Neil's POV

"Neil? Neil!"

I groaned and sat up. Mother had been calling me for the last fifteen minutes. At least.

The last few days have been...bad. I came back to India for a long holiday, because I thought I was neglecting my parents too much (bullshit, I desperately craved good food) but they had something else in mind.

They were trying their level best to get me married off.

Every morning began with tea and a couple of photos. Mid-morning saw me begging them to leave me alone. Lunch had trying to learn how to shut my ears internally. I escaped out in the evening, but they were always ready at dinner-time with some more ideas.

I'm not that young. I'm 29. I've been out of this country since I was 22. I've been avoiding this 'issue' for atleast a couple of years, using my career as an excuse.

Some would say I had this coming.

"I'm coming, MA, I'm coming" I pushed aside the blanket and stood up. One more morning, some more photos, some more begging.

"I found out that Savita aunty's daughter is of marriageable age" Ma was grinning.

"No, no, naawww maaa" I could almost cry. Savita aunty's daughter...I didn't exactly care, but come on, one more morning of my precious holiday would go in bickering. "Why don't you go after Shantanu? Was I the only one you found?" I whined.

"Your brother is still a baby" Ma pouted.

"He's 27!"

"You're 29! You're old!"

"MA?!"

"We're almost at the end of the list of rishtas" Ma snarled, "Why in the world won't you even see them? You don't choose a girl on your own, you refuse to get serious when we choose one for-"

"Neil" Dad said softly.

I turned and was surprised to see Ma glaring daggers at him.

"There's one rishta we didn't talk about, but we got it a long time back" he started, "the girl works in the US too, in New York I think. Educated abroad. Kind of beautiful too..."

"And?" I won't be lying if I said I was interested. Just a tiny bit. It was easier for everyone if we had minimum relocation.

Who was I kidding? I was interested because Ma was still glaring and Dad was talking so, so softly.

"She's a divorcee" Ma sounded pissed.

"What's her name?"

My parents stared at me like I had grown a second head.

"You've never asked for names before" Dad whispered out.

"I'm asking now"

Ma turned to glare at Dad again. It's all your fault, I could understand what they were communicating.

"Neil. She's a divorcee" Ma tried again.

"Ma, how old is she?"

"28" Dad said.

Ma was almost apoplectic with frustration.

"I want to meet her" I stood up, "And till I decide whether she's the one or not, please don't show me any more photos."

"Hey, you can't do this!" Ma interjected, "I'll have Tanu talk in some sense into you."

"If you want me to see anyone's face, you'll not ask Tanu to talk to me" I warned her as I stood up.

"Why won't you tell me what's going on with you both?" Ma asked haplessly while Dad decided that it was a good time to go heat up some more tea. "You've been like this for over three months now...brooding, irritable..."

"Ma" I exhaled slowly, "I don't want to talk to Tanu, alright? Especially not about my love life or my marriage prospects."

"What did he do?"

"If I wanted to tell you, I would've already told you" I stood up, "Meanwhile, I want to see this girl. No buts."

**

I have to admit a few things before I narrate further, I guess.

I am no hermit. I'd been in my fair share of relationships over the last seven-odd years, although none of them were all that serious.

So when Ma decided to go all nuclear at the mention of the word 'divorcee', I realized that I was no innocent either. I had been committed before, had been in an exclusive relationship. My parents didn't know about it, that was different.

And my relationships had failed.

Here they were, asking me to not consider a divorcee because evidently, if she could not save one marriage, how would she save this one? I felt a little guilty. I hadn't been able to save either of my two somewhat serious relationships either.

Did that make us equally matched or equally incapable?

If our relatives here in India would know of my private life in the US, I would be judged too. So I decided that for once, I would judge after I met this girl.

"When can we go to her house?" I asked that evening.

Ma grumbled.

"Ma"

"So many beautiful girls" she whispered in a cracked voice, sounding distraught, "And all you want to meet is this girl?"

"Ma"

"What?"

"I just want to meet her" I smiled a bit to reassure her, "I'm not eloping or anything. Besides, Dad knows them right?"

Of course, I had my own reasons. What fun would it be if I told you about them right now? Let it suffice that I had reasons for pushing for this meeting, and it wasn't only because she was a divorcee who might have been misjudged and misunderstood.

"Yes" I knew she wasn't happy.

"Tell you what" I tried, "If they're not okay people, or if there's something off with the girl, I'll see Savita aunty's girl for your sake."

Might as well get it over with.

"You will?" she brightened immediately.

"I will" I nodded, "But before that, I want to meet this girl you only ever describe as a divorcee. Everyone is defined by more than just a failure, Ma."

"Oh, don't spout your philosophy to me" she scowled. "She couldn't even keep one man."

My lips twitched into a smile.

"Am I a type of man to be kept?" I asked.

She stared at me plaintively for a while. I could almost see the cogs of her brain moving as she evaluated the pros and cons of all my words.

"I'll ask your father to call these people up. Girl is a little old I feel"

"Younger than me, Ma" I grimaced, "isn't all that enough?"

She shugged an as-you-wish.

We went back to watching the stupid cooking show we were both pretending to be absorbed in.

"Ma, what's her name?"

"Who?"

"Your divorcee"

She had a small smile, I noticed, as if she too understood that her method of branding was wrong, but it was exactly how society worked. And as our family's social outreach, she had to think and work a certain way.

"Arundhati" she said, reaching for the remote. "Do you want dinner right now or later?"

I checked the clock. Half past nine. I knew she had a TV serial till ten. I loved my aggressive, judgmental mother.

"Later" I said. Her smile grew as she settled in happily. The remote she had hastily picked up to switch off the television went back on the centre table. The feet that had come down from the centre table went back up to their position. Ma settled in for more television.

"You know what happened in the serial? The boy, he decided to..."

_______

phew, finally started editing and revising!
comment, people:)

Ps, rishta is Hindi for a potential match.

Those who've read before, thanks for the patience:)