You Are Most Welcome Alpha

ll੬ll Dramatics? I Think Not.

Sala Kangar. I swore when trying to adjust one end of the long veil covering my head just so the other end could slide down and off. Chunni as I called it or dupatta, has one job of covering the head especially during prayers. However, apparently, that's the only time it can never stay in place regardless of the number of safety pins.

I swore again, much more colorfully than the last and then again when my foot was stubbed against the wall edge before the staircase. My voice reverberated the narrow hall and nearly rattled the chandelier's diamond-like rhinestones.

"MANI! Gali nakalnee bund karo, aaj Basaikhi hai," my mom roared from the kitchen.

[Stop cursing, today's Basaikhi.]

While heading on down the flight of staircase, I discovered at least three ways to trip down because of the baggy bottom, the salwar, trying my best to act as if all swearing hadn't just happen but who'd be fucking me? I'd be lucky if she hadn't had already bought my flight ticket back to India. Desi parent starter pack: threaten to send them back to their home country when they act out of line.

Just as expected, I got my earful upon entrance about how my vulgar profanity was unwelcome, just as my attitude. Turning my heel faster than light, I give a holler to my mom of my departure and stomp out the door, again cursing but this time for my blurred vision. I wasn't wearing my glasses and have no contacts. My vision isn't as bad as it seems, afar faces and fine print were always a blur.

Today -as reminded by my loving mom, is the celebration of the harvest season for Punjabi, Basiakhi or Vasiakhi, which is celebrated here by a nagar kirtan, a parade some can call it, since everyone in the city is brown (another way to refer to anyone of the Muslim, Hindu, or Punjabi races because of the colour of our skin). Many saw it as an excuse to dress up as if it were their wedding.

The crowd of people, the sangeet, would usually gather as early as 7 am. In the hours proceeding free food will be served, legal drinks will be drunk, loud ear deafening entertainment will be played. And a lot of pushing and shoving will most certainly be done as well as foot trampling because let's be honest, we got no patience. In a crowd of desi most definitely not.

"MANI!"

I sigh upon my step outside the door. "Yes?"

"How many times will I have to tell you to pick those shoes up! This can't go on, every single time I need to give you reminders-" My father ranted on and on, voice booming with anger, all his way from his van to the door going back inside.

Deep breathing Mani, just keep breathing, I coax myself. Not the time for depressing thoughts.

I return to fidgeting with the chunni atop my head and shawl around my shoulders while swearing, and then proceed to roll my eyes when I heard another, more high pitched voice exclaim from inside the house walls.

I tug one end downwards. My eyes and movements halted at the sight of my slender wrist, the skin etched towards my palm, and I quickly avert them. On instinct my heart pounded. I calmly reminded myself that there were no families I should fear around here, no preying eyes or no judging looks.

Sauntering our front driveway, I gave another exaggerated curse under my breathe when I felt the attention of another. From across the street, the house of forest as I called it for its emerald gleam with white borders. It was a young man, hardly older than myself in black sweats and shirt of ink that made my body's hair rise uncomfortably. My poor vision could hardly decipher his face, but something inside me told me that his peachy hazel hair was softer than it seemed.