With trembling fingers, Saleema opened the pictures she had sent, which were saved on her phone. As he looked through the pictures, Pandit-ji tried his best to explain to the distraught bride that he had come as close to the color as it was possible to, considering the difference in laptop screen pixels, but Saleema could not take it in.
Saleema’s mother tried to calm her, telling her to look on the bright side, to look at how beautiful the outfit was, and that Saleema should trust in the expertise of Pandit-ji. For Saleema though, a major disaster had occurred. Her heart was broken and there was no way anyone else could understand what it meant, to not have the exact replica of the wedding dress she had carried around in her imagination for months.
After a few tense moments of argument and counter-argument she folded onto the sofa with her head bent low.
Pandit-ji stood by the rejected lehanga, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “For the first time in my forty years, I have disappointed a bride.”
“Don’t say that Pandit-ji. Give her time. She will be fine.” Saleema’s mother fanned her daughter with her dupatta.
“Just look here,” came a voice from behind them.
Pandit-ji and Saleema’s mother turned around.
“Aunty, please ask her to look at me,” Sejal said, gesturing towards Saleema, who was still sitting in a dejected slump.
Saleema turned slowly.
She was awed at the sight of the beautiful girl, dressed in a beautiful lehanga, perfect to the hilt, with gorgeously intricate details. Sejal had taken help from Zuber chacha, Pandit-ji’s right hand craftsman, to wrap the dupatta around her head just like she had seen Pakistan brides do, from pictures on the Internet.
Mesmerized Saleema stood up and walked towards Sejal.
“You like it?” Sejal asked Saleema.
“I love it. This is beautiful,” she replied, unable to take her eyes off Sejal’s exquisite outfit.
“You take it,” Sejal said decisively.
Her words caused Rupa to cry out in protest. She had witnessed Saleema’s utter breakdown after seeing her lehanga and had been grateful that her own daughter had managed to get a masterpiece.
“Take it? Have you lost it Sejal? This is no time to joke,” Rupa said testily.
“I am not joking, Mummy. When I came out from the fitting-room, I heard the entire conversation between Saleema and Pandit-ji. Trust me,” Sejal said, turning to Saleema, “there is no-one who understands what you are going through better than I.”
A tear slid from Saleema’s eye. Sejal gently wiped it away.
“I hear you have to fly back tomorrow and there is no way you can stay. Really, take my lehanga and I know that Pandit-ji is here to make another one for me in time. Maybe by Saturday evening?” Sejal asked, now looking in Pandit-ji’s direction.
Beaming widely, he nodded.
“Yes, beta. I promise to make you exactly this in six days. I’ll stake the entire experience and reputation of my forefathers to deliver this time.”
Sejal beamed back at him.
“Don’t think too much, Saleema. Just say yes,” she said softly.
“When is your wedding?” Saleema asked.
“Same day as yours. You don’t have to worry. We will both wear wedding outfits that we love. And now we will be wearing exactly the same ones,” said Sejal smiling.
“Oh, Sejal. You don’t know what this means to me. I absolutely love what you are wearing. I can’t believe you’re being so generous.” Saleema said, hugging Sejal. “I have no words, really.”
Rupa had collapsed in disbelief. As Saleema now went in to try the lehanga, for the Master-ji to make the final fitting, Sejal tried to explain the reason behind her gesture to Rupa.
She finally gave up trying. “Imagine me in her shoes, Mummy and then you’ll understand. And if you still don’t—well I give up,” she retorted with finality.
Next Sunday: Wedding Day.
Once Saleema was ready she sent her picture to Sejal’s WhatsApp inbox.
“I owe you my happiness for today Sejal…actually—Angel. You know what we are?”
Sejal smiled at the image she received. She looked at herself in the mirror and couldn’t help but smile at how similar they both looked. She got her cousin to click her picture and sent the image back with the query, “What?”
“Soul-Sisters,” came the reply.
∞
ABOUT PARUL TYAGI
Parul Tyagi is the author of Love Will Find a Way (Indireads) and has to her credit several short stories published across online literary journals and paperback anthologies. A compulsive blogger, among serious interests like food, films and travel is her interest in politics.
For some strange reason she has been fascinated by the very thought of having Pakistani friends. And as they say, when you want something with all your heart, the world conspires to make it happen. When she got her first friend request from a co-author at Indireads on Facebook, she used it as an opportunity to peep into that other world she always considered inaccessible. With time, she learned that there exist a set of similar, equally compassionate and relatable people on the other side. Being a contributor to this anthology is her first step towards paying tribute to the common history of her nation and its neighbor.
As a mother of two, she believes that if her words can pave a way to how the future turns out for children on both sides of the border, she would have justified her creativity and education. Her blog: www.parulandmore.blogspot.com. Follow her on facebook/parultyagipage or twitter/@tyagiparul
***
Love Will Find a Way
by Parul Tyagi
A few words on a piece of paper are about to shatter Meeta’s happy little life…
Available on www.indireads.com
Best Friends Forever
NAHEED HASSAN AND SHWETA GANESH KUMAR
Tara rubbed her smarting eyes as she stared at the comment under the photograph. There they were, the ‘Siamese twins’, as the teacher had called them, third row from the bottom in the class photo posted on her old Alma Mater’s page on Facebook.
‘18 years ago! I feel ancient!’, ‘she’ had commented.
‘Saira! My Saira. After so many years! I’ve found you!’
The words thrummed loudly in Tara’s head. With shaking fingers, she sent off a friend request to ‘Saira Ahmed’. Tara looked at her peacefully sleeping husband and three-year-old son, wondering whether her heart was beating loud enough to wake them. She looked back at her screen. ‘Would Saira reply?’
***
Saira put her head in her hands. She was having a truly bad day. It had started in the morning with her mother at the breakfast table. Her mother had been stiff and uneasy, which was a sure-fire giveaway that something unpleasant was afoot.
“Saira beta, we have to talk. Your Tayya-ji called. A number of people have approached him with good proposals. It is time you think of the future.”
She had been blunt in her response.
“I hope you told him not to bother, Ami. You know how I feel about him and the family. None of them did anything for us when Abu died, despite knowing all about our financial difficulties and now, when I have a good job and am doing well, suddenly they are worried about my future.” Her tone hid none of the bitterness she felt. “They can rot in hell for all I care.”
She had stormed out of the house without eating breakfast and had felt guilty ever since. Her gentle, sweet, forgiving mother must have felt terrible all morning. And while she hated every member of her extended family, Saira loved her mother fiercely and only wanted the best for her. She deserved nothing less. After Abu’s untimely death, she had worked night and day to provide for them both. And Saira could never forget how helpless they had been, how hard her mother had worked and how much she had wanted to be able to help her.
Unable to do anything else, she had fuelled all her energy into her studies, excelling in them and propelling herself into the country’s best busine
ss school on a fully paid scholarship. In her spare time, she had given tuitions to the neighborhood kids and, by the time she was twenty, had made enough money to buy a tiny second-hand car for the both of them.
After graduation, she had her pick of jobs and had chosen a well-known multinational that was known to train and develop their management staff. She had thrived in the supportive atmosphere, had been promoted twice already and had built a name and reputation for hard work, dedication and commitment. No one worked as hard and as long as she did.
She opened her laptop and started it up. Her Facebook page opened up first and, compelled by habit, she glanced at it, intending to move onto the file she had to work on. She had a friend request. From a Tara Menon, accompanied by a smiling picture of a face she had once known as well as her own, and that had not changed much despite the intervening years.
Saira sagged back in the chair as a flood of memories washed over her. Tara, her best friend and neighbor in Kuwait. How wonderful those days had been, when Abu was still alive, when Ami had been a pampered housewife and she herself had been free, with nothing to worry about and nothing to fear.
She sat up and clicked on ‘Confirm Friend’ and watched the status change to ‘Friends’.
She typed a quick note with fingers that flew over the keyboard.
Tara dearest,
Can’t believe it’s you after all these years. How are you? You look just the same. It’s like going back in time. How are your parents? What are you doing? Write and tell me all. Will be waiting to hear from you.
Hugs,
Saira
She hit ‘Send’ and sat up straight, a smile playing on her lips. The day suddenly looked so much brighter because Tara, her dear Tara, was in it.
***
“Wait, wait! I’m coming!” Tara yelled. She took the lunch-box the maid had carefully wrapped in a plastic bag and rushed towards the main door, where her husband and son were waiting impatiently.
“Here,” she said, handing it over to her husband who was looking at his watch. “Chapati and last night’s chicken curry.”
She bent down and gave her son a kiss. “Amma will be there at twelve-thirty, okay baby?”
“When is that?” he asked, his puckered brow betraying his worry.
“Don’t worry. Your teacher will tell you,” she said, ruffling his hair with affection. Raghu would drop him at his school, before heading to work. As she saw her little one walk away, holding on tightly to his father’s hand, her heart twisted as it always did.
Tara shut the door and leaned against it. Time would move slowly till noon, when she would get ready to go and pick up her son.
She wished she could go to work. But now with her son, it just was not the right time to start. When was it ever the right time to start?
She had graduated with honors in English Literature from one of the best colleges in her district and had won a scholarship for post-graduation studies that she had aced. She had just started on her doctoral studies when Raghav’s family had come by with a proposal.
He was tall, good-looking and soft-spoken. Just a science graduate, but already making his way up the ladder within a pharmaceutical firm. She had liked him and the idea of getting out of her small hometown to the bigger city of Kochi had appealed to her. After all, she could always complete her doctorate after the wedding.
‘And then I would work for two years before starting a family… all planned out. Such grand plans. Man proposes and God…’ Tara thought with a tinge of bitterness, as she settled down with her laptop. She had time to browse before she headed into the kitchen.
As was her habit, she opened up Facebook. Her heart started beating a little faster as she noticed the little red notification by her inbox.
She clicked on it, one too many times to get to the message, and then read it as fast as she could. It sounded like the same old Saira. She remembered how they had met, within the first week of her moving to Kuwait, and how their friendship had lasted till Tara’s family’s move back to India. Saira had come to drop her off at the airport and they had clung together, each promising to be best friends forever and to never forget. And she never had—in her heart anyway. With a broad smile, she started typing.
Dearest Saira,
I cannot believe that I’ve actually found you after all these years. So sweet of you to say that I look the same! That’s probably because you can’t see me from neck down. Being a wife and a mother has certainly taken a toll! Ha ha!
My parents are fine. They are at our ancestral home, where I lived till I got married. Achan and Amma will be thrilled when I tell them that I found you. I stay in Kochi, a couple of hours away, with my husband Raghav and three-year old son, Vasudev. I’m a full-time mother.
How are Uncle and Aunty? Do pass on my regards and love to them.
And tell me, how are you? I saw from your profile that you are already in a very senior position at your firm! I am so proud of you, Saira! Tell me, how do you manage work and home?
Waiting to hear from you, dearest,
Hugs and love,
Tara
***
Saira sat in her room and opened up her laptop. The rest of her day at office had been tolerable and at home, as expected, her mother had been subdued, but trying to act normal. She had wanted to be cheerful, but she was tired and dinner had been a silent affair.
Now in the safe haven of her room, she wanted to browse the Net, relax and shoot off a couple of pending emails.
Facebook opened up again and she saw Tara’s picture smiling brightly at her as well as the little red tab telling her she had replied to her message. She decided to snoop around a little before replying. Tara’s photo count stood at five hundred and eighty. Wow! Who had that kind of time?
She opened up the photo albums. Tara was everywhere. With her Achan and Amma at her graduation. Surrounded by family at her wedding. Pictures of her laughing with her husband, followed by pictures of an adorable baby. The last post was the three of them, looking like a picture-perfect family. All that was left was for Tara to look glowingly pregnant with another child. Perhaps she was pregnant, a nasty little thought came from nowhere, she certainly had put on enough weight.
Saira brushed the unkind thought away. This was Tara. Her best friend —and who was she kidding—her only friend. The one she had shared everything with, including her fear that she was dying when she had her first period at age twelve. Sweet, gentle Tara.
But that had been years ago. And her life couldn’t be as perfect as it looked on Facebook, could it?
She sat down to write, somehow the words coming slowly—passing through her Facebook filter—‘don’t give too much away, put your best foot forward and, of course, happy photos always’.
Dear Tara,
So lovely to be back in touch. Yes, I am at a very senior position at my firm—but have really slogged to get here. Have also managed to make Ami comfortable in her old age, God knows she has worked hard enough—but that hasn’t been easy either.
Your husband looks very nice—and competent. I am sure he is doing well and you guys look very comfortably off. Lucky you. I never thought you would be the one of the two of us to become Mrs. Housewife—with baby in tow. You were always the smarter one. But things change, I guess.
Everything changed for us when Abu died. Anyways, that’s a long story and things are much better now—thanks to my job. I really love it. I get to travel around, always in business class, and stay in five-star hotels and I get to boss models and directors around as the picky client. I love it. The challenge and the excitement. Perhaps we can meet up one of these days when I am on a shoot somewhere. Would love to see you again.
Saira
She clicked ‘Send’ and then closed the computer down. Lucky Tara. Settled with a handsome husband and a baby. She had never had to struggle or see poverty up close. And both her parents were still with her. When they were younger, she had been convinced that she would be the one married first,
with a baby and a family of her own, while Tara would work. She really had been the smarter one. But life had a funny way of working out. It had all turned upside down.
***
‘Mrs. Housewife.’
The words flickered in front of Tara’s eyes yet again. She shook her head as if to clear it and tried to go to sleep.
It had been two days since Saira’s reply and Tara could not shake off the vague feeling of worthlessness that had enveloped her.
‘Five-star hotels. Business Class. Travel.’
Tara turned to the other side restlessly. Saira was living her dream. And she, Tara, had become somebody she had never imagined she would turn into. What must Saira think of her? That she didn’t even have it in her to hold a job? She probably thought that her old friend did not amount to much in the end. She turned restlessly. No, Saira would never think that. But even if she did, she wasn’t entirely wrong, was she?
Tara gave up trying to sleep and sat up in bed. It was past two. She had to wake up by six-thirty to finish making breakfast, before she woke up Raghu and Vasu. She looked at them sleeping peacefully.
What would Raghu think if he knew there were days when she wished she could turn back time? If only she had told him she wanted to complete her doctorate before getting married. If only she had worked for a couple of years. If only she had not gotten pregnant a few months after the wedding.
Her son murmured in his sleep, as if disturbed by his mother’s thoughts.
Tara swallowed the usual lump the ‘if-onlys’ brought on. She curled up next to him and sniffed the back of his neck, inhaling his precious little boy scent. She was grateful for what she had. She repeated the thought like a mantra to keep her regret-filled thoughts at bay and slowly slipped away into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Love Across Borders Page 5