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I know!
I am going to be someone’s wife, someone’s daughter-in-law, there is a boy who calls me Bhabhi, there are snotty-nosed little kids who call me Chachi. I will be a part of their family, another set to love and be loved by. Yet it all feels so heavy and sad … a chapter of life is about to begin but another is about to end. I cannot help but feel this huge burden of emotions that weigh heavy on my shoulders. Why does life have to change? Why can’t it all remain the same? Why do we have to grow up?
How we fight to let go and how we fight to keep.
21 November 2013. Nineteen Days to Go for the Wedding.
Anu and I shopped for bangles today. For me.
She refused to buy anything for herself. Pitajee came to pick us up and did not, even for a second, take his eyes off Anu.
It broke my heart.
3.00 p.m.
‘Mum,’ I said, into the phone.
‘Is it important?’ she barked. ‘I am out shopping for the wedding. I have no time.’
‘Well, no one is dying,’ I said, sarcastically.
‘Good. Talk later then.’
What?
23 November 2013. Seventeen Days to Go for the Wedding.
The wedding shopping is like this treacherous monster that attacks every positive feeling in your soul. I rebelled today by refusing, point-blank, to shop for pumice stone that Mum insists I need to buy. Before the day ended Mum had posted a long-ish blog titled, ‘Managing difficult children: Twenty things I have learnt as a parent’.
She goes on to list about sixty things.
In other news, it’s my bachelorette tomorrow. Yahoo!
25 November 2013. Fifteen Days to Go for the Wedding, 9.00 a.m.
Worryingly, I have no recollection of what happened at my bachelorette.
11.59 a.m.
Oh.
Now I do. And so do 879 others.
Noon.
‘Paddy,’ I try to yell into the phone, only the voice that comes out is nothing but a hoarse whisper.
‘Shut up, da,’ Padma says, her voice groggy. ‘Stop screaming. My head hurts.’
‘Take those bloody pictures off Facebook!’
‘Which pictures?’
‘Pictures of my bachelorette ... the ones where I am dancing on top of a table,’ I say.
There is stunned silence.
‘You danced on table-tops?’ a shocked voice asks.
