She shakes her head in disapproval but doesn’t argue any further. As she turns to arrange some books from Bansi’s bed, I close the bathroom door behind me and roll my eyes. Then I start the shower pretending not to listen to anything that my mother has to say. I still hear her blabbering through the closed bathroom door—something about kids not listening to parents after a certain age, et cetera.
I wear my pink and white traditional Patiala dress with matching earrings that dangle and bangles that clink. I lock my wavy hair in a ponytail after ditching the idea of keeping it loose, flowing in all directions on a humid day. I wouldn’t want to shock Raag with it anyway. I put some powder on my face and apply the only light pink lipstick that I own, and I am good to go.
Downstairs in the kitchen, I start helping my mother, who is dressed in a light green bandhani sari and her gold jewelry, her black hair tied in a low bun. I manage to arrange readymade snacks on serving plates, the least I could help her with. It is already 11:30 in the morning. By some miracle, Bansi happens to be back from her classes.
I hear car doors closing, and my heart starts beating faster than ever. I will see him again in broad daylight. The thought makes me nervous. Even though we kissed in the warm rainy night, it still feels like a dream, except for the ring—which I keep hiding with my chuniri, a scarf Indian women wear traditionally on a dress.
My mother rushes out of the kitchen. “Mayu, get the tray out…they are here!” She screams with the excitement of a child in her voice. I let the momentum of happy greetings slow, and when I am assured that everyone is probably seated outside, I decide to step out.
Picking up the big food tray that holds other small plates and teacups, I slowly march out of the kitchen into the brightly lit living room. The room has a pleasant vibe with all smiley faces and a cool breeze flowing in under the slow-moving fan.
As I stand by the stairs right outside the kitchen and look at Raag, I tighten my already tight grip on the food tray as to not drop everything on the floor or on anyone.
Raag sits on a sofa next to the open door. He wears a sky-blue half-sleeved casual T-shirt and light blue jeans, his disheveled hair softly gelled. He looks at me, smiling, and I look down to hide my obvious blush.
“Come, beta!” my mother squeals, grinning. She sits on a sofa perpendicular to the one on which Auntie Preeto is seated next to Raag.
Toward the edge of the sofa, next to my mother, sits my father, Mr. Satish-Irritated-Bhatt, dressed in his uniform-style white khadi pants and shirts, visibly upset but somehow contained. My sister, Bansi, sits on the dining chair by the four-sitter dining table. Dressed in her white T-shirt and red capris, she observes everyone with keen interest.
Remembering my etiquette to serve the guests first, I start toward Auntie Preeto, passing my mother and my father. I extend the tray near Auntie Preeto. She takes the teacup while smiling at me. I smile back at her.
I take a step slowly closer to Raag, and the butterflies in my stomach start to wake. In a swift second, I peek at his amusement-filled face, light stubble on his cheek, and bewitching black eyes. He whispers just so I can hear, “Mayu, don’t drop the plate.” I flutter my eyelashes, slightly blushing, and move to the other couch. Once everyone has teacups, I rest the tray on the glass top brown tea table set in the middle.
After fulfilling my duties—serving tea and snacks—I touch Auntie Preeto’s feet, and before I can do it, she hugs me. Then walking back toward the dining table, I pull out a dining chair next to my sister and perch facing the gathering.
My mother gets busy talking about monkeys and vines with Auntie Preeto. Though my father is not in a good mood, he asks Raag casual questions about weather and his flights.
Auntie Preeto is dressed in a light pink cotton sari and is wearing a mangalsutra, gold earrings, and bangles. She always puts a bright red bindi on her forehead, between her eyebrows. Her hair parted in the middle and tied in a low bun. Looking at her graceful appearance, anyone can tell that she looked gorgeous as a young lady. She is also known as one of the very few smart middle-aged ladies in our social community.
However, she blends in with everyone. Now she starts in her usual Punjabi and Gujarati-mixed accent, “Now that Raag is here, we should take care of some rituals.”
As if my father was waiting for an opportunity to display his displeasure, he mutters, “If we knew Raag kumar was coming, we could have made some plans,” he practically blasts. And instantly, the center of attention diverts to him following a dead silence.
Auntie Preeto remains calm. “Yes, yes! You know this generation. They like to do things differently. Surprises and all.” She tries to lighten the mood.
“Yes, but—”
Just as my father starts, my mother cuts him off mid-sentence and tries to finish the sentence for him. “You know, Satish really wanted to paint the house before Raag kumar arrives. Looks bad, you know!” She moves her gaze from my father over to Auntie Preeto. “After all, Raag kumar came the first time to our house, no?”
Raag grabs the opportunity to chime in, “I like the house as-is. Especially the vines around it.” His eyes flick from my father to my contorted expression, and he senses that he’s said something wrong. Through my peripheral vision, I see my sister widening her eyes and shaking her head, looking at Raag.
“You know these monkeys, early in the morning—they broke some of them! I keep telling Chaddha to cut his almond tree. Monkeys love almond trees! They come to eat almonds and ruin my work.”
My father flips back to being cranky, and Raag seems to have gotten the gist of the situation.
“Oh…I see,” Raag responds. “I didn’t know monkeys liked almonds.”
My mother intervenes, “Nirmala, Chaddha’s wife, mentioned that they will cut that tree soon.” She eyes my father and, looking at Auntie Preeto, she smiles. “I think we should think about engagement, Preeto. Now that Raag kumar is here, they will go out. Before people start talking about us, we should quickly take care of the customs.”
I hide my ring under the white and pink chunari just as my mother mentions the engagement. My parents have been waiting for this day for a long time now with a bit of frustration. Hopefully, last night’s rain and Raag’s arrival should help lighten the situation.
Auntie Preeto replies. “Yes, Kaveri…we should. That is why I asked Pandit-ji to come with us. He must be on his way. Do you have any dates in mind?”
“Ten days from now is Purnima, the full moon,” my mother answers.
Auntie Preeto looks at Raag and asks, “What do you say, puttar?”
“As you wish. But don’t you think we should talk first in-person?” Raag suggests, and my mouth pops open. He never ceases to surprise me. I don’t know what in the world he wants to talk after all these months and last night.
“What is there to talk now?” my father asks bluntly. He doesn’t stop for Raag’s response and continues, “I mean, you two talk every day. You want to do the engagement, right?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
I can see that everyone other than my father looks utterly embarrassed, including myself. My sister pops her eyes wide open and looks at me in disbelief, while I manage to stay expressionless.
“For sure, sir!” Raag answers. “I would love to get engaged as soon as possible. It’s just that I would like to talk to Mayuri in person to know her opinion.” He is calm and composed as he speaks. I wonder how!