I

4

t was 4 in the afternoon. Everyone who’d partied last night had a hangover. We had come back to
the hotel at 6 in the morning and gone straight for breakfast. I remembered sitting with my mother
and ordering pancakes. I couldn’t eat much, as I kept dozing off.
‘Wake up. This is so wrong, what you did. Brijesh’s parents will think what an uncultured and
irresponsible girl they are getting. Who drinks like this?’ my mother had said, shaking me non-stop.
‘Even their son did. In fact, he puked and passed out at the club,’ I’d said.
‘He’s a boy.’
Even in my exhausted, hungover and sleepy state, my feminist antennae were up. I stared at my
mother.
‘So what if he is a boy?’ I said. Clearly, the alcohol-induced confidence had not left me.
‘Eat quickly. Get some rest. There are bhajans today. Please wear something decent. Why do
you youngsters have to do such parties the night before bhajans?’
‘Why do you oldies have to do bhajans the day after our party?’
‘Just because you have started to make money you will say anything?’
I had kept quiet. I didn’t mention that this uncultured and irresponsible daughter of theirs was
paying for her own wedding. One crore rupees, or 150,000 dollars, wired from my salary account as
the wedding budget. Did she even care?
I had had to gulp down a glass of orange juice to calm myself. You have screwed up your life
enough, can you please behave for a few days? the voice inside told me. Ah, good morning, mini-
me. When did you wake up?
I remembered being escorted to my room. Aditi didi slept diagonally across the bed, still in
her red dress. I changed into my T-shirt and pajamas, slid didi’s legs aside and lay down. My head
hurt like someone had hammered it a few times. I closed my eyes.
Didi woke me up at 2.30 in the afternoon.
‘Get up, we have bhajans.’
‘They are at 4. Why are you waking me up now?’ I said. Didi drew open the curtains. My eyes
hurt from the daylight.
‘You need time to get ready. Here, you have to wear this orange saree.’
‘No,’ I said and pulled a pillow on top of my head.
I woke up eventually. I grumbled about the entire process of dressing up, which only women
have to endure. The hotel sent a hair-and-make-up lady to our room. She blow-dried my tangled hair.
The noise from the hair-dryer hurt my head even more.
We reached the function room downstairs. It had been converted to look like the inside of a