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8 - Overbridge (edited)

8 - Overbridge

Maya Sumedh

It was a Monday – a week before Sam and Luke started school.

 We were having dinner, a subdued dal-roti affair, when Ma suddenly burst into the room (she’d been in the bathroom). She was brandishing her cell phone, looking desperately excited. It was, quite frankly, a little scary.

 “Pinky’s getting married!” she squealed, coming to a halt in front of the table. I just blinked at her, and I noticed Luke doing the same. Sam and Dad, however, muttered, “About time,” under their breaths, and then grinned at each other.

 “I’m sorry, I don’t know any Pinkys,” I told Ma, frowning.

 She rolled her eyes at me, sitting down.

“Pinky, darling. You know Pinky. Mr and Mrs. Kejriwal’s daughter? The oldest one? Who works at L’Oreal –”

 “Oh right,” I cut Ma off, nodding. The vague image of a thirty-five year old woman with excessively henna-ed hair and on the wrong side of chubby floated to mind. “I think the last time we met the Kejriwals was like three years ago, Ma.”

 “Still. They’re our friends, it would be terrible of us to miss the wedding.”

 “I don’t want to go,” Sam and I declared immediately.

“I have a feeling there’s a catch,” Dad muttered, taking a sip of his water and glancing at Ma. “What’s the catch, Priya?”

 Ma grinned. “Ask me where the wedding is.”

 Silence. Everyone was waiting for everyone else to ask.

 Luke glanced around at all of us.

 “Um, where’s the wedding?” he asked finally.

 “Agra,” my mother said proudly, as if that redeemed all.

 Sam and I just looked at her.

 “So?” we said together again.

 “So,” Ma continued, still grinning, “if we go a day early we can go on a little holiday! See the Taj Mahal and all that.”

 “Again?” Sam complained.

 “Hey!” Luke interjected, frowning at him. “I want to see the TajMahal.”

 I kind of wanted to see the Taj Mahal too – the last time we’d gone there I was seven, eight, so I didn’t remember anything but the sweltering Agra heat and the urge to take off my top right then and there, and I would have, I think, if Ma didn’t run at me with a bottle of water on seeing my expression, and then take me back to the car.

“Count me in, kind of,” I mumbled, chewing on my roti. Ma beamed at me and Sam might have muttered ‘traitor’ under his breath, I’m not sure.

 “Great!” she chirped. “We’ll go sari shopping tomorrow.”

 “I can just wear the one I wore to Jackie’s wedding,” I mumbled, looking down at my food.

 “Oh no, sweetheart, you know how much I like shopping with you.”

 I didn’t really know whether to be excited or apprehensive about spending the day with Ma – usually after I thought I burned like a thousand calories walking around in all the shops we’d stop at some overpriced café with flaky chicken puffs and I’d come home with a bloated stomach because the Belgian choco shots are always too tempting to ignore.