My Unusual Marriage

The first time I saw Dharamji, I got a creepy vibe from him instantly. It was when Parth and his mom had come to "see" me, as it is said in Indian arranged marriage lingo. I thought he was an uncle because we knew Parth's father had died many years ago. Instead he was introduced as their family friend, business partner, and "benefactor", which I found to be a strange word.

I had eyes only for Parth, the handsome and sweet 26 year old my father had chosen for me. He was from our sub-caste, was well-educated, and had a successful manufacturing business. In the arranged marriage market, honestly, he was quite out of my league and I was surprised they even considered me. I come from a lower middle class family, am not very well educated, don't have a career, and although I am not ugly or anything, I am not exactly drop-dead gorgeous. Average body, average face. Like a heroine's best friend in a Bollywood movie. I never had a line of boys throwing themselves at me like some of my pretty friends did.

However, my sixth sense tingled at the way Dharamji still looked at me. Nothing shameless or open. Just the way he would glance at my chest and the look in his eyes whenever I would move in and out of the kitchen serving food to everyone. It was like an audition for being a dutiful housewife while I ignored his looks.

"Come Shama beti." Parth's mom Pritha said. "Sit with me."

"Ji aunty." I said.

"Don't say aunty. Say maa-ji." she smiled.

"Ji maaji." I obediently responded and sat next to her.

She lovingly ran her hand over my pallu covered head.

"You are very pretty and nice and a great cook." she said. "I look forward to passing all my responsibilities on to you."

My father looked up and smiled.

"Does that mean we should consider it a sure thing?"

"If the boy and girl are ready, why not?"

I noticed Parth looking at me and then at Dharamji who gave a short nod. In years to come, I often thought about this moment. Who had chosen me exactly?

Parth said,

"I am ready."

All eyes turned to me. I liked Parth and his mother. It was a great match on paper. So despite the weird feeling I had about this burly old man sitting next to them, I nodded and blushed as was expected of me. There were hugs exchanged and hands shaken and the celebratory sweets brought out. There I was, at 22, just out of college, ready to get married.

The wedding was an elaborate multi-day affair. Breaking with tradition, Parth's family insisted on paying for the whole thing and also planning it. Which relieved my father even more, because he was planning to dip into his retirement savings to fund my wedding.

During the wedding week, I was too busy with all the rituals and packing and everything to think of much else. Dharamji was again a constant presence and every time he was around, my guard would be up. He barely said anything. But it was the way he looked at me. And how Parth and his mom seemed to not notice the looks.

There was one particular incident which unnerved me more than usual.

It was the evening of the sangeet, a function that involves singing and dancing. I was in my bridal suite getting ready. Present with me were a couple of my female cousins. I was in my petticoat and blouse, getting make up on before wrapping the sari around me. There was a knock on the door.

"Please come in, maaji." my cousin said opening the door as Pritha, my mother-in-law to be walked in.

"You look gorgeous, beta." she said beaming.

"Thank you, maaji." I said.

My cousin was about to close the door, but Pritha held it open. And I almost jumped out of my skin when a second later, Dharamji walked in! He lumbered in, standing tall and fat, with his thick facial hair and his bushy eyebrows went up as he saw me.

"Dharamji and I thought we would come see how you were doing."

How I was doing? I was doing fine until she led this creepy old man into my room while my cleavage and midriff were on display. Even my cousins looked shocked. I looked around for something to cover myself with. I was stunned. As a woman, especially an elderly woman about to be my mother-in-law, surely Pritha should have had the sense to keep the old man outside until I got more fully dressed. But she seemed utterly oblivious of how I felt.

Eventually one of my cousins handed me a shawl and I covered my torso. In the few seconds that took, I saw Dharamji's eyes leering at my body. He wasn't even pretending to look away.

"So what is the main dance finale for tonight?" maaji asked,

For the next fifteen minutes or so, they were in the room talking to us about the night's festivities and plans. Dharamji kept throwing me stares making me feel very comfortable. I was still sitting wrapped in the shawl, not sure when the old man would leave so I could finish getting ready. Finally they left.

The wedding was a happy and fancy one for everyone concerned. Parth and I were exhausted though. On our wedding night, all we could do was plonk on the bed and fall asleep. It was not until I had moved in with him that we finally had sex. It was my first time. Parth was very gentle and loving. He was mindful of not hurting me too much.

Married life was something new for me to get used to. We lived in a self-contained building owned by Dharamji. On the bottom floor was a large 3 bedroom apartment where maaji, Parth and I lived. In the back were some servant quarters. The family was well off and had a couple of maids, security guards, cooks, and drivers. Half of them stayed in the quarters, the other half only came to work during the day. On the top floor, there were two apartments. One where Dharamji lived. And another which served as his and Parth's office. Parth spent half his time at the factory a short distance away and half his time in the office.

I don't know what exactly I was expecting from marriage. So I didn't know what to make of whatever I experienced, compared to a "normal" one. The honeymoon was a short and sweet one in Mauritius, and Parth was a nice and decent husband, but he was a quiet and shy type of a person. We were practically strangers I guess. And with me also being usually shy and reserved, my mom had told me it could take a few months if not years to get a real relationship going.

Parth's life mostly revolved around his work. He put in long hours, and even after coming home, was usually buried in files or plans or his laptop. We got to know each other's likes and dislikes and so on. But still there seemed to be a distance between us. In fact there seemed to be a distance between Parth and everyone else, even his mother. He usually seemed lost in his own world. Not the passionate ever horny new husband that movies and books tell you to expect.

Which suited me fine. I had been a virgin on my wedding night and had grown up in an orthodox family where sex was a taboo subject. So I was not some liberated feminist who knew her body or craved sex all the time. The couple of times a week that was our default suited me fine. Like most women getting sexually active in initial days, I was still learning and adjusting and getting to know my own body.

Most of my days were spent in the company of maaji. Helping her plan meals, take care of the house, supervising the maids and cooks and other servants, and watching a lot of TV. Dharamji mostly kept to himself, and we had meals sent to him in his apartment. Except Sunday evenings when he would lumber down and join us in our dining room for a "family dinner". I still found his gaze creepy and odd. But as weeks and then months went by, I learned to ignore it.

On our six month anniversary, my cousins and parents did a video call with me and Parth and maaji. And as is the inevitable trend in orthodox families, I was pestered about when I would give them "the good news". Which means pregnancy. I dutifully blushed.

After the call, Parth went to the office upstairs. And maaji cornered me in the kitchen.

"About what your family was saying, Shama..."

"Yes, maaji?"

"In the initial months of a new marriage, I can understand wanting to use...precautions. But it is now 6 months. Time to start planning."

"Ji, maaji." I nodded.

"You can let go of precautions." she said before changing the subject to cooking.

I felt like telling her, if by precautions she meant birth control or condoms, well, we didn't use them anyway. From the very first night we had sex to the most recent times, it had been unprotected and every time, my husband had ejaculated inside me. I came from a family where the norm was to have the first child very soon, so that is what I also went with. But I was yet to miss a period. At six months, it was too early to worry as such. Especially because our sex frequency was strictly twice a week. But it was something I had been wondering about, as had my mom.

A couple of weeks later, Parth had to go on a week long business trip to the middle east. I thought I would be accompanying him, but was told that he would be very busy, so maybe some other time. The first couple of days with my husband gone did not seem all that different. Because he was away or busy most of the time anyway. So it was all about household duties and spending time with maaji and watching lots and lots of daily soaps on TV.

That afternoon, once all the cooking was done, a tray was laid out for Dharamji.

"Shama."

"Ji maaji?"

"The maid is busy cleaning the cobwebs. Go take this food up to Dharamji."

"Ji maaji." I dutifully said.

Carrying the tray, I walked up to his apartment. The door was ajar. I walked in. The old man was sitting at the dining table, reading a newspaper. He looked at me, with that same piercing gaze and gave a nod. I had never been assigned the duty of taking food to him, so I wasn't sure what the protocol was. But usually in our society, women are supposed to serve out the plate for men.

I went to the threadbare kitchen of his apartment, took plates and bowls and laid them out in front of him.

"Would like to start with rice or rotis?" I asked.

In answer, he lifted his eyes from the newspaper, folded it while staring at me. First at my face. Then at my chest which was just a few inches away. And then suddenly, with a speed that seemed alien to his usual lumbering pace, his hand reached up and grabbed my breast over my blouse.

"Dharamji!!" I yelled out, stunned and tried to pull away.

But the grip of his rough large hands was too strong on my breast, and I could not disengage it. His thick fingers dug into my flesh.

"Dharamji! Please! What are you doing?"

Just as I was struggling with his hand on my breast, the other one went around my waist and pulled me into a tight embrace by his side. His head rubbed against my breasts and he nuzzled them under my sari pallu but over my blouse.

"Let me go!" I shrieked in panic.

And he did. I staggered backwards, traumatized. His expression had not changed. Nor had he said anything. I saw him swallow hard, still staring at my chest. Finally I got some control of my senses. And I turned around and ran out of the door, leaving the food there.

I ran down the stairs back into our apartment, my heart pounding. As I entered the kitchen, the maid who usually took him the food was back. She saw my expression and gave me an almost knowing sympathetic look. Had she been at the receiving end of this too? Maaji looked up at me.

"Did you serve him?"

I nodded, not wanting to say anything in front of the maid. Although from her expression, it seemed like she knew what had happened and had maybe experienced it herself during those duties.

"Did Dharamji need anything else?"

"I...don't know." I said and just stood there. Maaji could tell from my face that something was wrong. She asked the maid to go and see if the old man needed anything else. As soon as she was out of earshot asked me,

"Okay Shama, what's wrong?"

"Maaji...I...I don't even know how to say this. Dharamji groped me and tried to...I am ashamed to even say anything." I put my face in my palms out of shock and shame.

What shocked me even more was how calmly she took the news, as if she was expecting it.

"He does that sometimes." she said, shrugging. "He is a lonely old man."

I expected her to say something more about it. But she turned back to the kitchen counter and said,

"Let's have our lunch."

Imagine my surprise when that night, maaji asked me to take the food up to Dharamji again.

"But maaji...after what happened...can we please send the maid?"

"Shama, I told you, you have to take over some of my responsibilities. I am not a young woman anymore. Besides, Dharamji is getting bored with the maid." she cryptically said.

"Yes, but..."

"Dharamji is the reason Parth and I didn't have to beg on the streets when his father died. He is the reason we have a good business. His money, his contacts, his generosity, everything. Remember that he is the one who paid for your wedding."

My heart was pounding against my ribcage when I took the food up that night. Maaji had suggested, without being explicit, that this was normal behavior for Dharamji and for the sake of the family, I should not make a stink about it.

I decided I would try to keep my distance, serve him food, and make good my escape. But it was easier said than done.

When I let myself in, the burly old man was watching TV. He just looked up at me for a second and then went back to watching the screen. I felt relieved. Maybe I could just lay out his food and get going while he stayed in the living room. But of course, halfway into it, I heard the TV being turned off. I heard his heavy footsteps come towards me. I was turning around to face him so I could move away when he came up to me and grabbed my wrist.

"Dharamji please...please don't do this." I said, trying to wrestle free, but his grip was too strong.

"Shhh." he said and pulled me into an embrace.

The man was 5 ft 10 compared to my 5 ft 2 frame and probably weighed more than twice what I did. In his bear hug, I squirmed and struggled, but in vain. Soon I felt his large hands pawing at my butt and over my back.

"Dharamji, I am a married woman." I tried to appeal to his sense of propriety.

He stopped pawing me and said,

"Parth is out of town." as if that made it okay!

His hands went under my pallu and to the front of my blouse which was hooked in the front. He expertly started undoing it even as I struggled in his embrace.

"I only want to see what's in there."

I still kept struggling and his hands started slipping. This seemed to annoy him. He let go of me. I stumbled back against the table thinking he had seen reason. But then he raised his hand and slapped me hard back-handed.

I was in shock. No one had ever raised a hand on me before. Not my father, not my mother, and not even my new husband Parth. It was my first experience of actual violence. It made tears spring to my eyes and rendered me motionless with shock and pain.

"I told you, I only want to see what's in there. And then you can go." he said matter-of-factly.

Sobbing, I unhooked the rest of the blouse and let it fall open. The sari's pallu was on the ground already.

"Take it off. And stop crying." he said in a calm voice.

Oh god, what had my life turned into. I slipped the blouse off, shivering with nerves.

"Bra."

I pleaded with him with my eyes, but he was unmoved. My cheek still stung from the slap. I did not want another. Off the bra came. And I stood in front of the old man almost three times my age, completely topless. My heavy breathing was making my breasts move up and down.

"Hmmm." he stepped forward put his big rough hands on my breasts one by one, squeezing them. As he did that, I was trying to avoid eye contact with him, which required me to look down. And that's when I noticed a substantial bulge in his pyjamas. I looked away from that too. His fingers played with my nipples, flicking them until they turned erect. Which made me panic. Why was my body responding to this ugly old man forcing himself on me?

It felt like he was playing with my breasts for a long time but in reality it was just a couple of minutes. He did not seem overly impressed by them. They were about a B cup back then. A part of my body I knew was supposed to titillate, but I had never thought about that role of theirs. Parth usually groped them lightly during sex. Here the old man was spending what seemed like a long time on them. I fought back tears and kept feeling his rough fingers all over my sensitive skin. Finally he stepped back and said.

"Go."

And then he sat at the dining table. Wiping my tears, I put the clothes back on and went back downstairs.

When I walked in, maaji was sitting on the couch. She saw me and got up, put her hands on my chin and turned my face sideways. Clearly there was a bruise forming there. I expected her to ask me about it. I was feeling too embarrassed to even say anything.

"It will go away before Parth is back." she said. "Just don't let there be more bruises."

What the hell was she saying? Don't let there be more bruises? Tell it to the old man, not me. What was she really saying? That I should just give myself to that ugly old man? Just because his money keeps the business going? Am I to be his plaything? Was she implying that she once played that role and now it was my "responsibility" to satiate the old man?

Of course, it was not something I could just come out and ask her. Our culture does not work that way. We both had dinner and then went to bed.

The next day I stayed in my room late. Pritha finally came to check on me.

"Maaji, I am not feeling very well." I said, sounding weak.

She nodded, checked my forehead. There was no fever obviously. But she nodded again. Throwing another look at the bruise, she left, telling me to take rest. I stayed in bed, relieved to get the day off. The maid came in once in a while with tea or food for me. I read books or watched TV, staying under the sheets. Around lunch time, Pritha came in again. Holding a thermometer.

"How is your fever now, beta?"

And before I could answer, she put it in my mouth. It was normal. I half expected her to tell me to resume my duties. And take food up to the old lecher. But she didn't. Just left. For the rest of the day, she let me rest, but kept checking my fever and it was always normal. After each time, she gave me a look as if sizing me up.

By dinner time, I felt cooped up in my room. So I joined Pritha at the table. That's when the maid entered, arranging her sari pallu properly. She looked at me and then at maaji and said Dharamji's food had been served.

"Shama...being a woman in our society...it comes with certain duties. Many duties. We may not always like doing them. For example cooking. I hate cooking. But I have to do it. It is my duty. You see what i am saying?"

"Yes." I said, though I was not sure what she was getting at.

"Similarly I may have to do other things I don't want to. For the sake of the family. And now you are part of this family. When I die, you will be the main matriarch."

"Yes, maaji."

"You will have children and run the family and the house and for a happy life that way, it is important to be financially stable. Do you understand what I mean?"

She didn't say anything further. Dinner resumed. We watched some TV together in the living room. Then Parth called. I used the excuse to head back into the safe confines of my room again.

Conversation with Parth was like most of my conversations with him. Short and to the point. He was never a very expressive person anyway. He told me what he had been up to with the meeting and business and travel etc. He then asked how things were at home.

I almost told him Dharamji groped me, stripped me topless, and your mother seems to not find it a big deal. But how do you say that to your husband? Especially over the phone. Especially in an orthodox world. I thought I'd wait until he returned. So after a quick chat, we hung up and wished each other good night.