My father escorted Lila and her mother to the palatial hall and the second I turned around to find my way to the washroom for the hundredth time, I heard my mother's voice, "What's under your feet, Tulsi?" The trampled flowers entangled with my hair lay miserably under my heels looking as appalling as some faecal matter. Hair had this mysterious tendency to become disgusting the minute they fell out of our heads and landed on the floor like feathers of a city pigeon. My mother picked it up with her nose scrunching and she threw it in the nearest dustbin. Her daughter's DNA. "People haven't even started gathering and they're already dirtying this place."
"I know right," I muttered under my breath, again turning around to go to the washroom.
A voice interrupted my task, "Aye, Tulsi. Your sister is making us wait for so long."
My mother's two sisters' appeared, complaining because they solely wanted to eat at the buffet. That wouldn't open till my sister showed her bridal face and they could thrust an envelope of money in her henna tattooed hands, taking an awkward picture on the stage as an evidence of being present. The photo albums of the wedding would be stuffed in the back of the cupboard where it gathered dust and insects.
"I'll go check up on her." I took this opportunity to finally attend to my toilet business and scurried away from them, catching one of the aunt's words, 'Tulsi, where are the flowers I put in your hair?'
That made me run faster and spotting a dingy alley that indicated the common washrooms were situated there, I kept my focus steady on the path in front of me. I entered the women's washroom and almost instinctively stopped breathing through my nose. I was expecting a foul stench. However, the place albeit dilapidated was clean and I could smell the freshness of the trees behind the washrooms. One of its branches extended inside through the window like a caged elephant's trunk reaching for a coconut in a tourist's hand.
I lifted my top up and tried to untie the cord which held my pants together, uneasily bouncing on my feet. But the stubborn knot refused to unravel under my tense fingers. There was nobody there in the washroom to ask for help and each pressurizing, ticking second made me bounce more. I rushed out and unsurprisingly nope, there was not a single person on this planet who could have thought of hanging outside the washroom maybe for fun or something similar.
I knew that I didn't have the ability to walk further in search of someone, so I stood there hopelessly fidgeting with the cord and contemplating my options. Just then, from the men's washroom opposite to the women's, emerged a familiar figure wiping his wet face with a handkerchief. My hands dropped to my sides as our eyes connected. I impulsively took a step forward to ask, but then decided against it which made him quirk an eyebrow in question.
I couldn't not say anything after my hesitant movement so I said, "You're my sister's husband's brother, no?"
He chuckled. "Yeah, I'm Dev."
Heat rose to my cheeks at having forgotten his name as he stood awkwardly in front of me, unsure whether to leave or wait for some response.
"Yeah, can you help me?" I asked in a small, wavering voice like someone's voice cracking when singing. Then I looked down and subtly showed him the cord from underneath my top without meeting his eyes. "This-This is stuck. Can you unfasten it?"
There was a pause for a fraction of a second and I didn't dare to look up. My gaze was concentrated on the concrete ground where I wanted to bang my head till the cement ruptured and I bled to a slow, tormented death. That would overpower this acute embarrassment. But then, I saw his golden juttis which were curved upwards in the front like Pied Piper's shoes under my eyes. I slightly raised my head and the moment our eyes met, I lowered my gaze again. This situation was just weird.
His handsome face registered in my mind. A strong jaw that was so perfectly clean-shaven that one would think he was a pre-pubescent kid and unable to grow a beard. But his face held a maturity and the ironic look in his slightly deep-set, wide eyes made it seem like he always knew something that the others didn't. That look which made you feel queer amplified in bizarre circumstances such as this one.
"Yeah, sure," he said, stretching his slender hands and I reluctantly lifted my top up, bunching the fabric in my fists. I saw his fingers instantly working on the knot with strong jerks. His nails were blunt and clean and he had long hair on his knuckles. His heavy, silver watch dangled from his wrist, the sleeves of his blue kurta were loosely rolled up.
The cord was untangled in a minute and he dropped it, respectfully stepping back.
"Thanks," my voice was croaky, but I flashed him a grateful smile.
"No worries . . . I think you should go." He cocked his head towards the washroom with an amused smile.
"Yeah, yeah." I laughed nervously, already making my way in. "Thank you!"
I didn't turn back, but heard his faint laughter as I rushed in the cubicle, pulling down my pants and squatting down in relief. The sunlight spilled in through the crevices of the broken window as the leaves of the extended tree branch hung above my hand. It was a thoroughly blissful experience of defecating. My body felt lighter like a plastic bag floating in the air and tranquilly landing on the ground. Once done with my business, I washed my hands in the basin. A sudden, embarrassed giggle like that of Lila's escaped my lips at the thought of what had just happened.
I had to tell this to Lila, it would amuse her a lot so I excitedly strode towards the reception hall, constructing this story carefully. Just when I went past the blurry figures and entered the hall whose air conditioning struck me first and sent a chill down my spine, I spotted Lila. I could easily recognize the back of her soft head against the white clothed chair and the side profile of her mother who was leaning and whispering something in her ear. My sister hadn't arrived yet and I could hear impatient groans from all around the hall, most of whom I had never seen in my life. I quickly walked towards Lila's seat, bumping into guests or stepping on their gaudy skirts or getting stepped on, all the while muttering apologies and "excuse me's."
Lila's face brightened when she saw me, promptly getting up with a thrilled smile. "Where were you?"
"Aren't you getting bored?"
"No, my mother and I were rating people's clothes. It's a fun game," she said and I wondered what they would rate my outfit with the tight cord and all. Which reminded me of the story. I had forgotten it at the first sight of Lila, suddenly wanting to know what she had been upto. "Your parents were searching for you."
"Really?" I fleetingly searched the hall, oddly not finding either of them. "Anyway, something weird happened. I had gone to the---" I paused when my eyes landed on Dev who stood tall as he shook hands with a guest. His eyes suddenly met mine when he gave the guest a side-hug and I felt the earlier shyness seep in me like rain and cause goosebumps. "---and I . . . " I averted my gaze back to Lila.
"What? What happened?" She took my hands in hers now, the softness and warmth drawing my attention.
I became aware of her father's woody cologne on her, her soft touch and the beautiful pistachio lehnga hugging her body. I stepped back and withdrew my hands. I didn't have any time to explain the story and I realised that I strangely didn't want to, when the small orchestra of four started playing. My sister entered with my parents beside her, dressed in a gorgeous cream lehnga which was a lovely contrast against her honey coloured skin. Her make-up wasn't whitewashed like in the wedding, the matching foundation made her skin seem bare and clear. The highlighter on her face glowed and her friends trailed after her like spectators in a parade, gushing about their work of art to each other.
"We would rate her a perfect ten," Lila said in awe, her eyes gleaming under the lights of the chandelier and all the shiny things around us. She looked at her smiling mother who came to stand beside us. "Wouldn't we, mama?"
"Your sister looks beautiful," her mother said to me, taking a glimpse of Pavitra in that overjoyed crowd again. "Oh look, I think your mother is calling you."
I wasted no time in being at my parents' disposal, fearing a scolding later for my disappearance. The events of that day followed a predictable sequence, lines of people taking pictures with my decked up sister and her husband who stood immobile like dolls displayed in a toy store. I was given the job of sorting and keeping all the gifts in place which consisted of bouquets, crockery and mostly envelopes of money. I kept a proper account of the envelopes, knowing that my family valued them over the bouquets that would wilt tomorrow or the porcelain crockery which would sit idly in the shelves for the next twenty-five years.
I avoided eye-contact with the groom's family, Dev, and let myself be consumed by the flooding guests. My mother who warmly welcomed our neighbour's milkman and his seven children in this reception, shot a dirty look when my dad's only sister (and my mother's rival) came on the stage. After a series of photoshoots which blinded my eyes, dinner commenced and all of us were secretly relieved that the day for which we had planned strenuously since months was near it's end.
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