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I had to pour mugfuls of water over their face to wake up my relatives. Rajji mama
had a severe hangover. I had slept only three hours and had a splitting headache.
We asked room service for triple strength coffee.
‘This is inhuman, how can they get married at this time?’ my mother said. She
opened her suitcase to take out her new sari for the occasion.
Ananya’s father had sent a bus to our hotel for the two-hundred-metre journey.
I waited outside while every female in my clan blow-dried hair and applied
lipstick. Panic calls started at five-fifteen.
‘The priests had lit the fire. Chants have begun,’ Ananya’s father said.
‘Two more old ladies, coming real soon,’ I said and hung up the phone.
We reached the mandapam at five-thirty. Ananya’s relatives had already taken
the best seats. I waded through them to sit in front of the priests.
‘The mother sits here,’ the priest said,’ and if the father is not there then a
senior male relative...’
‘My father is here,’ I said.
Ananya’s parents sprang up from their seats. ‘Welcome,’ Ananya’s father said,
‘How is your fever?’
‘What fever?’ my father said as he took his place.
The priests continued their fervent chants. Rajji mama passed on Saridon
strips as everyone with a hangover took a pill. Ananya’s uncles passed copies of
The Hindu to each other as they continued to gather knowledge through the
wedding.
‘Come, Krish,’ Ananya’s father said after five minutes of prayers.
‘What?’