My hard work paid off: I received a generous scholarship to one of the leading universities located in faraway Delhi. I began my college career by studying assiduously and ranking high in exams, but I quickly realized that academic achievements were not enough to open the door to true success. The offices of the city were filled with brilliant men rotting in mediocre positions. I was determined not to become one of them. I could not afford to. Although the family never brought up the matter, I knew they were waiting for the long investment they had made in me to pay off. Two of my sisters were still unmarried, and with every passing year their chances of finding a husband shrank-unless we could dangle a substantial dowry as bait. My grandmother suffered from a kidney problem that would soon require expensive treatment. The old family home was falling apart. My father patched the roof each monsoon season and waited stoically for the day of my graduation. The only person who didn’t seem to want something from me was my mother. Maybe because of that, I wanted to give her something. I settled on a pair of gold bangles. (She had sold hers to buy me clothes for college.) On my way back from classes, I often paused outside the local jeweler’s window, evaluating patterns, imagining the look on her face when I presented her with the velvet box.
BUT FIRST I HAD TO FIND THE RIGHT KIND OF JOB. TO DO THAT, I needed to know-and know intimately-people in high places. I researched where such people were to be found. Several of the venues, such as the Tennis Club or the Polo Club, required expensive skills that I lacked. Finally, I discovered the Film Club.
At the Film Club the children of the rich-some of whom had aspirations toward stardom and others who fancied themselves future directors and critics-congregated twice a month to watch and discuss foreign movies that the father of one of the members procured through his connections. I made it a point to read up on the movies ahead of time so that I could make intelligent and occasionally provocative comments about them. (In the course of this activity, I discovered, to my surprise, that I enjoyed reading.) In a short while, I was considered an expert in many fields, and Film Club members sought my opinion on various issues. People liked my looks, too-my fresh countenance and my athletic physique, which I maintained through a careful exercise regimen.
After the film, it was customary for members to go out for dinner to the posh Imperial Hotel, where they took turns paying for the group’s dinner. Soon I began to join them. The hotel’s restaurant was sinfully expensive. But I saved money for a month, eating only rice and sambar, which I cooked on a kerosene stove in the secrecy of my room, and at the planned moment I casually plucked the bill out of the waiter’s hands and said, “Folks-my treat today.”
It was at one of these dinners that I met Naina, the only daughter of a high-level government official. I wooed her cleverly, presenting her with love poems-signed with my name-that I copied from anthologies I knew she would never read, and exerting just the right amount of pressure on her hand during our evening walks in the Lodhi Gardens. I hope you will not think too badly of me. My heart beat hard when I did these things, and I thought that was a sign of love. But perhaps it was desperation-I was six months away from graduating and my grandmother had been hospitalized. Finally, on an excursion to the Taj Mahal-timed so that we would be there under the hypnotic glow of a full moon-I confessed my feelings for her, insisting immediately afterward that she forget me. My origins were too humble. She would never be able to persuade her father to accept me.
This veiled challenge had the desired effect. Naina went to her father and insisted that she would marry no one but me. Her father did not like this. But love for his child was the single chink in his armor. He hired private detectives to research my background. They found nothing objectionable in it other than poverty. Impressed by the ambition that had brought me this far in life, he invited me to his office where, after an hour of grilling, he agreed to the marriage. He even offered to find me a suitably high position-he thought I would do well in the government’s Protocol Department-and advised me to take the appropriate examinations so that this could be managed. The one thing he expected of me, he said as we shook hands in farewell, was that I keep his daughter happy. Failure to do this, he said, smiling jovially, could be dangerous to my health. I was not sure if this was a threat or a joke. In either case, I did not worry about it. How hard could it be to keep a woman happy? I thought. I did not know that Naina would undergo a Jekyllean transformation soon after our wedding.
THE FIRST SIGNS WERE SMALL: NAINA ASKING ME TO FETCH HER a drink at a friend’s party, her tone more an order than a request; Naina deciding on deep red as the color theme for the luxurious new flat her father had given us as a wedding gift, even though I preferred something more restrained; Naina flipping through the numerous invitations we received, deciding which ones to accept and which to snub; Naina spending hours shopping for new shoes at a scandalously expensive store and settling on a pair that cost as much as my salary for a week. (When I remarked on this fact, she reminded me that she was paying for it with her own money. This was true. In addition to a trust, she had a hefty allowance out of which she paid all our household expenses so that I was free to use my salary however I desired. She was generous that way.)
I put up with these rumbles. All her life, Naina had been given everything she wanted as soon as she wanted it. I expected that it would take her time to settle into domesticity. Meanwhile, I focused on my job, which was to oversee hospitality for visiting governmental dignitaries. I liked conversing with powerful people from around the world. I liked my office staff, who treated me with a deference I had never before experienced. Every month, I sent most of my paycheck to my parents, who had by now repaired the roof, paid the most urgent medical bills, and made plans for my middle sister’s wedding. It was a happy time.
A happy time, even though Naina refused to go to my backwater hometown to attend my sister’s wedding. She pointed out that she had already booked tickets for us to attend the Cannes Film Festival. I controlled my temper and requested that she consider coming with me instead, because this was important. She asked if I was crazy. We had our first fight-but those were the early days, and we made it up. Afterward she told me (as part apology) that she would be miserable at the wedding and that would make everyone else miserable, too. So she went to Cannes with her best friend, Rita, and I went home to face my family’s questions.
THE EVENT THAT CAUSED AN IRREPARABLE RIFT IN OUR MARRIAGE occurred the next year, when my parents wanted to visit. I tried to discourage them, offering to travel home again, but they were longing to see my fancy new flat-and my fancy new wife. When I told Naina, she shrugged and said that they could come if I really wanted it, but she wasn’t going to have them staying with us. I could put them up at a hotel. Not to worry, she would pay for it.