Anu
Blushing bride was never her style. Shreya is bold and feisty, and it reflects in everything she does. Sitting next to her on a short stool I apply a simple mehndi design onto her palms before the artist begins the full work. Its tradition for the mother of the bride to be the first person to apply mehndi onto the bride's hands, but Shreya pulled me first.
Around the courtyard several colored canopies are set up with a mehndi artist and decorated with bright pink, purple and yellow flowing drapery and gold painted furniture. In the center sits a small stage where some of the family members, mostly women sing and play instruments. A glowing dancefloor spans a large portion of the ground between the stage and full-service bar.
While Riya and Vidya sit with Shre, Gayatri and I find an empty canopy to get our mehndi done. She lets me go first since I'm getting a design done on both hands from my index fingers wrapping down the middle of my arm. I sit on the cushiony pink sofa, tucking my gold net dupatta so it doesn't fall down my shoulder and annoy me.
"So, you and Sidharth are back together?" I knew once she had me alone I would be interrogated. She is the mom of our group of friends, always worrying and looking out for us, so much that she misses out on enjoying herself.
"No, we're still broken up. We had a moment, that's it," focusing on the cone lightly grazing against my skin, I don't look up into her skeptical eyes. I can lie to everyone else of my friends, but not Gayatri. She has the ability to make even the best liars tell the truth.
"I'm sorry, I know how much you feel for him. I wish things worked out differently for the two of you, I really thought he was your end all be all," she says putting a piece of barfi to my mouth.
"I did too, but I guess it was never meant to happen," I shrug, giving my full attention to the artist's work, completely forgetting what design I even picked out.
It's like I can feel his presence even though I don't see him. The exact time I look up from the sofa's armrest I see Sidharth striding in with powerful, courageous steps, that he normally walks with. I see heads turn following his every move, women, and men ogling every inch of his perfect body in his navy blue sherwani.
Great minds do think alike I suppose, we're matching unintentionally but to everyone here, it would seem like the thing an ideal couple would do. I smile down at my navy-blue velvet skirt with rich gold embroidery. When I look up Sid is at the bar throwing back a double shot of scotch neat. I hate that he knows he shouldn't be drinking yet he does, and excessively so.
Rubbing off the dry mehndi, I stick my arms out admiring how bold red it came out. I fold the dupatta, leaving in with Vidya for safe keeping. She rolls her eyes "What do I look like to you? That's why you dress simply like I do,"
"That's why you've also been single," I snap back, she smacks my ass as I go off to the bar, laughing. Walking past several aunties, they complement my lehenga choice, also saying my future husband will love me to death because of how bright my mehndi turned out. I can't help but smile at the last part.
Striding up next to Sid, I order a straight-up Manhattan. Sipping on the cocktail, I slide into the stool next to him. "You look beautiful, Anuksha, as always," from his profile I see a bittersweet smile that shakes my insides upside-down.
"You should not be drinking so much, Sid. As a matter of fact, you shouldn't be drinking at all," cutting to the chase, I start my reprimand, gripping his glass and snatching it away from his reach.
"I know you're trying to keep me on track with my meds, but I'm going to die anyway, at least let me have what I enjoy while I'm still alive," it's when he shifts around in the seat that I notice the red bloodshot eyes, droopy eyelids and the slight slur in his voice.
"How long have you been drinking?" I ask examining his face.
"Uh," holding out his arm he squints at the nonexistent watch on his wrist "Since probably yesterday," he pouts out his bottom lip, trying to remember. Easily guiding him off the stool, I throw his arm around my shoulders, walking back to the hotel. Ranbir sees us walking back, and starts trotting up to us, worry etched into his turned down eyebrows and furious eyes.
"He's drunk," I whisper to Ranbir. It just occurred to me how he even pulled off walking to the bar in the first.
"I am capable of walking...by...myself," Sid's head dangles as his eyes barely stay opened to see where he's walking. Ranbir helps me take him back to his room to put him to bed.
Unbuttoning his sherwani, I push it off his shoulders letting it slide down his arms. I help him out his pants and he lays down on the bed turning in a fetal position.
"I don't want to die, Anuksha. I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life, a long life," he slurs, holding onto my arm. "You're the only woman I ever truly loved," opening his bleary eyes, tears shimmer at the brims, rolling down his cheeks. "We were supposed to be married, and have kids, and a dog," tears pool in my eyes, seeing Sid so broken. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for ever coming back into your life," I choke out a hard sob that burns my throat.
Wrapping my arms around his head, I kiss his wet cheeks, shushing him. "Don't tell Anuksha, but I'm leaving and never coming back. She can't know it'll make her sad," softly kissing his forehead, I cradle his head in my arms, pressing it into my chest until his breathing evens out and he's fallen asleep.
I wash my face, taking off all my makeup, too distraught to even go back to the ceremony. I find bottles of water and store them on the nightstand for when Sid wakes up thirsty. Looking through his medication case, I see which one he'll need to take when he first wakes up and leave it next to the waters.
Tucking the duvet, just below his shoulder like he always has it, I don't hesitate to kiss him full on the mouth. He smiles in his sleep, mumbling a slurred incoherent version of my name. I don't want to leave him alone, so I step into the balcony, a swarm of thoughts scorching through my brain.
It's quieter up here. Sid's room is on the other side of the hotel with a great view of the surrounding hills and forest. A peacock's call screams through the silence as it rustles into a nearby tree hiding in the branches. Here, you can see stars and even the moon appears brighter close to its peak fullness.
My stomach presses into the preserved stone of the balcony's wall, the rough weathering of time indenting the soft flesh of my palms as I rub the stone, thinking. How do I make the right decision? There's no way I can watch Sidharth leave, quelling the fact that I will never see him again. But can I force my way into his life when he clearly doesn't want me in it? Can I truly bear the pain? I am losing him either way, it's just a matter of now or later.
"How drunk was I?" Sid asks squeezing his palms against the side of his head, gagging at the sight of food on the breakfast table.
"Very," I answer, torturing him further by eating at an excoriatingly slow pace, making sure to munch and moan. Retching to vomit he slides off his wayfarer sunglasses, laying his head down on the table, whimpering. "You, poor baby," I mock. I extend my arm across the table first stroking his hair softly, then smacking him right in the back of the head.
"I have no qualms about making you lose that hand, babe," he mutters, raking back in the chair, looking like he got ran over by a freight truck.
"I ordered a chicken broth soup and a had a case of vitamin water sent to your room. Make sure you drink all of the soup, and get some more sleep," hooking my purse around my elbow, I slide on my sunglasses.
"Where are you going?" he pouts, crinkling his eyebrows.
"On a hot date," I press a chaste kiss to his cheek, winking at him as I walk through the main lobby to the front entrance.
I get back to the hotel just in time to get changed for the small ritual before the haldi ceremony. It's an ancient practice where the mother of the bride and groom seek the blessings from the Earth for the marriage of their children. The reason why mothers take part in the ritual is that they are the bearer of children and in a sense the first home of a child.
Each mother travels a short distance to collect the richest dirt, which represents a strong home foundation and collect raw grains of unhusked rice or barely, representing the flourishing of the marriage and the birth of the couple's child. It is also said that the dirt is the mother's womb and the grains are the father's sperm.
The women travel in small groups in the northern and eastern direction, singing traditional folk songs about the ritual, while the bride and groom are kept watch over in their rooms. Shreya's bua scoops a generous portion of soil up with a garden hoe, into a yard of yellow cotton that is tied and kept. After, her masi ignites a piece of camphor in the hole so that aunty can offer flowers, betel nuts and leaves, and samagri to the small fire.
Several diyas are also lit in a straight line by the fire, before Shreya's masi fills aunty's maang with sindoor, going around the crowd to the other married women filling the middle parting of their hair as well. As a gesture of good fortune and bliss, aunty shares sweets with everyone around and has boxes delivered to most of the local homes.
Within these elaborate rituals, the women dance to the fast-paced rhythm of the large bass drum, cymbals and fiberglass drum being played to a steady beat. They make sex jokes, and poke fun, especially at the couple. There's also the silent rivalry between the bride's and groom's families to get each ritual done properly and on time.
As we march back into the hotel headed for the courtyard, I go along with Vidya, Riya and Gayatri to bring Shreya down for the last ceremony before the wedding. We're turning the corner down our hallway at the same time Nikhil frantically walks past us looking pale in the fast and flustered.
Coming into Shreya's room, she's pacing by her bed, biting her fingernails. She flinches when she sees us and swallows hard. Catching her quivering bottom lip between her teeth, she physically has a hard time keeping it together. Looking up at the ceiling, she breaths out, squeezing her eyes out.
"I'm ready," she stammers in a croaked voice, walking to the door. All of us exchanging the same look of confusion and concern.
While I traveled back to New York, Saroj kaki gave me the idea of the ghoomar dance for Shreya and Ranbir's wedding. With only two days to spare before the haldi ceremony, I planned the dance with a group of local women, who learned the traditional dance from their mothers, and them, their mothers, going down a long generational line well past the thirteenth century.
As tradition dictates, only women perform and only women are allowed to view the dance. The dancers are usually veiled with a dupatta as they complete the intricate steps of twirls and soft waist movements. The women agreed that I wouldn't need to be covered the entire dance since I'm really just learning this dance routine for the first time.
The dance is mostly performed during weddings, especially by a new bride as she enters her new life and marital home. Sidharth's family has a long lineage of descendants from Rajput ancestors. Both his biological mom, and aunty Jaya performed the ghoomar when they first married into the family, duly out of respect for the family's connection to Jaipur.
It also turns out that the hotel we're staying at is owned by the Rai family. The fort-palace has been in their possession for generations, coming along with several titles and decrees from their fore parents. It is the exact property, Sid spoke of his bua reconstructing and turning into a hotel years ago without his knowledge.
Stepping down the hard, stone steps the long, dark maroon-red lehenga sways over the ground. It's gold embroidery shimmering in the natural light of roaring fires and the open night sky. A single gore of the extravagantly long and layered skirt is an olive-green color with a gold embroidered scene of a couple being showered with falling flowers. Shreya sits under a canopy, yellow turmeric painting her naturally olive skin. Only women have gathered in the eastern courtyard for this portion of the ceremony.
Your beloved grows anxious. Your heart skips a beat for it yearns for your beloved, desires your beloved.
Live instruments begin a steady, slow beat as five women with silver chari pots balanced on their heads, a small flame lit by cotton seeds immersed in oil flickering atop, move in a synchronized circle. Another five follow into the center of the courtyard slowly churning torches in a soft circular motion, as they gather in a ring, encompassing the women already twirling with flames on their head. The last set of five gathers in a circle encompassing the rest, immediately falling into a sync.
Wear a veil of love, and twirl to the ghoomar. Abandon custom and ways of the world and twirl to ghoomar.
As the music picks up I drape the rust-orange colored, gold printed dupatta over my head, feeling the weight of the broad, heavy bangles around my wrist and the haath phool on my fingers. The women part opening up a half circle and I join with the same soft waist and hip movements. My hands move in accordance with the drum beats, gauging my steps through my bare feet, my paayal tinkling with every step.
My whole body requests the presence of my beloved, to become his shadow. Whenever my heart dances ghoomar, it turns loneliness into a fair.
When the beat picks up speed, I lift the dupatta tucking it in the center of my head, revealing the heavy jewelry I have on. A headchain maang tikka sets in the middle of my forehead wrapped around the back and center of my head. Hooked around my left nostril a hoop nose ring is chained to my ear, that dangles with jhumka earrings. A broad gold necklace starts at the middle of my throat spanning down and across my chest, just above my breasts. The choli carries three-quartered light green sleeves, and a halter light red middle, extravagant in its own way with the dual colors and floral gold embroidery.
The luster in the guise of yours is my Diwali. Walls of the palace of my heart are painted your colors.
We twirl, throwing our arms up in swaying motions moving with the beat. The skirt is so heavy it practically carries me, instead of me carrying it. Towards the end of the routine, I'm given two large brass diyas to balance in my palms, moving my hands and waist to match the dhol's pounding beat, algoza's tune, the shehnai's range of octaves creating a quick pirouetting.
With you, as my companion, my body has sparkled. My whole dark night is now filled with stars Fill up the embellishments of beloved.
Mid-spin my eye catches Sidharth, standing behind a stone pillar. Glowing yellow and orange flicker in his pupils, his eyes focusing on the fire burning in my hands. My eyes don't leave his as I move in the circle, whirling and twirling, feeling the heat from the brass bowl burn through to my palms. Yet, I refuse to stop.
Fire in my palms I spin, twirling out and twirling back in, dropping and raising my hands to keep a balance as I let the beat carry me. I'm in a cathartic zone, funneling my every emotion through the steps of this song, feeling the hurt, the pain, the love and the joy. I continue moving letting my feet glide with a newfound grace and power.
The beat stops, and my arms fall, the brass bowls still flaming bright. Breathing heavy, I stare into the fire, smiling. The entire courtyard is hushed until Shreya stands, rushing to me hug me around the neck. A trembling round of applause builds and the small orchestra begins playing again. The dance continuing.
I rest the brass bowls on a stone table, seeking blessings from my mother and aunty Jaya. I run up the stairs to find Sidharth. I cannot stay angry at him any longer, nor pretend like I don't care. Since most of the hotel's guests are for the wedding and they're gathered in the east and north courtyards for Ranbir and Shreya's individual haldi ceremonies, the entire hotel is practically empty.
Running down the hallway, the chimes of my jewelry echo in the silence as I search for him. My feet carrying along the cool marble tile, despite the heavy footwork I just did for the song. A tall silhouette stands in the west tower, back to the rest of the palace, he's in solitude, quiet and thinking. He's dangerous like that.
Trotting up the spiraling stone steps into the open tower head, he swings around hearing the chimes following my footfall. Stopping at the top of the stairs, my chest heaves with heavy breathing, my feet burning and hands hot. I cautiously step into his chest, draping my arms around his neck, pressing my lips to his.
"I saw you," husked and pain his voice cracks as he speaks against my lips. "That dance...maa used to do it every Diwali. It performed during holidays or if you're a bride entering your marital home. That's what you've been doing for the past two days?" I smile warily, knowing I most likely won't have the opportunity in the future.
"I know. Your roots are here. I don't need social recognition to show how much I love you. Wife or not, I love you, Sid,"
"Sit with me," laying on the bench he rests his back against the armrest, sitting me between his legs. Resting my head on his chest I lift my feet onto the bench, stretching out my legs. We sit together, in silence watching the dark night sky. Thundering clouds, and bold lightning flashing in the distance.