AUTHOR’S NOTE:
I am skipping the time till the time of vidai for this story. I am too lazy to explain all the rituals. So, let’s go to the time when Divyansh is entering the house of his in-laws, which Indians call the ‘sasural’.
ASHWIN:
Finally, I was in my car returning home with a complete stranger sitting next to me. The girl I was married to is beautiful, no doubt about that but this is not the marriage I wanted. I wanted a budding love, then marriage but I guess I will have to compromise.
The lady, whose name is Divya I learnt a few moments ago from her, didn’t even shed a single drop of tears during the vidai. What a weirdo!
My thoughts were still twirling in my brain when the car pulled in the driveway of our mansion. I stepped out to see my mother standing in the doorway with a thali of aarti in her hand. My wife, yes, I am going to call her that since we are already married, got out of the car as Arthit opened the door for her. We approached mom side by side and Arthit stood behind me like a side-kick. A few rituals later, we were asked to step in the house, right foot first.
We were taken to the hall where there were so many other rituals that I lost count. Finally, it was near evening when we were dismissed. I was dizzy already as I couldn’t get a single blink of sleep the previous night. According to the rituals, my wife was not to meet me tonight, so I had the bed all to myself and collapsed just after cleaning up.
Sleeping felt the best with a hella tired body.
DIVYANSH:
I was led to my room by my mother-in-law. She seemed like a jolly woman who was strict but loving. She handed me a change of clothes and said, “Beti, main janti hoon ki tumhari shadi ek business alliance hain par main chahti hoon ki mere beteke sath khushi se raho. Hamare ghar mein kuch rules hain jo tumhe follow karne parenge, jo main tumhe kal bataungi. Tum thak chuki hogi, ab change karke so jaon.”
(Daughter, I know that your marriage is business alliance but I want you to live happily with my son. In our house there are a few rules that you have to follow, which I’ll be telling you tomorrow. You are tired, now change and go to sleep.)
She patted my head and exited the room. I went to the bathroom and gazed at my reflection. I looked so much like my sister right now. In my mother-in-law’s eyes I saw the love that I craved to see for so many years in my mother’s. But here I am deceiving the people who for the first time gave me a sense that I was welcomed, I belonged. The wash basin had many products on it. I checked them one by one – a toner, a cleanser, a facewash, a scrubber, some face masks, and a makeup remover. I exited the bathroom and opened the trolley bag I had brought. It contained the jewelry cases of all the stuff I was wearing. I took off the jewels, leaving only the mangalsutra on.
Then I went to the bathroom again and removed my makeup and did my night routine. Now it was time for the most difficult task, opening the juda that the stylist had made today before I left for this house. Thankfully, it was not that complicated and I was able to open it in just 15 minutes. Then I started opening the heavy banarasi that I had been wearing. I remembered the rules that I had seen in the YouTube tutorial. Open the pin securing the pallu, then open the pleats and finally pull at the seams, and you are done.
After this, I changed my clothes, which was again another saree only. I combed my hair into a ponytail and used a bit of moisturizer as my skin was getting dry from all the makeup. I was about to lay down when I remembered that I had removed the vermilion. I put a little bit of in on my scalp and retired for the night.
The next day, I woke up to the knocks on my door. A lad of about my age was standing there with a goofy smile on his face, “Hi, I don’t think we got introduced to each other. By the way, I am Arthit, cousin of Ash.” we exchanged the introductory when he said, “Aunty is calling you downstairs for the rest of the rituals. Please get ready.” He handed me a change of clothes and said, “I’ll return in 15 minutes after waking up my dear cousin.”
I went to the bathroom and got dressed but now a problem arose. I was struggling with the pleats of my saree. Normally, it depends on luck and I guess the universe wants everyone to know that I am a replacement. I was distressed and suddenly I saw in the reflection of the mirror that Arthit came in.
He at least had the decency to turn the other way and ask, “Um, bhabi, I am sorry. I should have asked before barging into your room.” “It’s fine. I don’t mind. Can you please spare me a minute or two to fix these pleats?” “Should I help? Don’t get me wrong, I used to help my mom when I was younger. So, I thought you could also use some help.” “Well, is it not indecent? I am your sister-in-law. If someone comes in, they may get the wrong idea.” “If you are uncomfortable, I will leave.”
He was about to leave when I called out, “Arthit bhaiya, please help me. I don’t want maji to wait for a long time.” Arthit helped me and within a minute we were downstairs.
GLOSSARY:
Vidai: The ritual with the daughter is sent away after marriage. In India, girls normally leave their paternal house to live permanently with their husband’s family.
Mangalsutra: A kind of chain worn by married Indian women to wish their husbands a long life. Maidens and widows don’t wear mangalsutra.
Bhaiya: Literal translation is brother. Indian women sometimes call their brothers-in-law as bhaiya or dewar.
Maji: Literally meaning mother. When suffix ‘ji’ is added, it is meant that mother-in-law is being addressed. Only ‘ma’ means that the mother is being addressed.
Vermilion: Also known as ‘sindoor’. It is a bright red powder that married Indian women apply on their scalp after parting their hair in two equal halves. Â
Pallu: The loose end of a sari, worn over one shoulder or the head.
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