Bachelorette Party for Ms Radhika Mehta at LPK (8 p.m.)
‘You have organized buses for the bachelor parties?’ I said.
‘Yes, ma’am. The buses will be there at 7.30 at the front entrance.’
I read further.Day 3: Bhajan and Puja in function room (4 p.m.)
Day 4: Mehndi—counters for all ladies in function room (12-6 p.m.)
Day 5: Sangeet in function room (8 p.m.)‘The choreographer is here for the sangeet practice?’ I said.
‘No, ma’am. He will arrive in two days. He said that’s enough time for practice.’
I looked at the itinerary again.Day 6: Wedding at the Grand Ballroom and the Main Lawns (8 p.m.)
Day 7: Checkouts and departures (12 noon)Suraj handed over the other sheets with details about each function and venue.
‘Sorry about the rooms’ goof-up, madam. Everything is under control now,’ he said.
Suraj had just left when Brijesh came up behind me.
‘This place is beautiful. Great idea to have a wedding in Goa,’ he said. His accent was 90 per
cent Indian and 10 per cent American. From a distance I saw my parents at the Marriott entrance,
greeting Brijesh’s parents and their relatives with folded hands. I focused back on Brijesh. ‘Thank
you. I always wanted a destination wedding,’ I said.
Awkward silence for ten long, slow seconds. What are we supposed to say to each other?
Should I break the ice? Should I say, hey, we can officially start having sex in a week? Shut up,
Radhika. Shut the fuck up.
‘You look,’ Brijesh paused, searching for an apt word, ‘beautiful.’
Could you do no better, Mr Groom? Stop it, Radhika, I scolded myself. Yeah, stop it,
Radhika! I have to tell you about this bad habit of mine. I have this little person, this inner mini-me
who keeps chattering about every situation or person around me. Sometimes, this mini-me
overwhelms me so much I have to think hard to remember what just happened.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Thank you, Brijesh.’
And what sort of a name is Brijesh? Can it be more unfashionable? Radhika, you are going
to marry a guy called Brijesh. You will be Mrs Brijesh Gulati. That’s terrible. Okay, stop it. Stop it,
Radhika. He’s come a long way. He’s a nice guy. That’s what matters, right?
‘Yellow looks nice on you,’ Brijesh continued.
Actually, yellow sucks on me, what with my famous wheatish complexion. I wore this
because mom wanted a sunflower in the lobby when the Gulatis arrived.
Okay, he is trying.
‘Thanks,’ I said. Say more, you stupid girl. ‘Your kurta is also nice,’ I said. Duh, could you be
more stupid?
‘Hello, beta.’ A man in his early fifties along with his wife came up to me. They seemed too