Second Thoughts

Shobhaa Dé

Description

Maya is pretty, young and eager to escape her middleclass home. Ranjan is handsome, driven, well born and wealthy. Their arranged marriage seems a match made in heaven until Maya discovers that underneath her husband’s charming facade lies a cold-hearted, rigidly conservative monster. As the young woman struggles with her marriage, she meets and finds solace in Nikhil, her charming college-going neighbour. Soon the stage is set for an explosive tale of love and betrayal.

Informations

• Publié par: Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd
• Date de parution: 15 octobre 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9788184751024
• Langue: English

Extrait

SHOBHAA D
Second Thoughts
Contents
About the Author
By the Same Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Follow Penguin
Copyright Page
PENGUIN BOOKS
SECOND THOUGHTS
Shobhaa Dé’s eighteen books include the bestsellers Socialite Evenings, Starry Nights, Spouse and Superstar India . Her latest book is Sethji . A widely read columnist in leading publications, she is known for her outspoken views, making her one of India’s most respected opinion shapers. Dé lives in Mumbai with her family.
Also by the Same Author
Fiction
Sisters
Socialite Evenings
Starry Nights
Strange Obsession
Sultry Days
Snapshots
Non-Fiction
Speedpost
Surviving Men
Selective Memory
Spouse
Superstar India
For my husband Dilip, with whom I hope to co-author a marriage manual someday
Prologue
It was on a sultry May evening in Bombay that Maya met Ranjan, her future husband.
She had arrived from Calcutta earlier in the day to meet her in-laws-to-be. It was Maya s first visit to the city she had heard so much about. Unfortunately, her first impressions were far from favourable. As she alighted from her cool, air-conditioned compartment onto a broad wet platform at the famed Victoria Terminus, her senses quickly took in a few things about the metropolis the rest of India held in such fascination.
Bombay smelt. Well, so did Calcutta, but it was a different smell. Besides, she was used to that particular stench. Bombay smelt of desperation and deceit. Or maybe that was what rotting fish did to the fumes that seemed to cling permanently to the city. Maya tweaked her nostrils and took a deep breath-just to make sure. Maybe she had made a mistake about the stench. Maybe it wasn t Bombay that exuded it but just this dirty, overcrowded platform.
Maya took a few tentative steps forward and recoiled in horror. She had almost tripped over a figure lying prone on the platform. She looked down to see it was a man, and he was dead. None of the thousands of people nonchalantly walking past the corpse so much as paused. Maya watched in utter disbelief as coolies in tattered red shirts crossed deftly over the body, their eyes bulging with the strain of carrying two or three overstuffed suitcases on their heads. She tried to draw her mother s attention to the man, but Chitra was far too preoccupied with counting their luggage to bother with the still figure lying on the grimy platform.
Maya edged closer to the corpse and noticed a small trickle of vomit flowing out of the wide-open mouth. The dead man s eyes weren t closed either. They seemed to be staring fixedly at the pigeons dancing on the rafters. The youngish man-no more than thirty, she reckoned-was clad in loose-fitting pajamas and a stained kurta. He looked like a grassroots politician, thought Maya, the sort she often spotted in televised rallies. His hair was long, matted and unruly. His footwear, torn and shabby. One hand rested on his heart. The other was stretched out, clutching a rag. His features were regular and he was clean-shaven. Maya couldn t take her eyes off him-he was the first dead person she had ever seen, and he seemed almost alive with those staring eyes.
But more than anything else, Maya wondered why nobody else was bothered by his presence on that stuffy, slimy platform. Had it been a platform in Calcutta, it would have been difficult to even get out of the compartment. There would have been a thick, over-helpful crowd converged around the corpse with everybody talking simultaneously, excitedly and demanding immediate answers. There would have been a couple of railway policemen trying unsuccessfully to keep the crowds at bay, plus a doctor or two eager to offer opinions on the possible cause of death. The word murder would most certainly have cropped up with speculations galore about the victim s identity and the murderer s motive.
It was just the sort of situation that newspapers loved to describe as a heinous crime. But here in Bombay, it was business as usual as people with troubled, distant gazes rushed around barely noticing one another or the dead man in their midst.
Maya shuddered as she finally tore her eyes off the corpse and looked around her. Just then, Chitra tugged at Maya s bright purple dupatta and gesticulated in the direction of the exit.
Look, do you see him? It s Prodipda there that one in the blue checked shirt. He has put on weight.
Maya smiled before correcting her mother. You mean-more weight.
She waved enthusiastically. She liked her mother s good-natured pumpkin of a brother. It was at his urging that she and her mother had decided to come to Bombay and meet Ranjan Malik and his mother.
An arranged marriage? For me? Don t be ridiculous. Besides, I have one more year to go before I finish college, Maya remembered protesting just two months earlier.
So? Who says you can t finish college and then get married? her mother had argued.
Then why do we have to go to Bombay now? Maya had sulked.
Because boys like Ranjan get snapped up before you and I can blink our eyes-that s why. Besides, he s available for only two weeks. Something about a big assignment he has to do. His family wants to finalize everything before then. Prodipda was very keen on our meeting the Maliks. Ranjan is quite a catch. Who knows, by the time we get to Bombay, some other lucky girl might have grabbed him. Don t think there are no pretty Bengali girls in that city. Bombay is full of them, I m told there are thousands and thousands of good Bengali families there, Chitra had commented in her characteristic agitated fashion.
Calm down, Ma. It s not as if whoever-he-is is the last eligible bachelor left on earth. And neither am I a hundred-year-old spinster. Frankly, I m just dying to go to Bombay whether we meet Ranjan Malik or not. Maya had said this in her usual off-hand manner that so annoyed her mother.
Your father is not a millionaire who can afford to send us to Bombay for mere sightseeing. Remember that. I have had to beg him to sanction our train fares and give me a little extra for two nice sarees-one for you and one for me. You look pretty in yellow. Fairer. I ve already spotted a lovely yellow tangail at Aanchal, Chitra had announced resolutely. And I need a new saree anyway. I ve told your father I won t pester him for another one till Puja.
I hate yellow, Ma, Maya had groaned. You know I do. Who cares if it makes me look fairer? In any case, what do you mean fairer ? I m not fair to begin with.
Oh yes, you are, Chitra had swiftly interjected, don t even say such a thing. If you think of yourself as a dark-complexioned person you ll actually start looking dark. I ve told you that hundreds of times. Think fair and you ll look fair. Wear yellow for the meeting. Prodipda has told me the Maliks are all very fair. They certainly wouldn t want a dark daughter-in-law.
Maya pulled a face at the memory of that conversation. She caught sight of her reflection in a cracked mirror atop a rusty weighing machine on the platform. Fair! What was Ma talking about? She wasn t fair at all.
But Maya liked her skin-tone-a warm, rich golden brown, like sunlight dancing on the Hooghly, that offset her gleaming jet-black hair and large, dark eyes to advantage. Maya straightened up, threw back her head and concluded that by any standards she was an attractive young lady-and never mind the complexion. A few shades here or there didn t make any difference, not to her.
Oh, but to her mother that was another matter. Chitra had an elaborate system worked out. Women were not merely fair or dark . Within those two broad categories there were several sub-divisions. Complexions ranged from pinkish-fair , yellowish fair , milky fair , brownish fair , milk-and-alta fair , fine-skinned fair , to just plain pale . Shades other than these did not count. Her daughter s complexion, for example, was a source of great concern to her.
As she explained time and again, It s not as if I m colour-conscious or anything. But it s true that fair skin denotes prosperity. Class. Upbringing. Background. Position. A dark person rarely looks wealthy. Well-fed. Happy. To be born dark is to be condemned for life!
Maya would shrug exasperatedly and snap, Okay, in that case I m condemned for life. And it isn t my fault.
Chitra would look further dejected before muttering, Too bad you had to take after Baba s side of the family. Look at our side-not a single dark family member. I should have married a West Bengali-one of us. But your Baba s family was so keen on me. Naturally, they realized how difficult it would be to get a fair bride for Baba. East Bengalis, as you know, are much darker. They even speak differently from us.
Maya had never understood her mother s countless hang-ups. And neither had she figured out what she was supposed to be-an East or West Bengali. Given her in-between complexion, she guessed she didn t belong to either side. And that was fine by her too. Maya had inherited her father s tall, lithe frame, long, tapered fingers and a full generous mouth. From her mother she had acquired her thick, glossy hair and luminous dark eyes. She was perfectly happy at the manner in which the Maker had so evenly distributed the physical assets of her parents. All right, her nose could have been less flat and her cheekbones slightly more prominent, but the total picture was that of a high-spirited, energetic, bouncy young girl ready to meet life s several challenges head-on. Ranjan was just one of them.
Maya had never seen her mother more nervous. They d set out for t