part0032

The next two days were a whirlwind if you ask Kalyani. So much to do and so less time. From both bride and groom’s side on that. But she was going to make it a wedding to remember, of course with the help of wedding planners that bhaiya had hired, she had promised herself. So what if she had a groom who wanted to run away at the very idea of having haldi applied to him. And scrunched his face so hard at the offer of getting mehndi applied in his palms as well that she feared he will sprain a facial muscle or two right before the wedding. About the bride, please don’t get her started. First she refused to let go of her trousseau from her previous wedding, which in Kalyani’s superstitious mind qualified as inauspicious, saying that what is the fault of such lovely jewelry, beautiful sarees and accessories that she had so painstakingly shopped if that wedding didn’t happen. Then, she was apprehensive about dance and sangeet ceremony. Well that hesitance Kalyani understood, so she complied and let go of it doing only token stuff. But then her love for mehndi ruined all the time they saved in shopping and sangeet , for it took more than one-fourth of the two days available to them in just that. Super intricate designs up till her upper arms and till her knees on her feet. Which had colored very dark , Kalyani secretly grinned. After that parlor appointment too was very high on Titaliya’s priority list, taking up rest half of the day. Kalyani was sure that the way her blood pressure is rising, she is in line next for a heart attack after her brother.

And why only Titaliya, bitwa too threw his share of tantrums regarding his wedding outfit that Karan and her had chosen for him from bride’s side. It had taken a half an hour long intense lecture on how being reluctant to comply with this rasam of wearing their gift not only means breaking their delicate hearts but is also an insult of Hinduism as a religion and tradition in general, that he had grudgingly given in. He might have muttered something about court marriage after that, but Kalyani did not encourage the idea by simply ignoring it. Ever increasing guest list in spite of keeping the ceremony very private too was a source of her tension along with a thousand things panditji now wanted them to arrange as this was no more just an engagement party but a full blown wedding. She only loved their family jeweler in all this chaos for he readily agreed to come home with selected engagement ring and mangalsutra pieces and saved so much of time. God will definitely bless him for that. The fact that the venue was Raizada Mansion only was a big relief too. While bhaiya was indisposed to take up any serious responsibility due to his health, her only hope was Karan, who had flown in the very evening after wedding was preponed but was as juvenile as these studious professional kids can get in matters of planning a traditional wedding. So all in all while Karan pitched in a little, this wedding was going to be solely her labor of love for her kids.

Sumer chuckled at the scene unfolding before him. He had attended numerous weddings in his lifetime, but this would without doubt take the cake for being the most fun one. Dressed in an off-white bandh-gala sherwani and a golden safa with a royal brooch pinned to it, the groom was scowling hard at the holy fire that was lit in front of him while wiping off the beads of perspiration off of his face with a hankerchief quite frequently in spite of air-conditioning. His discomfort with the intricate gold-work that adorned neck of his outfit which he was fingering every other second or with his elaborate head gear with which he was fidgeting too, was obvious to all the onlookers. Sumer was sure that neck would tear off and safa will come undone if he continues like this. The bride who was looking splendid in her heavy pale- yellow saree and stylish royal blue blouse, the color worn as tradition by all Raizada bahus at the time of pheras , was dividing her time between alleviating her groom’s discomfiture in whichever way she could or glaring at her grinning chachu who was sitting with them in the mandap for the purpose of kanyadaan or being the only one who was actually listening to the panditji’s chants. Sumer was sitting a little far away on a comfortable chair so he cannot properly hear, but the way Karan was sniggering and the way Laddoo was shooting daggers at him and the way Avish looked epitome of discomfort, he knew it had something to do with firangi- ness of Avish that was cracking Karan up. Like it was doing since last two days during every pre-wedding function.

Just then Panditji turned, spotted him sitting with the guests and indicated the requirement of his presence, all the while chanting mantras with a tinge of frustration in his tone. He even gestured at the kids disapprovingly. Sumer would have done the kanyadaan himself had the groom not been his son. So Karan had to step in, hence he has to intervene now. Karan instantly sobered up seeing him approach. Laddoo who was worriedly fanning her groom’s face with her henna-adorned hands looked relieved at seeing him. Avish looked miserably dehydrated and exhausted. His eyes burning due to smoke coming out ghee laden wood-fire. Sumer asked Avish to open top few buttons of his sherwani, asked for a bottle of chilled water for him, made the couple shift a little away from the fire and a few minutes later, life returned on Avish’s face making it easy for panditji to proceed. Poor Avish, he thought, did not stand a single chance in front of jiji’s enthusiasm which transcended every opposition which could make this event fall short from becoming a lavish traditional affair of the year. Right from the decoration to food, from all the rituals to outfits of the bride and groom, everything screamed traditional.

Sumer smiled. These two, however, were looking like a royal prince and princess. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would see Laddoo in heirloom Raizada kundan jewelry and traditional colors of yellow & royal blue that Raizada bahus wear at their wedding. He never thought that Laddoo and Avish would end up married to each other. Or actually that he would even live to see his son marry after what he had witnessed and suffered in his parents’ marriage. He sent a silent thanks to the almighty for making it happen. Though Laddoo had a handicap that the world could see, Sumer knew that she was stronger person out of the two. Avish needed her more then she needed him . But he knew Laddoo too was in safe hands now. However temperamental and arrogant his son was, he was a fiercely loyal person and responsible to the core. And for the rest he trusted Laddoo. She was the right person to show him what love actually is, what a loving marriage is like, and what all happiness is.

Theirs was an early evening wedding muhurat, so Khushi was standing in front of her scrumptious looking three-tiered birthday cake by the dinner time. She smiled brightly, flocked by selected guests that were invited to the double celebration, waiting for her Avishji to make an appearance. He had made a run for his life as soon as pheras and post wedding games got over to his room to change. She suppressed a hearty giggle remembering his face when he was told that he has to dip his hand in a cauldron full of milk to fish out a ring. He could not have looked more stricken if someone had asked him to dive into a pool of gunk at the prospect. Needless to say, she won all three rounds and was declared the winner. He did try sincerely when he was asked to untie the knots of holy thread on her wrist, but his inexperience in tricks of the trade were his undoing there. Khushi was surprised to hear when bade papa had defended Avishji saying that he had never been to a wedding in his life and had never even seen these games in his life and that’s the reason he is losing. So his own wedding was the first, he had ever attended? She did not know what to feel at the revelation. Marvel at it or feel bad for him.

But she did not want to feel sad at anything today. It was her big day and she wanted to be happy and she in fact was happy. The fact that Rishabh decided to give her wedding a miss on the pretext of some inter-college management fest in Bangalore using a thoroughly confused and covering up for her brother Riya di as his messenger instead of telling her directly, dampened her spirits a little. But she did not let that bog down her happiness. Fingering her delicate diamond mangalsutra with the hand on which sat a huge solitaire engagement ring, she felt a sense of peace spread in her heart. The dark streak of vermilion shining in her parting had bound her to this house, bade papa and buaji for life. And to Avishji too, her husband now. Khushi Singh Raizada, the name felt strange just yet. But she will get used to it, she knew. Just then she saw a freshly showered Avishji approach her. Dressed in a light grey suit, a grey scarf and a royal blue shirt and his wedding ring, he looked a lot calmer and much more in his element than he was during the pheras . Her heart fluttered for a moment without her permission as she gawked at him. But was jolted out, the very next second when her barely-an-hour-old firang husband, as chachu was calling him at the moment, held her hand in his smilingly and authoritatively, and said, “Let’s cut the cake birthday girl.”

Smiling, Khushi cut her twenty-second birthday’s cake as a married woman, with her husband. But after feeding him the first bite, her eyes searched for the epicenter of her life who always got the first bite of her birthday cakes till today, her bade papa. He was sitting a bit away, so without any delay with a child-like glee she sliced through the crowd managing the heavy pallu on her head somehow, to feed him the second bite. Everyone present in the Raizada living room smiled. But Sumer’s eyes teared up when she hugged him and said, “Now you are actually my father, isn’t it?” He hugged his Laddoo back, nodding and wiping happy tears. Khushi was, his Laddoo, his bahu, but first and foremost his daughter. He did not adopt Laddoo legally for he did not want to hurt Karan’s feelings. And he would lie if he would say that he never wanted to forget that the boy was doing his best to step into his late bhaiya-bhabhi’s shoes for his niece. He had resented that fact a handful of times. But now he understood why this covert wish of his never materialized. Because something else was planned by God for them.

As all the last guests took their leave, barring a few outstation ones which were to leave the next morning like Shreya and her parents or buaji’s Vridavan family who were stationed at the guest rooms on the first floor of the mansion, Avish sighed in relief. Finally the big fat Indian wedding was over, he thought as he walked to his room with his blazer off and hanging on his left forearm and the scarf stuffed into one of its pocket. And finally Khushi is his lawfully wedded wife. His wife. His lips curved up at the mere thought. Entering his room he chuckled; buaji is seriously limits. First her over the top zeal for the wedding rituals and now her fear for her Titaliya’s virtue. Like really? Due to some tradition, on the very night of wedding him and Khushi are not supposed to sleep in the same room. So buaji decided to make Khushi sleep in her room rather than let her sleep in the same wing as Avish in her own room. He grinned thinking of last one year when nobody bothered about an unmarried girl living just two doors away from him alone in this wing. And now when she is his legally wedded wife, they are worried about what the two would do behind their backs. Shaking his head he retired to the bed.

Women were never his weakness in particular. On the contrary, he was wary of them more often than not. He was hot blooded male alright, but he was not a philanderer. In fact, it was always women who hit on him, in the handful of one night stands he had had, which he strictly never let progress beyond a night. That too always when he was drunk beyond his limits to decide prudently or depressed enough to be unable to refuse company. And even then he never brought any girl to his own apartment. That was his own personal sanctuary. Call him a recluse or frigid or whatever, casual flings never interested him and meaningful relationships eluded him. But then Khushi happened and here he is today, a married man. And since they were going to pick their relationship from where it was right now, friendship that is , he had no doubts that he will comfortably survive the night without his new bride. But who would go and tell this to buaji, his eyes danced in mirth. Too tired and content to the bottom of his heart, he drifted into a peaceful slumber with a relieved smile on his face.

The morning held a different allure to it for him when he opened his eyes. A crispiness that only a light heart could add to it. It was a bit more bright and tad bit fresher than usual till he decided to get up and came out for breakfast. To his confusion, the dining hall was empty. He was expecting a house full of overnight guests but looked like they all had departed. What about family, he looked around. Atleast Omprakash generally stood there to serve breakfast, but he was missing too today. Avish frowned. It was then when he heard chattering of people and clattering sound of vessels coming from kitchen. And when he went and inspected he found that Hariprakash, Omprakash, his dad, buaji and Khushi all huddled near the gas burner looking at something with utmost interest. His curiosity piqued too. He moved closer to the group and what he saw made him gulp.

Draped in a pink saree with a deep cut red blouse, too many red and white bangles adorning her wrists, hair pulled up in a messy bun on her nape, Khushi was cooking some gooey pasty thing in a pan with gusto. Well, fighting the pan with a ladle in the hand would be more apt description but accurate description was not his concern right now. His concern was what the hell was going on here? What are they making her do? As far as he knew, her culinary excellence was a common knowledge. So when they should be stopping her, banning her from the kitchen, why are they are cheering for her, encouraging her? He could see how involved everyone was in her uncalled for experiment.

“Bhaiya, it’s her first rasoi . She has to do it herself. And I am guiding her naa? Please stay out of it. Yes, Titaliya, add some dry fruits now...yes...good girl,” buaji’s voice followed. “Everybody will end up licking their fingers I am telling you,” she warded evil eye off of a proudly grinning and profusely sweating flushed Khushi.

It was then that it hit him that they are actually planning to eat what she is making. Seriously? Can’t they see how it is looking? He knew that getting either him or Khushi married were the biggest dreams that were being nurtured in this house, but just because they have been attained last evening does not mean there is nothing left to look forward in life. Atleast he still had plans for life. Death by Khushi was not how he had envisioned his future. He tried to slip away from the scene, but hell, buaji noticed him.

Avish’s breath hitched in his windpipe. Please tell me you’re joking. Why me? His heart sunk. Khushi had tried her hand at cooking four to five times after that mela night and the results were…horrendous...to say the least. Like the last time when she had made dal to go with her microwaved rice, everyone was shocked into silence because of its peculiar taste. And it was just one simple freaking dal . Even her ardent supporter buaji was at a loss of words while shoving that extremely salted, too spicy, burnt dal down her throat. Did nobody learn anything from it? Khushi’s never say die attitude in this case is injurious to everyone’s health. Hunger immediately left the helpless new husband.