One Indian Girl(46)

Four mehndiwallahs had set up stalls in the function room. Suraj had also arranged for a bangle stall. The function room turned into a stock exchange of hotly traded gossip as women of all ages assembled to apply mehndi and choose bangles. Waiters served hot masala tea along with snacks like mini samosas and jalebis. As women waited their turn, they discussed topics ranging from the latest lehenga trends to the creepiest uncles to who slept with whom in Bollywood.

I had a dedicated mehndiwallah called Puran Singh. He claimed to be an artist who only specialized in bridal mehndi.

‘You would not have seen any dulhan with such beautiful mehndi,’ Puran said as he went to work at a slow pace. The other mehndiwallahs worked at triple the speed with my cousins.

‘I can use the phone with one hand, see,’ I said to Sweety.

I used my right hand as he applied mehndi on my left.

‘Who are you messaging? Brijesh bhaiya?’ Jyoti, my second cousin, said. Everyone burst into laughter.

‘Are you excited about the first night? What will you do?’ Sweety said. Everyone giggled again.

‘My sister is innocent. Please don’t corrupt her,’ Aditi didi said. According to her, I was clueless about men. It was partly my fault. I hadn’t told them about my relationships. I couldn’t. Neither Aditi didi nor my mom would get it. For them relationships meant one thing—to get married as fast as possible.

Saloni, Aditi didi’s best friend, held my chin.

‘You know what will happen on the first night? Do you have any experience?’

Well, does having regular sex for several years count?

I shook my head. I could at least try to be the demure bride.

‘Come, I will tell you,’ Saloni didi said. She brought her mouth close to my ear.

‘Just drive him crazy. Tear off all his clothes and drive him crazy,’ she whispered.

It was supposed to be an outrageous statement. I was supposed to get embarrassed. I played the part and blushed, so my cousins and friends could enjoy the show. I hid my face in Saloni didi’s shoulders. I don’t know why I did that. Just to entertain the crowd? Or to make them believe I was actually ‘innocent’? Why do I have to be this fake?

The girls finally left me alone as their turn came with the other mehndiwallahs. I checked my phone.

‘Baby, I am waiting,’ Debu had sent me on WhatsApp.

‘I know,’ I replied.

‘It’s not that difficult. Just tell them you have another guy.’

‘Whom do I tell?’

‘Anyone. Your mother. Your sister.’

‘Is this a good idea, Debu? I am really confused.’

‘It’s love, baby. It’s meant to be confusing. Even I was about you. But now I am sure. I want you to be Mrs Radhika Sen.’

The name Mrs Radhika Sen made me squirm a little.

‘Madam, don’t move so much,’ the mehndi guy said as I furiously typed with my right hand.

‘Not sure if I will change my surname.’

‘Don’t,’ he said.

I didn’t respond. He typed after a minute.

‘Is that a yes, though?’

‘I don’t know, Debu. I am at my mehndi. Hard to use the phone too.’

‘Baby, please, just say yes.’

I put the phone aside.

‘I have been doing this for twenty years. You have the most beautiful hands of them all,’ Puran said.

‘You say this to every bride?’ I said.

He looked at me and smiled, showing his paan-stained teeth.

‘Actually, yes.’

I smiled back, shaking my head. My phone buzzed again.

‘Your left hand is almost done. Will need the other one soon,’ Puran said.

I nodded and checked my phone. The message had not come from Debu. It came from an unknown international number. It began with ‘+852’, the code for Hong Kong.

‘Hi. It’s Neel,’ the message said.

‘Madam, can I have your other hand? And don’t move your left hand now. It has fresh mehndi,’ Puran said.

‘Give me one minute,’ I said to the mehndiwallah.

‘Hi, Neel,’ I replied.

‘I heard you are getting married. In Goa.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Cool. Office people told me.’

‘Yes. What’s up?’

‘I am in Sri Lanka. Due diligence on a deal.’

‘Okay.’

‘Can I call you?’

‘Radhika, focus on your mehndi or I will kidnap your phone again,’ Aditi didi said.

‘Ten seconds,’ I implored Aditi didi.

‘Too caught up right now,’ I typed back.

I pressed send. I put the phone aside on the cushion next to me. Puran held my right hand and started to apply mehndi. He had spent two hours to make an intricate floral pattern on my left hand. He needed the same time on my right.

My phone screen lit up on the beautiful cushion. I had another message.

‘It’s urgent,’ Neel said.

I couldn’t respond. I did not have any hand free.

He called. I used my pinkie finger to disconnect the call.

He sent another message, ‘Listen, please talk to me for two minutes.’

I couldn’t. How do I tell him? He continued to send me messages, one after the other.