‘Best Intentions’: Politics, fundamentalism, family, love, and society collide in this debut novel

“Gayatri will also get married, Nina,” said Ashok Mehra to his wife consolingly as he contorted his cheek against the shaving razor in his hand. “Let’s just be thankful that Nandini’s wedding went off so well.”

Nina’s face appeared beside her husband’s in the large bathroom mirror. She shook her head. “You don’t know how many people asked me about Gayatri during the wedding. I’m sure everyone was saying how can the younger sister be married before the older one?”

Ashok splashed water on his face, then peered at his chin in the mirror to judge the results of his labour.

Nina walked back into their bedroom and sat on the edge of the dark teakwood bed, unconsciously straightening the edge of an old Kashmiri rug with her toe. Ashok followed her a few seconds later, wiping his face with a towel. He sat next to her and circled her shoulders with one long arm. With his still-slim, athletic frame and her plump but exceedingly pretty face, they made for an unusually good-looking pair, even now in their fifties.

“I just don’t know what to do with Gayatri,” said Nina. “She didn’t even dress up properly through the wedding. Hardly any make-up, and she refused to wear my gold set on the wedding day.”

“Nina, she’s thirty-two. You can’t treat her like a baby.”

“Even if she’s eighty, I’ll still be her mother, no?” replied Nina, sharply.

“Let’s talk about this later. There’s so much work still to be done to wrap up the wedding.”

Nina didn’t seem to be listening. “Do you know what Anjana told me?” she asked softly. “I feel so odd even repeating it. She heard a rumour that Gayatri is...” She paused before continuing, “That she likes girls.” She looked at Ashok and half-whispered, “Do you think – ”

Ashok cut her off as he stood up. “Why do you have to listen to that stupid woman? And even if she does, you know...Anyway, I’m going for a bath.” He walked back towards the bathroom. Pausing at the doorway, he turned to look at his wife’s troubled face. “And listen, don’t worry. I’ll also speak with her regarding the boy Prakash Uncle told us about.”

Nina looked far from satisfied as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

The grand Mehra family bungalow at No. 7, Jagjivan Road, Old Delhi, was purchased by Ashok’s long-deceased father when he migrated to India from Pakistan in 1947. The senior Mr Mehra, a savvy property dealer in Lahore, had set up a bureau to facilitate the exchange of houses of elite Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs on either side of the border before Partition. Later, he transitioned smoothly into being one of Delhi’s leading property agents, ensuring that his family’s fortunes flourished again within just a few years of their chaotic and tragic shift from Lahore.

The large-sized bungalows in the area and broad, quiet roads lent to this part of Delhi an air of calm exclusivity and old money that could be incongruous with the crumbling mansions and unkempt lawns often hidden behind tall walls. Ashok Mehra’s lucrative career as a senior executive in a machine tool manufacturing company and Nina’s taste for elegant living had, however, spared their house such a fate.

Nina entered the dining room. Gayatri was sitting at the breakfast table, across from Ashok, eyes focused on the newspaper before her. Her hair was gathered in a loose bun, and small silver earrings dangled from her ears. Sunlight streamed in from the large French doors behind the table, which led into the garden where newly flowering pink and purple petunias signalled the beginning of winter.

“Hi, Mom,” said Gayatri cheerfully, looking up as her mother walked in. “Slept well?”

Nina murmured a response as she sat in her usual spot at the head of the table. “Where is Dadi?” she asked.

“Still very tired,” replied Gayatri. “She said she’ll have breakfast in her room.”

“I can’t begin to imagine how tired Mama must be at eighty-eight,” said Ashok, pouring himself a glass of the carrot and beetroot juice he drank religiously each morning before leaving for office. “It’s been a few days since the wedding and my legs still haven’t stopped aching.”

“Malti Didi!” Gayatri called from the table. “Omelette jaldi, please.”

“Gayatri, don’t shout like that,” said Nina irritably.

Gayatri, used to her mother’s admonitions, did not react. Turning over the page of the newspaper, she started to read as she nibbled on a piece of toast.

Nina looked at her elder daughter, her mind still preoccupied with her seemingly bleak marital prospects. But maybe thirty-two is not that old, she thought. Just four years older than Nandini. And everyone says she’s so pleasant looking. She didn’t get my features like Nandini, but her eyes are nice and large like mine. That nose and jawline she’s inherited from her Dadi must be what’s scaring all the boys away. If only she would make up her eyes, leave her hair loose. At least she is not dark. Is that a wrinkle near her mouth? Nina squinted at Gayatri’s face.

She was jolted out of her thoughts by her daughter’s voice. “Ma, can you please stop doing your staring thing?”

Nina blinked and looked away. “One can’t even look at one’s own daughter now,” she sniffed as Gayatri directed her attention back to the newspaper with a frown.

Nina caught Ashok’s eye and gestured with her chin towards Gayatri. Ashok pursed his lips and shook his head. Nina raised her eyebrows insistently, but her husband just frowned at his plate and started to butter his toast.

“Okay,” said Nina in a challenging tone, “then I’ll tell her.”

Gayatri looked up from the newspaper. “Tell me what?”

“Nothing, beta,” said Ashok, glancing at his wife. He could see that she was not going to relent. He cleared his throat and said, “There is a boy whom...I mean...you know...” He broke off.

Gayatri lowered her eyes and glared at the newspaper as if it was the one suggesting she meet yet another prospect for an arranged marriage.

“Gayatri, your father is saying something,” said Nina sternly.

“Do we really have to start this now, Papa? Chhoti just got married a couple of days ago. Don’t I get a few days’ rest?”

“Rest!” said Nina. “We are not telling you to climb Mount Everest. Just to meet a boy. He’s from a good family, and earning well also.”

Ashok added gently, “Beta, you just meet him, and if you don’t like him then we’ll leave it.”

“The answer is no,” said Gayatri firmly, folding the newspaper and setting it down. “I’m tired of meeting boys with their mummies and daddies in tow, asking me stupid questions. I cannot choose a partner this way. I hate them before I’ve even met them. I’m too old for this now.”

“This is not a good attitude, Gayatri,” said Nina.

“Ma, you had a love marriage,” snapped Gayatri, her face reddening. “So stop pretending that you can even begin to understand what it’s like to be rejected by men whom, frankly, you don’t even feel like talking to in the first place.”

“Beta,” Ashok said patiently, “we didn’t want to trouble you during Chhoti’s wedding because you were so busy. At least hear us out now.” Gayatri propped her elbows on the dining table and covered her face with her hands as her father continued.

“His name is Ujjwal. He is an engineer and has done an MBA from IIM Calcutta. Works for Google. His parents live in Agra.”

Gayatri remained silent, her face still buried in her hands.

“We are only telling you to meet him. If this were a few decades ago, you’d have been married off without even being asked.”

“Please, beta?” Ashok said, giving his wife a warning look at the same time.

Gayatri took a deep breath.

“Your father is practically begging you, Gayatri,” said Nina. “Is this really that difficult for you?”

Gayatri clicked her tongue in irritation. “This is so unfair. Fine, but on one condition: this is the last one I will meet. I refuse to be emotionally blackmailed by the two of you ever again. I’m giving you notice of that now.”

Her father smiled. “Spoken like a true lawyer.”

“I’m late for work,” said Gayatri, standing up. “And thank you, but I’m not a lawyer any longer.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Ashok said. “Sunil Uncle called me about your quote...The one that was published in the Indian Times, on the Aryan invasion issue. He sounded very impressed, though honestly, I don’t think he understood the point you were making.”

Gayatri shrugged, still angry with herself for giving in to her parents. She picked up her purse. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

“But breakfast?” asked her mother.

“I’m not hungry.” She marched out of the room.

Nina shook her head. “This is what it’s come to, Ashok, begging and pleading with our own daughter. So headstrong she is. I pity the poor fool who marries her.”

Excerpted with permission from Best Intentions, Simran Dhir, HarperCollins India.