AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I stood there, watching the little scene, my heart full of love for him.
5 November 2013. Thirty-five Days to Go for the Wedding.
After due deliberation between the parties involved, it has been decided that it will be most convenient if the wedding takes place in Delhi. Both sides have a lot of relatives in Delhi and it all seems to add up well. However, the tragic irony of it all is not lost on me; Anu and I will be getting married on the same day in the same city. I look forward to the day with joy and anticipation for I will be starting a new life with a man I love whereas Anu is readying herself to brave married life with a man she will never be able to love.
In other news, thanks to some very highly-placed contacts of the Dixit family, the venue for the wedding has been confirmed. The gentleman who will be decorating the venue sent me a PDF file with options of various flowers to choose from.
‘Brides are so particular. They seem to know exactly what they want!’ said the man, winking at me as I looked at him blankly.
After getting about eleven reminders from him, yesterday, I finally opened the file. Frankly speaking, they all looked the same to me.
‘Paddy?’ I said to Padma, looking over my laptop.
‘Huh?’ she said, flicking away her bangs.
‘Choose a number between one and sixty-seven?’
‘Twenty-three,’ she said.
That is how, on the day of the wedding, the venue looked hideous – ‘decorated’ with an abundance of disgusting-looking orange and purple flowers. Not my fault, I would say then and you now know why.
7 November 2013. Thirty-three Days to Go for the Wedding.
Mum is writing a series on her blog titled ‘Getting Pimple married!’ where she speaks openly about the challenges of being the mother of an obstinate bride-to-be. The readership has swollen to about fifteen hundred followers and someone has created a fan page on Facebook.
I just shake my head in disbelief.
10 November 2013. Thirty Days to Go for the Wedding, 10.00 p.m.
Anu and I sat cross-legged, face to face, on my bed. A disgusting green face mask covered most of my face. Mum has insisted that I put this on each day before my wedding to get the glow that has so far eluded me (because obviously I have not been listening to her).
One month to go and life as we know it will change forever. For both of us.
‘So tell me more about the suitcases that Aunty bought for you,’ she asked, her eyes shining with excitement. It’s silly, the amount of interest she has in my wedding preparations when she hardly ever bothers with her own.
I said nothing and she put a hand on my arm.
‘You feel uncomfortable talking to me about your wedding, don’t you?’ she asked, looking at me with a gentle smile. I stared at the dark circles under her eyes; she had not been sleeping at all. I hear her toss and turn every night.
I did not say anything.
‘Please don’t do that,’ she pleaded. ‘You know your wedding is like a kaleidoscope through which I see the simple joys of a marriage. I try to imagine what it would feel like to marry someone you love … I live my wedding with Amay, the one that will never happen, through your wedding with Purva … let me live it. Please, Kasturi?’
I stared at the girl sitting in front of me in wonder. It would be very easy for her to be jealous, sarcastic and acidic; most girls in her shoes would be just that. I am, after all, getting something that she wants but cannot get. And yet, there she is, eyes shining, eager to hear all about my silly red suitcases, in the process opening her fragile broken heart in front of me. I paused to wonder, yet again, what I had done in my previous birth to have found friends like Anu and Pitajee, and why God had to do something so horrible to them.
‘Yes, of course, Anu,’ I said, and hugged her tight and long. ‘Something good will come out of this, Anu,’ I whispered into her ear. I felt her nod her head. Neither of us were, however, convinced.
‘Now, about the suitcases,’ she said, withdrawing, a little too hurriedly.
I continued to stare at her, spellbound. It is true, you get to know the character of a person not when the sun shines but when dark clouds gather.
‘I love you, Anu,’ I mumbled, more to myself than to her.
15 November 2013. Twenty-five Days to Go for the Wedding, 6.00 p.m.
I nearly died of shock today when I got a friend request from Lata Chaturvedi. The Lata Taiji wants to be my friend on Facebook.
She turned seventy-two last month.
