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33 - Flow

 omg so sorry for the wait guys </3 listen to the song on the side in the last bit kay 

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33 - Flow

Maya Sumedh

Badi Diwali is always the best and what happened on the beach in the morning didn’t even begin to count towards it.

 We left in the morning for Deepak chacha’s house and the morning and afternoon passed in a blur of excited kids, food, lots of food, more food, pretty clothes, arranging diyas and collecting flowers. Layla and I had both brought our lehengas and deposited them safely in Alia’s closet, which was pretty much bare because she’d left most of her clothes in Bombay. Hanging next to her lehenga, I noticed that it had a blouse much shorter than mine, to just under her boobs. I guess Alia had the figure to carry it off. I doubted the integrity of my stomach just a bit, especially after all the foreseen mithai consumption. It had an unreliable tendency to swell. Not even a little. A lot. Enough to give Luke a scare (hah).

 When dusk fell, it was decided that we would spend the evening by the river, which was greeted by enthusiastic cheers from everyone.

 The road that ran in front of their house ended in a dead end, with a broken stile which was covered in some bushes which were seemingly poisonous. The side of the road banked down to the river in steep grassy slopes which got covered in the monsoon, which was fast approaching there. At the end of the road, the land curved and thick reeds fringed off the area. But a small rocky path ran close to the slope and around the curve, and on following that path there was a small cove-like area which was just fucking precious. Alia and Jackie had discovered it when they were little kids and their kitten Sweety (named by our dear nani) had scampered off and led them to the place.

 At six, we packed the food into white wicker baskets, which Meena chachi seemed to have an abundance of. It was one helluva task. One basket was designated solely for the mithai. One basket held the beer (that really spoke volumes about our family). Two others held the puris and the gravy. Another held assorted Haldirams munchies, without which it wouldn’t be Diwali of course. And two others held the fireworks, candles and matches. Our last basket held towels in case of an accident. After that we ran out of baskets and things to pack.

 Alia, me and Layla got ready together in the former’s bedroom. They both looked fucking terrific in their lehengas. Layla was blushing like mad as she surveyed her reflection in Alia’s oval full-length mirror, trying to pull her blouse down over her midriff. Alia was half dressed, fiddling with her sound system, from which The Strokes were blaring. I was only in the skirt of my lehenga, trying to find my blouse. I could’ve sworn I’d left it on her bed just half an hour ago.

 I straightened up and grabbed Layla’s hands, pulling them down by her side. She squirmed.

 “You can be a good Catholic girl some other time,” I told her, looking at reflection in the mirror, standing behind her. She looked hot; I don’t even know what she was complaining about. Her lehenga was light blue chiffon, setting off her oceanlike eyes perfectly, the material clinging to her narrow hips. Alia had forced on a deep scarlet colour on her full lips (she literally forcefully swiped her MAC lipstick onto Lay, getting me to hold her down) and her hair was untangled and we’d braided it into a French braid. She looked like an Anglo-Indian version of Princess Jasmine.

 “Sam is one lucky bastard,” I said, shaking my head. She grinned and poked me.

 “Someone jealous?”

 I winked at her.

 “You know I love you, babe.”

 She rolled her eyes and turned back to the mirror.