***

Word Count : 1700 |Short Chapter|

Audio Theme : Dil Kyun Yeh Mera |Kites|

***

01 | The Promise

Hinduja Rao was never someone you would notice at first glance, or even at second glance, for that matter, in her high school epoch. She was that quiet and introverted teenager with just above average grades, typical South Asia-specific facial features, average height, a straight twig-like body, and a negligible amount of participation in extracurricular activities other than a few poetry writing and debate competitions here and there. Her only striking facial features were her eyes-pitch midnight black eyes and that always calm and indifferent face.

At the age of thirty-two, his mother told him about a certain 25-year-old maiden named Hinduja Rao. His two-year-old son, Anirudh, was instantly smitten with her. The boy started blabbering 'mamma' while giggling in her dainty arms, completely engulfed in her motherly warmth at the very first glance, his little fingers playing with her black tresses. He noticed how she casually wiped his toddler's drool off with the end of her saree pallu, without even a hint of disgust or dislike etched on her face. In lieu of that, his son was smothered with kisses all over his chubby little face from the said woman. The father in him subconsciously had a wide smile etched on his visage that day---a genuine and profound smile.

The next time he saw her again was when she strutted into the dingy-looking marriage registrar office with her confident steps turning heads, in her direction, followed by her parents, and her older brother. She was dressed in a maroon khadi saree with a Chinese-collared elbow-length blouse, a pair of tiny gold studs in her ears, and her regular Kolhapuri flats-clad feet. Her feminine elegance, ramrod straight back oozing out confidence, and quiet beauty in that dingy little chaotic courtroom were not ignorable. Even while signing their marriage registry papers, her center of attention was Anirudh. And as far as that brat was considered, that little traitor had conveniently ditched him and made a run towards his 'mamma'.

Her brother, Commander Vijaypath Rao, a retired cardiothoracic surgeon from the Indian Navy who was one of the state's most sought-after cardiothoracic surgeons, was still skeptical about this entire setup.

Throughout their time in the marriage registrar's office, until she signed the papers, the thirty-six-year-old commander had calmly asked her multiple times, "Molu, think again. He already has a child from his previous marriage. It's not just about you two; that innocent child is in the picture too. Are you sure that you'll be able to manage everything, including the child? Are you absolutely sure about your decision?"

Perhaps her being eleven years younger than Vijay must have caused him to worry so much. More than an elder brother, he was a father figure for Hinduja---a very protective and loving and, at times, scarily possessive father figure who could both eliminate and get eliminated for his molu.

Composure was something that was common in both siblings. They were always level-headed and had exceptional self-control over their emotions and reactions to situations; he had witnessed this innate ability of both the siblings numerous times. Perhaps her being a civil servant and him being a retired defense personnel was the reason.

But that did not stop Mahadevan from doubting the seasoned retired defense surgeon happily shoving his scalpel down someone's ass if his molu were to be in danger.

Eventually, the time came for them to sign the marriage papers. When the unconvinced retired Navy Commander repeated the same question again, Hinduja automatically redirected her gaze towards his son, who was playing with the paperweight on the registrar's table, sitting on her lap. And with a serene smile lingering on her lips, she finally answered, "Anything for this little boy, bhaiya, anything for my little child."

And with that very peaceful curve of her lips, she had signed their marriage papers---she had signed her fate to the father-son duo.

The then scrawny fifteen-year-old Hinduja Rao whose poetry he had sneakily stolen and read from his mother's office bag when he was twenty-two, had now embraced the position of his wife and subsequently the mother of his son, almost ten years after he had perused those verses scribbled across a piece of paper by her.

Mahadevan Dogra was still deeply stuck in perplexity. He was unable to decipher the reason behind her agreement to this marriage.

Why would a twenty-five-year-old woman with exceptional educational qualifications, an illustrious career, and no past romantic involvements agree to marry him? A widower who was seven years her senior? and also the father of a two-year-old child?

Lest he had to put a full stop to his thoughts.

He averted his eyes toward the left side of the room. His mother, Manasvini Dogra, could give tough rivalry to an Australian Kangaroo at this point with the way she was jumping around and distributing those orange-colored balls of diabetes among the people in the registrar's office. As for the marriage officer, he had already gobbled up three of those sugary laddus and was currently on the fourth one.

May God bless his pancreas.

Vijaypath, on the other hand, was standing next to Anirudh. Their height ratio was that of a toy truck to a concrete mixer truck.

"Oy circuit! Your maamu is here!" The six-foot-something commander deadpanned, putting his right hand forward for a handshake.

When he couldn't gauge out any reaction from the little boy for the next thirty seconds, Vijaypath Rao conveniently bowed down, picked up his brand new nephew, and walked out of the marriage registrar's office with light jumps in between.

"Oy circuit! Come, let's get you some chocolates."

"Subah hogayi maamu! maamu! re maamu! Subah hogayi maamu! maamu! re maamu! Chandaa maama so gaye, suraj chachu jaage!"

Oh yeah, the commander was a die-hard fan of Sanjay Dutt and Arshad Warshi's characters from the Bollywood movie Munna Bhai M.B.B.S., and that often resulted in his sudden outbursts of 'Subah Hogayi maamu' out of nowhere in his 'overly melodic voice'.

His parents and the commander would make great friends, it appeared. Kangaroo jumps and their unrequited love for Munna Bhai-there were a lot of commonalities between them.

Hinduja, on the other hand, was standing next to his father and her parents. While the three baby boomers were conversing amongst each other, her eyes were solely set on the toy truck-concrete truck pair that had just walked out of the office to buy chocolates.

From the time she had entered the office, she had not spared him even a single glance. Well, weirdly enough, she never actually did. All their previous interactions were also pretty formal.

"Mr. Dogra?"

Holy mother of Ambhuja Cement! Did she catch him staring at her?

"Mr. Dogra?" She called out louder.

"Uh . . .yes, Yes, Miss Rao?" He fake-adjusted his cufflinks and looked at her.

"All the official procedures, including the photographs, are done. So, can we leave now?"

"Sure, Miss Rao."

He turned towards his bodyguard, Karim, who stood there with a constipated face as his mother shoved the fifth piece of Kaju-katli into his mouth while simultaneously opening the seventh box of Laddus.

"Karim! Go out and ask the others to take the cars out of the parking area."

"Ji Sahib." With a slight bow, the 41-year-old man rushed out of the office, saving his ass from the third piece of laddu his mother was about to shove into his mouth.

Karim, dearest, you owe me for this.

For the love of God, that man abhorred sweets as much as he hated bitter guards himself.

As if on record, he found his mother on her feet in front of him next.

"Oye Goldie, You also have one, na!"

"Maa, I am lactose intolerant."

"Arey haan! You get loose stools due to milk products, na? No issues! I'll cook you something special later." And then she laughed---a laughter that was ear-splitting enough to frighten Goddess Sita's abductor!

It was the damn Kashmiri Punjabi DNA, as always.

Alas! The marriage officer had to sorrowfully part ways with his fourth piece of Kaju-katli that got ejected out of his mouth, ascribed to the sudden blow his ears received, courtesy of the turbulent guffawing of his Punjabi mother that could put even Tanzanian Hyenas to shame.

How cruel.

And he.... the groom.

He in every way wanted the ground to swallow him alive.

Taking an extensive look at his mother's journey so far,

The process: three years of pre-schooling, twelve years of schooling, almost seven years of university-level education, seventeen years of experience in the business field, and fifteen years of perspicacity as the principal of one of the most elite educational establishments in the country.

The outcome: She had still made an announcement about his inability to digest dairy products and the subsequent looseness of his bowels in front of an entire herd of sucrose-addicted government officials.

Bravo.

And then they say, Trust the process?

Shaking his head, he diverted his visual senses towards the right side of the room. The three baby boomers and his wife were still involved in some deep discussion.

Nobody heard the scandalous words, it seems.

Good for him.

***

"Why did you agree to this?" He dived straight into the main matter of concern, his eyes firmly fixated on the wedding garlands that they had exchanged back in the court, piled up on the dashboard.

She averted her eyes from the scenery outside the window and looked at Anirudh, who was fast asleep, sitting on her lap with his head on her covered bosom.

"I promised him."

"Promise? . . .What sort of promise exactly?"

"That I will always stay with him." She played with the delicate ebony curls on the kid's head.

His eyes glimmered, and his lips placidly curved up extemporaneously.

His malty pools tenderly landed on her countenance while her sole attention was on the toddler sleeping in her embrace as the car zoomed through the Delhi National Highway.

This was the most reposeful scenery that he had witnessed in the last five years.

Touch wood.

***