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“The greatest wedding gift a person can ever get is his/her spouse” – I can already sense you squirming at this dramatic statement! Barring all those thoughts of sentimental romance we all sure do boast of our best material gifts. It is of one such unforgettable gift that I’m going to write in this post today – but is that material or immaterial, you will know at the end.

I must have been in my ninth grade then. They were a young couple in their early twenties blessed with a one year old son. The acquaintance was established by my father - at the little shop run by them. We had recently moved into this suburb in South India and my father was trying out various shops to buy provisions for our home (evaluating cost efficiency, quality and reliability of small merchants is a much laborious exercise than the analysis we guys do in the IT industry ). It was on one of his local expeditions that he spotted this small but busy shop run by Ramu and Kalpana – the hero and heroine of this story. He found the couple not only enterprising but very generous too. Even during his first visit, they thrust large sprigs of curry leaves and coriander (“Karuveppillai kothamalli” as we fondly call them in our native language Tamil) along with the meager 1-2 kgs purchase of vegetables he had made. While it is very habitual for curry leaves and coriander to be given as free accompaniments in many markets (only upon a purchase of vegetables though!) I particularly mention it here because it was that season of the year when there was a dearth of vegetables and even a small chilly was heavily priced. Incidentally my household is used to feasting on plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables for every meal (my size explains that to the onlooker ) and here was a shopkeeper who could supply it all with a sincere heart and at an affordable cost.

As the days passed the bonding between the Ramus and our family increased thanks to the fresh vegetables that lured our family to the little shop. A sharp couple they sure were and soon learnt our favourite tastes from my parents’ buying patterns. Ramu was an early riser and even before the break of dawn, he used to drive on his Bajaj – M80 (it is a mini motorized bike) to pick up mountains of vegetables for his shop. I remember several days when the morning sun was shying at the horizon to rise up, Ramu would knock our door and greet us with an enormous cauliflower – as it was Paappa’s favourite. If you’re wondering what “Paappa” means, it means “girl child” in our language and refers to me – although I was a “Peeppa” (which translates to barrel in English), I was the pampered child of the house and was fondly addressed by all as Paappa. On several occasions, Ramu would deliver fresh vegetables (especially our favourite ones) straight from the market, even before they would hit his shop shelf. My father used to fight with Ramu to make him accept our payment when he sometimes insisted on giving stuff for free.

My eulogy on a simple shop keeper might seem an exaggeration at this time unless you know of one thing – Ramu was lame. Yes, he had had a severe attack of Polio in his childhood which had deprived him of his ability to walk. Being a very optimistic child, Ramu had fought back his illness but could never overcome the limp that accompanied him through his entire life. When I first met Ramu (it was an early morning when he greeted me with my favourite cauliflower in his hands and a smile grander than the vegetable in his face), tears welled my eyes as I saw him limp back to his vehicle after making the door delivery. Having lost his parents at a young age, his family had abandoned him due to his lameness and so he had run away from home to Chennai (a big South Indian city) to take up employment as a small merchant’s accomplice. After several hardships, he had learnt the tricks of the trade and established a small shop of his own. He used to attribute his success to a large dark patch on his head calling it “macham” or mole that brought him luck and lifted him in life. Luck certainly favoured him in the form of his young and beautiful wife Kalpana. Slim, tall and fine featured she was an embodiment of innocent village beauty and could have easily settled for a better looking guy (given the fact of Ramu’s handicap as well). However, she was entirely devoted to her husband and was truly the woman behind his success. The couple though ambitious, were never greedy and were content with their livelihood.

Thus passed the years and thriving on Ramu’s fresh vegetables, mom’s delicious cooking and dad’s impeccable care, I had grown into womanhood, procured a job and reached the portals of marriage too. Ramu had run several errands during my engagement and was always there to help. It must be stated that my parents were equally patronizing of the Ramu family and I remember my mom giving Kalpana sarees (the traditional Indian dress that women fondly wear) on special occasions just as she would do to her sisters. It was a story of unconditional affection and a sense of true camaraderie, especially from the young couple. The day of my marriage finally arrived and the wedding hall was packed with several guests – former and current bureaucrats from my dad’s contacts, my own colleagues and college friends and several distant and near relatives. There was also a distinguished wedding guest – the sincere and hard working Ramu in an entirely different attire. Having seen him in a crumpled Lungi (a colored piece of draping long cloth that South Indian men wear) and torn shirt all the time, it was difficult for me to recognize this person dressed in a pant and shirt. The doubt was clarified by his innocent smile as he handed over a tiny packet to me as my wedding gift. The reception went on well and several guests kept coming and with a constant smile (that sometimes pained my mouth and lips) I was collecting the gifts and passing them to the “gift collector” stationed behind the dais who would in turn relay them to the bride’s room.

After the wedding reception as I went to retire that night as a maiden for the last time of my life (the actual wedding ceremony was sheculed for the next morning), my mom showed me the best sight of my life. Amidst the hot packs and dinner sets (some of them recycled from other wedding gifts ) and cash covers that had come that evening, there was the tiny little box from Ramu that contained a gleaming gold ring. Simple and sweet, the ring must have weighed atleast six grams – which is certainly a fortune for people with the earnings of his kind. We were all so touched and lost for words at this gesture of the small merchant. I wore the ring the next morning as I united with my husband in wedlock at the holy altar. After marriage, I moved out of my parents’ house and so lost touch with the Ramus, but used to get an account of them from my mother every now and then. One sudden day, Kalpana’s father passed away at her village and the couple had to permanently move there in order to support the bereaved family and look after their grocery business there. It was with mixed feelings and apprehensions (Ramu was well established here and was having a steady business) that the couple vacated Chennai. We have no clue what happened with their later lives but given the enthusiasm and determination of the couple, I’m sure they must be doing very well in their village. Five years have passed after I took possession of that wedding gift. However, it still reigns high as my most favourite ornament for it is not made of a mere metal but rather built on the toil and sweat of a hard working man and woman.