Much Ado Over was first published in an Online Journal – INNSAEI – Aug 2021.
I couldn’t attend my niece’s engagement, so I asked my cousin how the event went. In response, she shared an anecdote that sparked a story in my mind as she spoke. That story became the only piece I submitted to INNSAEI, and I was thrilled when it was selected for their annual issue published in December 2021.
MUCH ADO OVER…
Mrs Nair clawed her way out of the elevator before it commenced the sequence of halting and opening its doors. Tall potted plants outside the elevator camouflaged Mrs Nair as she flicked her eyes first left, then right and straight ahead. The meticulously pleated silk sari escaped the confines of a safety pin as she treaded on its temple design border. Then, unmindful of the trailing temples, she plodded, twisting her small frame to tug the straps of the newly purchased heels as it sank into the carpet, biting her with a vengeance. Mrs Nair surprised herself by craning her neck, almost doing a 360 like an owl searching for her prey.
The vice president of an international conglomerate, Mrs Nair, prided on her planning and execution prowess. She firmly believed that everything happened for a reason and never once lost her composure, even when bombarded by challenges at work. And she wasn’t going to get stressed today, one of the significant days in the life of a mother.
She chipped the red painted nails vigorously, punching the buttons on the shiny mobile phone. A piercing yelp effused from the parched throat of Mrs Nair when a table deviously blocked her way, designed with the sole aim of hurting her little toe. While curses trundled out of her pursed lips, Mrs Nair ran her palm on her forehead, heedless of the pimples in the caked face that threatened to expose themselves. Further, the person she tried to reach on the phone continued to evade her ringing appeals.
She plucked a glass of liquid in a vile green colour, the welcome drink proffered by a dour-faced man in white as she watched children in ethnic clothes capering around, squealing and clapping. The sari-clad women and suited men in the jasmine-decked vast hall attempted to greet and congratulate her. But, oblivious, Mrs Nair elbowed everyone out of her path and bulldozed into a bevvy of men to pull her husband of several years by the scruff of his collar that protruded over his silk waistcoat.
“Didn’t you hear your mobile ring?” Mrs Nair’s voice reverberated above the Carnatic instrumental booming from the speakers.
Mr Nair understood his wife’s mood from the tone of her voice and refrained from making inane excuses. Instead, he waited with puppy eyes to swallow what was to follow next.
“You need to go home NOW. I forgot to get Ananya’s dupatta (scarf). She needs it.”
“Why? There is no need for a dupatta. Did you notice the time? There’s no time for me to go home and fetch it.”
The men, who had earlier engaged in conversation with Mr. Nair, swiftly moved aside at the sound of gnashing teeth emanating from Mrs. Nair.
Mrs Nair rolled her kohl-rimmed eyes and made elaborate gesticulations with her Mehndi-coated palms.
“The lehenga choli (Indian dress) will not be complete without the DUPATTA! Our daughter should be perfect on her engagement day. So instead of wasting time on spouting nonsensical arguments, drive home and fetch it.”
Mr Nair tugged his ear lobe, and his protruding Adam’s apple jounced wildly as he gulped down the words waiting to escape the confines of his constricted being. Just then, his ringing mobile saved him. He croaked a hello into his mobile phone while his spouse hyperventilated like the goddess Kali after killing the demons. He gestured for the car keys while bobbing his head to the person on the telephone line.
Mrs. Nair charged towards the elevator, remembering that the car keys were in the room where Ananya was getting dressed. Waiting a few nanoseconds, wringing her hands and checking her wristwatch for the hundredth time, she slapped the plant and sprinted to the stairs. Mrs Nair bounded them like someone who had a rabid dog on their heels. Gasping for air, she continued taking long strides through the dim corridor flanked by shut doors. Then, pounding on the door, she rested her finger on the buzzer. The beautician opened the door, clasping a bobby pin between her yellowed, uneven teeth encased in candy-pink lips.
For a few precious seconds, Mrs Nair’s eyes swept over her adorable daughter with unconcealed affection. Then, recollecting her urgency, she jostled her way amidst the crew of beauticians, raked through her handbag, ferreted out the car keys, and darted to the door. Unfortunately, the keyring caught the earphones coiled inside the bag. A trail of wires pulling the umpteen things stuffed in the handbag followed Mrs. Nair out of the room like trailing confetti.
“Mummmyyyy! What are you doing? You are yanking my lehenga. Aah!” cried Ananya.
“Oh dear! I’m so sorry. I did not see this.” The mother grabbed all that tailed her and shoved them inside the handbag, zipping it shut. Then she exchanged her new heels for the comfort of her old, loyal flats. Dashing out, she punctured the elevator buttons, hopping from foot to foot as the elevator trickled down.
As she jumped into the hall, again before the elevator had a breather, the video crew flashed light on her face, expecting the young bride to make an entrance. Instantly, the light bulb diffused along with the spirits of the waiting horde.
Mrs Nair tucked the loose end of her sari unceremoniously into her sweaty hips. The 90 minutes spent on her intricate coiffure lay wasted. Resembling Medusa, she scanned the room for her husband when her eyes fell on her other daughter running behind her four-year-old.
“Anju… Anjooo! Come here.”
“Yeah, mummy. Whoa! You look frightful.” Anju managed to grasp her fleeing son and pull him towards her.
Mrs Nair’s cheeks twitched. She said, “Anju, like always, I cannot find your daddy. I forgot Ananya’s dupatta at home. Without that, she cannot come out, and this function will not happen if the auspicious time is missed.”
“Mummy, cool down, relax. Tell me where you have kept it, and I will go and get it. You just hold my son.” Anju grabbed the car keys and thrust her squirming son into her mother’s hands.
“You go home and call me on a video call; I will tell you exactly where it is in my wardrobe.” Mrs Nair grappled with the hyperactive grandson and her silk sari. Both refused to obey her entreaties.
“What a wonderfully decorated hall. Where is the bride? We are waiting to see the young ones on the stage.” The groom’s mother, effulgent in diamonds, sashayed towards a hapless Mrs Nair.
“Ahh! Thank you. Ananya is almost ready. She will be down soon.”
“Your hands are shaking. Are you alright?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I had to run up to the room to pick something. The up and down galloping, you see at this age, can be quite tiring.”
The groom’s mother was unaware that she was the reason for all this tension. A week earlier, she had picked up the bride-to-be’s dupatta to purchase a matching outfit for her son. Hassled by the requirements of the engagement ceremony, it slipped the attention of both mothers to question the whereabouts of the said dupatta. Two days before the D-Day, the groom’s mother had a brainwave and sent the dupatta to the bride’s house through her driver. Ignorant of the conspiracies of the two queen bees, Mr Nair carried the lehenga choli set, minus the dupatta, for the steam iron as per the instructions received. He then promptly left the lehenga set in the hotel room for his daughter to dress up the next day and marked a tick in the list of things needed for the ceremony.
Mrs Nair trotted behind her grandson, ruing her failing memory while the groom’s mother, her nose up in the clouds, sauntered to hug and greet someone in mismatched gaudy clothes. Within minutes, Mrs Nair’s mobile phone buzzed. She retreated to a corner. Her bedroom at home looked like a tsunami had ravaged it! Anju was plucking odds and ends from the wardrobe.
“Mummy, I have looked everywhere. The dupatta is not here. Maybe it’s there in the hotel room itself. Did you check properly?”
“Anju! I told you to call me as soon as you reach home. Why have you pulled everything out of my wardrobe? It’s on the right-hand side, second shelf in a white cover. The name on the cover begins with a B. Ugh!! I don’t remember the name.”
A man in a rumpled suit, smothering a crying child, perhaps searching for his wife, momentarily distracted Mrs Nair.
“Oh, OK. I couldn’t reach your mobile. It kept saying out of coverage area. Got it! Is this the one?”
Anju pulled out a crumpled piece of delicate cloth and wagged it in front of the camera.
“Yes! That’s the one. Now, hurry up soon.”
“OK. Mummy. Where is my son?”
Mrs Nair’s countenance curdled. She squinted and lied rapidly, “He is here. Now you get back soon.”
Cutting the call, she searched for the naughty boy. He was up, on the stage, sitting on the love seat meant for the young couple. Mrs Nair climbed up the raised platform. The fumes arising from the incense sticks tickled her nostrils, and the overpowering scent of the jasmine décor accelerated the looming headache. Moreover, the howling kid refused to surrender. Mrs Nair locked eyes with Mr Nair, who was steeped in merry laughter with his friends. She scooped the kid and ploughed across the room. Then, plonking the kid in Mr Nair’s helpless hands, Mrs Nair thundered towards the hotel entrance to wait for the frigging dupatta.
Almost paring the skin and cuticle while snatching the bag from Anju, Mrs Nair hastened to the elevator. Then, banging her hand on the button angrily, she bounded up the stairs. Once again.
With minutes to spare until the end of the auspicious time, the bride made a grand entrance. The videographers and photographers flashed and clicked endlessly.
The bride coyly joined the dashing groom on the stage. Mrs Nair goggled at the groom. Then, she felt the ground sway and lurch around her. She grabbed Mr Nair’s hand and steadied herself.
“What now?! Don’t tell me that you have forgotten the engagement ring!”
Hot coals exploded from Mrs Nair’s eyes as she glared at her husband. Then she lumbered onto the stage and inched closer to her would-be son-in-law and cleared her throat.
“Hello, Mummy. You look gorgeous.” The exuberant son-in-law, without batting an eyelid, lavished compliments on the frazzled mother-in-law.
“Erm… thank you for your kind words. I know I look like someone who travelled by an unreserved train. But, dear son, tell me what happened to the colour code matching outfit? Ananya is in blue, and you are in yellow!”
“Oh, that couldn’t happen. I stained my matching sherwani with coffee earlier. I had to borrow this one from my brother. In fact, I peeled it from him. He is there wearing the stained matching outfit. What’s a matching outfit in the grand scheme of things, eh?” He gazed at Ananya, his eyes dripping love.
Mrs. Nair plastered a goofy grin on her face, attempting to douse her inner turmoil. Then she exited the stage with as much grace as she could muster, wondering about her belief – everything happens for a reason! What could be the reason for this hullabaloo that happened- the thought swirled in her head. Perhaps the auspicious time wasn’t propitious.
Uncurling her fists, Mrs. Nair exuded warmth as she greeted the guests with a toothpaste-commercial smile.
“Thank you for gracing the occasion….”
&*&
Picture Courtesy – Unsplash Vaibhav Nagare
