Santhosh. Who could turn down this guy's proposal?
Ladies, Tirur’s Most Eligible Bachelor is off the market.
Our friend Santhosh, a Biology teacher at JM Higher Secondary, announced today that his wedding has been ‘arranged.’. That is the vernacular in Tirur. It’s not: “Oh, I’m getting married!” It is always, “My marriage function is arranged.”
The lucky girl is a 26-year old Physics teacher from Calicut named Ambili, an acquaintance of Santhosh’s uncle’s sister-in-law.
“My uncle call me and say, ‘I have a girl. You need to meet’. And we met a week ago,” Santhosh told me on our free period Monday. “I went with my best friend to Calicut. We went to her house. I walk in and see this girl. Everyone is there watching. I come up to her and ask her name, what she do, what she like. She asks me the same. We hug and that is our arrangement.”
“Did you kiss each other?” I whispered, feeling like a gossip.
Santhosh’s eyes widened in horror, “No! No, no, no! Of course not! That is not until marriage function.”
He informed me the wedding was set for early May. My shoulders slumped. I told Santhosh Jenna and I planned to be back in the US by then.
“You come back, no problem. You must. You are my intimate.” Intimate is Santhosh’s word for BFF.
“But Santhosh,” I said reluctantly, “that costs a lot of money.”
“You are American. Money no problem.”
I told him exactly how much money it would be for both Jenna and I to book round-trip plane tickets from America to India and then translated that figure into Indian rupees, an amount, incidentally, that is more than what Santhosh makes in a year at JM.
“Oh,” he said, then paused. “But you can stay at my place. You won’t have to pay for food and accommodation. You must come.”
I shrugged my shoulders, “We will send you a gift.”
Santhosh’s eyes brightened, his sharp eyebrows lifted. “Yes. Yes, that would be nice,” he said. “American commodities are very good. I would like that.”
I think we had reached a compromise.
Our friend Santhosh, a Biology teacher at JM Higher Secondary, announced today that his wedding has been ‘arranged.’. That is the vernacular in Tirur. It’s not: “Oh, I’m getting married!” It is always, “My marriage function is arranged.”
The lucky girl is a 26-year old Physics teacher from Calicut named Ambili, an acquaintance of Santhosh’s uncle’s sister-in-law.
“My uncle call me and say, ‘I have a girl. You need to meet’. And we met a week ago,” Santhosh told me on our free period Monday. “I went with my best friend to Calicut. We went to her house. I walk in and see this girl. Everyone is there watching. I come up to her and ask her name, what she do, what she like. She asks me the same. We hug and that is our arrangement.”
“Did you kiss each other?” I whispered, feeling like a gossip.
Santhosh’s eyes widened in horror, “No! No, no, no! Of course not! That is not until marriage function.”
He informed me the wedding was set for early May. My shoulders slumped. I told Santhosh Jenna and I planned to be back in the US by then.
“You come back, no problem. You must. You are my intimate.” Intimate is Santhosh’s word for BFF.
“But Santhosh,” I said reluctantly, “that costs a lot of money.”
“You are American. Money no problem.”
I told him exactly how much money it would be for both Jenna and I to book round-trip plane tickets from America to India and then translated that figure into Indian rupees, an amount, incidentally, that is more than what Santhosh makes in a year at JM.
“Oh,” he said, then paused. “But you can stay at my place. You won’t have to pay for food and accommodation. You must come.”
I shrugged my shoulders, “We will send you a gift.”
Santhosh’s eyes brightened, his sharp eyebrows lifted. “Yes. Yes, that would be nice,” he said. “American commodities are very good. I would like that.”
I think we had reached a compromise.
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