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M’s brothers and some relative of his that I’ve never met deliver a huge briefcase to my house. The latter guest makes his presence felt by sending a strong whiff of tobacco through my open bedroom window. At least he’s smoking outside. My lungs are then cleansed by the spicy smell of samosas, teasing me while I wait like a coy bride-to-be for them to leave. Finally, I hear the door slam, another waft of smoke (he must be a 20-a-day kind of guy) and I’m free to go downstairs in my maxi dress nightie.
I can hear dad chatting outside to his soon-to-be relatives. This is a bit of a first, dad taking the lead. Maybe holding an audience with an all-ears M at the saree shop has brought out a more confident side to him.
“You shouldn’t have,” he says. “You could have brought the lehenga over nearer to the wedding day, like we said. There was no rush. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”
“Nah nah, not at all,” says a rather hoarse smoker’s voice, who I’m guessing is the other relative. “The other clothes and gold will be coming soon.”
Ooh, presents.
I come downstairs to see that mum’s left three samosas for me, carefully wrapped in an oil-soaked kitchen tissue to stay warm.
I dare not open the briefcase with my now greasy hands, so mum does the honours.
“It’s so heavy,” says mum as she lifts up the skirt with gripped hands, jewels upon jewels unfolding and sparking under the dim yellow light of our dining room. It’s still as beautiful as I remember it. Simply stunning. I can’t believe it’s mine. All mine. Mum only manages to reveal the top third before carefully resting it down again. It makes me wonder how I’m going to wear this for a whole day.
“Do you want to try it on?” mum asks.
I look at the time. It’s 11.20pm. “No, I’ll try it tomorrow. It’s late.”
I want to savour this moment and take my time, as it might possibly be the most stunning outfit I will ever wear.