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Message from M: I would do a wedding countdown, but since we saw each other yesterday there doesn’t seem a need!
Me: I honestly don’t know how you keep count! My mathlete!
M: Oh by the way, my wordsmith, which one was your favourite gift?
Me: The desk fan for sure.
M: I knew you were a keeper :). P.S. There is still one very important thing. I want the honeymoon to be a surprise but just so it’s not a total shock I wanted to share a couple of ideas, can we speak tonight?
Me: Yeah of course, catch up later.
Finally, a wedding-based project that doesn’t involve my management.
To be fair to M, he is really trying to be spontaneous, though by his very nature he’s a planner. He surprised me yesterday by calling to say he’s waiting for me in the petrol station around the corner from my house. Who said romance is dead?
I had no idea he was planning to come down but he wanted to surprise me for my birthday. And it was a surprise. A tricky one at that. Thinking I was dateless on my birthday (and not for the first time) I had planned to have lunch with Julia at our beloved Italian. So I had a super quick catch up with M in the petrol station forecourt, where he presented me with a very functional desk fan for a birthday gift.
I thought that was it so I ran back to my car to drive to our Italian, running late yet again, to find Julia waiting patiently at our pizzeria with a pink gift bag on the table. Just as I was having the mildest of bitches about my desk fan, I got a text from M, asking if I could meet him after my lunch date to give me my real gift. I had a sudden rush of adrenaline, combined with panic that I haven’t actually ever bought him anything besides the cheap watch, so on the way home I ducked into the supermarket to peruse the men’s fragrance section. I was expecting there to be a piss-poor choice so was relieved to find YSL among the more entry-level brand names.
I went to meet M at a coffee place and this time I was the one surprising him, with a gift exchange! He was touched with his present, as was I when I opened my second gift of a necklace with three cubic zirconia crystals. M mentioned between mouthfuls of cherry bakewell that he seldom wears perfume but will make an extra effort to wear this. I meanwhile kept my feelings to myself on the necklace, as it’s the thought that counts. Once we’re married I’m sure we’ll be much more forthcoming about gift choices. At least I intend to be.
***
SO I’VE SORTED THE mehendi venue - praise be. I even tried my luck to get free drinks thrown in and it worked! Everybody will get to enjoy one fizzy drink at the meal. And to think my dear mother was trying to talk me out of even asking for it. If you don’t ask, you don’t get.
Now onto more pressing matters. Personal maintenance.
I need a facial, apparently. Not just one but a series of facials, starting at least six months before my wedding. Every beautician and makeup artist I met pointed this out to me. Apparently, I’ve also got dehydrated under-eyes. How do I get dry there? Especially with the amount of water I’m swigging at work in between looking at wedding outfits, favour bags and anything else in my seemingly never ending list of things to do to have a wedding that can at least be up there with Hassna’s shindig.
Since the beautician planted the seed about my peepers, I’m now noticing dark circles. I think that’s M’s fault. I mean, it was watch-gate that gave me a few sleepless nights, no doubt adding to my brown panda aesthetic.
Anyway, I digress. As there’s not much of a run up to my wedding and I’m supposed to have a facial every six weeks, I conclude that I need to book at least one in between now and September. However, upon whom I bestow this privilege is the big question.
There’s also the small matter of body hair. I’m loyal to my trusty epilator but even I know that for my wedding, a quick going over on my arms and half of each leg won’t do. I need a proper MOT.
Julia knows nothing of this as she’s blessed with blonde body hair. However, my more hairy-Mary friends such as Reena (OMG - I must tell her I’m getting married soon!) have said that for a special occasion, only waxing will do. Full body waxing.
For our Asian ball at uni, I opted for a rather demure orange-ombré saree (I was rocking ombré before it became a thing, or dare I say, even fashionable. I’m an accidentally ironic trendsetter). Meanwhile, Reena went for a daring teal lehenga with a low-backed blouse. In preparation for the ball, she underwent a gruelling body wax and gave her boyfriend at the time grief about it for the entire final year of uni.
“God! The things we have to do to look presentable! Not just for the ball, for our bloody men. And all he does is brush his teeth! Sometimes not even that by the smell of things,” she moaned to me at the time. I guess the warning signs were there that they wouldn’t go the distance.
However, as with all things in my life, attempting to make myself wedding-ready is anything but straightforward. There’s a sea of Asian beauticians in Manchester. You can’t move for them. However, a simple booking for a waxing in four weeks time seems to throw them into disarray.
“Just call on the day you’re ready,” says the hoarse-voiced lady on the end of the phone between coughing and retching.
“Will there be appointments on the day? I’m scared of leaving it to the last minute.”
Another cough followed by a gag. I think something’s stuck. “Yes, usually okay.”
“Usually?” She’s not filling me with confidence.
“Yes. Just don’t book err... Saturday. Monday and Tuesday be fine.”
Yeah, because it’s not like I work or anything. Speaking of which, I must confirm with Bernadette when my marital sabbatical starts.
“Can I just book now? To secure a slot?”
“No because we might not have that slot then,” Coughy McCoughface replies.
“What do you mean? Do you not take bookings?”
“Yes we do dear.”
“Erm... so can you take my booking?”
“Not now?” Another cough. “Sorry, got terrible cough.”
She really didn’t need to explain that, she’d been doing a great job of show not tell thus far.
“Okay. Should I call later?” I’m tempted to ask to speak to the manager but I had a dreaded feeling I might already be speaking to her. You just never know.
“No. No point. We don’t know what girls we’ll have working in four weeks. That’s why I be saying, call near time.”
Oh... now I get it! It’s a staffing issue. That’s the problem when you don’t have contractual obligations, or basic worker rights in place.
“Just call in four weeks and say you need eyebrow threading.”
“But I don’t need eyebrow threading!” Well, I probably will do nearer the time but that’s not what this conversation is about. “I’m calling about booking waxing.”
“Upper lip waxing?”
“No! Full body.” I lower my voice at the last two words as the Bengali in me feels terribly embarrassed at my request.
“Oh. We no do body waxing, my dear.”
Well, I guess that’s that then.
So with waxing to be confirmed, I must turn my attention to other more pressing issues - getting this facial everyone tells me I need.
***
NOW IT’S MY TURN TO do a countdown.
I’m getting married in 48 days and I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR. Truthfully, I’ve been browsing lehengas on the down low since I got engaged. Even more truthfully, I’ve been looking since the day M and I met. I also may or may not have kept a Pinterest board entitled ‘desi wedding inspo’ since last year. That, however, was more out of boredom than anything else.
I’ve got a rough vision of what I want to go for. I think I’ll forego the current trend of piling as much sparkle on as you can so that you look like a Swarovski Christmas tree. Instead, I’m thinking a more classic bridal aesthetic with deep red and gold will be more me.
I know that with Bengali weddings it’s customary for the groom to pay for the lehenga. However, as every family does things slightly different, I’m not quite sure yet how M will do things.
When big sis got married in Bangladesh, I went wedding shopping with middle sis, some members of my brother-in-law-to-be’s family and, bizarrely, without my actual sister who was getting married. I guess it was seen as too forward for her to come out and pick the outfit she wants in full view of her future in-laws. Instead, middle sis and I were left with the awkward task of having to decipher what saree she’d like, based on very vague instructions from the bride-to-be. We also had to be very careful not to appear too pushy or go for an outfit that was too expensive. It was like walking a tightrope.
Further compounding the awkwardness of the whole situation, my sister and I were also to be gifted outfits of our choosing. Said choosing also took place during the shopping trip in front of the eyes of the buyers. Oh, and it was our first proper interaction with them, which would stay in their minds as an indicator of us as a family. That was a lot of pressure for my pre-teen self. I ended up choosing a purple and pink embossed salwar kameez. It wasn’t the most expensive, nor the cheapest, so it played into the safe middle ground.
Thankfully, when middle sis was getting married, we were spared such a cringe worthy shopping ordeal. Most of it was done without our involvement. Or middle sis for that matter. At least that’s what I was led to believe. As she and her hubby were special friends, I’m pretty sure she sent him some very detailed descriptions of the outfit she wanted for her wedding.
Which reminds me, I must start dropping hints soon.
***
DURING MY RITUALISTIC call with M, there’s a lot to talk about. For once, it’s him bringing the first item on the agenda to the table.
“I know you’ve been pretty stressed with the wedding planning and I was going to make the honeymoon a surprise, but I thought I could run some options past you. Have you had any thoughts about where you’d like to go?” asks M.
Is this another thing that’s going to be delegated to me? Also, should I really have a say? We’re not going halves on this, are we? I might be a newbie to this getting married business but even I know that the guy pays for the honeymoon in all cultures. Or so I thought.
I’m going to use his line and see how he likes it. “To be honest with ya, I haven’t had a chance to think about it, what with looking at wedding outfits, favours, decorations and all the rest of the stuff.” I hope my subtle mention of the lehenga is a big enough hint for M to bring up the wedding shopping whilst we’re brainstorming ideas.
“Well, I was thinking, how about something like the Far East?”
“That would be amazing!” I was thinking he’d choose something closer to home. Somewhere in Europe, which would be a lot cheaper. This has surpassed the low expectations drilled into me by mum. “Whereabouts were you thinking?”
“Maybe Malaysia? Or what we could do, since we’ve got a couple of weeks, is visit a few places. So Malaysia, then Singapore or something like that?”
Again, still not 100% sure that he’s footing the entire bill, but I’m hoping so.
“Yeah. That sounds good. But I don’t want you to be spending too much either.”
Another hint. Nicely played, if I do say so myself.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s a honeymoon, we might as well splash out.”
We?
“Okay,” says M, “I’ll have a look at a few ideas and I might email you at work. I figure I ought to give you at least enough of an inkling, so you’ll know what to pack.”
“Great. I can scope out some destinations, too, if you’d like.”
That’s a lie. As a complete novice when it comes to travel, and with only trips to Bangladesh organised by the family under my belt, I ain’t got nothing for this one. “But remember, don’t feel like you have to splash out. I’ll like you just the same wherever we go.”
Okay, that was a bit of a heavy-handed hint-edy hint-hint.
“It’s okay. You deserve it.”
I think that’s confirmed things in my mind. I’m having a pinch-me moment. I can’t wait to tell Julia about this.
“I’ve got one more bit of news, too. You know how I’ve been looking at flats? Well, it turns out that one of my work colleagues is going on a sabbatical in September so he’s looking to let out his flat for a few months. It’s a two-bed right near Liverpool Street and he’ll do mates rates. It might just sort us out while we look properly together when you’re here. Shall I send you some pics?”
He had me at mates rates. M really is a guy after my bargain-loving heart.
“That sounds good,” I say, happy in the knowledge that things do fall into place when you meet the one.
“Oh, and another thing,” says M. “We need to talk about your wedding outfit.”
Finally.
“So, my mum knows a place in Green Street in London. She was going to speak to your mum about this anyway, but maybe you could go and choose something from there?”
And... back down to earth with a thud.
***
“WHAT YOU MEAN, WE BUY from shop in London?” is mum’s rather predictable reaction as she rifles through a rack of lehengas protected by plastic dress bags. “That make no sense! They don’t even live in London! Why we need to go there? Is it their family-owned shop? Or just really, really cheap?”
With precious few weeks now until the actual wedding, mum and I are having to browse for lehenga inspiration after work. I sense that my already long day is going to be a lot longer after mum is done.
“I don’t know, mum, but they’re the ones buying, how fussy can we be? Mum! You can’t lift up the plastic covers! They’re there to protect the lehengas. Can’t you see the big sign that says no touching?”
Mum has precious little regard for the stores attempt to keep their more premium outfits unsullied by the hands of shoppers.
“Stupid idea! How can we see outfit when they be hidden! They want us to buy or no?” Mum whispers in extra loud broken English, just so the shop assistant picks up the hint.
It works. A very short saleswoman, whose simple dress code doesn’t quite fit in with the elaborate outfits she is surrounded by, makes her way towards us. “Can I help you, Madam?”
Mum shimmies the plastic cover back down over the lehenga which she was trying to get an up skirt view of. “Can we see your bridal lehengas?”
“Oh yes. What price range?”
That’s always the opener. Yet we never know the answer.
After delivering the usual line of “we don’t know, we’re just looking”, the lady makes a mental note that we are not serious buyers and directs us towards a young girl who is undoubtedly her subordinate.
The girl proceeds to ask us the same question, so mum and I resort to a more primal method to deliver a brief - pointing.
Mum raises a weather-beaten finger to a mannequin dressed in a green and pink outfit. What is she thinking? It’s beautiful but something you’d expect to see at a Pakistani wedding, where the blouse of a lehenga is more of the long variety. I’ll probably only be this slim for a short while so I’m not going to be drowned in a giant tunic on my wedding day.
“How much is that one?” asks mum.
“£2,400.”
Mum raises enough eyebrow to indicate that it’s out of our – or should I say my future husband’s family’s - price range.
“Do you want to try it?” asks the shop girl.
I tell her I’ll leave it. There’s no point trying on something so ridiculously expensive.
It’s my turn to point. I spy a beautiful blood red silk lehenga with diamante embroidery. Yes, it goes against my initial choice of being classic gold and bright but, oh my, it’s stunning. In that outfit, I’d be the blingiest of blingy brides and surely put Hassna in the shade.
I don’t ask how much it is. I’d like to just try it on and hold onto the fantasy for a little while.
The nice thing about this slightly more upmarket boutique is that they’ve got a whole floor dedicated to bridal wear. I even see them offering another family glasses of water as they sit down going through numerous outfits. They don’t offer us a glass of water but that’s okay. I’m just happy to be in the room.
The replenished and hydrated family seem to be finalising a big order. There are five girls ranging from teens to what looks to be early 20s, all decked out in matching navy gowns. There’s a bit of swishing, posturing in the mirror and predictably, one unhappy sibling.
“I don’t like it!” says the grumpy one. “It makes me look fat!”
“It doesn’t!” claims a sibling that looks like she’s lying through her teeth. “You look fiiine. We’ll do some alterations to make it a bit looser around the front. Is there enough time to do that, sister?” she asks, addressing the more senior sales lady.
“Yes, yes. There will be plenty of time. No worry.”
“How long does it take to get the custom outfits made?” I ask my subordinate shop girl.
“When is the wedding? How many you need?” she asks.
“Three outfits for my three sisters. The wedding is in September?”
“Okay, maybe... let me think. We need six weeks at least. It has to go to India to be stitched. So maybe end of September could be ready but we can’t be sure, sister.”
“Oh, I need it for the beginning of September. Is there any chance of that?” I’m not sure why I’m asking, I already know the answer.
“No, no sister. Not enough time to even design, let alone alterations.”
Another thing I can’t do. I just wish we’d spent less time faffing around with wedding dates and second guessing M’s family and instead had a longer engagement. It seems that everybody else can get this bit right apart from me and my family.
Still, being glass half full and all that, I look pretty damn good in this lehenga. It’s funny, that specific shade of red, bordering on bold, is usually one I steer well clear of. Yet this is working for me.
I send a sneaky shot to M, being sure to take an aerial view and not include my face. After all, if our relationship doesn’t get to the wedding, I don’t want him doing some kind of very modest revenge-porn of me in a lehenga without a scarf.
I show mum, who is sitting on the crushed velvet sofa outside the changing room like a queen.
“That’s really pretty. You look nice,” she says, before turning towards the girl shopkeeper. “How much?”
“Uh... let me check,” she says as she reaches for the tag inside the back of the blouse. This place seems to be unusual in that they actually label the prices, rather than making it up on the spot. If only I knew, I would’ve just checked myself and saved having to create a poker face when I’m horrified at the price.
“£1,600,” she declares.
That’s actually not bad. Mum comes closer to me to examine the intricate embellishments.
“You know... if you like it, we could get it,” she says.
“Huh? How?” I think mum is having a funny turn, like she’s completely forgotten the whole conversation about the shop in London.
“Well, we could say you like this one and if it’s too expensive for your in-laws, we pay towards it.”
Oh, my trailblazer. I’m touched that mum is trying her best to help me have my princess moment. At the same time, I really don’t want to rock the boat with M’s family. “Would it not be offensive? I mean, how would you even broach the subject of money?”
“We’ll find a way. Just let me know, do you like it?”
I examine the net scarf the shop assistant has placed over my crocodile-clipped hair. It’s exquisite but is it exquisite enough to risk causing any potential conflict with my soon-to-be in-laws?
“You know what, mum? This is the first one I’ve seen. So let’s not do anything rash.”
Mum does a small smile, the one she reserves for pity. She thinks I’m selling myself short.
“It be up to you. Your day. But... I will not have you being forced to choose a cheap outfit for your wedding. You only get married once and everybody will see. We don’t want Rashda maa thinking you’ve gone for cheap dress and cheap money.”
Money? Do she mean the dowry? Now she’s got me thinking. How low is my asking price? For the second time today, I don’t dare ask.
I don’t bother trying any more outfits on. There’s no point even teasing myself. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea coming here with mum. On the plus side, I have learnt that red is my colour, despite a lifetime of thinking to the contrary.
As we make our way downstairs, I bid farewell to the red lehenga that wasn’t meant to be. I leave it behind, along with the gaggle of navy-gown wearing girls giggling whilst the bride-to-be tries on her dress of dreams.