Amid all the chaos, Harsh and I never got to celebrate the fact that he and I actually wanted to marry each other now, willingly. We were together. We were in love, fatness, disorders and family feuds notwithstanding.
For the next few weeks, both families underwent many emotional upheavals. Constant arguments, emotional blackmailing, days of not talking, lengthy explanations and sincere requests to cooperate took every ounce of determination that Harsh and I had to make this happen. I found it so funny that I was convincing my parents to let me marry a man who they had been convincing me to marry just a few months ago!
‘Don’t you remember what they made you go through? Don’t you remember their greed? The way they wanted Papa to pay for everything, including the wedding?’ my mother would remind me every day. But I knew that Harsh was not part of the ‘they’ she was referring to. In fact, he was shocked and embarrassed when I told him about the whole car episode.
Although my family was tense, Harsh’s was beyond melodramatic. His mother had decided to go on an indefinite fast if he didn’t give up his intention of marrying me. Knowing my almost-was and now, mother-in-law-to-be’s penchant for drama for drama, I didn’t expect anything less. And knowing Harsh’s awkwardness with women, I didn’t expect him to be able to deal with this. Reluctantly, I suggested that we let the matter cool down for the time being by pretending to agree to our parents’ wishes and continue seeing each other on the sly.
There was something very exciting about the idea of having a secret affair, but Harsh didn’t agree. We talked over the phone every day, but didn’t meet.
Over a period of time, I was able to break my parents’ resolve with the help of my grandmother. Once again, she had managed to surprise me by supporting our marriage. I knew my parents were more gullible than Harsh’s but it would not have been possible without Grandma.
Eventually, Harsh suggested we get married without his parents’ approval but my family and I didn’t agree. I decided to make one final attempt to reconcile with the Tripathis with an unexpected visit to their house, fully prepared to ask for their forgiveness (even though the mistake had been theirs). But it was a futile attempt. At least my parents had been polite enough to accommodate Harsh for the few minutes that he had dropped in. His parents didn’t extend to me the same courtesy. And that was the final nail in the coffin for me. I realized that Harsh and I deserved this with or without anyone else. We deserved this for ourselves. At least, we had the blessings of my family for moral support.
We decided to have a small, intimate wedding and invited only forty-four people. We planned everything in just a matter of a month and it was more than enough.
Society tells you that you need to have this big fat wedding in order to make your day memorable. Films and magazines tell you that you need to be thin, you need to be perfect for the best photographs. Parents tell you about traditions, friends tell you about trends, but no one tells you the most important thing—to be happy on your wedding day, no matter what goes wrong because something ALWAYS goes wrong. If you haven’t enjoyed your wedding day in spite of the big budget, the gaudy decor, the endless guest list, the expensive clothes and the excessive food then what the hell have you done all that for? And you don’t necessarily need any of it to make it the best friggin’ day of your life!
The run-up to my wedding was nothing but enjoyable. After seeing Anu at her wedding, I had vowed to myself that if and when I got married I would not be a dramatic bride. I would enjoy every little thing no matter how stressful it might get. I took three whole weeks off from work. I personally planned everything, from the invitations to the food and decor, for no wedding planner could plan my big day better than I. Even though it was a simple wedding, there was a lot of work and it kept us on our toes. My mother designed my wedding lehenga herself and we didn’t give a damn about the latest trend or the fact that I was fat. Many distant relatives had sent feelers of their displeasure over our ‘rushed wedding’ but we didn’t give a damn about that either.
Two days before the wedding, my grandma decided to take me for a Brazilian wax. You know what that is? Well, I didn’t! And when I found out, I locked myself in the bathroom but Grandma dragged me out and all the way to Kammo’s Parlour (which was obviously owned by Kammo aunty). I don’t know what I was dreading more—getting a Brazilian wax or getting a Brazilian with my Grandma! The operation was unsuccessful. I tricked Grandma by challenging her to get one first. Eventually, we came back after getting facials. Thank God!
On the morning of my wedding, I woke up with the mandatory pimple that has to appear on one’s wedding day but there was no need to panic. Mine was graceful enough to be hidden completely by make-up. This was the day I was going to be a bride, Harsh’s bride. And nothing could dull the sparkle.
I didn’t even bother hiring a make-up artist and got my grandmother to do the job for me. It was time to reap the benefits of the gazillion magazines she had read. When I got into the bridal outfit my mother had designed for me (let’s be honest, it was an exact copy of what Kareena Kapoor had worn in Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham), I stood in front of the mirror and cried. One might think that I was upset because my stomach was sticking out a little (a lot) or because of the stretch marks on the sides of my waist, or due to a hundred other aspects about me that weren’t perfect. But it wasn’t that. I was crying because I was the most beautiful bride I had ever seen . . .
* * *
It doesn’t sink in that a year has passed since I got married.
I’ve regained the weight I had lost during the dance classes. But it’s okay, I’ve learnt to embrace it. There are days I wear fitted pants and high heels to work and Harsh tells me I’m looking beautiful and then there are days when I’m unwell, hairy and without any make-up and he still tells me I’m looking beautiful. That’s the best part about loving someone for who they are and not how they look.
Harsh’s mother is turning less intolerable every day but the same cannot be said about his sister. Is it too mean of me that I pray every night before bed? Oh, I forgot to mention this! Just before our wedding, Harsh’s parents had a dramatic change of heart and, letting go of their egos, made it to the ceremony in the nick of time, total Hindi-film style. It was perfect and I was actually happy to see them. They still don’t see eye to eye with my family but that’s something we just have to ignore. Mother and I need something to crib about in Harsh’s family, right?
Guess what my parents gifted us on our anniversary? It’s red and we’re going for a long drive in it tomorrow!
It took a few months before Harsh opened up to me about his anxiety disorder, but I was in no hurry. The last one year has helped me to understand it better. As an adolescent, Harsh was phobic of interacting with people other than his family. Lack of communication with his parents and lack of knowledge on the subject had let his condition go undetected through his early years. He went to an all-boys school. Gradually, and left with no choice, he learned to cope but couldn’t make and keep friends as easily as others around him. College life was even tougher. He could manage to talk to the boys but being around girls was challenging. Since his problem was not an obvious one, neither he nor anyone around him could point it out. He was dismissed as a reserved boy and no one, including him, read too much into his reclusive behaviour. Even though he had crushes, he couldn’t approach them. Throughout college, he had no girlfriends, not even friends who were girls.
Many people thought he was gay and often teased him about it.
Once Harsh started working, he was often in situations where dealing with women was inevitable. That’s when he started to realize that this was more than just shyness. His regular international travels helped him develop his personality, although the first few trips made him feel like a fish out of water. His parents were not informed enough to see or understand the matter.
When it was time to get married, overcoming his anxiety became more difficult because he couldn’t discuss the problem—he didn’t even know it
existed! He dodged marriage as long as he could, but when he turned twenty-seven, his parents took him on a bride-hunting spree. He met some wonderful girls, much prettier than me, slimmer and more educated but couldn’t strike up a single conversation with anyone. One of them thought he was deaf and mute.
His parents couldn’t understand what the problem was every time he was rejected. Everything would go well in the preliminary tea parties. But the families would back out after the girls would meet Harsh by himself. Harsh’s parents knew there was a dearth of marriageable boys from good families in the ‘market’ so they had no clue why it was so difficult for them to find a girl. Three years were spent in this process. On the sly, Harsh had started seeing a psychiatrist, Dr Marwah, whom he had got hold of on the internet.
Then one day, destiny (a matchmaker) arranged a meeting between his family and mine. I’m pretty sure that his family was not keen but when Harsh agreed to meet me again, his parents pounced on the opportunity. I guess a fat bride was better than no bride at all. Who would give them grandchildren otherwise, right?
It was less difficult for Harsh to survive a conversation with me than it had been with the others. Maybe because he was getting better, maybe because I didn’t intimidate him like other girls, maybe because it was meant to be. I’m sure there are a number of reasons that made it happen the way it did, but I know for a fact that it was easier for him to deal with me because I was not perfect, my flaw (fat) was obvious, I didn’t make him nervous and I was equally wary about being judged. We were in the same boat.
While a perfectly normal girl like me was always considered flawed because of body weight, a man with deep psychological issues was considered perfectly fine because he appeared to be so. So absurd, isn’t it? If our minds had bodies then people’s take on what’s beautiful and healthy would be totally different, wouldn’t it?
In a way, Harsh’s anxiety in front of women is a blessing for me (ha ha). If we go to a mall and there happens to be a hot girl wearing hot shorts, it’s I who end up checking her out more than my husband! We’re two little oddballs who’ve somehow ended up together and it’s perfect.
Believe it or not, we spent our wedding night playing cards. Yes, playing cards! I think he was more nervous than I. We were able to consummate our marriage only on the last day of our honeymoon (yes, he’s not impotent after all—hurray!).
In case you’re wondering about that drunken phone call, I eventually discovered what had happened between us that night. It was the time when we were expecting the Tripathis to get back to us with an answer after the coffee date, almost convinced that it was a ‘no’. Emboldened by all the alcohol at Anu’s cocktail party, I had called Harsh up and fired him for not responding positively, stating that I was completely worthy of any man in the world. I’m sure Harsh has exaggerated but I have given him the benefit of the doubt. Just as I was scared of being rejected, Harsh too harboured similar fears. He didn’t give his parents a green signal because he was positive that it would be a ‘no’ from me after that evening at Coffee & Co. He was actually shocked and thrilled to know that I wanted him to say ‘yes’. He called me back to say he was going to tell his parents that he wanted to marry me but cut the call as soon as I answered and spoke to his parents directly. The rest is history.
Grandma is not too well these days. She wants to go on a cruise before she dies. Wants to try bungee jumping as well. Mother is dealing with her. Father watches Madhuri Dixit movies all day. Did I mention he is her most ardent fan? From buying her movie tickets in advance to selling them in black, he had done it all during his college days. From her autographs to photographs, he had everything. Grandma said he used to have a sexy poster of her in his bedroom, which Mother took down after marriage. Their wedding photograph hangs there now.
In fact, for the first few years after I was born, Mother didn’t realize that my name was a tribute to the actress. Father had smartly roped in Mother’s name and made it sound like an extended version of her—Rima’s daughter Madhurima. Mother was touched by the suggestion. And then a few years later, while filling up my play school form, she stumbled upon the existence of Madhuri in my name. She confronted Father. As a consolation, they went on a holiday to Dubai.
Mother is fed up with Father’s returning obsession but she is dealing with him as well.
Anu and Akshay eventually divorced a little after their first anniversary. She took up a job after her divorce and fell in love with a colleague. They are getting married next month.
Her first wedding may have looked like a fairy tale but I think it is her second marriage that will truly be the one. I’ve never seen her this happy, not even during her initial months with Akshay. We often joke that our kids will fall in love and get married to each other someday.
When I look back at how jealous I was when she first got married, I feel silly and juvenile. I’ve come to realize that people are not perfect but relationships can be. It’s not perfect people, but perfect relationships that make fairy tales; and I cherish mine every day.
Epilogue
12 days before the wedding
‘Remember, Madhu, the art is more important than the appearance.’
Grandma was in my room, imparting knowledge on the ‘art of lovemaking’ while I sat opposite her ready to throw up.
‘You need something like this for your wedding night,’ she said with evident mischief and excitement in her eyes. She was holding out an issue of Vogue, pointing at the picture of a top model, with obviously augmented assets, flaunting a racy red bikini, from the latest swimwear collection of a popular brand. I wanted to laugh and cringe with embarrassment at the same time. Do you know how funny and awkward it is when your almost eighty-year-old grandma walks into your room wearing a cervical collar and tells you what lingerie to wear on your wedding night?
‘Nani!!!’ I scolded her.
‘What?’ she asked, not willing to understand how weird this was.
‘You’re embarrassing me now.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly.’
A pause.
‘Your mother is useless. She won’t tell you all this. But remember, if a man is happy in bed he is happy in life.’
‘Oh please, Nani! Men nowadays are different. There is more to life than just that.’
‘Oh, you poor little naive girl!’ she scoffed. ‘Anyway, I’m not here to prove how much men love to diddle. It is just a word of advice I can offer. I don’t have anything else to give anyway.’
Another pause.
‘Take my advice. Don’t jump into motherhood. Enjoy the first few years with your husband. These are the years in which you build the foundation of your marriage. Be outgoing, be experimental; have fun. Don’t make yourself a trophy wife. Keep working.’
‘Yes, Nani.’
‘Your mother could have done wonders if she hadn’t given up her job after you were born. She was very talented. You don’t do that. You have the support, the will and the qualifications.’
‘Yes, Nani.’
‘And don’t be a nun in bed.’
‘Yes, Nani.’
‘Remember, a man only steps out of his marriage for lust. It may seem like love, but initially it is always lust, which over a period of time takes the shape of love.’
‘Yes, Nani.’
‘And most importantly, love and respect everyone in your new house.’
‘Yes, Nani . . .’
‘Now should I order this red bikini?’ . . .
THE BEGINNING
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Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
This collection published 2017
Copyright © Samah Visaria 2017
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Jacket images © Parag Chitale
ISBN: 978-0-143-43999-8
This digital edition published in 2017.
e-ISBN: 978-9-386-49595-2
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Encounters of a Fat Bride Page 14