Dawn

The late November nip of Delhi with its tiny, wintery claws was sharp enough to scratch Meenu into wakefulness. She struggled, just like the pallid dawn outside, to break through the sleepy haze of rapidly thinning darkness. Dressed in a shimmery magenta salwar-kameez resplendent with enough bling to deem it appropriate for a bride’s vidai ceremony dress, all she yearned to do was to tear away the scratchy garments and snuggle within the folds of her cosy quilt.     

She let out a long, shuddering yawn with unmodulated sound effects as if the volume knob of a TV or radio set had got stuck at its highest setting that startled the women clustered around her. 

‘Don’t be so unladylike, Meenu! You are a married woman now.’ Kamlesh Chadha shook her head vigorously, her tone sharp, feeling a sudden surge of irritation mingled with concern for her youngest child. She ignored the muffled guffaws of her two sons, Rocky and Micky and the amused titter of both her daughters-in-law Priti and Saloni who had been trailing behind her like ducklings in a thoughtfully thoughtless attempt at support. She frowned in concern as she realised that her daughter must be exhausted and drowsy after the marriage ceremony that had gone on till the early hours of the morning.

Meenu, a pretty girl of twenty-one, with buttery skin and a tall, slender body snugly draped in fashionably cut gold embroidered silky material, yawned noisily again. She grinned wickedly as her mother unsuccessfully masked an involuntary smile under the guise of a nasty glare while yanking the gold-edged dupatta resting at a precariously jaunty angle on her daughter’s hair, further over her head. Kamlesh ignored the burst of giggles from the younger women and a tsk-tsk in unison by the older ones at the cheeky bride whose passion for pranks had often got her into trouble with the latter. She went about her chores like a woman on a mission. She had to ensure that the final ceremony of the wedding was as well ordered as the rest of it. 

 ‘Go and check the sweet shop about the tea, samosas and jalebis. The guests will arrive any minute now. Hurry!’ Kamlesh’s brisk tone, directed not just at her sons, partly succeeded in lifting the morning mist of languor enveloping the household.  

                                                                             ***

Kamlesh, a woman brimming with good humour, always found something to be cheerful about. She had made a happy existence for herself in their recently expanded four-bedroom house that now rose vaingloriously above the adjoining buildings to the third level, a looming rose pink against the blushing grey sky of approaching dawn. Lajpat Nagar, one of the refugee colonies of Delhi, where tiny plots of land had been distributed to Hindus seeking refuge in India from Pakistan after partition, had become Kamlesh’s home in the three decades she had been married to Amrinder Chadha who ran a reasonably successful auto-parts and auto-interiors shop in Karol Bagh. Two sons, Rakesh and Mahesh who were promptly nicknamed Rocky and Micky, were born in quick succession within three years of marriage, something her widowed mother-in-law who had lived with them, could not fault despite the fact that it took much to please the disgruntled, old woman. Meenu came some years later and being the youngest, was indulged by her parents and by her older brothers.

When Rocky and Micky grew up and joined their father’s business infusing new ideas into it, the business began booming. Kamlesh, feeling the hand of destiny thrusting her forward, aspired to fashion a house worthy of their status.

‘I think we should build two more bedrooms with attached bathrooms at the third level of the house for our sons. They are too old to be sleeping in the living room now that they are working.’ Kamlesh’s idea seemed practical to Amrinder and now he could afford it too. 

‘I will speak to Biji and I’m sure she will be fine with it.’ Amrinder’s confident tone was more to convince himself.  

The house, with one bedroom, living and dining areas and kitchen on the ground floor and two bedrooms on the first floor, was no longer enough for Kamesh’s grandiose plans. Her mother-in-law occupied the ground floor bedroom while her sons managed in the living room on the same floor. Meenu occupied the tiny bedroom adjacent to her parents’ larger room on the first floor. 

The construction of bedrooms for her sons as expected became a point of contention with Kamesh’s mother-in-law, a woman of dark temperament, impatient and seditious, always scheming against her daughter-in-law whom she not-so-secretly despised. Opposing anything that Kamlesh wanted gave her a perverse pleasure, a feeling of power in snubbing her. A marauder to Kamlesh’s dreams, her mother-in-law cited many reasons for not building the extra rooms.

‘It’s a sheer waste of money. Kamlesh is so foolish that she does not even know that three floors are unlucky and calamities will befall our family!’ She savoured the taste of victory over her perceived nemesis with her initial argument. 

‘You can send me for teerath and I will meet my Maker there. Then you can build your Taj Mahal.’ She lamented loudly to nobody in particular when the talk of extension refused to die down.   

‘Hai! Hai! I will pour kerosene over myself and burn to death if any worker enters this house.’ She finally wailed with gap-toothed malevolence, her small, dark eyes scrunched up in her wrinkled face, a stubborn ruthlessness ruling her soul till everyone gave in to her will.

Amrinder, as always, deferred to her wishes wanting to conciliate her and avoid the high drama that his mother was capable of if her instructions, however silly, were not obeyed. While disappointment at her dreams being forestalled skewered her like a sharp physical pain, Kamlesh was a patient woman and she bided her time. Her time came after her mother-in-law’s death. Finally, the interloper who had always snatched away her dreams was gone, hopefully confronting the devil after accumulating a lifetime of negative karma, Kamlesh thought with smug satisfaction. 

She waited a respectful period of three months, her mind filled with visions of her future home, before she began the work of construction. With nothing to hamper the progress, the third floor with two bedrooms and bathrooms was built in record time. Shedding off the cloak of greying gloom and melancholy that had covered the house while the old woman was alive, Kamlesh painted the house a cheerful pink. Then she began working on the next part of her plan.

Her heart singing with the sweetness of success, she searched for suitable brides for her sons. Soon they were both married to cheerful girls from decent families within the same year. Kamlesh immediately endeared herself to her two daughters-in-law Priti and Saloni, indulging the young women who had entered her house to make it their own, just like she had many years ago. ‘Let’s order chaat for lunch tomorrow when the men are at work.’ She would happily conspire with them knowing how much they enjoyed street food.

‘Arrey, I will see to it that the maid cleans your rooms later. You get ready and go to the mall with your husbands. And listen… Why don’t you both wear the new dresses I bought for you? You will look gorgeous!’ She would buy them short dresses, encouraging them to dress in western attire if they so wished, giving them space and their families respect. Genuinely growing fond of her two chirpy daughters-in-law who had immediately befriended Meenu, Kamlesh was humorously lenient about their lack of household skills.

‘You spoil your daughters-in-law too much! They don’t do any housework and are always gallivanting.’ Her friends and neighbours would sometimes comment.        

‘It’s not as if Meenu lifts a finger in this house! They are only a little older than Meenu…let them enjoy. Besides, I have two maids to do the housework.’ She would always laugh off their remarks.             

A year later, Kamlesh had to grapple with an unexpected reality. Her youngest child Meenu, who had completed her graduation, showed no interest in further studies, wiping out Kamlesh’s glorious dreams for her. 

‘I want Meenu to be a school teacher. Teaching in a school is such a respectable profession for women. The shorter working hours and vacation breaks allow the teachers to look after their families… I’ve also heard that their children get admission easily in schools.’ She would always proudly tell her friends and relatives. 

The complete absence of any such ambition in Meenu resulted in her not getting admission in a good Delhi University college and she picked a fancy private school to study BBA. Kamlesh still had high hopes that Meenu would start her own business but her dreams shattered with a loud crash with shrapnel of disappointment pricking her ambitions for Meenu. But all was not lost. Her daughters-in-law showed interest in fulfilling her dreams.

‘Both my daughters-in-law make me so proud!’ Kamlesh told her friends ecstatic with joy. ‘Priti is going to study fashion design and wants to open a boutique and Saloni has applied for admission to BEd. She wants to be a school teacher. Meenu is only interested in dancing… I don’t know what to do with this girl!’ 

‘Why don’t you find a suitable groom for her? After all she is past twenty-one years and has been sitting at home doing nothing for almost six months now.’ Her friends advised her. 

Kamlesh unwillingly began the process of finding a suitable groom for Meenu.  As always, she found herself in charge of everything, from finding a groom to the wedding preparations.        

                                                              ***

‘I told you to stand at the entrance!’ She looked at her husband in exasperation pointing him towards the pink-and-green canopy seeming incongruously cheerful in the gloomy pre-dawn light. It stretched from the door of their house into the narrow lane of Lajpat Nagar congested with boxlike houses of different shapes and sizes. Kamlesh, with her pearly pink skin, was a woman of above-average height and girth with a voice to match her frame. Dressed in soft pink, a rosier version of her skin, her hair attractively breaking loose like rioting children from her severe bun, she appeared in control even though she felt a knot of anxiety tighten within her stomach. The past few days had been like living in a whirlwind but she had succeeded in maintaining a calm face, ensuring that everyone listened and obeyed her firm commands. They all knew that below her stern composure lurked a warm and high-spirited woman with an easy sense of humour and an infectious laugh.     

‘Will you and your cronies be able to tear yourselves away from your important discussions to welcome the groom and his family?’ The cutting sarcasm had the intended impact on her easy-going husband, Amrinder, engrossed in animated conversation with his neighbouring friends, blissfully unaware of his fatherly duties. The coterie of paunchy, balding men instantly scattered like a swarm of ants when poked with a stick. They shuffled into an uneven semi-circle in a clumsy attempt to look sharp under Kamlesh’s disparaging look.

‘Remember that men sit on the chairs near the entrance and women on the carpet inside.’ Kamlesh’s face relaxed once more into its usual good humour as she suppressed a smile at the sight of podgy middle-aged men acting like a bunch of schoolboys. She stored away the information in her head for a later date to regale their wives and rib the men. Just now she needed to focus on the work at hand. There was so much to do!        

As the sallow dawn turned pale pink, a resounding burst of drums startled the birds out of innumerable crevices of buildings and of some nearly leafless trees with a noisy flapping of wings. The sounds indicated the arrival of the guests from the groom’s side, lodged in a large, airy guest house a short distance away. The Chadhas had managed a good discount when they had booked it together with the Community Hall for the wedding.

The baraat had arrived two days ago in a Volvo bus billowing a cloud of dust in front of the Community Hall. The groom’s side came only with immediate family and close friends and relatives as they had planned a grand reception in Chandigarh a few days after the wedding. What was even more appealing about the Khullars, the groom’s family, was the fact that they had made no demands of cash or kind or even extra trimmings on accommodation. They had accepted everything graciously always praising the arrangements and hospitality. Kamlesh, after observing the family for two days, was relieved that she had made the right choice for her daughter.

Some of the exultation faded when her mind turned to the work at hand. With all the main wedding ceremonies that had gone smoothly because of Kamlesh’s constant hard work and effort, now over, she had to focus on the last one.

Kamlesh, bustling about the house overseeing that everything was ready, could hear the approaching procession, a strangely noisy mayhem in the silence of the pre-dawn. She hoped that her husband would remember all her instructions and not goof up as he often did, not deliberately but because of his easy-going temperament.        

The procession from the groom’s side moved forward, the drummers energetically increasing crescendo loud enough to rouse the entire neighbourhood. A few sleepy, curious faces peeped out from various windows and balconies to look at the procession with the men walking sombrely in front followed by the women, a human rainbow in their bright clothes and a babble of excited voices.

The groom and his family, after being suitably welcomed under Kamlesh’s watchful eyes, settled down to tea and snacks served by two boys from the corner sweet shop. The groom huddled with his two friends behind the rest of the men, sitting on red plastic chairs especially rented for the occasion. The women were guided deeper inside towards the house where the bride waited to be whisked away after the ceremony. The narrow lane, that just a couple of hours earlier had looked so desolate, now thronged with people and glowed in the golden-red rays of the early morning sun.         

Meenu snoozed comfortably on the lumpy sofa that had been dragged out to the exterior, the loud voices around her dwindling into a monotonous drone that was almost like a lullaby. Her eyes jerked open as she was nudged by Priti, her elder sister-in-law.

‘They are here.’ Priti hissed.

‘Your husband is looking rather handsome now that he is out of the ridiculous groom’s costume and headgear.’ Saloni, the younger sister-in-law gushed excitedly in a low voice to Meenu who was still fighting sleep, her nose twitching and itching from the fragrant smoke that curled from two tall incense burners next to her. She pinched back a sneeze that threatened to escape, perking up immediately, an impish expression stealing over her face at the thought of her mother’s horror if she did her usual comical version of a sneeze. She tried to sit up and look bright thinking affectionately about how her mother would scold her if she slouched, as the women from the groom’s side poured into the house walking through the courtyard decorated with coloured fairy lights.

‘Have you seen what Meenu’s mother-in-law is wearing? That woman has no shame!’ An elderly relative with shrewd eyes that missed nothing in a face as wrinkled as a dried apricot sniggered in a raspy voice. The soft ripple of snickers from others was immediately quelled as Kamlesh held up a restraining hand, a challenging expression in her suddenly steely eyes.   

                                                                        ***

Danny was chosen by Kamlesh for her only daughter after much consultation and thought. With another equally suitable proposal from a Delhi-based family, it was his mother Sheena who had tipped the balance in Danny’s favour. Kamlesh had taken an instinctive liking for the warm, non-querulous lady so different from the other would-be mother-in-law. After some kerfuffle between her heart and mind, Kamlesh had decided to send Meenu to Chandigarh, a decision welcomed by the family and by Meenu who was already smitten by the handsome Danny with his shy mannerisms.  

Kamlesh had been steely in her resolve and adamant as a rock about not marrying Meenu into a family greedy for cash or kind. She had rejected many ‘good’ offers from affluent families because of overt demands. Even covert demands of dowry garbed in the guise of something respectable were not tolerated. Any hint of expectations was enough to send Kamlesh into an angrily aggressive mood. Nothing could heal the painful rift in her heart caused by her mother-in-law’s mental cruelty and she was determined to send her daughter into a world that was not as fragile and fragmented as hers had been.  

‘We are not greedy and we don’t believe in demanding anything. After all she is your only daughter and you will marry her with pomp and show and will give her enough to secure her future.’     

Rejected.

 ‘We only want a nice girl from a good family for our son. Your daughter would be really comfortable if she could live on a flat on the second floor of our house. We are sure you would have no objections building that for your daughter?’

Rejected.

Even when a family did not say anything that Kamlesh could fault, she would investigate every tiny detail through her vast network. Any negative feedback about the boy or his family was enough for Kamlesh not to take the proposal forward. Amrinder often teased her that she was searching for a mother-in-law and not a groom for Meenu!

After scouring several families, she had zeroed down on two. Danny had finally been her choice because of the trump card he held—his mother, Sheena. Kamlesh found Sheena more suitable as a mother-in-law than the pious and religious mother of the other suiter. Sheena was like a glowing, vivid light among the thick, dark clouds of mothers-in-law Kamlesh had encountered in her search.  

                   ***

Danny was from an affluent family with a profitable business of fertilisers in Punjab. The ebb and flow of fortunes their business had initially witnessed till it finally settled into a flourishing family enterprise in the last two decades, was the reason for the family’s down-to-earth attitude. Kamlesh, always mentally grappling with the demons of an ugly shadowy memory, was adamant about giving Meenu only clothes and jewellery and no cash. Nobody could make her change her mind about that.

She had selected the family only after the trusted core of her inner circle had made enquiries and nothing negative had been discovered against the Khullars that would concern or anguish her. Relief like a welcome shower on a hot day washed over her as she carefully scrutinised their every action unable to find fault with any. Their lack of demand or expectation of expensive presents for themselves or their relatives and their graceful acceptance of the non-extravagant but elegant gifts chosen by Kamlesh, made her heart gleam with pride. The Khullars happily showered expensive and thoughtful gifts on Meenu that surpassed anything given by her own family.    

Three decades ago when Kamlesh had married Amrinder, she had encountered her mother-in-law Shantidevi Khullar, a bitter woman widowed early in life and extremely possessive of her only child. Bringing up her son with great difficulty, often at the mercy of relatives, she never tired of telling Amrinder stories of the great sacrifices she had made for him. Amrinder grew up to be a good-natured, soft-hearted man, deeply devoted to his mother. An enterprising and smart businessman with a technical bent of mind, he set up a small business of auto-parts because of his interest in cars and machines. His business did well and flourished. When the whispers of relatives about getting Amrinder married grew too loud to be ignored, his mother finally acquiesced albeit not too gracefully to search for an obedient and fair bride with a fat dowry. Kamlesh, from a family of affluent shopkeepers owning several shops selling wholesale cloth and garments, was a match the frustrated battle-axe could not refuse despite grumbling that her son deserved a much better match. After aggressive persuasion by her relatives because Amrinder was already touching thirty years of age, the marriage was fixed with the promise of a fat dowry along with a fair bride. 

The melancholic woman who welcomed Kamlesh as a new bride with her mouth set in a thin line, made it clear from the very beginning that she was not her ally. Kamlesh, a happy-go-lucky girl, who was pleased with her tall, virile husband, tried her best to please her mother-in-law but the older woman, jealous of the new bride and her happiness, was in no mood to be pleased. Always wanting to find fault, she began taunting her daughter-in-law, careful not to say anything in the presence of her son.

‘I should have chosen the other girl for my Amrinder. They were even willing to give us a car. This girl’s parents only gave a scooter!’ She would mutter loudly for Kamlesh to hear. 

Kamlesh’s initial puzzlement collapsed into hurt and pain. Unused to anyone talking to her in such a tone, she tried to grapple with the unfamiliar feelings of anger and hatred, trying to master them for Amrinder’s sake.

‘Biji, then why did you not choose that other girl? You would have been the proud owner of a car.’ After several months of unrelenting barrage of complaints and accusations, Kamlesh finally blurted out, unable to take the old woman viciously cursing her family for not giving enough dowry and a car.    

‘How dare you reply back to me? I am always so nice to you and you are being so rude to me. Wait, I will tell Amrinder when he gets back.’ The venom and triumph in her voice was unmistakable at finding something to complain about as her eyeballs sank further in their sockets as mean thoughts crowded her petty mind. Kamlesh felt her gorge rise and breathed deeply to steady herself, her mouth too dry for speech as she realised the seriousness of the situation.

The evening saw Kamlesh’s mother-in-law sitting in front of her tiny temple where she spent her morning hours on the pretext of praying but in reality it was a trick that ensured her immunity from household work. When her son returned from work, he found her praying instead of rushing to greet him like she did every evening, trying to beat Kamlesh to the door. As a newly married wife, initially Kamlesh had dutifully greeted her new husband at the door when he got home from work but she soon realised that her mother-in-law thought that she was trespassing into her territory. Hoping to maintain peace in the house, Kamlesh had decided to continue working in the kitchen when her husband returned from work, giving Shantidevi some time alone with her son.

When Amrinder found his mother praying sulkily and not responding to his greeting, he was disturbed because he sensed the beginning of a drama unfolding and he hated any kind of confrontations. After much cajoling, she finally shot a sharpened arrow of words from her bow full of resentment.

‘I love your wife like my own daughter as I have never had one but she doesn’t give me any respect. She was so rude to me today. Please send me to an ashram and I will live there peacefully. I don’t want to make trouble for you both.’ Her voice broke with emotion ending in artificially induced sobs.      

Amrinder, who had grown exceedingly fond of his good-natured, efficient wife, was in a fix. Realising that he had no choice but to admonish his wife in front of his mother who was looking at him expectantly, with a triumphant gleam in her beady eyes, he wrung his hands in consternation.  

‘Kamlesh, I am really disappointed in you. You know that my mother is the head of the family so you must talk to her respectfully at all times.’ He tried to make his tone stern, not fully succeeding but it was enough to satisfy his mother. 

Later, in the privacy of their bedroom, he decided to open up to his wife. ‘I know my mother is not an easy person but I am hugely indebted to her. I request you to please give her full respect and not mind her sharp tongue and caustic comments. I hope you will do that for me?’ He looked into her moist eyes and found warmth there, a willingness to respond to his silent plea.

Kamlesh tried her best to be tolerant towards the older woman naively hoping to win her over with her good behaviour. But her mother-in-law grudged every second Kamlesh spent with Amrinder and the happiness that she herself had never had. Her barbs continued, getting worse with passing time. Frustrated at not being able to find fault with the efficient Kamlesh who was a fabulous cook and a superb home-maker excellent at stitching and knitting, she renewed her curses about Kamlesh not bringing enough dowry and her family not doing enough. 

‘I know that you are hiding from me that your brother has opened a new shop. He must be earning a lot but the miserly bastard gave us only a gold chain and measly dry fruits for Diwali. I always knew your family was classless. My Amrinder would have found a much better girl if we had waited but your family had entrapped all our relatives with their sweet talk! Bloody fools!’

And so it went on for years with Kamlesh gritting her teeth and bearing it for more than twenty-five years till the old lady fell ill. Her skin became cratered and puckered with circular red scars, her suffering and pain giving satisfaction to Kamlesh who resisted the temptation for vengeance and continued to care for the ailing woman, who despite her mind half-crazed with sickness, did not have a kind word for her dutiful daughter-in-law.

‘My pp...oor boy has been trapped by you, you witch!’ She rasped, even as her body was wracked with pain.

‘We will buy a swanky new car and also build the third floor once you die. It’s only a matter of time.’ Kamlesh, unable to resist the temptation whispered into her mother-in-law’s ear, her voice gleeful, gloating at the look on her mother-in-law’s face.   

Death came soon after, mercifully ending the old woman’s suffering.     

Kamlesh’s experience with her mother-in-law had scarred her forever. Determined to be a good mother-in-law herself, she also wanted to protect her daughter from a similar catastrophic experience.

                                                        ***

While men socialised over the early morning repast, women went about the business of the farewell ceremony of the bride. Meenu and Kamlesh dutifully went through the motions as commanded by the priest, interspersed by suggestions and comments from elderly relatives. The tedious proceedings finally over, Meenu walked towards a bus bedecked with serrated gold streamers looking a little jaded under a fine scrim of dust that had settled on the decorations in the three days since the bus had begun its journey from Chandigarh. A board at the front of the bus read ‘DANNY WEDS MEENU’ with a backdrop of a honeycomb of tiny hearts that glittered in the sun that was now a crimson orb in a powder blue firmament splattered with puffy white clouds. A glorious dawn had unfurled to see off the bride. 

Several large trunks with Meenu’s belongings were being loaded into the cavernous luggage hold of the bus under Kamlesh’s sharp supervision. Egged into action after several pointed looks from Kamlesh, Amrinder finally handed over a medium-sized suitcase to the groom’s father, Kuljit Khullar. ‘I request you to please keep this suitcase containing jewellery and valuables under your custody.’ Amrinder requested with folded hands. 

‘I will safeguard it during the journey and will hand it over to your daughter on reaching Chandigarh. After all she’s the one who will be wearing the jewellery!’ Kuljit’s deep tone was reassuring. 

Meenu’s brothers and sisters-in-law bade her teary farewell. They were all very fond of their ebullient sister who made them laugh with her comical capers. Amrinder’s eyes streamed involuntary tears as he hugged his daughter, while the groom and his relatives shuffled their feet with uncomfortable looks on their faces. Meenu wrenched herself from her father’s protective arms as her mother-in-law gently touched her shoulder. Her eyes swivelled around seeking her mother who was still briskly overseeing the loading of the luggage determinedly staunching her tears.

Meenu’s mouth felt dry and gritty and she felt a shiver of shock run through her body as the full realisation of leaving her house dawned upon her.  

‘This has a change of clothes, a towel, toiletries and something to eat and drink.’ Kamlesh pointed to a small pink suitcase she had packed lovingly for the journey. ‘I will ask someone to keep it next to you in the bus.’ Kamlesh tried to keep her tone brusque and businesslike while her heart was shattering into a million small pieces. She knew that if she said anything more she would not be able to hold her voice steady and keep back the tears welling in her eyes.     

Meenu, feeling lost and forlorn, climbed into the bus, skittering alarmingly on her golden high heels, her heavy chunni making matters worse while Danny stood blinking stupidly not sure how to react. Tears pricked Meenu’s eyelids as she was helped into the bus by her mother and mother-in-law. Deep coils of distress and panic formed in her belly at the thought of leaving her home. She longed to stay back in the familiar comfort of her own house within the warm cocoon of her family.

Why did she have to leave her home and her family just because she was married? Why did the groom get to stay in his own house? Questions that had never occurred to her till now crowded her mind. She had always assumed that brides were excited and ecstatic about going to live with their husbands, her belief based on hundreds of Hindi movies and serials she had devoured with glee. At this moment, thumbing through time and memory as she bade farewell to the place of her earliest and fondest memories, she realised how wrong she had been. While she lived her life in forward, she realised that she would understand it backward as she experienced it.

                                                            ***

Inside the bus, the contrast with bright light made it hard to see as she blinked through her tears, the dim interiors concealing her overflowing eyes. Meenu was guided towards the back by two teenaged girls who were Danny’s cousins. Sitting in the second last row on the window seat with the pink suitcase on the seat beside her the only comforting presence, she looked out through the thick glass window, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Her brothers’ and sisters-in-law’s glum expressions immediately changed into thumbs-up signs and teasing faces when they saw her. Her father continued to look distressed. Meenu wanted to scream and jump out of the bus into the safe haven of her family but she refused to let panic win, trying to distance herself from the event and picturing herself in a happy scenario, something her mother had taught her to do as a child to ward off illogical fears. Her mother’s words that she must never let her mind be cowed and dominated by fears was what made her swallow back her sobs and calm herself. She sat back, willing the strength to flow back into her trembling limbs, her mind trying to grapple with the sheer enormity of the events.  

She saw that her mother was still bustling around organising things when the bus engine purred into life with a heavy ominous growl. It was already past 8.30 am, more than half an hour later than the planned time of departure. Delays were a normal part of weddings, so nobody seemed unduly perturbed about the late start. The bus honked twice as a signal to move and there were cries of jubilation from the marriage party while Meenu’s heartbeat quickened in perturbation. Her mother looked agitated at the sudden roar of the engine, her expression startled, almost alarmed as if she had at that instant recalled something extremely urgent and critical. A momentous catastrophe!

Kamlesh, who had been working tirelessly for three days to ensure that everything was perfect, knew that this was the very last leg of the long preparation. Everything had gone as expected, all tiny details taken care of but as the bus burst into life, she realised that she had missed something important, almost critical. Wanting to stop the bus and rush inside, she controlled herself with difficulty. It was the calmness of an emergency, but she understood the falseness of the feeling, a feeling of anxiety and concern washing over her for her little girl going on a long journey to her new home. Oh how could she have forgotten!          

As the bus began pulling out, Meenu saw her mother’s concerned face mouthing familiar words. As far as her memory would take her, her mother always uttered those words to every family member before they left the house to go somewhere...a short journey or a long one. Today, in the hustle-bustle of the farewell ceremony, it had slipped off Kamlesh’s mind and by the time she remembered, it was too late. Meenu gave her mother a reassuring look, nodding her head vigorously and raising her palms simultaneously in a gesture to convey that she would do as told as soon as possible. Kamlesh moved her lips again in silent verbalisation of the oft repeated words: ‘Go to the toilet before you leave….’