As we entered the fourth shop, Mother thought I was being too fussy and stubborn. I totally was. Maybe I was just hungry. Eventually we came home, tired and without an outfit.
Anu called that evening. She was very happy and excited for me, as were my other girlfriends. On our group chats, the constant discussions now revolved around MY engagement. It gave me a thrill of importance, of fitting in. Almost all my girlfriends already had something or the other to wear. Anu, especially, had a wardrobe full of gorgeous outfits thanks to her designer trousseau.
‘Why are you sounding so low?’ she asked on the phone.
‘Nothing, ya. Forget it.’
‘Why is our bride-to-be not excited? It’s only a week to your big day.’
‘Still don’t have an outfit,’ I admitted.
‘What! Come, let’s go shopping. Meet me at the chowk in thirty minutes?’Anu had come to her parents’ house for a week.
‘No, no.’
‘What no! I know the best places for wedding outfits. Just come.’
‘But . . .’
‘No “but”. I’ll convince your mom if you want.’
‘No, that’s okay. See you.’
I told Mother I wanted to go shopping with Anu. She wasn’t too pleased.
‘Again today? We’ll go tomorrow.’
‘No. I’m going with her. She knows the best places anyway. You don’t know anything,’ I snapped.
I don’t exactly remember what I was so upset about. I think it all boiled down to being unhappy with how I looked and would look on all the occasions ahead of me. When you’re unhappy with yourself, you end up offloading your frustration on people who you know will put up with it. It’s the ugly truth.
Anu took me to shops I had not even heard about before. She had recently returned from her extravagant honeymoon in some exotic place called Saint Lucia. I had actually Googled where it was when she told me. Naturally, she had a lot to tell me about it. I feigned enthusiasm but despised myself for not being genuinely happy for her.
A big problem while shopping with Anu was the budget. She took me to fancy shops where everything was obscenely expensive. You’d think they made garments with real diamonds! Eventually, I think she understood that I wanted something in a range much lower than she’d reckoned.
It wasn’t as if we were poor or anything. My parents could afford one or two lavish outfits for me, but they would rather spend money on valuable items like gold and silver, which were more of an ‘investment’, than clothes and shoes.
At the third shop with Anu, I was shown a few outfits that were not as expensive as the others. Being a working woman, I could splurge a little on myself. I could chip in where the amount exceeded my mother’s budget.
However, once the price stopped being the problem, it was the style. I wasn’t very much in sync with the latest trends those days. When nothing fits you, you tend not to follow fashion trends.
Anu’s reaction to every outfit I tried was like my mother’s would have been—everything made me look ‘gorgeous’ apparently. I know she was just trying to be nice but at that point I felt like a child who has to be praised falsely so that she doesn’t feel bad about the truth.
It was obvious that the lehenga choli style was not working out for me. I had to let go of some stunning designs and some reasonably priced outfits because they made me look like a huge ball of fabric. Anu realized I wanted something that would not expose my arms, stomach and back, in fact anything other than my face.
Next, we tried ‘Indian gowns’, whatever the hell that meant! Some of the garments were beautiful, no doubt, but they made me look amazingly pregnant. I’m sure the salespersons thought I’d come to shop for my baby shower.
We got down to inspecting traditional Indian garments that had offered more cover-up than the others. Anu got hooked on to one with an asymmetrical design, the hem of which was lopsided, sloping from above my left knee and then going down to my right ankle. The long top had fringed layers and there were pants underneath. It was a confusing pattern but Anu assured me the style was all the rage. Even the combination was a bit jarring—shades of purple merging with pink. I was not convinced but my fashionista friend was hung up on it.
‘If you’re not buying it, I’m buying it for you. So either way it’s yours.’
Eventually I bought it. I don’t know why I was in such a rush. Maybe I just wanted to please Anu, show her that I understood fashion, let her know that she had been of help to me.
When I reached home, I knew Mother would ask me to show her what I had shopped and I didn’t want to, probably because I knew she wouldn’t like it, because I knew I didn’t like it either. I was angry with the whole world—angry with the shops for not having better clothes for plus size girls, angry with Harsh for being the least romantic man I had ever met (not that I had met many romantic men), angry with my mother for letting me get this fat, angry with myself for getting this fat. Just angry. And hungry.
18
313 days before the wedding
It was the day of my engagement. But wait. Let’s back up a little. Ever since ‘the night of the mysterious phone call’, Harsh and I had been having a confusing equation between us. At least I was thoroughly confused. The reluctance of his family to give us an answer at the beginning, his sudden agreement to get married after ‘the night of the mysterious phone call’, his indifference during the ‘official’ dinner at my house and his lack of initiative thereafter were making me too damn wary of him. Impotency was my topmost suspicion this time. I had ruled out homosexuality, remember? Next on the list was a hidden first marriage. The possibilities were endless.
It’s not as if we didn’t communicate at all. Harsh was majorly into ‘forwards’. He was the type of person who would send positive messages to people in the morning. Every two days, I would wake up to a ‘Good morning’ message with a preachy quote that he must be sending to all the contacts on his phone. Who does that? Especially with their wife-to-be. Sigh! I would reply to his pointless message with something even more pointless like, ‘Wow, what a beautiful thought’ and that’s how our lacklustre conversations would often begin. Harsh was very proper, if that’s the word I’m looking for. If I asked what he was doing, he would give me a description of what he was actually doing, no matter how technical or boring it was. On the plus side, I now know what a motherboard is!
Harsh wasn’t as curious about my whereabouts as I was about his. There was no flirting whatsoever. This one time, I made the mistake of fishing for a compliment. ‘My new haircut is looking so bad’, I texted him, hoping that not only would he say something nice but also make a plan to meet me to see the haircut. ‘Do not worry, I’m sure it will grow out soon.’ he replied. He was just so absurd. He would type complete sentences, use punctuation marks, sound angry because he never used smileys. I know this doesn’t sound like something to complain about, but I wasn’t used to this type of conversation. He couldn’t even be casual, leave alone naughty. I had reckoned a groom-to-be would be nothing but enthusiastic towards his counterpart. This was not the type of courtship I had hoped to have. But maybe this was all fat girls could get.
Now to come back to my wardrobe woes. After my shopping stint with Anu, there was another one with Mother. She hadn’t given any conclusive reaction on seeing the outfit I had bought with Anu and was hell-bent on taking me shopping again. I tagged along with her from shop to shop and rejected all the options she gave me. I was directing all my anger about not looking like the perfect bride towards my mother. I sort of held her accountable for my state. I knew it wasn’t right, but it always helps to share the blame.
She was insistent that I wear either a saree or a lehenga for the occasion. Considering my previous outing in a saree, I was dead against it. I had no intention of looking like Harsh’s mother rather than his fiancée at our engagement. So, the saree idea was out. And the other option made me just as unhappy. In sheer defiance and stupidity, I declared that I would wear the outfit I
had bought with Anu and no one could change my mind.
We had quite a heated argument over this but eventually Mother gave up. I was able to dominate in such matters since my grandmother, the undisputed decision-maker of the house, was not at home. She had gone to stay at her sister’s place, our ancestral home in Old Delhi, for a few days. Some of her jewellery, which I would inherit, was kept there and on her return before my engagement, she would get it with her.
When the day finally arrived, I was more nervous than excited. Actually, I wasn’t excited at all. Which girl would be if she weighed more than her groom on the day of their betrothal? And that too a groom who didn’t possess the ability to have a single romantic conversation!
Anu had come down from her new house to her maternal home the previous day in order to be with me from the morning. The venue of the engagement was a nearby banquet hall that could accommodate about seventy to eighty people. Most of the guests were from Harsh’s side. Most of my relatives would come directly for the wedding.
We arrived at the venue by 9 a.m. The ceremony was scheduled to take place between 11 a.m. and noon. A changing room had been provided for me to get ready in. It smelled of the toilet next to it. I had hired Anu’s bridal make-up artist (who was costing me an arm and a leg), hoping for the same result that he had brought out on Anu’s face. Mother, Father and Grandma had a lot of other matters to panic over, so Anu supervised matters in the changing room.
We hadn’t decided on ‘the look’ beforehand so a lot of time was wasted in trial and error. Eventually, I told the make-up artist to replicate what he had done on Anu’s face on the night of her cocktail party, without realizing that hers had been an evening affair. He told me to go for a lighter, simpler look but I insisted on going all the way hoping to look as pretty as Anu had, neck upwards at least. Obviously, he obliged and turned me into a witch at ten in the morning. Okay, maybe I’m being a bit harsh. Poor fellow did his best to replicate the look on Anu with the help of pictures from that night. Smokey eyes, dark lips, etc. At any other time and on any other person, it may have looked stunning but it didn’t suit me or the occasion. I should have gone with something light, dewy, fresh for the morning as had been suggested but if we all had our common sense in place at all times then how would disasters happen?
That wasn’t the last of my bad decisions. I don’t know what was wrong with all of us that we decided to have my hair crimped. Yes! CRIMPED it! Who does that? I’m not sure how we got to the conclusion of crimping it but catastrophes have their own ways of occurring. When I was done, we sent for my mother and when she saw me, we all got the reality check we needed.
‘Is this how you plan to get engaged?’ she asked, not masking her disapproval in front of the others.
‘Uh, hello, Ma’am. Do you want us to change anything?’ the make-up artist offered politely.
‘How about everything?’
Deathly silence followed.
‘Look, we don’t have time for this. If you ask me, my daughter looks nicer on a regular day to work but I guess I am too old-fashioned.’
‘Just send her out in the next five minutes,’ she looked towards Anu and said. Then she turned and left, without as much as a second look.
I realized she was absolutely right. The panic button had been pressed and my waterworks began. There was no time for anyone to pacify me and everyone starting undoing/redoing things on me. The lipstick was subdued, the dark eye make-up was lightened, the hair was tied into a neat bun. We did as much damage control as possible before it was time for me to be paraded in front of the guests.
I regained my composure as best as I could and went near the stage. Harsh was already there and he smiled at me as lovingly as a brother would smile at his sister. What an idiot! There was no complimenting on his part, no blushing on mine. We stood on the stage like two puppets ready to be thrown into the sea of matrimony for the society and it’s norms.
We had to greet a lot of people before the exchange of rings. First on the list was Harsh’s maternal grandmother, who had come down from a remote city in Haryana. I greeted her with folded hands and said ‘Namaste’. It didn’t strike me that I was expected to touch her feet until my mother actually nudged me to bow. The grandmother gave me her blessings and was then escorted to the ‘elders’ section’ (front row seating), which every wedding has right?
After her, I ‘greeted’ several more pairs of feet. If only this had happened a week ago, I would have had six-pack abs on my engagement day.
Thirty minutes into the greetings, the pandit summoned Harsh and me for the ring ceremony. My parents had selected a gold band for Harsh with a diamond in the middle. I hadn’t been involved in the ring selection process on either side.
We were the centre of everyone’s attention and our respective mothers produced the rings before us. I immediately took Harsh’s ring from my mother and proceeded to slip it on to his finger. The process was clumsy, Harsh’s hand limp and shaky. I remembered Anu’s engagement. There was so much hooting, shrieking and filmy drama. Akshay had gone down on one knee and asked for Anu’s hand.
Before I knew it, the ring was on Harsh’s finger. It fitted well. Mother had done a good job. That’s when panic gripped me again. I saw my ring in Harsh’s mother’s hand and a nasty thought occurred to me. ‘It won’t fit’, fat Madhu’s voice rang in my head. I hated her. Fat Madhu had always overshadowed Madhu. She followed me to my favourite shops in malls; she discouraged me from buying clothes I hoped to fit into. When I got clothes as presents for my birthday, she would warn me that they wouldn’t fit; when I tried to convince myself I would lose weight, she would tell me it wouldn’t happen. And now, she had the fat cheek to tell me that the ring wouldn’t fit! I ignored her and prayed to the Skinny Gods to bestow some luck on me just for this moment. The ring had to fit or I would throw one.
A plain and delicate band of gold, it didn’t boast of money, but it was beautiful all the same and it didn’t look like my size. I was sure of it. I knew they would have checked my ring size with my mother but there was always scope for mistakes in such matters. Those few seconds between the exchange of both rings were sheer misery for me. How embarrassing would it be if it didn’t fit in front of an audience? What would I do? How would I cover up the blunder?
Harsh took the ring in his hand after a gap long enough for me to chant the names of at least nine gods. I couldn’t bring myself to offer my pudgy hand. Everyone thought I was being coy but really, I was just nervous. My palms were sweating, making my fingers swell even more. There couldn’t have been a worse time for this to happen.
Mother smilingly lifted my hand and brought it to Harsh’s. He began to slide the ring on my finger as my tears began to fall. It must have looked like I was getting emotional but I was crying out of relief because, though with a little difficulty, the ring fit me perfectly. Thank heavens! Fat Madhu could go take a hike! She’d lose some weight in the bargain. As for Madhu, she was now officially engaged and soon to be married.
19
295 days before the wedding
A few days had passed since my engagement. I will always regret not enjoying a single moment of my big day. But a bigger one awaited me . . .
I was back from my lectures by dinner time. College and exams had been going well for me so far, in spite of also having to manage work and the pressure of getting married.
‘Oh, Madam has come,’ said my grandmother, making it sound like a taunt. I knew something was up.
‘Hi, Nani.’
‘Your MOTHER-IN-LAW had called,’ she said, stressing on the term more than necessary. Every time I realized I almost had a mother-in-law, it made me sick. Literally.
‘Okay, good!’ I said indifferently, trying to find a way to pacify Grandma without knowing the reason for her edginess.
‘Madam has demanded that you accompany her family to a wedding. Didn’t even ask if it would be okay with us. We don’t send our unmarried girls like this.’
I stood
quietly absorbing the news. I had no idea about this wedding, or that I would be expected to go too.
‘Oh stop it, Ma,’ my mother intervened. ‘Stop being such a drama queen. Nita behenji explained perfectly well. Agreed that she didn’t ask if it was okay. She said she would want to take Madhu with them. What is wrong in that? She is their daughter-in-law.’
‘Not yet.’
‘By all means.’
‘Don’t act like you know more than me about such matters, Rima.’
‘Ma, enough.’
‘I don’t want to go,’ I blurted out and suddenly everybody’s focus shifted on me.
‘Why not?’ both women asked with concern.
‘I . . . it will be so weird. I won’t know anyone. I don’t even have good clothes. And . . .’
‘Don’t be childish, Madhu. If you know them all from now on you’ll already be familiar with them before your marriage. It will only help.’
I stood thinking about it. Yuck! This was yuck.
‘Aren’t you all invited too?’
‘She asked us to come,’ Mother said matter-of-factly.
‘But they didn’t send a card,’ Grandma declared. And obviously my family couldn’t just show up without an invitation card. Wedding politics is not a joke.
‘It’s just a matter of two days.’
‘And besides, we don’t seem to have much of a choice. Harsh’s mother has expressed her desire to take you. It was nice of her. We can’t say no.’
‘Then that ends the discussion, I guess,’ I said and went to my room to talk to Harsh.
Fifteen minutes later we were on the phone. It must have been our sixth or seventh conversation over the phone. Ever.
‘So will you come?’ he asked.
Encounters of a Fat Bride Page 7