“Eleh, Sivathanu … what do you say?”

Sivathanu, who was eating pazhayathu from a porcelain plate, looked up at Senbagam. He could not make out what she was asking.

“You know what I’m referring to, le …Didn’t four or five people come to our house that day to see you? Now, they have asked for your horoscope. If you have anything to say, come out with it now. If the horoscopes match, it is you who are going to tie the thaali. Don’t keep mum, as if it’s not your concern, and grumble about it later!”

Sivathanu took a morsel of tamarind relish from the poovarasu leaf placed over a small perforated aluminium plate, rubbed it on his tongue, raised the plate and drank the remaining water.

“What am I to understand from your silence?”

“Amma, I don’t want to marry now…”

“Emleh, why do you say that? At long last, god is casting a benevolent glance on us. A girl from a very affluent family is likely to become your wife, and if they also get you a job, what more could you wish for?”

“Didn’t I say that I do not at all like it? Let’s leave it at that! First, let me get a job; we can think about all this after that? What is the need to rush things? Why don’t you try to fix my thangai’s marriage first?”

“Have jobs come knocking on our door every day these last two years! Do we have thousands to bribe somebody and buy a job? Your hair will turn grey before you get a job. Will just sending applications get you a job?”

“What will I lose if I don’t get one? My arms and legs are strong and healthy, aren’t they? I know how to carry on, even if I have to carry loads of pond soil on my head … Now, don’t pester me.”

“Aha, what an idea! How can you think of becoming a coolie? Did we spend so much on your education for you to toil as a daily wager? Is it for this that we did with tattered clothes and bought you presentable trousers and shirts suitable for a college student.”

Sivathanu became furious and exploded, “So? What do you want me to do? Have I been refusing to work? Are you planning to sell me for the money you need?”

Senbagam felt as if someone had yanked her hair off her head. The furious insinuation hit her like a blistering whiplash and stung her sharply.

“Yes, le, yes … we plan to sell you and build a palace for ourselves! Won’t you talk! Your four younger brothers must study, like you did, and we must ensure that they have a bright future ahead of them. Appa is trying frantically to garner money from here and there to pay the next term fees for Chellappan … Lechumi has nothing to wear other than what she is wearing … I don’t know when that auspicious day will bring you a job and when will we be able to ensure a decent life for our children. You don’t talk like a man, do you? Shouldn’t a grown-up son understand the hardships his family is facing?”

Sivathanu watched his mother, feeling helpless and disconsolate. He could see his younger sister walking from the kitchen to the mangala. Luckily, all his younger brothers had gone to school. Otherwise, all of them would have gathered there to watch the quarrel.

Scenes from his school and college days passed before his mind’s eye.

Most of his classmates would bring packets of dosai or idli for lunch. As they opened their food packets, the commotion and their cries of joy would pierce through the roof.

But for Sivathanu, it was salted pazhayathu and a bit of dry lime pickle every day. He would sit and eat alone in the corner near the fourth row of benches, staring at the wall. His friend mid-lane Namasivayam, who had kept him company up to the ninth standard, had discontinued his studies and had taken up weaving.

Dosai was a rarity in Sivathanu’s house. They could afford it only on new moon days and the following Friday. On the days when he would go to school with three dosais or four idlis, wrapped in a plantain leaf, he would feel a sense of boundless pride. Even his gait would acquire a new verve and zip.

It was an immeasurably pleasant experience to enjoy the warmth of the scorched banana leaf parcel while unwrapping it, and the fragrance emanating from the dosai and the powder made of chillies and urad dal mixed with gingelly oil.

But as soon as he would unwrap the parcel, the other boys would notice it and they would tease him:

“Dei, Mangapillai, have you brought your umbrella?”

“No! Why? Are rain clouds gathering in the Thadagai Hills?”

“No. Today our Sivathanu has brought dosai …What a rare event! That’s why I say that all of us will get drenched in a downpour on our way back home …” Sivathanu would smile sheepishly, feeling embarrassed and vexed.

He would be deprived of this luxury if the new moon day fell on a Saturday or a Sunday. Sivathanu could not contain his annoyance on those days. Had things been any better during his college days?

The only difference was that the brass tiffin box was replaced by a stainless steel one. Inside it was the same old pazhayathu.

But in spite of his family’s indigence, he wore trousers and shirts that they could ill afford. Even so, those were nothing compared to the expensive clothes that the pampered sons of affluent parents flaunted.

Excerpted with permission from Wrong Side Up, Nanjil Nadan, translated from the Tamil by S Thillainayagam, Ratna Books.