INNOCENCE LOST (Rewriting)

2: FAREWELL

Is Bidaai just another ritual?

Growing up I never quite realized the full depth of the emotional turbulence involved. The final goodbye, the lingering touch, the last glance of those age-old faces, the deep torment in parents' eyes, the anticipation of the unknown.

Here I was, lost within a platter of sadness and merriment, taking in the beauty of our small accommodation with wide, curious eyes: the cobweb at the corner which was swept away three days ago as a last-minute clean up before the big event, the ruined plaster that made the walls appear tie-dyed with a splash of myriad colours, a Burma Teak bookshelf which showed off my collection of classics with pride. A wooden cupboard at the side belonging to my great grandfather stood elephantine like the Eiffel Tower, its curved edges fanning into floral patterns. The polish had blackened with time but the memories were intact. Baba said it saw World War 2 and narrated to us the power of resilience.

"An excellent combination of strength and pliability, that's how you should be", he often stated.

And as I sat dishevelled on a maroon velvet chair with the red Benarasi falling in rumpled pleats as a sloppy mess at my foot, I conjectured resilience alone would hardly take me anywhere. An unkempt hair and messy vermillion bore testament to my current status, the white raw silk fabric of his shawl interlaced in an intimate knot with my saree signifying our united souls bore witness of the life-altering event. I watched in choked desolation when a posh car ready to whisk us away arrived with a loud honk. Wreaths of varying textures with crisscrossed ribbons that reminded me of star crossed lovers hugged its pristine white exterior, customized garlands of fragrant roses set in pastel hues of mild yellow and pink prettified the sides. A glittery board attached to the back with "Happily Married" written in bold cursive looked incongruous to the drama that unfolded in the form of marriage. The loud display of wealth and status though vaunted by neighbourhood people, especially covetous aunties and indolent, highly moralistic uncles was a stark mismatch to the whole surrounding and stood baring all teeth against the nakedness of a remote Indian suburb.

Blessings have to be the most tiring of all rituals, the reason- most are half-hearted and are countable times generous. I gulped with difficulty as sweets after sweets got stuffed into my mouth with force, courtesy to infinite blessings from some well-wishers and pesky adults. I passed a meek look at my husband sitting beside me, careful of keeping up with the façade of shyness. His otherwise sharp visage which was cold the day prior sported a vexed expression as if he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Sinister and comic -being positioned at two extreme ends, they can never go together. But, looking at the torpid state of some and pretentious exuberance of few others mingled with the look of deep affliction on Ma, I could only define the assortment of contradictory frames through a single phrase-sinister comedy.

"No job after marriage", the groom's side had declared. They wanted a domestic plain Jane and after much scouting, I fitted the bill. There was a strong impulse to ask why. I didn't study non-stop during my school years for nothing! But, glaring red eyes from Ma paused the attempt. It was Ashirbad, the day of blessings. In Hindu tradition, elders from both the groom's and bride's side go to each other's houses to bless the would-be married, in this case, they strictly announced to come first, adhering to norms regarding an elevated social standing. His mother arrived with three others decked from head to toe in gold. A single necklace crafted in the shape of intertwined leaves and flowers taken out from a rustic jewellery box, that in all probability, looked a century old was placed around my slender neck.

"Nothing less than the best for the bride of Siddhartha Basu", she declared. "A family heirloom, it would cost a minimum of lac in this age", she mentioned for the umpteenth time.