Nilu* and I studied in different schools and colleges, but we were good friends. He was typically a Mills and Boon tall, dark, and handsome boy. Girls craved his company, but he was interested only in Mini*. When he broached the topic of marrying her, his mother put her foot down. “How can you marry someone from a different caste? And I also don’t like over-smart girls from rich families,” she retorted.
When Nilu remained adamant, she gave him a Hobson’s choice, “if you marry her, I will commit suicide.” Ultimately, Nilu had to relent leaving it to her mother to find a bride for him. After a long search and rejecting several girls, finally, she zeroed on one, who according to her looked like a film heroine, had all qualities of an ideal bride and most importantly their horoscopes matched perfectly. She also ensured that the girl was from a lesser-known family than theirs so that she could have full control over her. But everything went terribly wrong after marriage! She turned out to be haughty, quarrelsome, and overbearing. The mother-in-law’s wish to dominate a docile girl was dashed within a year. Whenever she complained, Nilu would say, “She was your choice, not mine”. They had a miserable conjugal life and Nilu died under mysterious circumstances in ten years. His mother was left with no option but to curse herself.
A senior colleague of mine was an honest and upright officer, but, was very orthodox in his outlook. He strongly believed that boys and girls should get married soon after puberty and government should not prescribe any minimum age for getting married. “My daughter is sixteen years old and I believe this is the right age to marry. She is my only child, can there be anybody who is a better well-wisher of her than me? But, I am a law-abiding citizen, therefore, I have to wait for two more years”, he once told me.
The girl was too young to have any say. She was married off before she could join graduation classes. But everything went wrong thereafter. The boy wanted the property of his in-laws transferred to his name as his wife was their only heir. One thing led to another and the girl was soon back with her parents and started college. But, the trauma had a telling effect on the parents and both passed away within a short span. I felt miserable the day she came to my office to enquire, “Uncle, now that both my parents have passed away and I am divorced, am I entitled to a family pension? I am in dire straits.” I assured her that she was definitely eligible and I promised her to do my best to ensure that she got it at the earliest. Fortunately, soon after completing her higher education, she found a job and a match for herself. I am so happy that she did well and settled down in life.
After joining the service, till 1992, whenever I came to my native place Cuttack, I enjoyed going around on a bicycle. One evening I bumped into Munna*, a classmate whom I had never met after we left school. I had faint memories of him as a poor and shabbily dressed boy. After the exchange of pleasantries, he asked me where I was headed. “So, you are going towards Barabati Stadium, give me a lift. I will have food at a marriage reception there.” I immediately realized, he was not an invitee and asked what he was doing these days. He said, “It is a long story, I will tell you on the way.” Then I heard one of the most poignant narrations ever:
“As you know I come from a very poor family. My stepmother hated me and my father was a silent spectator to all my sufferings. After the matriculation examination, my father gave me two choices, ‘either start earning and contribute to household income or leave the home’. I was very disappointed and started doing sundry jobs, mostly involving manual labour. But, the outrage within me was getting constantly fueled by constant taunting by my stepmother. So, one day I ran away.”
He continued, “I landed in Punjab and worked as an agricultural labourer. The job was backbreaking. One day a labour contractor persuaded me to go to Kashmir valley for better pay and less work. Then, I did the biggest blunder of my life. I went somewhere in Anantnag, the landlord was very sweet in the beginning and took away all my belongings. And, then I became a slave. I worked endlessly under the ruthless supervision of the landlord and his sons. There was no escape! Finally, one day after how many years I don’t know, I managed to flee. There was no scope for claiming any wages or getting back my belongings. I took a train, travelled without a ticket and was sent to jail, which I soon realised was a good idea. Although the policemen sometimes beat you in custody, they provided food. So, I continued to travel without a ticket, kept on getting arrested and finally, managed to reach Cuttack in six months. Back to square one after so many years! This was the only option available to me. Now I have mastered the art of sneaking into marriage parties to enjoy good food. I have invested in a pair of good dresses to avoid suspicion. Sometimes, I get caught, and then I promptly offer to wash the dishes and help with the cleaning, a few times I have been beaten up. Overall, it is not a bad bargain.”
By the time he ended, we had reached the reception venue. I was stunned even to react, dropped him and left. Thereafter, I made several futile attempts to meet him. He was simply lost! Many a time, I wonder how cruel and unfair life can be: one is forced to make a choice between taking what is available or nothing at all.
*Name changed to protect the identity.
