“You have my cousin’s number. So, you will call me, right?” I ask.
Thinking, he tilts his head to the side, gazing at me intently. Then after what seems like a century, he answers, “Yes, I will.”
I manage a weak smile at his promising words. He will. I believe him. But a long time ago, he did fail to call me when he said he would. Why does it feel like that day? I make my hold tighter on his hands that hold the umbrella.
A car honk startles me, and I release his hand at once. My cousin has backed the car as such that it idles right next to us.
“Mayuri didi!” he shouts, meaning elder sister or cousin. “I have to make sure Jiju reaches home before the streets flood. Hurry up please, you have your whole life for talking.”
Neither Raag nor I care to look at him; instead we gaze at each other. Looking into Raag’s captivating eyes, I wonder if it’s true—do we have our whole life together? Sadly, I read the same question in his eyes.
I resist myself from speaking anymore, and in a split second, I throw my hands around Raag’s shoulders, forgetting the fact that at least twenty other people around us—including not only neighbors but also my mother, friend, and family—are watching the both of us.
Shamelessly, I pull myself up on my tiptoes and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “I love you.”
I am going to be in a lot of trouble for my audacious act, but who cares! It’s not like we followed the socially accepted norms all along. Why start a new tradition now?
When I pull myself back, still staring at him, Raag hands me the umbrella as he sighs, his face etched. For once, he doesn’t reply but instead lets out a cold sigh. Then, opening the front passenger door of the car, he hops in and closes the door behind him.
I stand under the pouring rain as the car whirls off down the street. Do Raag and I have a lifetime together like our matching stars predicted?
I look up to find my seven sages in the breaking sky, and unfortunately, they have abandoned me in the time of need. Raag seems lost, and I don’t know what could bring him back to the now, back to us.
I thought that once one discovers that imperfect penguin that perfects it, that other half of the whole, they support each other and stand still for one another in the worst of the storms. Will one trivial event in this expanding universe—a small collision of an asteroid—be capable of shattering the faith, capable of changing what’s written in our stars?
CHAPTER 16
Soaring Up High
A day before the engagement, my house is practically flooded with guests since some of them living in nearby cities have already arrived. My mother is busy helping the chef whom we call Maharaj to prepare food, snacks, and tea for the guests. Traditionally in most Indian families, the host makes arrangements for food and shelter for visiting friends and family in such celebrations.
For a change, the rain has finally ceased, leaving the air moist and cool. However, the sky is still hidden behind gloomy clouds, making the evening gray. Every possible tube light is turned on in the house, and the house is filled with noises—clattering utensils, chattering relatives, and laughing and blabbering kids.
My small bedroom seems crowded with people sitting in groups on the floor for mehndi designs. The open balcony door, the bright white light, the damp air mixed with the sweet scent of mehndi, and random Bollywood songs playing on my small radio provides a perfect festive ambiance.
Mona, my beautician, is here in my room with her troop—two teenage girls dressed in shalwar kameez and one boy in rugged jeans and a T-shirt. I wonder, Since when are boys interested in learning mehndi designs? Mona looks like an Indian ninja in a snug red shalwar kameez, and a chunari tied around her waist. Hard lines on her dark brown skin speak of her strong personality.
While one girl is applying mehndi on Anju’s palm, Mona is intricately creating a detailed design on my hand. Anju looks even more petite today in her boyfriend capris and short T-shirt. My mother literally rolled her eyes at me when she welcomed Anju. I, on the other hand, have kept it simple with a rugged old sleeveless orange T-shirt to guard against mehndi stain in case I get any and a long ruffled black skirt.
The boy has just finished the designs on my sister’s hands, and she seems delighted with it. Upon Mona’s orders, the boy starts designing on my feet. This is an impromptu suggestion by my dear beautician.
Anju is trying her best to get all the juicy details of the last few days while I try my best to make her feel important without giving much away. Also, we have decided to talk mostly in code words, and to that, my sister is utterly annoyed.
“So, I know that—it has happened,” Anju whispers. By it, she means kiss. “But has that happened yet?” She raises her eyebrows abruptly. By that, she means a lot more than just a kiss.
“Shut up!” I eye her with an annoyed scowl. She shakes her head in disapproval but not disappointed.
“No it, no that?” Anju doesn’t let it go.
“Anju, there is no that yet!”
Mona chimes in and although we are still maintaining our code words, she is keeping up with it. “Oho, really? It is very common these days!” She speaks as if precisely understanding what we meant by that. Anju and I both look at her aghast.
Mona even drops a famous saying, which closely means, if husband and wife agree, the priest is helpless. Sometimes literal translation on something in one language doesn’t always sound right in the other. This was one of those things.
Mona’s troop has a visible smile on their faces, and now I assume everyone other than my sister, who is not laughing but still annoyed, doesn’t understand. I am glad that she does not, as I think it’s not time yet for her to take part in such conversations. She gets up and hops inside the bathroom, banging the door shut, as if the discussion is too painful for her.
Cleverly I aim for a distraction. “Mona, how long should I keep the mehndi on?” I should know this after spending twenty years in a country where most celebrations circle around mehndi!
Mona’s reply is mechanical. “Overnight, definitely! For good colors.” At least she did not look up at me thinking—how stupid the question was, like Anju just did.
My agitation is at its peak because of Raag’s one and only call, in which he did not sound too enthusiastic about anything. For the very first time, he rushed to hang up, and I did not force him either. I wonder what he is up to now. Hopefully, he is over the whole panic attack incident, continually asking me to think about us, and taking care of things for me if I changed my mind. He should at least be a tiny bit excited for our engagement.
One must live in the moment, for that is what we live. Everything else is either past or the future.
According to Auntie Preeto, Raag has never worn traditional clothes before, and he might just wear regular pants and shirts. If so, I hope he wears his jacket.
God, I need to focus. Yes, focus.
Jignesh stopped by at my home in the morning to return my phone that I left in his car. He still looked a bit shaken as he told me about Raag’s call afterward apologizing to him. I couldn’t provide any sort of consoling since I, myself, am in dire need.
Now, I keep looking back and forth at my phone, in the hopes of Raag’s call. And finally, it does ring. One of the helper girls picks up the call and at my request holds the phone near my ears, while every eye in the room is staring at me. Oddly it makes me a little embarrassed and shyly I whisper, “Hello…”