Page 30 of The Love Thief

CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE What’s Love Got to Do with It?

The first thing I noticed when I walked into Divya’s was the beautiful swirling intricate Mehndi (henna) designs on her hands and feet. “Whose wedding did you go to?” I asked.

Divya smiled and then presented me with the full view of her palms. “We didn’t go to a wedding.

This is for tomorrow when my sisters and I celebrate Karwa Chauth.

It’s an ancient Hindu festival that happens once a year where we dress up as brides and fast for an entire day as we pray for our husbands’ continued good health and prosperity.

“It’s a traditional ritual that begins before sunrise by eating fruit, provided to us by our mothers-in-law, and we fast until we see the moon. Then the fun begins as we have a celebratory break-the-fast meal together. It’s how we show our love, devotion, and respect to our husbands.”

Somehow the idea of this pissed me off. “And, when does he fast and pray for you?” I asked a bit more snarkily than intended.

Divya smiled, ignoring my attitude.

“Actually, many of the younger men in the bigger cities are now realizing just how important their wives are to their good health and prosperity so they, too, are participating in Karwa Chauth. I enjoy the traditions of my faith and I believe that sending out good energy returns good energy. I don’t feel there is any downside in spending a day focused on my beloved husband.

If you had asked me about this the first time I did this, I would have given you a completely different answer. Now, let’s go do some cooking.”

We walked into her immaculate kitchen and she handed me a bunch of greens to rinse and chop.

“This is methi,” she said as she swiftly moved about the kitchen.

“You might also know it as fenugreek leaves, and here are two bunches of spinach leaves. It’s not only spellbindingly delicious, it’s a very healthy dish that is rich in fiber and good for diabetics. ”

I was half listening, dying to hear more about the early days of her marriage. I had shared some of my secrets with her, but would she be willing to do the same?

“Divya, is it too personal to ask you how you and Ravi met?”

I could see Divya’s mind working to decide if or what she would share with me. As she poured us both more hot water into our nearly empty teacups, she smiled.

“Well, this probably is not the story you might expect,” she began.

“As you know, our culture still mostly prefers arranged marriages, with the parents actively seeking the man and his family that is a fit for ours. It’s not about what the daughter wants, although we do have the ability to say no.

My parents were always very clear that I would attend and graduate from college and that marriage would not be an impediment to that.

At nearly eighteen, I was deep into my studies of botany and chemistry, and marriage was the last thing on my mind.

“One evening, my father came home from a night out with my Uncle Krishan, Geeta’s father, with news that Uncle believed he had found the perfect husband for me.

Uncle had been very persuasive that this man, Ravi, came from an excellent family and that I would be lucky to have such a husband.

And time was of the essence because Ravi, an engineer with a very prestigious position in a big company, was visiting family in India from London for the next month.

“In typical Indian matchmaking style, it was quickly decided that Uncle and Auntie would invite the twenty-six-year-old ‘catch,’ along with his parents, sister, and another aunt, for a visit at Uncle’s house.

When they arrived, all of us sat awkwardly in the sitting room for fifteen minutes, and then Ravi and I were given permission to go off on our own to get to know each other a little bit.

He was surprisingly open right from the start and did almost all of the talking.

He told me that his bride would have to be willing to move to London and be willing to travel and take care of his parents when they needed help.

“He also explained that he had already met more than fifty women through various matchmakers and that he was getting a lot of pressure from his parents to find a bride and settle down. I thought he was a nice guy, but honestly didn’t feel any kind of attraction to him, and couldn’t imagine that my father seriously wanted me to marry so soon, especially to a man nearly ten years older than me.

And yet, that is what happened. Three weeks later, with just six days of planning, Ravi and I had more than a thousand guests at our wedding.

“We spent five days together, and I had sex for the first time, and then Ravi went back to work in London, and I remained at home with my parents for the next eighteen months to complete my education.

During that time, Ravi and I saw each other a couple of times when he came to visit me and the rest of his family, but we were still virtually strangers.

“Back then, there was no internet, and no Skype or WhatsApp, and overseas calls were expensive, so we wrote letters, which took ten days or more to send and receive.

When I was finally ready to move to London, I was terrified to begin this new life, in a new country, with a man who was my husband yet also a stranger.

“Our first five years together were a nightmare. We never made love, even though I tried everything I could think of to seduce him. My self-esteem was nonexistent, and I thought I was the ugliest woman on the planet. On top of that, his mother had grown very cold toward me, and neither Ravi nor I could figure out why. One day, in our third year together, I picked up the phone and heard Ravi talking to a woman . . . I listened and realized he was talking to our neighbor and friend, a single woman everyone called Baby, and they were making plans to get together. I quickly suspected he was having an affair, but I didn’t say anything.

I thought Baby was my friend. She had always been so warm and friendly to me.

Now I began to wonder if she was the reason my husband never touched me. ”

I was both riveted and a bit taken aback by how matter-of-fact Divya was in the delivery of her story. I was also somewhat triggered by her cool and seemingly casual acceptance of such a deep betrayal. Were cheating husbands more accepted in her culture?

“A few months later, Ravi discovered that Baby was cheating on him and, when he confronted her, she broke it off with him, saying she preferred the other man who was single and wanted to marry her. Ravi confessed everything to me, and while I was packing to go home to my parents in India, he swore to me he would never do it again. He said that if I gave him another chance, he would devote the rest of his life to making me happy. The next two years were the roughest period of my life. I found out that my father and Ravi’s mother had arranged for my father to pay a dowry of a thousand grams of gold.

That’s about fifty thousand dollars in today’s money.

And somehow, a misunderstanding occurred, and Ravi’s mother began demanding an additional thirty grams of gold, which my father wouldn’t pay, and all of this caused unspoken tension among the family.

“During this time, I constantly considered divorcing Ravi, even though that is rarely done in our culture. I could see that he was trying to be a loving, attentive husband, but it just wasn’t enough for me.

Eventually, I told him that the only way we could stay together is if we moved back to India.

I have always been very stubborn, and he knew it was either take me home or let me go. Smart man that he is, we went home.

“Once we got back to India, our life as a couple really began to take form. We had two sons, we both had work that we loved, and over the past forty-four years, we have learned to love each other deeply. Today we are best friends and partners, and even though it was not predictable we would have a happy ending, once Baby was out of the picture, he chased me as if I were Mandakini under the waterfall . . . she’s the Bollywood version of Elizabeth Taylor,” Divya said with a satisfied smile.

We sat in silence for a long moment as I felt the sweetness of Divya’s love story wash through me.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear this,” I said finally, surprised by the emotion in my voice.

Inspired by how much this woman had been through, I gave her hand a hard squeeze.

“Your story restores my faith that love can, and will, find a way.”

After a lunch of the delicious methi, rice, and red lentil soup (dahl), Divya asked if I had seen Tapovan yet, a village area to the north in Rishikesh that was bustling with cafés, markets, and pharmacies. I jumped at the chance for a little shopping and a new adventure.

“My husband has the car today, so we will walk down the hill and take a tuk-tuk,” she said with a laugh. “I promise you it will be a true Indian experience.”

The walk down the hill from her home was thankfully monkey free and we quickly found a brightly painted yellow-and-green “Tuktuk limo,” an open-air vehicle with two wooden bench seats facing each other.

I quickly began to pull myself into a seat when Divya stopped me and said that we first had to negotiate the fee.

She and the driver got into a very spirited conversation in Hindi, which involved much hand and head gesturing.

From what I could see, it appeared a bit hostile until Divya handed him some rupees.

At once, they both smiled, and she motioned me into a seat.

“What was that all about?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“That rascal wanted to charge us three hundred rupees when the normal rate for the two of us should be sixty rupees. Because you are an obvious foreigner, he thought I might have been as well and he was trying to take advantage of us,” she explained.