One Cuppa Chai

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Chapter 9
Wedding Scenes

My reflection was gazing back at me quizzically as I blinked at myself in the mirror and was slightly astounded. Okay, very.

After some wheedling, I'd relaxed into this nice, cushiony sofa for a few minutes while the attendant of Rasika beauty parlour had dusted and dabbed with brushes and sponges, which I might add, was very soothing.

I didn't even have a dime worthy experience with makeup except with my sister's rose lip gloss that I squiggled onto my sketchbook for some aesthetic art and then earned an earful from her.

  But even I could recognize that I looked like a mime artist. I didn't know what was with this beauty industry that was always trying to bleach all of us milky white.

I tilted my chin up to my self-pleased attendant, "Isn't this foundation too light for me?"

"Please, it's beautiful! And I didn't even apply that much for you," She placed her perfectly manicured hands on my shoulder to reassure me. 

Okay, let me rephrase this.

"Don't you have a shade for wheatish skin?"

"This is your shade."

"Oh,okay cool," I reclined back in my seat and waited for her to turn away before I seized a few wipes  and escaped to the washroom which was already too crowded with aunties fixing their sarees.The basin accommodated assortments of safety pins, banana clips and colourful sticker bindi sets.I squeezed myself inside for a square inch of the mirror, while fiddling with the skirts of my wine lehenga. I scrubbed every nook and corner of my visage until the white paint had dissipated.

My mother's bottle of moisturiser seemed like a better alternative. I let the magenta lipstick stay.

 If my friends tease me too much, I'll wipe it off with my hanky.

I took a few steps to wander to the other rooms, almost tripping over my skirt.

The parlour attendants were probably amusing themselves by observing me fiddling with my dupatta.

My parents disappeared and all I could see was Siya who was standing like a mannequin while the three attendants were buzzing around her to drape a long sari over her slim frame.

From the French window, I could see the hints of a new day, the sky melting into a lighter sea blue. The lawn was covered in clay lamps arranged together so as to form a pretty pattern.
I stifled a yawn. Despite the hot shower I took to awaken my senses, waking up at 4:00 am made me slightly groggy.

I trudged out of the room and some strings of flowers obstructed my view. Pushing them aside, my eyes wandered to look for my parents. Instead, I faced rows of empty chairs, it was a little early for the guests to file in. Only my close relatives were chattering happily on the stage while the workers moved the life-size heart made of paper flowers backstage to bring out later with a flourish.

I looked admiringly at the long strings of yellow and orange flowers that dangled from the pillars. Hmm.

I shouldn't probably be fooling around at my sister's wedding, but there was nothing much I could do now except assembling behind my parents and greeting the groom's collection of relations with bright artificial smiles and then shake a leg then and there in the road along with some semi-strangers. No sweat.
I felt like Harish was asleep on the horse as it is, looking oblivious to his brother flailing his arms like a chicken to the music of the dhol.
I simply folded my hands and waited for the traditional welcome of the groom who finally alighted from the horse with a big excited smile as if he was on a bouncy castle in Disney Land.
The oldest lady in my family was nominated to circle the aarthi plate and apply red tilak on his forehead. She had a satisfied smile on her face that everything was going according to tradition.