Maanav left the decision up to me. I was very early on in the pregnancy, so I had time to think about it. Considering the advice of the counsellor and the unknown road ahead of me, I decided I couldn’t have an abortion. In that moment, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to live with myself. I felt I had to be courageous now for my unborn daughter or son. Their life was more important than my reputation; whatever the reaction would be from family and society, I would handle it. I felt confident that I was in a loving, secure relationship. We’d already been given the blessing to move ahead to the next stage in our relationship by the sadhvis in India; we just happened to go a couple of steps ahead sooner than expected.
We didn’t plan it that way, but February 2nd, which happened to be my parents’ wedding anniversary, ended up being the day Maanav and I made our final decision. All that was left now was for us to tell our parents.
As shocked as my mother was, she was calm and comforted me. Her reaction took me by surprise. She hugged me and told me it was okay, that we’d figure it out together. Her main concern was for my health as she’d seen me suffering for weeks. “But let me tell your father myself,” she said.
That evening, she took my father out for an anniversary dinner at their favourite restaurant, and to his surprise, she ordered a bottle of wine. It’s not something she’d ever done as she wasn’t a fan of him drinking, but it had to be done that day. Maanav and I were together at my parents’ house, waiting on tenterhooks for all hell to break loose.
The telephone rang. It was my mother’s voice, “Your father wants to speak to you.”
I took a breath and braced myself. All the years of fights and arguments flashed before me. How was this man, who hated me, who had a completely different mindset to mine, ever going to accept something like this? Was this the last time I’d ever talk to my parents? I held Maanav’s hand tightly.
“I’m going to be a Nana… ” said a quiet, emotional voice down the phone.
Woooaaaah, I didn’t expect that!
My parents came home from the restaurant, and it was a celebratory evening. Dad was tipsy, thanks to Mum, and very happy.
I do realise that if Maanav hadn’t been wealthy, with the family background he had, and had we not already been together for over a year, with the blessing of both families to marry one day, it’s very likely their reaction could have been something else entirely.
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if the father were poor. What if he were a school kid like me, or not Indian? How would they have reacted then? Would I have even told them, told anyone? Would I have had an abortion in that case? I don’t know. Would I have dealt with all the gossip about me and brought up the baby on government aid, or at the father’s house, without my family’s support? I don’t know. Could have gone through the pregnancy and given the baby up for adoption, then returned to college and picked up my life again where I had left off?… I really don’t know.
I do know, however, how immensely grateful I am for the unfailing support my parents gave me from the moment I told them. No matter how strained our relationship had been up until that point, they really stepped up.
Now it was Maanav’s turn to tell his parents. As that evening had already passed, he said he’d do it the next day. The next day passed, and he couldn’t pluck up the courage. The day after that (which was now the 4th), he still couldn’t. Finally managed to tell the elder of his two sisters.
That evening, as Maanav and his family sat at dinner together, I waited at home by the phone.
His sister later told me that he couldn’t do it. He announced at dinner that he had something to say, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t muster the courage to get the words out. His sister got so flustered by his fumbling that in the end she had to deliver the news for him, breaking the tension with a swift, “Maanav and Hiral are having a baby!”
And that was that. Finally, the cat was out of the bag that a bun was in the oven.
The telephone rang.
“I think you’d better come over.” Maanav’s father spoke to mine on the phone.
As we pulled up into the driveway, the crunching of the pebbledash under the tyres was louder than usual. It made my heart thump. I felt sicker than any morning sickness I’d felt to date. How was I, such a low-life, to face Maanav’s upstanding, virtuous parents?
Maanav’s father opened the front door and stepped back for the three of us to enter the landing. I couldn’t look at him. As I passed him, I bowed my head, wholly mortified. I felt the shame burning through me from head to toe.
It clearly showed on my face because he said gently, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” and showed us in.
After we’d settled in the informal living room, I remember that Maanav’s father spoke first and said something like, “Well, Valentine’s Day is on the 14th, in ten days. We can do it then.”
My head was spinning. I’d expected to come here to have a serious talk and be in trouble, but it was the complete opposite! All of a sudden, I was listening to excited chatter about venue choices, invitations, guests, flowers, the menu, and the outfits. It took some time for it to sink in; wait, does this mean we’re getting married? And in ten days?! There was no serious discussion about whether to keep the baby or not, no talk of options; it was as if anything else wasn’t even an option. Maanav’s parents never berated us, and they never made me feel ashamed. In fact, both sets of parents hugged and congratulated each other. In just under eight months, they were to welcome their first grandchild into the world, and their faces beamed with joy.
At the end of the night, as we made our way to the front door, still talking about wedding details, Maanav’s mother quietly slipped upstairs and returned with a little jewellery box. Inside were a pair of silver anklets. It was her gesture of making the engagement official. I accepted them and touched her feet in respect.
As we said our goodbyes, it was agreed by our parents that the next time I’d see Maanav would be under the wedding canopy in 10 days’ time.
(Originally published on os.me on May 21, 2021)