Anniversary

“Ladies and Gentlemen, May I have your kind attention please?” announced Jaspal Singh from the stage. “This occasion deserves special cheers. Can everyone please raise a toast to Mr. and Mrs. Malvinder Singh?”

Mr. Malvinder Singh and Mrs. Gurvinder Kaur started walking to the podium. It was their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

As the 76-year-old ‘groom’ Malvinder Singh walked up to the stage, the cheer and clapping rose to a crescendo. Everyone stood up as his 72-year-old ‘bride’ Gurvinder joined him on stage. Jaspal Singh hugged his sister Gurvinder and his best buddy Malvinder.

Drums played amidst celebratory music and a thunderous applause followed. The evening gathering on the lawns of the Singh’s’ bungalow broke into an impromptu dance. Close business acquaintances, relatives and family members led the festive fervour. The celebrations had just begun.

Amidst the clapping, Malvinder Singh started speaking.

“Thank you all today for joining us in celebrating our fiftieth wedding anniversary. It has been a very enjoyable journey together.” He looked around the audience and waved at few of the familiar faces hidden in their mufflers.

Misty-eyed, he continued his short speech. “Thank you all for making this a special occasion. In all these years that have rolled on, so many things have changed. Business has changed, India has changed. Culture and Way of Life has changed. Our surroundings have changed.”

Taking a pause, he looked at his wife Gurvinder and held her hand. With his eyes welled up, he looked at his friend Jaspal on stage and held him by the other hand.

“What has not changed is Love. What has not changed is Friendship. This is the fiftieth anniversary of our Love and of our Friendship.” The three of them raised their hands in unison.

The guests broke into a huge applause. Everyone gave a standing ovation to the old couple, and to Jaspal Singh. Malvinder Singh had rivers of tears flowing down his cheeks.

Wiping the tears with his hand, he continued.

“My heartfelt gratitude to you all, many of whom have been with us in this journey. And our wholehearted love to the joys of our life – our children and grandchildren. May peace and happiness be with you. God bless you all.”

After that, the old couple walked off stage, helped by their eldest grandson. Behind them walked Jaspal Singh.

At a jaunty 75 years of age, he still had lots of energy. The lifelong bachelor held the mike and shouted in it with his baritone. “Let the party begin. Cheers.”

After that, the music blared, the dancing started, the food and drinks flowed. Jaspal Singh joined his friend Malvinder and sister Gurvinder at the dinner table.

“Ask someone to get me my whiskey,” Jaspal ordered the event manager, as they settled at their table.

Then turning to Malvinder, he asked, “For you too?”

Malvinder gave a pensive nod.

Jaspal and Malvinder had studied together in school and college in Lahore. Jaspal was instrumental in getting his sister and Malvinder married. The three of them had moved to Amritsar after partition and built a successful business.

A waiter got their drinks and Jaspal continued. “Nice speech. So – fifty years, uhh?”

The soft-spoken Malvinder, already overwhelmed by the occasion, said, “Yeah – I got a bit emotional.”

“You have always been the sentimental type. You keep crying over little things. So I had expected this. This is a big occasion,” the boisterous Jaspal poked his introspective friend.

“Well, that’s true. But today I got a bit more sentimental than usual,” the thoughtful Malvinder retorted.

“No, no. You have always been like this. I remember you crying even in cinema halls. You shed a tear at the drop of a hat,” Jaspal said. He broke into a roar of laughter while the reticent Malvinder smiled. Their personalities complemented each other. That had helped them in business too.

Jaspal then turned to his sister, and teased Malvinder further. “He has always been like this – isn’t it?”

With a smile on her face, Gurvinder said, “Yes. He cried when each of our children were born. And he had tears even at their weddings and when our grand children were born.”

Holding his wife’s hand, Malvinder gave an unassuming, close-lipped smile. “Yeah – that’s right. I do get emotional,” he agreed.

“See – I told you,” Jaspal pulled Malvinder’s leg again. But this time it had the glow of camaraderie. Gurvinder’s face glittered with the warmth of love. Malvinder had the genuine spark of life lit by the love of his wife and friend. They were all in their seventies. But their understanding of each other from their youthful days was still alive.

For the next couple of hours, Jaspal and Malvinder sat at their dining table. Like so many times in the past, they had small chunks of paneer and chicken with large pegs of whiskey. Jaspal talked and Malvinder listened most of the time. Gurvinder watched on and helped herself to some food from time to time. She had grown accustomed to this routine for the past fifty years.

“Do you remember the time when we started our first business of spare parts? We didn’t have money to even paint our shop board,” Jaspal recollected.

“Your Grandpa had great handwriting, so he painted the name himself. We called it Jasmal enterprises,” he recounted from his memory. He narrated the story of their first business to Malvinder’s grandchildren. The grandchildren listened to the stories awestruck.

“And this uncle,” Jaspal waved to another septuagenarian from the audience. “Daljit Singh gave us twenty-five rupees to get our first stock of spare parts,” he described.

He further added, “an amount that we never returned,” and followed it with a booming laugh. Daljit Singh walked towards their table and slapped Jaspal on his back. He hugged Malvinder, who shed another tear.

Memories of old filled the evening as it grew into the night.

“I remember Shivinder’s naming ceremony happened in Ludhiana at our factory. That was because we didn’t have time,” Malvinder recalled, referring to his youngest son.

“And he spoiled my shirt and our machines by taking a mistimed leak on them.” Jaspal broke into another guffaw much to the embarrassment of the now 45-year-old Shivinder. He scowled at Jaspal Singh while Shivinder’s wife and children shrieked in delight.

“And do you remember Navjyot’s wedding when we ran out of food for the guests?” Gurvinder asked. Malvinder had his hand on his forehead and skipped a heartbeat. “I thought this is it. My daughter is going to remain unmarried all her life.” Malvinder’s face became tense even with the memory.

“Till I contacted that man Harbaksh,” Jaspal said. He pointed to a middle-aged man in the crowd who walked towards him with folded hands and touched his feet. “Since then he is the food man for all our functions. Including this one,” he declared, followed by a loud applause from the crowd. Navjyot Kaur and her husband smiled from a distance.

Most of the guests were well over sixty, many well into their seventies and eighties. They came to the old couple’s table with anniversary gifts. The old couple and Jaspal thanked every guest. They recalled some anecdote from the past over which they shared a laugh. Malvinder and Gurvinder asked them if they had dinner. Jaspal asked them if they had a good time. One by one, the guests finished their dinner and started leaving.

Fifty years is a long time, and there were more than enough memories to fill an evening of conversation. And as memories filled the evening, the whiskey pegs filled their glasses.

By the time most of the guests had gone and the families had slept, Malvinder and Jaspal were several pegs down. And Gurvinder started doing what she had been doing on such evenings for so many years.

“Enough now,” she started clearing the table. “Both of you are well above your limit and have to stop now,” she insisted. But like other occasions in the past, she knew that this was not going to work.

“This last one, Gurvinder,” Malvinder pleaded with his wife.

“Oh come on, sister, today is special,” Jaspal made his case.

The occasion was special and that, she knew, was reason enough for her brother and her husband to keep going. And so, they kept going even after all the guests had left. They kept going even after their children had retired for the night.

Till it was only Malvinder, Gurvinder and Jaspal left talking on the lawns of their bungalow.

***

It was way past the middle of the night. The cold bit the skin, while the whiskey made it tolerable. The darkness of the night had a steady companion in the eerie silence.

When both of them were out of their senses, with Gurvinder still watching, Jaspal stood up drunk. “I have a confession to make,” he declared.

“Confession? Are you getting married?” asked a sozzled Malvinder with a twinkle in his eye to Jaspal. “Have you finally found the woman of your dreams?” Malvinder poked his bachelor friend.

There had been many occasions in their youth when Malvinder had coaxed Jaspal to get married. But none of that had got him to enter wedlock. 

Jaspal gave Malvinder a queer look. He looked up at the dark sky and said, “Well, I had found her a long time back. But she is up there,” he pointed skyward. Gurvinder grew alarmed and rolled her eyes glaring at her brother with curled lips.

Meanwhile her husband asked, “Up there?” He looked at the sky and said, “There’s nobody up there. You are drunk.”

Jaspal stood up from his chair and came close to Malvinder. He peered near his ear and whispered, “She is there. Her name is Gurmeet Kaur. Don’t tell anyone.”

Malvinder put a finger on his lips and said, “SShhhh.” Then he looked at his wife and muttered, “Our Jassi has found a girl for himself. Her name is Gurmeet Kaur. Don’t tell anyone.”

Gurvinder’s face, even in the darkness, showed a sign of consternation. Gurvinder frowned again with knitted brows at her brother on hearing that. She was the only one who was sober. She wasn’t quite sure what direction her drunk brother was taking into the distant past.

“Come on, let us sleep now. It’s almost two o’clock,” she told Jaspal and Malvinder.

“Sleep? I am telling you happy news and you want to sleep?” Malvinder raised his voice in excitement. Then he realized that he had spoken aloud disturbing the pin-drop silence of the night. He lowered his tone and murmured, “SShhhh… I said that our Jassi has found a girl. We have to get him married. Aren’t you happy?”

Gurvinder didn’t know what to say of this drunken nonsense. But she wondered if there was more to it. She didn’t want to go back into history at this age.

Something within her, though, went back in time. She wondered if Jaspal had gone back fifty years in his thoughts. Her doubts got strengthened when Jaspal spoke.

“Parminder is happy. She already knows,” Jaspal said. “I had told her first about Gurmeet Kaur,” he added.

Malvinder slapped Jaspal on his back. “You drunkard!” he exclaimed. “Parminder? You are so drunk that you are confusing your sister’s name. She is Gurvinder, not Parminder,” he said. He gave his wife a drunken smile that showed her his broken tooth. It had the drunkard’s typical, supreme confidence that tells him that the other guy is drunk.

“So now I know,” he wagged his finger. “You are totally drunk today Jassi. This is your regular drunken nonsense. This Gurmeet Kaur is only in your dreams,” he added.

Jaspal got animated with anger on hearing this. He got up and stood on the chair he had taken. The vivacious septuagenarian shook from left to right with a glass in his hand.

At the top of his voice, he shouted, “This is Parminder, you idiot, not Gurvinder. And Gurmeet Kaur is still in my dreams. Though she is up there away from me.” And then he looked up and stared again in the sky.

“Get off the chair, you drunken dumbo,” Malvinder now stood up from his chair. “And get this Gurmeet Kaur out of your head. There is no one like that up there or down here.”

Gurvinder now stood up from her chair too, ruffled with this conversation. She tried to control the two old men in her life. Her mind went back to the time in Lahore fifty years back.

That was when her brother had told her about this girl Gurmeet Kaur. He had fallen in love with her and was planning to marry her. He had told her that this was a surprise to his dear friend Malvinder. Her deepest fear was that Jaspal would get unnecessary skeletons out of the closet.

Gurvinder got up from her chair to calm down her brother. She asked him to sit down. He was already quite unstable, unable to stand straight. But he continued blabbering.

“Yes there is no one down here. Gurmeet Kaur is up there. That is because the rotten rascals killed her,” Jaspal cried aloud.

He started wailing. His loud wails broke the eerie silence in the middle of the dark night. “The scoundrels took her life away. They left me alone for life.” Jaspal came down from his chair and started crying his heart out.

Malvinder, who was the one who usually shed tears, walked towards his friend. His friend’s outburst seemed to have got him to his sober state. He put a hand on his crying friend’s shoulder.

“Jassi, you are too drunk. You are imagining things. Let’s go to sleep now,” he said.

“No, I am not,” Jaspal looked up and howled at the top of his voice. “Ask Parminder,” he yelled.

“Stop blabbering Jassi. She is Gurvinder, not Parminder,” Malvinder tried to reason with him. He corrected Jaspal.

“No she is Parminder you idiot. Ask her,” Jaspal persisted.

Malvinder didn’t even look at his wife who was silent. This was the limit, he thought. Never before in the past fifty years had he seen his friend so drunk. He caught his friend’s face with one hand and gave him one tight slap with the other.

“Enough of this nonsense, Jassi. This is Gurvinder, I am Malvinder and you are Jaspal. And there’s no Gurmeet. Let’s go to sleep now.”

Malvinder shook as he said this. Even in the dark, Jaspal saw his friend’s fiery eyes. It took a lot for Malvinder to lose his temper. The sweat on his brow in the cold night indicated that his blood pressure had risen too. He wiped his brow, and, in cold sweat, he heard his palpitating heartbeat.

Jaspal didn’t take this slap lying low though.

“You are the one who is drunk Malvinder. You slapped me when I spoke the truth,” he said.

“What truth? Parminder died fifty years back Jassi. Before our wedding. In the partition riots. You are hallucinating about Parminder here because you are drunk. And you are also seeing some non-existent Gurmeet Kaur,” Malvinder screamed.

He had turned sober during this argument as the effect of the whiskey waned. His wrath had reached its limit.

Gurvinder walked towards her brother. She bent towards him and with a hand on his shoulder, she whispered, “Jassi, stay quiet now. Let the past be. You are too drunk. Today is our anniversary. Enough now.”

Jaspal shook her hand off and cast her aside.

“Parminder, why are you asking me to stay quiet? Why don’t you tell him the truth?” He yelped.

“Enough Jassi,” Gurvinder said.

“See, she is Gurvinder,” Malvinder pointed out with his finger.

“No, she is Parminder,” Jassi shouted back.

“Gurvinder.”

“Parminder.”

“Gurvinder.”

“Parminder.”

Malvinder’s wife lost her cool and shrieked in the shrill of the night, “Yes, I am Parminder.”

Jaspal and Malvinder both went silent and looked at her.

“What?” Malvinder asked and dropped into his chair in shock.

“Yes, Jassi is right. I am not Gurvinder. I am Parminder,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Malvinder asked.

She walked across a couple of meters away from them on the lawns and went back in time in her thoughts. She looked at Malvinder in the dead of the early morning and spoke.

“It was October 2nd, 1947 and you were on your way to our house for your wedding with Gurvinder. Jassi had planned his wedding with Gurmeet Kaur at the same time as a surprise to you. We were to start our journey from Lahore to Amritsar after the two weddings,” she explained.

In a sudden surge of emotion spurred by bad memories, her voice reached a high pitch. She stared into the blank dark sky.

“And the rascals, those scoundrels attacked our house out of the blue and pulled both of them out. Gurmeet and my identical twin sister Gurvinder. Both of them were getting ready for their wedding. And they took both of them away and killed them.”

She had tears rolling down her cheeks recalling the dreadful memory. Jassi had fallen on his knees with the glass on the floor. He was crying his heart out. His heart-wrenching wails filled the eerie silence of the night.

“That’s when Jassi rushed to me in panic,” she turned back and continued.

“A few minutes before you came, he ordered me to get ready like Gurvinder. ‘Become Gurvinder, Pammi’ he pleaded. ‘We will tell Mal that Pammi got killed’, he said. ‘He won’t be able to tolerate the truth, I know Mal. He is very emotional. He will break down in shock. We can’t afford to lose him,’ he insisted.”

Malvinder’s wife had tears flowing down her cheeks. Jaspal had fallen flat on the lawns. Malvinder stayed stuck to his chair as he heard them.

“And so I took on my dead sister’s identity. I married you as Gurvinder,” Parminder sighed and completed the narration.

She recovered her cool after finishing. The silence of the night took over again.

“But all that is fifty years back. Now we don’t need to go back in time,” she said, wiping her tears and bringing back a smile on her face. “I got all the happiness and love that my sister, the real Gurvinder, didn’t have in her destiny. Today is our special day. We have celebrated it well. Let’s go to sleep now,” she wiped her tears and walked across to her husband.

Jaspal got up and walked with his sister Parminder, nay Gurvinder, towards Malvinder’s chair.

“Come on, Malvinder,” he said. Jaspal had returned to sobriety and realised what he and Parminder had said.

“Enough of the past,” he said as they walked towards Malvinder.

Jaspal got into his spirited self again. With a fake smile, he said, “Too much of drunken nonsense. How did you find the story? Let’s go to sleep now. It’s time.”

But Malvinder didn’t move from his chair.

Ranjit Kulkarni‘s work has appeared in Literary Yard, Indian Periodical, Academy of the Heart and Mind, Potato Soup Journal, Setu Journal and a collection of short stories is expected by the end of 2021. More details about his work can be accessed at https://www.ranjitkulkarni.com.