Under The Mango Trees

Chapter Two : In Between Lila's Giggles

Pavitra was locked away in the room with her tittering friends who were given the new responsibility of dressing her up for the reception. I had been a victim of their experimentation, my hair combed into fifty different absurd buns and braids medusa-like before they let my hair loose. The plain, straight strands limply fell down my back like a horsetail (My aunt passing by, managed to attach another string of flowers to my hair). When the mischievous eyes of the girls landed on the makeup kit and my clean face, I got up and fled the scene.

I didn't worry leaving my sister's make-up to the manicured hands of her friends since each one of them could easily contest to be the bride of this ceremony with their stylish sarees and gowns and salwars and what not.

I was wearing a silk salwar suit which consisted of a purple top and pyjamas secured with a cord that dug painfully in the softness of my stomach. A light dupatta rested on my shoulder, slipping and dragging the mud with it on the ground till I pulled it up again. And again and again. The intricate embroidery around the collar was golden and I could go without strangling myself with a necklace. Still, my mum had persuaded me to wear one (which was certain to give me rashes later). One couldn't see a hint of flesh on my neck, it was a gold mine there.

I tiredly pulled my dupatta for the hundredth time after a boisterous kid had stepped on it. I sauntered downstairs towards the reception hall in my golden sandals and halted when I could see some of my relatives in the throng of people bustling in. The saccharine smiles of them as they hugged my parents who served as mirrors, reflecting the same smiles and words fascinated me. I saw my dad's energy heightening when the relatives from whom he had borrowed money for this wedding arrived, his feigned smile broadening. He abandoned the spot by the door of the hall and rushed towards the expensive car of those relatives like a watchman in need of 'chai paani.' I half-expected him to open the door of the car, but the relatives had already stepped out.

The entire place was lavishly adorned with a long red carpet, exotic flowers in a gigantic wreath (with the obvious, Pavitra Weds Rajesh in a heart sticker) and a superfluous fountain with LED lights around which the kids flocked. They clandestinely dipped the tips of their fingers, knowing that it was against decorum to play with that water. The sound of the fountain urged me to pee and just as I was leaving in search of a washroom, my father spotted me. He tapped on his watch, indicating that he was waiting for my sister.

I was going to mouth some excuse when more people poured in and embraced and chatted with my parents. Again, I thought of heading towards the washroom, but my gaze drifted towards a figure and remained fixed there in wonder like a baby's unswerving gaze towards a spark of light. Lila walked in with her mother, her steps light like a small bird's and a charming smile gracing her pink lips. Droplets of water from the fountain suddenly sprayed on her arm, first shocking her, then causing her to burst into giggles. From the corners of my eyes, I saw some people turning to locate this source of a mirthful sound and once they did, they didn't look away.

Lila's face was radiant when she laughed, her body dressed in a pistachio coloured lehnga trembling from laughter. The dress was plainer than the ostentatious ones around her. She wore a set of diamond jewellery. A chain rested on top of her prominent collarbones and the square neckline of her sleeveless lehnga top gave her a sophisticated look.

It was when she had advanced with her mother (visibly looking a bit lost like a damsel in distress) and waited behind the crowd of people that my parents attended to, I caught myself in this strange reverie and even stranger, smiling. Quickly, I took a couple of steps forward and felt the jasmine flowers brush against my ears. While she was dressed like a maharani, I was looking like a peasant trying hard during Diwali. I pulled the flowers out of my hair, the fastened bobby pins tearing a good chunk of my hair and bringing tears in my eyes.