(Source : The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri)
Ashima was escorted by her mother into the living room where the man was sitting in a rattan chair, his parents perched on the edge of the twin bed where her brother slept at night. He was slightly plump, scholarly-looking but still youthful, with black thick-framed glasses and a sharp, prominent nose. A neatly trimmed mustache connected to a beard that covered only his chin lent him an elegant, vaguely aristocratic air. He wore brown socks and brown trousers and a green-and-white-striped shirt and was staring glumly at his knees.
He did not look up when she appeared. Though she was aware of his gaze as she crossed the room to steal a look at him. He cleared his throat as if to speak but then said nothing. Instead it was his father who did the talking saying that the man had gone to St. Xavier's, and then B.E. college, graduating first-class-first from both institutions. Ashima took her seat and smoothed the pleats of her sari. She sensed the mother eyeing her with approval. They inquired after her studies and she was asked to recite a few stanzas from "The Daffodils." The man's family lived in Alipore. The father was a labor officer for the customs department of a shipping company. "My son has been living abroad for two years," the man's father said, "earning a Ph.D. in Boston,researching in the field of fiber optics."Ashima had never heard of Boston, or fiber optics. She was asked whether she was willing to fly on a plane and then if she was capable of living in a city characterized by sever, snowy winters, alone.
"Won't he be there ?" she'd asked, pointing to the man, but who had yet to say a word to her.
It was only after the betrothal that she'd come to know his name as Ashoke. Ashoke, the name of an emperor,means "he who transcends grief," and also being called by a pet name Mithu.
One week later the invitations were printed, and two weeks after that she was adorned and adjusted by countless aunts, countless cousins hovering around her. These were her last moments as Ashima Bhaduri, before becoming Ashima Ganguli. Her lips were darkened, her brow and cheeks dotted with sandal wood paste, her hair wound up, bound with flowers, held in place by a hundred wire pins that would take an hour to remove once the wedding was finally over. Her head was draped with scarlet netting. She wore all the necklaces and chokers and bracelets that she owns.
At the designated hour she was seated on a piri that her father had decorated, hoisted five feet off the ground, carried out to meet the groom. She had hidden her face with a heart-shape betel leaf, kept her head bent low until she was encircled him seven times.
Ashima was escorted by her mother into the living room where the man was sitting in a rattan chair, his parents perched on the edge of the twin bed where her brother slept at night. He was slightly plump, scholarly-looking but still youthful, with black thick-framed glasses and a sharp, prominent nose. A neatly trimmed mustache connected to a beard that covered only his chin lent him an elegant, vaguely aristocratic air. He wore brown socks and brown trousers and a green-and-white-striped shirt and was staring glumly at his knees.
He did not look up when she appeared. Though she was aware of his gaze as she crossed the room to steal a look at him. He cleared his throat as if to speak but then said nothing. Instead it was his father who did the talking saying that the man had gone to St. Xavier's, and then B.E. college, graduating first-class-first from both institutions. Ashima took her seat and smoothed the pleats of her sari. She sensed the mother eyeing her with approval. They inquired after her studies and she was asked to recite a few stanzas from "The Daffodils." The man's family lived in Alipore. The father was a labor officer for the customs department of a shipping company. "My son has been living abroad for two years," the man's father said, "earning a Ph.D. in Boston,researching in the field of fiber optics."Ashima had never heard of Boston, or fiber optics. She was asked whether she was willing to fly on a plane and then if she was capable of living in a city characterized by sever, snowy winters, alone.
"Won't he be there ?" she'd asked, pointing to the man, but who had yet to say a word to her.
It was only after the betrothal that she'd come to know his name as Ashoke. Ashoke, the name of an emperor,means "he who transcends grief," and also being called by a pet name Mithu.
One week later the invitations were printed, and two weeks after that she was adorned and adjusted by countless aunts, countless cousins hovering around her. These were her last moments as Ashima Bhaduri, before becoming Ashima Ganguli. Her lips were darkened, her brow and cheeks dotted with sandal wood paste, her hair wound up, bound with flowers, held in place by a hundred wire pins that would take an hour to remove once the wedding was finally over. Her head was draped with scarlet netting. She wore all the necklaces and chokers and bracelets that she owns.
At the designated hour she was seated on a piri that her father had decorated, hoisted five feet off the ground, carried out to meet the groom. She had hidden her face with a heart-shape betel leaf, kept her head bent low until she was encircled him seven times.
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