chapter II

I first came to Calcutta during the winter of 1990. As I was just passing through, I saw precious little of the city, yet I was immediately impressed by it and the people whom I had met.

Within seven months I was married to a Bengali girl whom I had met New York and emigrated to Calcutta two weeks after our wedding.

My wife [pictured at right] and I had, for all practical purposes, an arranged marriage. We had spoken to each other only twice or thrice before tying the knot, which nowadays counts as “arranged,” although in the old days the bride and groom would not see each other until the wedding ceremony was all but over.

My wife and I never hit it off and we quickly separated. We love each other to this day but never fell “in love.” Now we remain very much like brother and sister. Her parents have virtually adopted me and I have remained with them since that time. This trip, they promise me, I will be getting married again.

It’s been quite a few years since my wife and I separated and the loneliness I sometimes feel is almost unbearable. Although I spent some years as a strict celibate as part of my ashram training, I never became accustomed to the notion that I would be alone my whole life.

Sometimes the desire for companionship is so overwhelming that it is almost unbearable. Just a few days before leaving the States, I spent the better part of an afternoon at a mall in Atlanta occupied by Indian stores selling groceries, Indian clothes, Hindi cinemas, etc. After having some snacks at a stand selling South Indian dishes, we took our time walking around the mall enjoying the foreign atmosphere. It was like a appetizer for the trip that was to follow in a few days time.

At one point I passed a photography studio. Stopping to admire the artist’s work, I noticed a very large color print of a rather photogenic Indian family. They could have been from some Bollywood movie, they appeared so picture-perfect. The salt-and-pepper father beaming proudly, the kind looking mother in her silk sari, the sons handsome with gold-rimmed glasses, faces adorned with fashionable razor-stubble, and the daughters decked-out in their finest jewelry and salwaars. All looked so happy and confident, a magic moment captured for generations to enjoy again and again.

After having seen that happy family, what could I do but sit down on the nearest bench and cry?

Only a week before leaving Atlanta, where we have lived for the past decade, an acquaintance told us that she has an eligible niece whom we can see. We had lunch at the Aunt’s apartment one afternoon and were given several pictures of the girl. Attractive and fair-skinned, she looked well enough. From the description given by her Aunt, she seemed to be just about right.

The week before I left, I kept her photos in my room and looked at them constantly, wondering if she would one day be my wife.

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chapter III