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“Satya Auntie mentioned it, and when I googled it, the Internet said it was a tradition for family to dress their relatives. So I told the funeral parlor we’d do it.”
“Youchosethis without asking us?” demanded Sita.
“Well, Dad’s will said we had to do the full traditions...” Reeva trailed off. “And, I don’t know, daughterly penance?”
“I’m pretty sure Dad would rather we’d skipped that one and let the undertakers see him naked instead of his long-lost daughters,” said Jaya.
“Yup,” said Sita grimly. “You seriously owe us, Reeva.”
Reeva looked up. “Uh, bad news, guys.” She pointed to the waistband of their father’s trousers. “We’ve put them on the wrong way around. The fly is at the back.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” cried Sita. “I can’t do it again. I mean... will anyone really notice?”
“He’s dead!” cried Reeva. “We can’t dress him in backward trousers. That’s got to be bad karma.” Sita shrugged in response. Reeva looked at her younger sister. “Jaya? Back me up here.”
“I don’t really believe in reincarnation or whatever. I think he’s fine as he is. No one will know.”
Reeva shook her head in resignation. “You’re both awful. Remind me never to let you guys dress me when I’m dead.” She started trying to yank the trousers off his legs. “Um, can someone help me?”
Her sisters shook their heads in unison.
Jaya held up her manicured nails. “Sorry. My nails can only do so much. And this was your idea.”
“Agreed,” said Sita. “This was all you. If you want to do the full Hindu rites, be my guest.”
Reeva reluctantly began trying to slide the trousers off her dad’s corpse, panting as she did so. “This... is... so... bullshit. Can’t we just do a closed casket like white people?”
“We need it open for the ceremony tomorrow,” Sita reminded her. “To do all the powder-and-sandalwood malarkey.”
“We should be grateful it’s Dad, not Mum,” said Jaya. “Imagine trying to put a sari on a corpse.”
“I can’t even put one on myself,” replied Reeva. “Last time I needed to for a wedding, I got stuck in a YouTube hole of Indian influencers. And I still ended up begging a random auntie in the hotel bathroom to redo it.”
“We don’t need to worry about that,” dismissed Sita. “There’sno way Mum will let us near her dead body. She’s probably already got it in her PA’s contract that her duties don’t end till she’s six feet under. Literally.”
“Uh, you okay there?” Jaya looked at Reeva, who currently had their father’s left leg draped across her shoulders.
“No,” grunted Reeva. “But since when was any of this okay?”
Her sisters nodded in grim agreement.
Reeva finally put their dad’s body down. “Right. Just need to do these up, and Dad’s funeral-ready.”
Jaya nodded approvingly. “He looks good. Having his trousers on the right way does actually help.”
Sita leaned back against the wall to survey him. “He looks less tragic in a suit instead of pajamas. Still can’t imagine Mum being married to him though.”
Reeva pulled up a stool and sat down next to the coffin. “He looks quite handsome. And don’t forget that when she met him, she was normal too. Pre-Bollywood. Pre-Botox.”
“I can’t imagine Mum ever being normal,” said Sita.
“They looked normal in that wedding photo we found,” said Reeva. “And happy.” She looked at her dad, trying to imagine him as the strong, smiling man from the photo. “He’s changed a lot, hasn’t he? And not just because he’s more horizontal than vertical right now.”
Sita snorted. “Yeah, I think death does that to you.”
“I meant more in terms of personality. From what we’ve heard so far. How he became religious and everything. Sacrificed so much for us.”
“I can’t believe he won’t be at my wedding,” cried Jaya. Her eyes started to water. “I hate that I won’t have a dad to walk me down the aisle.”
