Chapter 4: Abeer

The meeting with Harinder Khanna happened on a Tuesday, and it was: not about CSR.

Papa — Surender Malhotra, sixty-three, chairman of Malhotra Industries, a man whose moustache had been the same: precise width since 1985 and whose opinions had been the same: precise width since: birth — Papa had been requesting this meeting for: months. Not through the usual channels — not through the investment bankers and the lawyers and the intermediaries that Delhi's business families deployed like: diplomatic envoys. Papa had been calling: directly. Which meant: this was personal.

I knew: what it was. The way the Calculator knew: everything — by observation, by pattern recognition, by the specific Delhi mathematics of two families with: eligible children and: compatible portfolios.

The meeting was at the India International Centre — the IIC, the institution that Delhi's power class used for meetings that required: gravitas without ostentation. The dining room. Table for four. Papa and me. HK and: Gauri.

"She doesn't know," Papa said in the car. The Malhotra Mercedes — the S-Class that Papa insisted on because the S-Class was: a statement and the statement was: "I have arrived and I am not: leaving." The driver, Baldev, navigated Delhi traffic with the: specific fatalism of a man who had been driving this route for: twenty years and who no longer believed in: lane markings.

"Doesn't know: what?"

"The: proposal. The marriage proposal. I discussed it with: HK. He agreed. The children should: meet."

"We've: met."

"Socially. This is: formally."

"Papa. This is: the twenty-first century. Arranged marriages are—"

"Are: how this family has operated for four generations. Your grandfather married your grandmother through: arrangement. I married your mother through: arrangement. And your mother — may she rest in peace — was the: best thing that ever happened to me."

The mention of Maa. In the Mercedes. With Baldev pretending not to: listen and the Delhi traffic pretending not to: exist. The mention landed: softly, the way Papa's mentions of Maa always landed — with tenderness, with: pain, with the specific grief of a man who had lost his wife at: forty-three and who had not: recovered and who would not: recover because some losses were: permanent.

"I'm not against: arrangement," I said. "I'm against: ambush."

"It's not: an ambush. It's: a meeting. At IIC. With: lunch."

"Does Gauri know it's: a marriage discussion?"

"HK is: telling her. In: his own way."

"HK's 'own way' is: probably also an ambush."

"Then it's: a mutual ambush. Which is: practically an arrangement."

*

The IIC dining room was: quiet. The specific quiet of an institution that valued: intellect over volume, where conversations happened at: levels that required leaning forward, where the: tablecloths were white and the: service was impeccable and the food was: the food of people who ate not for: pleasure but for: fuel.

Gauri arrived with HK. Harinder Khanna was: shorter than I expected — a compact man, the energy of a: generator compressed into five feet seven inches, the face: sharp, the eyes: sharper, the: eyes of a man who had built sixteen thousand crore from: nothing and who looked at the world as if it still: owed him.

Gauri was: angry. I could see it — the set of the jaw, the: specific tension in the shoulders, the controlled breathing of a woman who had been: informed in the car, as I had been, and who was: processing.

"Abeer," HK said, extending his hand. The handshake was: a test. Every handshake with HK was: a test — too soft meant weakness, too hard meant: insecurity, the correct handshake was: firm, brief, the handshake of an: equal.

"Mr. Khanna. A pleasure."

"Surender." HK turned to Papa. "You look: well."

"I look: old. But we're not here to discuss: appearance."

They sat. The patriarchs across from: each other. The children: beside their respective fathers. The arrangement: arranged.

"Shall we discuss: the merger?" Papa said.

"We're calling it a: merger?" Gauri said. The voice was: ice. Not the cold-ice of anger — the: clear-ice of a woman who had decided to: participate in the absurdity because refusing would be: more absurd.

"What would you: call it?" Papa asked.

"An ambush. In a: dining room. With: tablecloths."

"I told you," I said to: Papa.

"The children are: aligned," HK observed. "That's: a start."

Lunch was: ordered. The IIC thali — the comprehensive, balanced, deliberately: moderate meal that the institution served as: a metaphor for itself. The conversation moved through: phases. Phase one: the fathers discussed business. Malhotra Industries' expansion into: renewable energy. Khanna Capital's new fund for: infrastructure. The specific, technical, deliberately: boring conversation that two powerful men had when they were: circling the actual: subject.

Phase two: the fathers discussed the: actual subject. The merger. The arrangement. The: proposal that two families, compatible in: wealth, in: community, in: reputation, should join through: marriage.

"The terms are: straightforward," HK said, with the: casualness of a man proposing a: business deal. "The families combine: resources. Malhotra Industries benefits from Khanna Capital's: investment expertise. Khanna Capital benefits from Malhotra's: industrial portfolio. The marriage provides: the structure."

"The marriage provides: a family," Papa corrected. Quietly. The quiet of a man who remembered: his own arranged marriage and who remembered that it had been: love. Real love. The kind that started as: arrangement and became: everything.

"Both," HK said. "The family and the: structure."

Phase three was: us. The children. Left at the table while the fathers went for: a walk in the IIC gardens, the gardens that had been designed for: exactly this purpose — for the post-lunch walk where the: real conversation happened, where the: cigars were smoked and the: details were settled and the: future of two families was decided under: neem trees.

Gauri and I sat. In the: quiet. In the: aftermath of an arrangement being: proposed over: thali.

"Did you: know?" she asked.

"I suspected. When Papa insisted on: the meeting."

"You didn't: warn me."

"I confirmed it in the: car. Fifteen minutes before: arrival. Same as: you."

"This is: absurd."

"This is: Delhi."

"Those are the: same thing."

She looked at: the tablecloth. At: her hands on the tablecloth. At the: space between us that was: simultaneously too small and too: large — the space of an arranged marriage proposal, the space that contained: possibility and: obligation and: the specific Indian arithmetic of family plus business equals: union.

"I don't: oppose arrangement," she said. "I oppose: transaction. I'm not a: portfolio to be acquired."

"I know."

"Do you? Because your nickname is: the Calculator. And Calculators: calculate."

"I also: listen. You said that. At the: framework meeting."

"I said you listened to: my programme director."

"I listened to: everyone. Including: you."

"What did I: say?"

"You said: 'They're not both my mother.' About the: flowers. On the terrace. And I: stayed."

The: memory. On the tablecloth. Between us. The memory of a night on a terrace with: wind and glitter and a champagne bottle held like: a weapon and a man in a shadow who had: stayed.

"That's not: a reason to get married," she said.

"No. But it's a: reason to consider it."