An army of uniformed men chases them. Not far from the pets, a driverless lawnmower hurtles down a landscaped slope, heading in the direction of the Shih Tzus. I’m on my feet when Pranav straightens his back abruptly and goes headlong into another of the staff, dislodging the lid of the teapot and turning the remnants of freshly brewed tea on himself. I manage to glove the lid seconds before the piece of china hits the ground.
I lurch towards the lawn when I hear Father’s shout. I hold my step as staff lock down on the pets. The lawnmower hits a brick parapet and comes to a halt.
As I settle into the seat before Father, I notice that he’s nervous. His left eye is twitching, and his index finger brushes against his nose, going back and forth.
‘You are so quick and aware of everything around you, Veer. Nothing misses your eye, especially in the outdoors,’ he says. ‘I don’t understand why you didn’t take to hunting. You’d have been excellent.’
I nod.
If Father had his way, I’d have been named Vedveer ‘Michael’ Rathore Singh. Michael in honour of the elegant West Indian fast bowler Michael Anthony Holding, whose exploits Father once followed with studious diligence.
‘Veer, we need to talk,’ he says after tasting his morning tea.
I raise a brow, picking up my cup and inhaling the soothing scent ofoolong.
‘There’s a proposal,’ he says. He returns his cup to the tray and is looking at his palm now.
‘Excellent!’ I respond quickly; this is indeed a first. ‘You’re here for business!’ This is urgent, and his travel in the early hours is fully justified.
‘Not that kind of proposal,’ he says, cutting through my train of thought.
‘Oh!’ I nod. ‘A matrimonial alliance for Navya?’
My only sibling, a younger sister, is in love with a cricketer, an opening batsman for India. A tall, good-looking chap named Nalin Shah, who is on a hot streak. Only his reputation precedes him.
Father looks around him, clearing his throat. ‘Not for Navya; this one is for you,’ he says slowly.
I look him in the eye, and he’s holding my gaze.
‘We have a marriage proposal for you, Veer.’
‘Ookaaay,’ I return, not knowing what to make of his declaration. It’s not the first. These alliances are generally mentioned during a meal whenever the family convenes and are promptly forgotten.
‘What kind of a response is that?’ Father is unusually sharp in going for the accelerator.
Silence, I decide, is a better option.
I’m beginning to feel the effects of this morning’s run. It has sapped me, leaving me on reserve, more than I bargained for. It isn’t just today. I have been at it for a while, and my body has been begging for a break. I make a quick decision against showing up at the Polo Club later in the afternoon.
‘We have a marriage proposal for you, Yuvraj.’ His eyes are on me now. ‘And a very good one at that!’ he adds with a smile. ‘Lovely girl, great family.’
I place my teacup on the table and try not to laugh. My lips twitch.
‘This is serious, Veer,’ he says, shuffling in his seat. ‘This works for us.’
I hear the morning wind rustle through the branches of thedhoktrees that lean into the garden.
‘This fits us perfectly.’ Father is sweating profusely.
‘What do you mean by “fits us”? And why are we reacting this way?’ I ask. ‘You are rushing.’
The Rathores have made an art form of taking time; if there’s any doubt, see how we move. Glacial is our pace.
‘She’s a south Indian, and she lives in Bengaluru,’ he says, looking at me intently. Pranav steps forward with a hand fan, but Father tells him off and shuts his eyes for a moment.
I feel my brows scrunching.
Marriage is inevitable in my position. I have responsibilities, heir, spare and all that, but not now.
