Elementary, my dear Watson

It was already past noon on a hot day and the sultry weather made it unbearably oppressive. Neela found the busy road outside neither noisy from the honking of vehicles nor did she hear the loud voices of hawkers to attract customers. Neela peeped into her mother’s room to see her sleeping soundly on the bed in the cool comfort of the AC. Neela sat quietly on the recliner by the side of the bed. It was a Saturday afternoon with no office work and she closed her eyes wishing to relax for a while. The steady and soft snore from her mother Shyamala made Neela turn to see her face.

It brought to her mind the frequent bickering with her over what her mom perceived as her disinterest in settling down in life. She was highly qualified and had a well-paying job. The fact is she was in no hurry to marry and had also not found a man to her taste. She was already 29. With the demise of Neela’s father two years back, her mom felt responsibility had fallen on her. A month back her mother was pleading with her to allow her at least to find through her contacts someone suitable for her leaving the final decision with Neela. She could not bear the pathetic sight of her sobbing mother beseeching her repeatedly and Neela in a fit of remorse agreed. Ever since the old lady was calm and satisfied that a big hurdle had been crossed even as she spread word among her contacts.

The sound of the doorbell woke Neela up from her reverie and she rushed to the verandah to find a young man standing outside with a packet.

“There is a packet for Ms. Neela, possibly containing a book or two. I would need her signature,” he said holding a form in his hand. He was a tall and sturdy man who looked handsome despite his clumsy beard and drooping moustache. The dark mole on his forehead over the eyebrow was prominent.

“I am Neela. You can give it to me. But, are you in the habit of guessing the contents of the packets you deliver to the customers?” she asked with a mocking smile.

“Here is the form for you to sign. I object to the insinuation that I pry into others' packets. It was as plain as the nose on your face that the packet contained books. You can open and see for yourself,” he replied in feigned anger.

Aghast at the way he spoke to her but impressed with the way he spoke in fluent English; she took the packet after signing the form but did not allow his insolence to go unrefuted. She asked him in an angry tone,” How dare you speak to me like this? Which courier company are you working for? I would like to speak to them. What is your name?”

“Why are you taking offence at a simple guess and making a mountain of a molehill? Anger doesn’t suit you, young lady,” he said with an injured innocence on his face.

Hearing the loud conversation, Shyamala hurried to the verandah and looked at the young man and the red motorbike parked near the gate.

“What is the problem, Neela? Poor man, he has come in the hot sun to deliver a parcel and is perspiring all over,” she asked.

“Amma(mom), he has the audacity to guess the contents of the packet and when I question him, he has the cheek to tell me that anger does not befit my face. I wish to lodge a complaint with his company about his bad manners,” Neela spoke agitatedly.

“Calm down, Neela. I see no great misdemeanour in his guessing the obvious content and telling you about it. He has not opened the packet after all. When you shouted at him undeservedly, he still paid a sort of tribute to your face by saying that anger spoils it,” the old lady said to the chagrin of her daughter and to the surprise of the young man.

 Turning to the young man she remarked,” Your face is familiar though I am unable to place it readily. I think it would be best for you in your profession to speak to a minimum to the point as you are meeting various kinds of people. By the way, you are sweating a lot. Do come inside the verandah and have a cool drink. May I know your good name? Could it be by any chance Sudhanva?”

He gave a surprised look at her but drank the Coke hurriedly. “Thank you, madam, for the kindness and for the cool drink that I badly needed as my throat was parched and dry. I like the positive way you look at things, a rare trait these days” he said.

Turning to Neela. he said before leaving,” I am sorry to have upset you. Please do not spoil my livelihood by complaining to my office I hope you get another packet soon when I can present it with greater civility and manners,”. As he closed the gate and got on to the bike, he smiled at her waving his hand. Leela's face turned slightly red as she watched him speed away on his bike but was confused and curious to note that there were no other parcels on the bike for delivery.

She opened the packet and found to her delight two paperbacks, ‘The Winemaker’s Wife by Kristin Harmel and Falling in Love Again by Ruskin Bond.’ What a nice choice but who could have sent these so thoughtfully, she wondered.

Later in the day, Shyamala told her, “I have already told you about a young man 32 years old who is coming to meet you tomorrow at 4 PM with his mother. He has a doctorate in Economics from an American University with a diploma in management from Stanford and is in a very good position in the US. They are happy with your profile and like you from the photo I showed them. Please do not go out in the sun but make yourself free for the whole Sunday.”

“Do you have his photo?” Neela asked.

“No, you are going to meet him anyway tomorrow. I wish that both of you warm up to each other and hope this alliance fructifies by the grace of God,” Shyamala said. After a pause, she added, “His mother lives in our locality just two streets away and I have met her in the park many times. It was only two weeks back I broached about my search for a match for you when she volunteered her interest in you for her son,” she explained.

Sharply at 4 pm the next day, a young man with his mother and two other ladies came as promised and were received warmly by Shyamala. Neela was in her room waiting eagerly to be called.

After the pleasantries were over, Neela was called to the drawing room. She entered demurely in a fine silk sari adorned with selective jewellery. When she turned to see the young man, she was taken aback for a moment when she saw the dark mole above his eyebrow and was struck by his similarity with the courier guy she was arguing with the day before. Otherwise, this man was clean-shaven with well-combed hair in trousers and a casual T-shirt of good quality. She could discern a faint smile on his face when he looked at her. He handed her a small box with a flourish making a gratuitous remark that he was neither aware of the content nor could he make a good guess.

Neela looked at him puzzled by his remark bringing to memory the tussle had with the courier guy the previous day. There is something more than what meets the eye, she thought to herself.

His mother broke the intervening silence and asked her son,” Sudhan, have you met her earlier by any chance the way both of you reacted to each other?”

“Let me explain, Amma, in a while. Turning to Shyamala, he asked her “What made you ask me yesterday, whether my name was Sudhanva?”

“I saw the name partially on a red motorbike parked in the portico of your house when I visited your mom with the rest of the name covered by a tarpaulin. I remembered your name is Sudhanva from the conversation I had with your mother. It is one of the thousand names of Lord Vishnu. Hence when I saw the same red bike on which you came to deliver a packet to Neela, I surmised it could be you in disguise trying to have a look at her before the formal meeting. Am I right?” Shyamala explained.

“Smart lady! You are absolutely right” exclaimed Sudhanva to the laughter of others.

He turned to Neela and asked, "What made you look at me with puzzlement?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson, your dark mole on your forehead is a dead giveaway. By the way, I thank you for the two excellent books I was looking to buy,” she remarked as she extended her hand that was clasped with alacrity by Sudhanva.