**Excerpt from a longer work in progress**
It was raining terribly and everyone in Sahiba’s family was worried about the wedding the next day. Amma ji was running from length to length of the corridor in their rustic old family home, wringing her hands in helplessness. Warm tears ran down her face as she worried about the mandap while the cold rain lashed against the white exteriors of the old Chauhan mansion.
“Ab kya karenge? Where will the pandit sit? Stuti! Come here instantly and bring the tent wala men to me. Phata phat!” Amma worried and shouted out to Stuti, the fourteen year old little imp of a girl. The girl scampered away from her spot on the floor where the rain drops snuck under the roof and teased her slightly.
All around Amma ji was the usual wedding chaos – aunts and girl cousins getting henna made on their hands, the younger ones teasing the older ones and making full use of the temporary dismantlement of age difference, some spritely ones were dancing to the latest song. The family members occupied the large closed verandah, the music and dancing belying the tension in Amma ji’s mind.
A thin white corridor led away from the verandah to a small rounded room with a ledge window that looked out to a small pond, the only clean one in Aishbagh. Here sat Sahiba, the bride to be, smoking a cigarette with her back facing the closed door that led to the corridor. She wasn’t enjoying the cigarette, she never did. She knew it would bother her mother if she saw her and was certain that the news would reach her to be in laws if anyone else in the family saw her. Maybe, they’d even change their mind and call off the wedding and relieve her of this terrible responsibility that was about to befall her.
The pond did not mean much to Sahiba, and neither did Aishbagh. She had always felt claustrophobic in the small town and more so in this large house of hers. Being Chauhan Sahab’s eldest daughter, she had many expectations of her. She envied her younger brother, Bikram, who, while less loved by her father, was free to swim in the pond, ride horses into the wild forests that lined the little hamlet, spend hours with his friends listening to fast songs and not fear disappointing his family if caught in the midst of some fun unlawful activity or other. Sahiba, too, wanted to do as he did, to run and be free and wild. For her mind was unfettered, but her body was tied to Aishbagh. That was, until she was married to Balwant. Once that happened, Sahiba would be transported to Noida, on the border of Delhi and from that point her actions and misdemeanors were none of her parents’ problems and simply Balwant’s issues.
Sure, the idea of being close to Delhi excited her but there were many things that worried Sahiba about her impending move to the rajdhani. First, Noida was no Delhi, it was the poorer and unimportant cousin of the national capital region; “I am moving to Noida” did not have the same ring to it as “I am moving to Delhi”. Second, she would have to tolerate Balwant everyday and keep smiling while she did that; Balwant was the spoilt only son in his family and she had heard he was a violent man. Third, she would have to live like a wife, wearing bands of red vermillion across her hair parting and gold and bead necklaces around her neck. She would have to wear the hateful silver bands in her toes and wrap her sari around her head and pretend modesty.
This escape from Aishbagh seemed more like a one way ticket to a jail in Noida rather than a free life in Delhi. And that was not what Sahiba wanted. All she wanted was to remain Sahiba Chauhan and live the life her brother lived. Hence, she hoped the smoking would get caught and get the wedding canceled. Maybe, if she opened the door a little, the smell of the smoke would get to the family and someone would snitch to the boy’s side. As Sahiba walked to the door, it flung open and Amma ji came panting in.
“Haye Ram! Stub it out, you stupid girl!” Amma ji screamed at Sahiba, quickly shutting the door behind her and peeping out to make sure no one had seen Sahiba’s burning cigarette. She stared at her daughter angrily and snatched the burning stick of tobacco and flung it out the window.
Sahiba did not say a word but instead looked at her mother with obvious disdain in her eyes. She was angry with Amma ji for her provincial attitude but she was not surprised at her reaction. Amma ji was obviously worried about her daughter’s future.
It was raining terribly and everyone in Sahiba’s family was worried about the wedding the next day. Amma ji was running from length to length of the corridor in their rustic old family home, wringing her hands in helplessness. Warm tears ran down her face as she worried about the mandap while the cold rain lashed against the white exteriors of the old Chauhan mansion.
“Ab kya karenge? Where will the pandit sit? Stuti! Come here instantly and bring the tent wala men to me. Phata phat!” Amma worried and shouted out to Stuti, the fourteen year old little imp of a girl. The girl scampered away from her spot on the floor where the rain drops snuck under the roof and teased her slightly.
All around Amma ji was the usual wedding chaos – aunts and girl cousins getting henna made on their hands, the younger ones teasing the older ones and making full use of the temporary dismantlement of age difference, some spritely ones were dancing to the latest song. The family members occupied the large closed verandah, the music and dancing belying the tension in Amma ji’s mind.
A thin white corridor led away from the verandah to a small rounded room with a ledge window that looked out to a small pond, the only clean one in Aishbagh. Here sat Sahiba, the bride to be, smoking a cigarette with her back facing the closed door that led to the corridor. She wasn’t enjoying the cigarette, she never did. She knew it would bother her mother if she saw her and was certain that the news would reach her to be in laws if anyone else in the family saw her. Maybe, they’d even change their mind and call off the wedding and relieve her of this terrible responsibility that was about to befall her.
The pond did not mean much to Sahiba, and neither did Aishbagh. She had always felt claustrophobic in the small town and more so in this large house of hers. Being Chauhan Sahab’s eldest daughter, she had many expectations of her. She envied her younger brother, Bikram, who, while less loved by her father, was free to swim in the pond, ride horses into the wild forests that lined the little hamlet, spend hours with his friends listening to fast songs and not fear disappointing his family if caught in the midst of some fun unlawful activity or other. Sahiba, too, wanted to do as he did, to run and be free and wild. For her mind was unfettered, but her body was tied to Aishbagh. That was, until she was married to Balwant. Once that happened, Sahiba would be transported to Noida, on the border of Delhi and from that point her actions and misdemeanors were none of her parents’ problems and simply Balwant’s issues.
Sure, the idea of being close to Delhi excited her but there were many things that worried Sahiba about her impending move to the rajdhani. First, Noida was no Delhi, it was the poorer and unimportant cousin of the national capital region; “I am moving to Noida” did not have the same ring to it as “I am moving to Delhi”. Second, she would have to tolerate Balwant everyday and keep smiling while she did that; Balwant was the spoilt only son in his family and she had heard he was a violent man. Third, she would have to live like a wife, wearing bands of red vermillion across her hair parting and gold and bead necklaces around her neck. She would have to wear the hateful silver bands in her toes and wrap her sari around her head and pretend modesty.
This escape from Aishbagh seemed more like a one way ticket to a jail in Noida rather than a free life in Delhi. And that was not what Sahiba wanted. All she wanted was to remain Sahiba Chauhan and live the life her brother lived. Hence, she hoped the smoking would get caught and get the wedding canceled. Maybe, if she opened the door a little, the smell of the smoke would get to the family and someone would snitch to the boy’s side. As Sahiba walked to the door, it flung open and Amma ji came panting in.
“Haye Ram! Stub it out, you stupid girl!” Amma ji screamed at Sahiba, quickly shutting the door behind her and peeping out to make sure no one had seen Sahiba’s burning cigarette. She stared at her daughter angrily and snatched the burning stick of tobacco and flung it out the window.
Sahiba did not say a word but instead looked at her mother with obvious disdain in her eyes. She was angry with Amma ji for her provincial attitude but she was not surprised at her reaction. Amma ji was obviously worried about her daughter’s future.
