Federico and I are staring at her. I glance at him. On a normal day, he would be enjoying this pantomime, and also basking in the sight of someone actually cleaning our flat for once. But he is avoiding my eyes. Has he forgiven me?
‘Anyway, why did you dump him?’ Jharna says.
It takes me a few seconds to realize that she is talking to me. I wince. I didn’t dump Simon, that is an ugly word. Dump. Definition: a) Drop heavily or suddenly, b) Knock down in a prize fight, c) Another word for tip – an area for dropping your rubbish, and d) Slang for doing a shit. Clearly none of these apply here.
‘Dump? Is that what Hannah Montana would say?’ I say wickedly.
‘What are you, twelve?’ She gives me a look of disgust before going back to whatever she is doing – probably unfriending me on Facebook.
‘Why did you do it?’ my father asks.
I blow air out of my mouth like a kettle on the boil. ‘We shouldn’t have got engaged in the first place. It was a mistake.’
‘And it took you till the wedding day to figure this out?’ my mother says.
‘I thought I could go through with it. Okay?’ I spread my hands out to emphasize that this should be obvious to everyone. I take a deep breath. ‘I thought – I thought if I could just get through it, it would be okay afterwards—’
‘Look, Rilla,’ my father says, carefully wiping his hands on the toilet paper thoughtfully provided by Federico, ‘let’s think rationally about this.’
‘I’m done thinking rationally.’
‘When do you ever think rationally?’ my mother says.
‘Why are you all here?’ I snap.
The doorbell rings. Federico runs down the stairs and brings up my Auntie Menaka. No way. No way. I groan.
‘Oye hoye,’ she says, ‘look at these young people, so cool, so cute.’ She gives me and Jharna a wave. She is wearing a strapless long kurta today, black, embroidered in red, with aqua blue trousers. Her hair has obviously been done this morning, and her make-up is flawless. She stands next to Federico. Now she is running her fingers through his hair. Auntie Menaka knows that Federico is gay but she is the most non-judgemental person I know. She will flirt with anyone. Well, any man at any rate. ‘What’s up? How’s studies?’
Federico shrugs. ‘Boring.’
‘Oh, so sad,’ she says, and puts his head on her large breasts and strokes his hair with her fingers. ‘So, what are we going to do about Simon?’ she says to the room at large. ‘Such a lovely boy. Have you seen those dreamy eyes?’
‘We were just talking to her about that,’ Auntie Pinky says. ‘Trying to talk some sense into the girl. You know what happens to spinsters? Even ones with careers?’
Auntie Pinky doesn’t have time to elaborate because Federico helpfully chips in. ‘Career, what career? She’s been thrown out of her MA programme.’
I choke on my pizza crust. The man has not forgiven me at all! There are tears in my eyes. I’m still choking but no one is even thumping me on my back.
When I stop there is complete silence in the room. There is a moment when everything is suspended. Nothing moves. But then the nagara-drum is boiling, Mum’s tears are flowing and the air is crackling. Not only have I broken up with my fiancé but I am also being thrown out of my MA. No one in the history of the Kumar family has ever failed in their studies before. The word failure does not occur in the Kumar family dictionary. The Kumars and the Kapoors, my mum’s family, complete things. We conquer, we cruise through our studies, we appear at the other end complacent in our excellence.
‘They did what?!’ Uncle Jat sits forward on the sofa. ‘It’s atrocious. Do they know who we are? I will talk to your supervisor. What is his phone number? Just a name will do.’
Auntie Pinky is patting my mother with one hand, holding the dustpan with the other. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she is saying. ‘It’s all right. There is no saying why these things happen to us. But it will pass. It will pass. God, oh God, why are you doing this to us!’
The doorbell rings again, and Federico runs down to answer. For heaven’s sake, who is it this time? Up he comes, bringing with him the Unmarried Ones. Auntie PK, Auntie Dharma and my father’s sister Auntie Promilla enter the living room. My parents and relatives give each other sombre hugs, not unsuited to a funeral.
The three aunties hold me until I’m ready to scream. I glare at my father. Since he is the least likely to have had anything to do with this ambush, he is the one I’m most irritated at. Why didn’t you do something to stop this onslaught? my eyes ask. Why didn’t you stop it?
As if anyone ever listens to me, his shoulders answer.
The Unmarried Ones are the bogie man of the GIF. When young girls of the GIF behave badly – shriek, yell, fight, drop and break things, eat in such a messy way that they get covered head to toe in melting chocolate, point out everything their parents are doing wrong with their lives, that kind of thing – a helpful GIF member reminds them that if they carry on behaving this way, no one will marry them, and they will turn out like one of the Unmarried Ones.
It is unfair to club them together, really. Auntie Dharma, the spiritual healer, was married briefly, a long time ago, until her husband died. She doesn’t say out loud that it was the best thing that ever happened to her, but the implication is that her loss was the spiritual realm’s gain.
Auntie PK, the feminist journalist, has a ‘friend’ she lives with, who is a lawyer named Zeze. Now and again when one of the GIF invites people over for dinner, they’ll say to Auntie PK, ‘Why don’t you bring your special friend along, Parminder?’ But apparently Zeze is always busy and rarely able to attend GIF social occasions. This could be true, Zeze is a very important human rights lawyer. But it could also be that the only time she encountered the GIF some years ago, Uncle Jat tried to get her to work for him, and Auntie Pinky suggested she meet some nice Indian men who were great ‘marriage material’ and who would like that Zeze was half-white and half-black.
Auntie Promilla is single because – well, because Auntie Promilla is an animal charity. That’s right. She doesn’t work at an animal charity, she is an animal charity. She collects animals like burs. She rarely speaks to humans, she has nothing to say to us and she looks over our shoulder when compelled to say something. But with animals – the more disabled and abused the better – she is a fairy godmother.
The Unmarried Ones are all crammed into the tiny living room. And now they are all talking about me again.
‘Wait till shani has moved on,’ Auntie Dharma says. ‘Then let me set a date.’
‘Living without a man isn’t the end of the world,’ Auntie PK chips in, but no one pays any attention.
‘Her chart says she might have problems in the romance department,’ Auntie Dharma says thoughtfully.
‘I say, get a haircut.’ Auntie Menaka takes a tiny nibble of a pizza slice that she has been eyeing for a while, then places the rest down on a plate. ‘Any man problem can be solved if you get a haircut.’
‘Look, we can kill two birds with one stone—’ Uncle Jat starts.
His wife takes up the thread. ‘Yes, yes, throw a party, call everyone, her friends and supervisor and Simon and his parents!’ Her eyes are dancing at the idea.
They