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Francescawipedthe sweat off her forehead for the hundredth time.Shemay have been hot, but at least she wasn’t in pain.Likeclockwork, her period and her symptoms had disappeared overnight.Shefelt like a normal human being again.
Areally hot and sweaty normal human being.
Itwas almost 11:30, and the bride would arrive at the ceremony soon.
Shetook in the grandeur of the setting.Theceremony would take place outside, in a gigantic courtyard in front of the main entrance to the palace.Warmstone porticos with statues of women pointing at things sandwiched the space on opposite sides.Behindthem was an open, grass-covered avenue that led up to a solitary column with a lonely figure on top.
Theevent planners had gone fullBollywoodwith the design.Realpalm trees edged the seating area, and sheets of exotic flowers dangled between them, blocking the view of the actual palace the couple had paid an exorbitant fee to hire.Alarge, roundedMandapon a platform dominated the front of the space, decked out in over-sized monstera leaves and flower arrangements in different shades of pink.Afloral chandelier hung from the roof of the structure, suspended above plush, gildedLouisXIV-style armchairs.Theceremony would take place here.Realgrass carpeted theMandap.
Heatsizzled through the air, promising a sweaty day for everyone.Overthe guests’ heads, large, protective sails had been erected that stretched to the back of the courtyard.Moreflowers snaked up the poles holding the sails in place.PoorDavidhad already started sneezing again.
Francescahad never seen an event design like it.Shecouldn’t believe thatIshaniandParamjeetconsidered this their ‘small’ wedding.
Theguests came prepared for a long, hot ceremony.Someheld battery-operated fans.Onelady brought binoculars to get a better view of the proceedings.Anotheraunty at the back unpacked a picnic basket full of food and served portions to the people sitting around her.Quitea few of the oldies were already taking naps.Orthey had died.Francescahoped for the former.
Paramjeetsat under theMandap, along with both sets of parents.Francescatrained her lens on the groom’s father, the famous directorVashneyOberoi, identifiable by his iconic black, fluffy eyebrows.Acoronet of grey hair circled his head, leaving the top of his scalp bald as a baby.Hewas taller than she’d expected.Shedidn’t get star struck as a rule, but a frisson of giddiness had shivered through her earlier when miking him up.Heseemed nice, which made her wonder how he’d brought up such a wanker asParamjeet.
Atpresent, they were performingHindurituals before the bride arrived.Krishhad warned her to expect a lot of rituals.Healso said you never knew which rituals they would do, because it wasn’t like the weddings she was used to, where things tended to happen the same way at every ceremony.AtHinduweddings, rituals were like a pick’n’mix, and no twoHinduweddings would ever be the same.
Briefly, she speculated about whetherKrishwould want anIndianwedding and which traditions he would choose to uphold.Hervision blurred, and for a moment she sawKrishand notParamjeetunder theMandap.Amirage.Sheblinked her eyes a few times to dispel it.
Thefive hundred guests were seated now.FrancescaspottedJaiveeramong them and waved.Theceremony would last two hours, followed by family photos on the steps of the palace.Justthe expectation of everything they had left to do today made her crave bed.
Still, she was grateful.Becauseworking kept her mind offKrish—and the fact that he wasn’t engaged.
Hereyes wandered in his direction.Theywere covering close-ups whileWallyandStellashot wide.WhenKrishhad appeared at breakfast that morning, she’d been surprised to see him in a short, tailored kurta instead of his usual suit.Thetop was royal blue linen with embroidery along the neckline and front and, on his bottom half, he wore camel-coloured pyjama-style trousers.
Shebit her lip.
Hisshirt sleeves were pushed up, baring his forearms.Theslim tailoring emphasised his trim, fit build.Itwas doing terrible things to her concentration.
Nope.Shecouldn’t think about that now.Shedragged her attention back to theMandap.
Thebride arrived under a moving canopy of flowers, a pole at each corner carried by four of the groomsmen.Ishanibarely resembled herself underneath all her clothes, jewellery, and eyeliner.Deepred and edged with gold, her dress came in two parts: a cropped top baring a good deal of her flat stomach and a full, floor-length skirt that managed to appear light despite being covered in gold embroidery and jewels.Asheer red veil was attached to the back of her head, and an ornate diamanté choker necklace encircled her throat, finished off by two strings of fat pearls hanging between her breasts.Andthat was only half the jewellery.Danglingearrings weighed down her lobes, and her wrists clacked with bangles.Agolden chain attached a nose ring to her ear.AnIndianprincess in the flesh.Francescathought she had never seen such a gorgeous bride.
WhatifIcould be that bride?
Theintrusive thought almost made her drop her camera.
Fora moment, she allowed herself to fantasise, to pretend it was her wearing the red lehenga andKrishwaiting for her, shoeless, under theMandap.
Theidea of it glowed through her.
Tellhim!yelledKingRatin her head.Shecommanded her inner rodent to shut up.Andat what point did she need to start worrying that she had imaginary conversations with a rat?
You’vebuilt a cage.Jaiveer’sproclamation came hot on the heels ofKingRat.
Thatdamned cage…
Thatcage was a story she told herself about her pain.Aboutwhat would happen if she opened up about it.She’dspent her whole lifetime building it.Whatif she was wrong?
Wouldshe let fear continue to control her life?Whatif she just…didn’t?Whatif she decided to love herself?Whatif shecouldbe that bride?WhatifKrishdidchoose her?Andmore importantly, what ifshechoseKrish?
Ifthere was one man in the world who might accept her exactly the way she was, it wasKrish.Hiskindness, his strength, especially hisLancelotComplex…he was the best of men.Shehad never met anyone else like him.TheUniversehad tried to push him into her path five years ago, but she had been too stupid and too cynical and too full of self-loathing to believe her luck.
Theonly thing standing between you and the life you want is yourself.Therealisation made her breath catch.
Asthe bride and groom started walking around the fire in the centre of theMandap,Francescaraised her eyes from her viewfinder to locateKrish.Hewas hunched on the steps of theMandap, camera in hand, only ten feet away.
