Today is my wedding.
"Hurry up Rose." Mum shouts while closing the door behind her. The slam of the door accompanied by its cracks gets me on my nerves. A crude and raw chord circulates in my belly in a mutiny condition. In a nervous state, i bite my nails, calculating.
I do not reply. Eye balls secured on the reflection in the mirror, I do not move. I stay intact. I stare at myself instead. I let my eyes stroll themselves over this reflection.
I have been adorned in one of the most gorgeous wedding lehenga made of pure silk with ivy buds of pure gold. My earrings hanging on shine bright and arrogantly in the light, giving valour to their golden color. My hands have been heavily filled with weighty sets of indian bracelets. Our ancestors call them customary bracelets. It is a tradition in our family that each bride should wear those same ornaments preserved from generations to generations on their D-Day. And today, it is my turn.
My hair has been carefully plaited, intertwining my tresses into a serpentile tail with shiny beads adorning their shades. My eyes have been sharpened with Lakme eyeliner, ready to yawl at anyone who catches their gaze. My lips have been curiously painted prim red with even darker shade of lip gloss giving it a shiny effect. The sparkling golden head chain embellishes my empty forehead into royalty making me a complete indian bride. My designer heels tops the look acting pricey to the outfit. Anyone who comes in my room and sees me only stays stunned and says: "Oh doll. As beautiful as a doll."
My wedding has been fixed with one of the richest man here, in Delhi. My marriage will be conducted in the most costly wedding spot today. Famous personalities have been invited. Famous designers and make up artists have dressed me up on my grand day. This wedding is costing Billions of dollars and will soon feature as the cover of multiple magazines on the upcoming future days. Reporters have accumulated at the gate, struggling for a chance to get inside and capture at least a glimpse of the marriage ceremonies for viral live captures.
Perfect. Isn't it? Looks like the dream of every girl?
But... I ain't happy...
Something looks amiss. Something seems incomplete. And this heavy red veil pinned to my hair seems to claw my head. They aren't just heavy. They are asphyxiating me. All sorts of thoughts are invading me. They talk to me. They seem to rebuke me. Or even Scare me.
Is this the right choice? Is he really the one for me? Will he be able to keep me as happy as my dad did ever since i came into this world? Is this the right time to get married? Will marriage make me even happier? Will i be able to shoulder the responsibility of being a married woman? Will i be able to be the indian woman they are looking for?
What is wrong with me? Today is my wedding. How can i even have such thoughts?
But things sped up so fast that i didn't even have the time to understand what was going on. How can you blame me for having such thoughts? My name is Rose Mathilda and I do not have the slightest idea about what's going on in this wedding. All the customs and traditions are foreign and apprehensive to me. Just a few moments ago, my mum came and explained to me about how an indian wedding goes on. After all, you cannot expect someone who has lived her entire life in the Europe with a British dad to be familiar with all these.
But this woman, who i call mum is actually my step mum. After mum's death when i was eight, dad decided to get married again. Living life alone and on his own with a daughter to cater for seemed difficult to him. And in those days, dad met mum Anita. An indian woman- Mum Anita: Someone who cares and is strict about her customs and traditions; Someone who provided us with a community to whom we find ourselves related to now. Before she walked into our life, dad and I didn't really belong to a specific religion. We just didn't feel the need to. Partying used to be my daily night episode and probably the most awaited part when the sun sneaks out of its concealed veils in the morning. My friends? They weren't just friends. They were my entire family. There were days when i wouldn't even come back home during our girls' night out and it was no inconvenience to my dad. It has always been his philosophy that life should be lived to the fullest, to crisp and eat all the fruits of life.. something which in his words are: Carpe Diem.
Carpe diem is dad's most preferred code word. It doesn't just mean what it literally means. Whenever, i am to do something crucial, something which will bring a round about in my life he will always say: carpe Diem. And then, you know you have his blessing for the thing that you decide to do next.
It has been only days since i have turned twenty four. At the wedding of my cousin a few months ago, an indian family clicked on me. And at that very first moment, they'd decided on their own that i will become their daughter in law. After that, what happened.. how did they meet my parents.. how did my parents agree... when did mum respond... i just do not know. I have seen this guy, my supposedly to-be husband only once. My wish in response to their wedding proposal at that time was not sought for. Mum said in her culture, it is parents who have the entire right to decide the equivalent partner of their offspring, topping her sentence with: parents wish no harm for their kids. They only wish for their well-being. I trusted mum on that. I had to. But in my mind right now, fluctuating as never before i am secretly hoping that i do not cry over this day ahead.
Dad loves mum consistently too much. Indeed, she is a likeable woman. A responsible and caring female with all the rest of the qualities which a mother should have. But... when it came to religion, customs and traditions, one cannot stand in opposition to her. Ever since she came to us, dad and i have adjusted a lot. We have actually adopted her mode of life in just a few months that we brought her home. As for the guy, I have only seen his face. I haven't known him. I hardly know him. And i'm getting married to him today. All these compel me to say: i'm getting married to a stranger. To a complete stranger. A stranger who happened to steal the liking of my parents with just one move of his family's: The proposal.
Today, all my friends have come to attend my wedding. All my relatives have marked their presence in the attendance book. My parents are here. My acquaintances are here. Yet, something seems to be missing. Something looks foreign. Like a an invisible veil of incompleteness overwhelming my bosom right at this moment. Should i talk to anyone about this? But it's my wedding! How can i? I can't. I can't. I just can't.
I walk around the room, take out the short dresses that i do not wear anymore and caress them slowly. They still smell of yesterday's scent, yesterday's forbidden sins. Their rough texture and their one bead missing here, one bead missing there on the bust with a slight tomato stain on the waist are proof that i have lived. Yes, i have lived. Carpe diem. Carpe diem...I sit on the bed with a pink dress in hand, still caressing it, as though it is a baby of mine. I stroll my hands on the one in my laps and reciprocate the action to those lying next to me on my bed. I wonder when else will i ever be able to wear them again. Ever since mum came, i have stopped wearing those. She would always rebuke me if ever i decided to leave the house in these dresses. To her, it never looked appropriate. She would so many times come to me and preach me about being a girl- as though i wasn't one. Clearly, to her the definition of a girl is just something else.
Someone who wears jeans and tops is not a girl. Someone who wears salwar kameez is the one who should be entitled "Girl"- This is something she would often tell me.
On asking what do those girls wearing jeans become then, mum would always claim: A boy. And then continue: A girl and a boy should be distinguishable by their very appearance. If a girl starts wearing boys' clothes then point me out what makes her different from being a boy?
Mum Anita always has answers to anything that you think about asking her. I never argued. I never did. The day dad had chosen mum Anita, i'd told him: Carpe Diem. So now when mum was asking me to alter my lifestyle, it surely didn't look suitable to me to challenge her ideologies. I'd finally adopted her lifestyle and we'd decided to move from England to Delhi- the place where mum originates.
There is an unnoticed disturbance outside; A cacophony-A mixture of indian songs being played with the loud noises of the guests talking, or even shouting. All my life episodes are being played in flashback series in my mind. I just do not know what to do. Or is there something to do about it? Is it? I winced.
Suddenly, the door swings open and a flock of girls come in. They giggle carelessly and say: 'where's the bride?' on not finding me next to the mirror.
'I'm here.' I exclaim while putting back my dresses in the wardrobe. I tuck their edges back in while the girls give me a puzzled look as though their gaze themselves are asking what am i doing there. I ignore that. After all, i do not have to give explanations to anyone. It's my day. I do whatever i want. Really? Perhaps no.
The nerve breaking knot in my stomach almost tickles my inside, making me even more anxious. Something is wrong. Something is definitely wrong. But what? Is it the marriage? Or is it me? I just do not know. But then when i think, this is not the time to think about all these. While still standing there, playing with my fingers which had now gone cold, sweaty and abnormally smooth; the girls approach me, hold my arms on both side and say: 'Let's go. It's time to take you down. The priest has already arrived.'
Perplexed. Confused. Anxious. Nervous. I say nothing. Mute. All mute. I remain intact and let them direction my feet.
As they take me through the door and it closes just right after. A disturbing thought crosses my mind: "will he be the man who i will finally be able to call mine? Or will he be the one whom i will hardly know?
The answer is yet to be known...