Tag Archives: emotional

Wedding Vows.

As I closed my eyes and settled in the flight seat after three long days and interspersed with possibly eight hours of sleep, I only wanted peace and a blanket. Not even food could keep me away from taking my precious forty winks. But as fate would have it, I spent half of my flight time explaining to my septuagenarian co-passenger why his phone should be switched off during air travel, why the passenger seats were so uncomfortable, and that in-flight turbulence would pass. In return, I now know his investment portfolio and that his son insisted on sending his parents on group tours to temples around the country.

But I am digressing. This post is on a friend’s wedding that I was returning back from. No matter how many weddings I attend, watch re-runs of the famed Indian wedding films, listen to our mothers and aunts recount their wedding experiences, seeing a girl being given away to the groom’s family never fails to run a roller coaster of emotions through me. As each ceremony progressed, the bridesmaids gave way to more women from the groom’s household. Conversations changed content from taking care of the bride to talking about the bride and the groom. Guests walked up to compliment the bride as I stood by making sure she’s well-fed, hydrated and stress-free. Everyone wanted a word or two with her, a note of encouragement, a word of advice, blessings for them both, or just a picture together for keepsakes. Our secrets spilled out, memories increased manifold – now we have too many jokes that only we understand, we came closer as we glided through the spotlight together – heroine and sidekick.

The red vermilion is a Hindu woman’s mark of being wedded, seeped with a prayer of long health for her husband and good health for her own self. That moment after the pheras* when the groom adorns his bride’s hair parting with red vermilion is my personal high moment – the moment of truth when the bride and groom have sealed their fates together, the climax of three days of wedding rituals, the Christian equivalent of ‘You may now kiss the bride’!

She walked in for the pheras* with her brother by her side, and she walked out with the groom holding her hand. He kept her calm, tugged at her hand when she cried, wiped away a tear or two himself as she walked tearfully through her family towards the new family who was waiting for her by the getaway car. No matter how strong you remain, the air is so heavy with the sadness of a girl leaving her parents, the happiness of seeing her off towards a new beginning in her life, the hopes of the marriage turning out to be as long lasting as forever and the blessings that accompany the newly wedded. It doesn’t matter then if you’re from the bride’s side or the groom’s. Emotions override family ties, familiarity is bred in the strangest of ways.

Weddings – the grand Indian ones or even the smallest and simplest ones are steeped in emotions in a way that Bollywood films never seem to encapsulate.

Congratulations to the newly wedded couple! ❤ May life be sunnier, happier and lovelier for the both of you, as your ‘starry summer’s dream’ comes true.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : Apologies for the delay in posts! Blame it on the sister. She takes up too much of my time when she’s around 😉

*Hindu ritual of  taking seven vows of the marriage in the presence of a sacred fire

A Smile Here. A Smile There.

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He looked visibly frustrated. And he had reasons to be so. He’d been on his feet for almost half the day and the ordeal was not over yet. He kept shuffling his feet across the floor, trying to visit each table more than once. He knew his boss was keeping a tab. He had to sell the offer they had just rolled out. He collected the offer pamphlets from the doorman’s podium.

He walked to the nearest table. The occupants were conversing. “It is bad manners to intrude,” his teacher had taught him in school. He didn’t want to intrude but his job demanded otherwise.  He went up to the table, excused himself and started explaining the offer to the customers in the middle of their meal and conversation. Halfway through, they took the pamphlet and resumed their conversation. Not a smile, not an acknowledgement, not even the plain old nod. He called it the ‘wallpaper theory’ – he was like the wallpaper, essential but not cast a look at, never smiled at and walked past. Well, at least they were better than those customers who turned around to shout at him, or be rude, or asked him to go away! Oh yes, there were such too. They’d look up and say, “Could you go away?” If only they knew how to even say please.

Every trip to the bathroom involved washing his face more than peeing. Waiting on tables wasn’t his dream job, this was no one’s dream job but if he wanted to get a monthly cash deposit in his bank, this would have to do. He had to remind himself every couple of hours that this job was more important than rude and impolite customers, than being treated like wallpaper, than having to carry people’s soiled plates, sleeping with a pain in the feet which seemed like it would never go away again, and a bruise to your self respect each damned day. But it would have to do. They say no job is small, yet the way they behave each day belittles him.


I met Bhanu, who works at a fast food outlet here in Bangalore. I don’t know what his story is, why he does what he does, how he motivates himself to wait on tables all day long, how he lets out all the frustration that is more than visible on his face, but I am sorry I couldn’t get a smile on his face! Probably one smile from me wasn’t enough to make up for his tough day!

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Let’s try harder next time and be more polite to the ones who have jobs that could not be further away from the term ‘job satisfaction’. Can we do that?

Graciously Yours!

Marmee!

She’s flawed. Yet she’s perfect.

She’s elegant. She’s hardworking. She’s barely tired. She’s always concerned.

She taught me to accept nothing lesser than what I deserve. She made me bold. She proved women are at par with men.

She put me to sleep on long days. She stroked my hair telling me how proud I made her. She let me make up my mind about what is right and what wrong.

She taught me life. She learnt from me too. She shared her mistakes, overlooked mine. She broke rules. Yet she respected them.

She let me fly free. She brought me back to the earth when I lost my way. She cried at my success. She held me through my failures.

She fought for me. She let me hold her when she was weak. She showed me her weakness. She became my strength.

She’s my ‘Marmee’. And I couldn’t have asked for any better!

Some days, I miss you here. Other days, I write about you! 😉 Love you, Mom!

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Graciously Yours!

The Hope?

He sent his father away for breakfast. It was ticking 10 AM. She would be coming over  any time to the shop now. And there she was, clad in a sari, hiding all possible parts with the six yards of cloth. She had a beautiful body, one she should have been flaunting had it not been marred with red, blue, purple and brown. Her eyes showed what the clothes hid.

His eyes lit up and smile broadened whenever he saw her. And when she looked at him and smiled, his wings fluttered to fly! She handed him a list of groceries required. Their hands touched. Neither pulled away. They both knew they wanted it. It was her console and his concern.

 “How are you today?” he asked, while slowly picking out items from the shelves. There was no hurry. There never was.

“Same as yesterday. Same as every day. Existing.”

She was morose today. Anyone in her shoes would be.

“You’ll start living soon.”

“Will I now?”

“Yes,” he said with a conviction she admired in him. He was the reason she had more purple than red.

“He touches you again and it’ll be all over, okay?” he asked her, handing her the packet.

He took the money she gave him and put it aside in a drawer his father knew nothing about.

“I’ll give him a week at the most. He’s a rotten fellow.”

“A week it is then,” he said, looking at her. Her sad smile spiked a pain in his chest. He knew she wasn’t an infatuation. And he let her know. Every damn day.

“I love you,” he said, his parting words.

“I do, too,” she said softly, her day already feeling better and brighter.

He watched her walk away. She was married. She was elder to him. Theirs was a match the society would frown upon.

But he had taken to her like salt to sea. He was her only hope and she his beacon of light. Together they would alight the horizon.

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Graciously Yours!

The Ideal?

Her eyes teared up as she wrote another long, lying letter to her mother. A letter which would give away nothing of what was happening to her, which killed her bit by bit from guilt every time she thought of her mother.

Her mother had always been her best friend. She still was. But this time she couldn’t share her happiness with her mother. Or her pain. She looked at herself in the mirror across the bed. She saw her blurred self lying on the bed, papers piled up neatly on a hard bound dictionary. She covered her bosom with her saree. The red marks around her neck didn’t need a mirror as a reminder.

She was in love. With a man not her husband. She was in pain. With a man her husband.

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To be contd…

Graciously Yours!

Picture Courtesy : Pinterest.

Big Fat Indian Wedding!

Anyone who’s seen an Indian wedding knows that it’s mostly about glitz, glitter and a lot of gala (and gold too!) Well, it’s also about rituals, heavy clothes (so heavy that you can get tired of holding them up and trying to fold them), tensions and family drama along with a lot of fun and lavishly sumptuous buffets!

I loved all of that and so much more about my brother’s wedding. Beginning with the beginning :

Continue reading Big Fat Indian Wedding!

Breathing Easy.

Vinita left her office late tonight. There was work to do and her husband was not in town also. She was just going home for dinner and sleep. What she did not account for was the weather! She’d barely walked five minutes from her office that winds started blowing the dust and grime from the road into her eyes, hair, everywhere! The weather turned nasty within seconds and she knew if she didn’t find a cab immediately she would be stuck for a while in the rain. But as usual, taxis weren’t available just when she needed it the most. She walked to the nearest taxi assistance bay and stood in the shade provided hoping like everything else in this city, this wouldn’t be shoddy enough to fly away with the winds.

A young couple came and stood near her in just a while. It had started raining by then. She was struggling to make her umbrella keep the windy rains at bay. So was the guy standing beside her. His girlfriend (Vinita assumed) started laughing and told him, “You know it’s really okay if we get wet once in a while. And as it is I don’t think the umbrella is going to be any good against these winds.” Laughing in agreement, he snuggled her closer.

She smiled at her own naivety and closed the umbrella for good. She didn’t want to stare at them but they reminded her of her younger self and Shashank. Shashank used to love those long walks after the rain, the dinners at the dhaba, and those little surprises he used to spring at her every now and then, she reminisced! Her brother used to say he could see the love in their eyes. They were inseparable. Still are. Work made them too busy for each other. Not that it reduced their love in any manner, but still. It made her sad at times. She missed those times when their time together was entirely theirs. She missed those courtship and early marriage days when they were still discovering each other. She missed those times when she used to gasp at tickets for sudden weekend getaways or a Sunday brunch in bed.

But the signs of love were unmissable. The routine peck before dropping her to office, the occasional Sunday dinners at her favourite diner, sitting with her in the balcony in silence just looking at her while she stared out at the celestial bodies, the cute way in which he still held her hand when they were at social gatherings or the firm grip when in crowds.

Her phone’s vibrations startled her! ‘Shashank calling’ it flashed. So looks like hubby’s day is over, she thought smiling at the phone. Wiping her wet hand on her already wet trousers, she swiped the answer icon.

“Hi,” she answered.

“Hi, Vini! Where are you?”, he asked.

“Oh don’t ask. I still haven’t reached home.I left office late today.”

“Oh! You’re stuck in the rain?” he asked and then cursed himself! She heard both!

“Yes. Wait. How do you know?” she immediately asked.

“Baby, I am waiting at the door for you. I thought I’ll surprise you by flying in a day early! But guess who’s surprised?,” he asked mockingly. “Oh and I should tell you I don’t have the keys. My set is lying inside the house.”

Laughing aloud, barely able to contain her happiness, hand out stretched in the rain, she looked up towards the sky closing her eyes to send a silent ‘Thank You’ to the one above, while she said to her love, “Serves you right! Now wait for me, while I wade through these waters to get to you!”

“Like I had any other option! I am really hungry. Come soon!,” he said keeping the line, not before saying, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Graciously Yours!

I belong to you.

___

The touch of your skin,

The blaze in my heart,

The bumps on my skin,

Victory in your heart.

The glow in your eyes,

The warmth on my face,

Welled tears to my eyes,

That smile on your face.

I danced into your arms,

Cradled for life,

Throwing around you my arms,

For the last time, before I became his wife.

 

Graciously Yours!

Longing to love.

He checked the box for the bracelet the umpteenth time. Another twelve hours and she would be back, by what his mother knew. Some urgent work had cropped up and they had gone over to her mother’s hometown. Again what his mother knew.

As he cleared his bed, to retire for the night, he coaxed himself aloud for not having apologised to her earlier. It had been a week since they had last spoken. He knew she wanted him to take the first step. After all he was the one who insulted her, disappointed her. He hadn’t meant to do it, obviously, but nevertheless he did do it.

“Ego. That is what your problem is, Hiten. You knew you were wrong. Yet, you couldn’t be bothered enough to say a simple sorry! You took it all out on her instead. Moron! Of course, she wouldn’t talk to you,” he chided himself, rolling up his clothes in a ball and dumping them on the chair. Removing his laptop and its charger tangled with the endless earphones, “Make sure you don’t hurt her again. It’s her birthday the day after. Make it her best. You know you love her. She needs to know it too. Enough with your… Ahh! Finally!” he exhaled jubilantly on untangling the wiry mess.

He fell off to sleep thinking about her.

Having snoozed his alarm twice, Hiten woke up only when his mother came to remind him he would be late for office. He told her he was taking the Saturday off. Only when he finally got out of bed, did he realize he had only an hour left before Deepti’s train arrived.

Barely had he awoken, when his mother came in blabbering excitedly, “I just spoke to Gauri bhabhi (referring to Deepti’s mother and their neighbour)

Continue reading Longing to love.