Dhushyanth
I watch Sita as she follows the poojari's instructions, grabbing a handful of petals and sharing them with me, before she joins her cupped hands in devotion, her forearms adorned with a mix of red and green bangles to match her saree, along with gold bangles on either ends of the full sets.
She wears a dark green saree, bordered with red, bringing out the richness of her complexion. Her hair is tied up in a bun and put together with jasmine flowers, emitting a pleasant fragrance that complements her perfume.
Two gold necklaces adorn her neck, layered by length, the matching earrings dangle heavily from her pinkish ears.
She looks like a goddess herself, but her darkly lined eyes remain focussed on the gods in front of us.
"Mundhu chudu, Anna," Dhruv whispers to me, "you can stare at your wife comfortably, later." [Look ahead, Anna]
I cast him a glare, but train my eyes on the deities in front of me, bowing my head as I pray for a happy married life.
Give me the strength to persevere and make our marriage work.
The poojaari instructs us to sprinkle the petals onto the deities, and then asks us to stand.
"Take your husband's blessings, dear," he encourages Sita, passing me a bowl of turmeric infused rice to bless her with.
"Adi antha em vaddu, panthulu garu," my mother insists, "let her be."
"No, it's a part of the ritual," my mother-in-law argues, "it is our tradition."
My mother purses her lips at Rani Athayya's stern tone.
Sita smiles at my mother. "It's okay, Athayya," she tells her, "Dhushyanth is old enough to bless me, anyway," she jokes, looking at me with a bright grin.
My mother breaks a chuckle, but looks evidently unhappy with the arrangement.
She gives me a small handful of akshathalu and bends to touch my feet for blessings. I sprinkle the rice on her head, watching some of it bounce off and some of it remain in her hair.
Sita stands up and smiles at me, artificially, before I bend to touch her feet, causing multiple gasps and chuckles in the hall.
"Dhushyanth!" She holds my hands before I can touch her feet. "You're older than me!"
"For as long as we're in the pooja, you're the equivalent of Lakshmi Devi, aren't you?"
I glance up at the poojari, who looks curls his lips in distaste, but nods. "You are both supposed to be Lakshmi Devi and Vishnu Murthy," he confirms.
Sita squats down to my level. "Don't use your lawyer smarts," she tells me, holding my face in one hand and moving it from side to side, fondly. "Get up."
"Thappu enti?" My mother argues my case. [Why is it wrong?]
"He's her husband," Rani Athayya puts forth, as if that isn't why we're here at all.
"It's a matter of my lifeline, Athayya," she jokes, eliciting a few chuckles.
I notice a couple people have their phones out to record us, including the wedding videographer and photographer.
"In a marriage, you are both equal," my mother persists, looking at the poojari to confirm with the vedas as she does with the law.
The poojari truly seems to have given up on our case, but he nods in confirmation.
"You should bless him, too," Amma insists.
Sita looks at me with a fuller smile. "You'll always have my blessings," she confirms, and leans in to press a kiss against my cheek. "Okay?"
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
All Strings Attached
सामान्य साहित्यDhushyanth Reddy and Sita Cherukuri, on the surface, their similarities are endless; they are both the first-borns of affluent, wealthy, political families, they were both born and brought up in Hyderabad, they both studied in the UK for a while, th...
