Not quite without a hitch
Wedding bells, wedding bells, wedding all the way
I wasn't sure at which point I'd been sucked into the vortex of activity. I'd arrived
in my best clothes – well, not really, because I did not care – with my mother-in-law
at her friend's son's wedding. Well, this wasn't exactly the wedding. We were at the pre-wedding "party". There were about a couple of dozen senior citizens, all dashing
in their South silks and tussar kurtas, there was a hassled groom in his jeans and checkered shirt, and... I think that was about it. I plastered a polite smile on my face, stood in a corner, and generally tried to be inconspicuous. I was bored out of my wits. So what I did next was just to kill the boredom. I saw the groom's mother lugging a suitcase full of gifts for the bride's family.
"Uh, auntie, you need help?"
"Huh?"
I should've just left her in her dazed state.
"May I... help?"
Pause... pause... "So sweet of you beta! Yes, carry this upstairs. Keep it in the second bedroom, next to the smaller wardrobe. On the second rack of the bigger wardrobe, you'll see a blue silk stole. You'll find a tiny box of gold earrings wrapped in that stole. Bring the one with the emerald setting. But put the box inside the locker, I'd forgotten! There's so much to do na beta. What can I say! Bring the stole downstairs too. Tinkai [groom's warped Bengali-style nickname] will wear it for lunch. He needs to wear the silk kurta, I've been telling him since morning... Kids these days.... hmpf..." She walked off in a huff. I stood there, sipping my vodka. What just happened?
I hauled the heavy suitcase, plonked it where it was supposed to be plonked, and tried opening the wardrobe that had the blue stole and emerald earrings. I tugged. It was locked. No man!
Climb down flights of stairs to find groom's mom, only to find out she is in the "first bedroom" upstairs. Climb up, but oh, she's left the key with her husband downstairs. Get to her husband... Finally, I did get to the earrings, and the stole – none of which anyone wore.
All the running around had only one result – I got officially recognized as a "very useful person".
So next morning, I found myself making up a rubbish excuse for office, bunking work, and being at the beck and call of every conceivable person at the wedding venue.
A seven-year-old screamed, "Didi, where is my Ben 10 watch?" I ran to find the mama who had the purse that had the watch.
My purple saree had a blotch of haldi on it. My face, too, looked like it'd been dyed in turmeric paste. My heels made my ankles ache. I served tea, I sang songs, I patiently listened to tuneless aunts singing – in fact, I started feeling quite proud of myself!
I was so busy that I didn't quite realize when the day was nearly done and evening descended. I heard someone screaming, "Why aren't you dressed yet? Uff, women. The car can't wait for you all night! We were supposed to be at the bride's by now!"
This was some random uncle, and all the vitriol was intended for me of course. Then he turned to me, and dared to ask, "What were you doing all day???"
I slipped into a party dress – the most time-saving outfit – and slipped into the car. When we arrived at the wedding venue, I slipped to the corner that had the bar. Slipped myself a drink, I needed it to survive. And finally heard, "Girls these days. Acts all good-good in the morning. And look, now she's gone off to the men's corner, and... (sinister whisper) is drinking! Bhagwan!"
