CHAPTER THREE
The Hindi word for friend is dost.
I stood in front of my wardrobe while tapping my finger on my lips, what should I wear? It was a Saturday night, one that brought a different quandary. This perplexity was for another wedding, not mine - just what outfit would I choose?
We were going to the wedding reception of Ram, a friend of Akarsh who is Kishore’s cousin - Aunt Bhamini and Uncle Harilal's son. Aunt Bhamini had invited us as she felt we needed to immerse ourselves more in Kishore's 'Indian side.' I agreed. We didn't have much to do with Indian culture here in New Zealand so I was happy to go.
As I considered my choice of clothes, my one and only Indian suit (swalar kameez) seemed to be screaming 'pick me, pick me.' Taking hold of the hanger I pulled the outfit from the wardrobe.
It was kind of glitzy, just right for an Indian party, red and black in colour with little silver diamantes. The trousers were typical of any Indian suit; a drawstring waist, big and billowing around the thighs but tapering to fit snugly around the calves and ankles. The top was a ‘V’ neck with no sleeves and went all the way to my knees, and a red scarf (dupatta) completed the outfit.
As I took the swalar kameez from its hanger and imagined myself wearing it, I wondered whether I would look odd if I wore it. A red haired English girl dressed in Indian clothes? I laid the outfit on my bed then turned back to my wardrobe full of Western clothes. If I wore something like that I pondered, would I be the only person there dressed in English clothes? In fact, I would probably be the only white skinned girl at the party anyway, I thought with a grin. Either way I knew I would feel like a fish out of water.
I took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. I had made my decision, I would play 'dress up' and wear the swalar kameez. After dressing, I stood in front of the mirror brushing my hair as Kishore entered our bedroom wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was still damp from the shower, he smelt fresh, clean, and of pine-deodorant.
I turned to face him. With my hands on my hips, I lifted my chin and tried to look alluring. He stared at me, his eyebrows hit the top of his forehead and he nodded, "Nice Julie, REAL nice.” He then stepped into black dress trousers, slipped on an off-white business shirt, slapped some cologne on his cheeks and he was ready - it is so easy for guys!
* * * *
At the reception after saying our ‘hellos' to Akarsh, Aunt Bhamini and Uncle Harilal, we headed over to give our regards to the bride and groom.
Although their respective parents had 'chosen' Ram as Lalita’s (pronounced La-LEE-ta) groom, the couple had gone through a traditional courtship of dating and deciding for themselves if they were right for one another. That was the way it worked in modern arranged marriages.
The bride and groom sat on decorated chairs on a small stage. As the all-important guests of honour, they looked magnificent in their wedding outfits. They were on display for friends and family to give their blessings, just as it happened at my wedding. Lalita had on a red and gold bridal sari, similar to the one I had worn, her cheeks were flushed… she looked very beautiful and very happy. Approaching them, we gave our congratulations and Kishore handed an envelope to Ram, which contained a wedding card and fifty-one dollars. In Indian custom if you are giving money as a gift, one dollar is added to the amount (ie: $10 or $20 or $50 plus one dollar). It is considered bad luck to give an even amount and one is deemed an auspicious number.
Kishore and I found a seat each on the chairs that lined the hall. He immediately began fidgeting and as I followed his eyes I saw why. A group of men including Akarsh and other friends of friends were talking and laughing in a corner. I nudged Kishore as I said “Go on."
He looked at me, back at the men, and then back to me. He patted my hand, “It’s okay Julie, I want to stay here with you."
I rolled my eyes, "Sure you do Kishore…” Giving him a little push on his shoulder, “Really go, I will be fine.”
He didn't move, so I tried again, "Go Kishore, really it’s fine."
He stood and looked down at me, "If you are sure… I will just be a few minutes."
I watched as he walked over and joined the men, soon he was laughing with them. Sitting on my own, I listened to the Indian music that was lightly playing from distant speakers. It was not loud enough to be heard above the sounds in the room but I knew this would change as the night wore on and the party atmosphere intensified. I was very aware of the aroma of delicious food and I knew a supper of scrumptious Indian dishes was not far away from being served. After everyone had finished eating, the volume of the music would be turned up loud. The latest hit songs from Bollywood movies would belt from the speakers and the high-spirited guests will get up to dance the night away.
My eyes wandered around the room. The lighting was not bright but I estimated there must be around eighty guests all milling in different groups. I observed older men in smart suits seated next to mature women who wore saris and clutched handbags firmly on their laps. Children ran around like flying swallows chasing each other, darting here and there in and around the legs of people, tables and chairs.
I smiled a little smugly to myself as I saw that I was right, my face was the only white one in the room. Turning my attention to study the young ladies dotted around the hall, I noticed they were talking in excited high-pitched tones. How marvelous they looked in their colourful clothes and glamorous, glittering, golden jewellery, but that didn't surprise me. I knew this kind of occasion was usually their only chance to take out their Indian outfits and their inordinate treasures to put on and display, like proud, beautiful peacocks.
I glanced back to Kishore clutching a glass of coke, this being a non-alcoholic party. He looked like he was having a good time as he was joking around with the other men.
To stop myself staring at everyone, I decided I had better try and look like I had a purpose for sitting all by myself. Chewing my bottom lip, I opened my purse and peered inside, pretending to search for something, anything, when all of a sudden I felt someone plop down in the seat beside me.
"Hi," she said.
I looked up to see a girl, her smile was huge but it was her sparkling white teeth that straight away caught my eye - they were dazzling.
"Hello," I replied, shaking her outstretched hand
"You’re Julie aren't you?" It was obvious she already knew my name so it was a rhetorical question but I answered,"Ummm… yes."
"It's okay," she said. "Everybody knows who you are."
I looked around the room full of people. Yes, I supposed everybody did know who I was.
"I'm Nina, I'm a friend of Lalita's," she declared as she nodded her head in the direction of the bride.
I peered closer at this Indian girl – Nina. She wasn’t really a girl as I first thought, she must have been in her early twenties, possibly a little bit younger than me. She was small in structure with shoulder length jet black hair that had a slight curl to it.
Nina continued, "Don't you think Lalita is such a pretty name?"
I nodded. "Yes… I suppose so."
"Did you know that Lalita, in Hindi, means pleasant or playful? La-li-ta, it just rolls off your tongue like a song."
I spoke the name, sounding it out for myself, "La-li-ta, La-li-ta,"
liking the sound of it, and soon we were both singing, "Lalita, Lalita, Lalita… " We turned to look at the bride who was looking oddly at us… two silly girls who were loudly singing her name. Nina waved, tinkling her fingers at her, she then turned to look at me and we both burst out laughing!
We continued talking. Well, Nina continued to speak – the only time she ever stopped was to take a breath. We just clicked, like we had met before. As the conversation flowed I could tell she was a kindred spirit, an instant friend like the happy, effervescent, Anne of Green Gables.
Hours later, Kishore and I said our goodbyes to everybody as we left the party and gratefully stepped into the cool night air. Slumping wearily into his car, our ears were still ringing from the loud music still bellowing from the hall.
Kicking off my shoes, I stretched out my aching feet; we had both joined in the fun and danced with the guests with great fervor. Kishore drove out of the parking lot and I sarcastically joked that surely our dancing had been good enough for us to audition for a Bollywood movie. Through the dark streets we drove, heading towards home. I checked my purse for the piece of paper with Nina's phone number on, we had promised to keep in touch.
For days afterward every time I thought of us singing, "Lalita, Lalita, Lalita," I couldn't help but giggle.