Oleander Girl Read Online Free Page B

that ancient, beautiful mansion by your ogre of a grandfather—why, just listening to you was like entering a fairy tale!”
    “Grandfather isn’t an ogre!” I counter, laughing. “He and Grandmother brought me up so carefully that I never felt I was an orphan.”
    When it was time to leave the party, Rajat asked for my phone number. I didn’t give it. Grandfather had informed me a long time back thatthe daughters of the Roy family did not have boyfriends. Rajat didn’t argue. I think he took my refusal as a challenge. A couple of days later, returning from college, I was shocked to find him at our home, having tea with Grandfather. I still don’t understand why Grandfather allowed Rajat to see me. Or why, three months later, when Rajat requested his permission to marry me, Grandfather said yes.
    “It must have been my innate charm,” Rajat says, laughing. But at other times he says, “I think your grandfather, who’s nobody’s fool, saw that I’d do anything to make you happy.”
    Pia, who has slipped down to sit beside me, kisses my cheek, bringing me back to the temple, where the ceremony has ended.
    “The ring’s gorgeous, Korobi-didi! Oh, you are so lucky! Dada has the best taste. Doesn’t he, Maman?”
    “Yes, of course,” Maman says. She looks at us, and the love on her face makes her even more beautiful.
    Now Papa and Maman give me their present: an exquisitely designed diamond set—necklace, earrings, a pair of bracelets—to match the ring. When I saw the price tag at the jeweler’s, I was scandalized and begged for something less costly.
    “Absolutely not, my dear!” Maman said. “You’re worth every rupee of it. Besides, all the guests at the reception will be waiting to see what the Bose family gave their only daughter-in-law!” She smiled to show me she was joking. “May I get you your outfit, also? I know just the right boutique—”
    I wouldn’t let her do that—I was Bimal Roy’s granddaughter, after all. I would pay for my own clothes. But her words lodged somewhere within me. When I went shopping, I kept in mind that I was the only daughter-in-law of the Boses and bought an off-the-shoulder kurti in maroon chiffon with slim-fitting pants, embroidered over with crystal teardrops, more expensive and daring than anything else I’d ever purchased. Rajat loved the ensemble and gifted me stiletto heels studded with fake diamonds to wear with it. But once home, I lost my nerve and hid it in the almirah behind a stack of cotton saris. From time to time, I imagined—with a mix of horror and pride—what Grandfather’s reaction would be when he saw me in it.
    We’re not done with gifts yet. Ceremoniously, Papa hands us a large parchment envelope. I know what’s in it: the deed to the flat Papa and Maman have bought us as an advance wedding present. The flat is located in a gated high-rise near Rabindra Sarobar Lake, in a neighborhood favored by models and playback singers and newly minted millionaires, only minutes from where the Boses live. This way, Maman says, Rajat and I can be close to them yet have our privacy.
    Thinking of managing my own home, my own servants, fills me with a heady unreality. How wondrous to be expected to perform such adult acts! But I’m thankful that I don’t have to worry about that for at least another year, that I have one more year to spend with my dear grandparents. A year—that’s when we plan to have the wedding. It’s going to be the most wonderful year, a sweet year of courtship, of enjoying the envy in the eyes of my college-mates, of evening forays into the glittering world of clubs and parties to which Rajat has promised to introduce me. A year of play before we take up the serious business of being married. I plan to enjoy every moment.
    The flat is still in its early stages, but I’ve seen the sales model. It looks like a set in a movie. In its media room, the TV screen takes up an entire wall. Bidets gleam in every bathroom. Could