Radhika
“Kanna, meet Radhika.”
I looked between the two women, trying to spot a difference. Black thick plaited hair that swept down like a leaf in the gentle autumn wind. Black, dark lined eyes that contrasted every being of the fabric the two adorned. To him, Radhika resembled the likes of a ripe mango. She sat there, inanimate- in her bright pavadai- while their parents spoke. He was expected to bond and talk. Perhaps they wanted the two 7 year olds to discuss the fine arts movement that was sweeping the nation and the likelihood of India slumping into a recession with the current cabinet, while the adults discussed the more mundane things like the dowry. But the thing was, it didn't matter. None of it did. Not Radhika dressed as a mango, not them bonding- not even them deciding they would be mortal enemies. Appa would bring a Vadyar who would look at their zodiac and decide if they would be compatible and that was it.Their fate would be sealed. All because some old man who walked around with a mund wrapped around his pot belly, as tightly strung as his god complex.
The thing is, I didn't hate Radhika. She was as much a victim, as he was. They were both just two ripe mangos, dangling from their tree- waiting to one day be chopped down and gobbled up by another man with a pot belly and god complex. But at least he would get freedom. Sure, he'd be shackled up in a loveless marriage, with no way out- working a job he despised. But he still had his freedom. He knew she would be forced to sit at home, shouting at Shantama for not polishing the silver well enough or sit around waiting to hear whose daughter had asserted her independence. He knew that in Appa’s mind this girl would have some freakishly bright dye that replaced the natural black hair that stained their pure tamilian scalp. This girl would have a million piercings and tattoos that stained and ruined the melanin my ancestors gifted to her, along with the hundreds of years of oppression they blessed her with. And rather than being normal- this girl would either be a Chakka, as appa so fondly liked to say or she would be a lesbian- classic case of devil and the deep sea. But Radhika, she was none of that, aside from the one diamond studded piercing she wore. Radhika was proper. Perfect. A blessing.
Radhika suddenly snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Anna,” a melody rang out to him, “why am I here? Amma said it was because of work, but she didn't bring a book or any pencils.”
I didn't know what to say. I refuse to be the bearer of bad news. If she was going to be forced to live with me for the rest of her life, I would much rather her hate her father instead of me. How do I tell the symbol for innocence, that she would be married off to me before she had the chance to make anything of her life, because her parents would rather her off to some far off farm, knowing their reputation is protected, than take care of her.