you guys doing?' I asked, looking at both of them. *Pretty good. And how are your parents and brother back there?'

Ami di asked this time.

*They are doing well,' I replied with a smile.

And so we continued our chitchat on various topics: my office, their office, Khushi's office; the different places we visited, which was a chance for me to boast about my trips abroad; Delhi traffic, CAT, the next Indian Idol and what not ...

And, yes, there was a second round of snacks and, of course, I had to keep the new arrivals company. I felt like I was going to explode.

Meanwhile, Girish got another call on his cell and, the way he rushed out to his Qualis, we were sure it was his dad. All I could say to him was *thanks'-for helping me reach this place and, more importantly, for being the only other man with me, among those ladies till Pushkar arrived. He left.

The conversation really warmed up in a while, and it didn't take me even half an hour to realize that Pushkar was a cool dude. He appeared to be very practical. And the entire female union kept boasting about his greatest a.s.set- *Pata hai, Jiju bahut achcha khaana banaate hain. He has learnt the art of cooking,' said Neeru proudly, as if her jiju was going to present another cookery show on Star Plus. But, well, a guy who cooks lovely food, knows how to garnish various dishes and how to place the forks and spoons on the dining table is a dream guy for 99.99% of the girls on this planet. (In fact, I'm sure it's the same on other planets too ... if there are girls on them.) Neeru had just initiated this topic and it didn't take even a couple of minutes for Pushkar's great hobby to become a threat for me-Khushi's mom threw me a bouncer. *Beta aap khaana bana lete ho?' she asked politely and, unfortunately, with much expectation.

Silence. The sound of someone grinding cashew between their teeth could be heard.

Everyone was waiting for my response. It was as if, while following an India-Pakistan cricket match on the radio, they had just heard that Tendulkar had hit the ball high in the air and were waiting for the commentator to reveal if it was a six or a catch.

Staring at the bubbles in my gla.s.s of c.o.ke, I thought, *Now the next question you will ask me is *Will you be able to iron her salwar kameez?' Or, *Do you sing? Arey, kuch gaa ke sunao na?' See! This is what happens when you come to such places without your parents. The other party tries to validate you on different platforms so candidly, and you cannot say no to every question.'

I tried to come up with some answer, looking at my cellphone and wishing that it would ring so that I could escape the questions which I was going to face. But the d.a.m.ned gadget was meant to ring only at the worst times-like the evening before, with the kiss that could have been-but never when I needed it the most.

Finally, swallowing a few times in my nervousness, I went ahead and told them what they wanted to hear.

*Ah, umm ... Yes, I can. With most of the things, I am kind of OK. But I make good paranthas ...'

I hadn't even completed, when her sweet and innocent mother, delighted by my answer, asked me, *Kaun kaun se paranthe?'

*Now this is too much!' Well, I didn't actually say that, but that's what I was thinking and I wondered if I was supposed to recite a menu list, like Pappu uncle from the Punjabi dhaba at Burla.

But, interestingly, the next moment I had a smile on my face. I was amused at the kind of questions being put to a software engineer. I never thought I'd be facing such an interview, not even in my weirdest dreams. I was happy that, for a change, I was being asked such different questions. I told myself, *These were not bad questions but exciting ones. Be confident and go ahead.'

And I went ahead and said, *Mumma, I can prepare many-aaloo ke, pyaaz ke, occasionally gobhi ke and mooli ke bhi in the winters.'

*Wow! Ravin, that's good. When did you learn all this?' Pushkar asked. He seemed to be quite interested.

And I told him, *When I was in Belgium for eight months. I lived there alone and had to cook for myself. Before that, I never did any cooking. Necessity is the mother of invention, you know ...'

Keeping my gla.s.s of c.o.ke back on the table, I told them the story of my first day in the kitchen, where I wanted to make a mixed-veg dish, but ended up preparing a hot pool of spicy, coloured water in which vegetables were swimming. Some of them were so over-boiled, they turned into paste and settled down at the bottom.

And, as was expected, everybody laughed at Day One of my Cookery Show. My Khushi, with a mouthful of soft-drink, was trying to, somehow, hold back her laughter. Pushkar laughed loudly and almost clapped his hands. It felt good.

And, soon, it was 2 p.m. No one realized how much time had pa.s.sed-or, at least, I didn't.

*Lunch is ready,' Neeru announced.

By now I had made a little s.p.a.ce in my tummy for the rajma which Khushi said she had made for me. She knew it was my favorite.

We all moved towards the dining table, pulled out the chairs and sat. And she sat right in front of me. I was looking at my future wife, thinking, *A few months later, we will be having our lunch, dinner and breakfast together and, that too, in the same plate.'

Amused with the same thought, I opened the lid of the bowl in front me.

*Neeru, you also come,' said Ami di, taking some salad. The dining table was full of various dishes: paneer, raita, aaloo gobhi, salad, a rice bowl along with a ca.s.serole of chapattis and my favorite rajma. The cutlery appeared new, the kind that was brought out for special occasions.

Everyone at the dining table was helping themselves and each other, pa.s.sing the food stuff. I was trying to get a serving spoon from the other end of the table, when Khushi stopped me and silently said, *Wait, I will get it.'

She picked up the spoon in one hand and a bowl in the other and served me. Then, she placed some salad on my plate, and asked me, *Chapatti or rice?'

I was looking at my caring sweetheart, who was helping me with my lunch. I was smiling inside, maybe even outside, and in my heart I asked her, *You will always take care of me this way ... Right?'

*Chapatti or Rice?' she again asked, raising her brows.

But who was hungry then? Her care and love for me had already filled me. Still, I said, *A ... A ... Chapatti.'

With her beautiful hands she opened the ca.s.serole and quickly moved her hand back to avoid the hot steam. Her bangles tinkled. Then, with three fingers she folded two chapattis in half and, very gracefully, placed them on my plate. She looked at me and smiled. I wanted her to feed me with her own hands so that I could lick her beautiful fingers ... All of a sudden, I wanted to marry her and marry her very soon. So that I could lie down in her lap. So that I could have my meals from her hands.

Everyone went ahead with the lunch. The moment I had that bite I knew those anxious eyes were expecting a response from me. I looked up into her charming eyes and told her I loved what she had prepared for me. She smiled and felt so satisfied when she noticed that I had the rajma before anything else. She then took her first bite, after I did.

We got busy with our meal and the conversation reduced and narrowed down to the appreciation of the lunch and the people who had prepared it. I believe it was quarter to three when we were through. I was all packed with delicious food, pudding and fruits (dessert, for which I struggled to make some s.p.a.ce in my tummy).

Conversation resumed at the sofa and chairs again. This time it involved humor-good jokes, poor jokes, and jokes which were not jokes at all. Even her mother was laughing aloud, along with us youngsters. And, at times, I noticed a different smile. A smile which was not on her lips, but in her eyes. A smile which told me that she thought I was a nice guy. A smile which revealed that, soon, she would be prepared to give her daughter to me, for the rest of her life. A smile which was blessing me and her, for a bright future. And somewhere, silently, that smile also whispered in my ear the words from her heart, *With her, I will be giving you my heart. Take care of her ... Always'

It was 4 o'clock in the evening when we had a cup of tea. *We', meaning Pushkar and I, as rest of them did not drink tea. Yes, no one in that entire family drinks tea. Strange family-that's what Pushkar and I feel.

Meanwhile, Khushi went to her room and, the very next moment, I was astonished to see her SMS on my cell. Wondering why she did that, I read the message.

I'll cal u in 2 min. u go out

in the veranda 2 receive d cal.

Don't let oders kno dat I m calin.

And she called me up.