A Colorful Life: Drawn in Broken Crayon

by Melissa Storm

  Mishti rested her chin on her palm and sighed.

  "Those ladies?" the shopkeeper chimed in. "They belonged to a travel group staying at Taj Resort. That's where most tourists stay when in Delhi."

  "Yes!" Mishti sang, rushing for the door. "The Wonders of the World group. They're going all over India."

  "Oh, thank God." Kashi exhaled and glanced upward. "Let's go to the Taj then. Maybe she's still there!"

  After an anxious trip through midday traffic, Kashi and his sisters tore into the Taj Resort. Kashi raced up to the concierge’s desk, wordlessly pushing the photo of Daly into his hands.

  "Have you seen our friend?" Jaya asked.

  The concierge cleared his throat. "Yes, I believe she was with the Wondrous World tour group. They left about an hour ago."

  Kashi wanted to hug the man but restrained himself. "Do you know where they went?"

  The concierge cleared his throat again and held out his hand.

  Kashi pressed a five-hundred rupee note into his waiting palm.

  "Agra."

  "Thank you," Kashi shouted, and ran back through the revolving doors. Of all the sites in that city, he could stake his life on finding her at the Taj Mahal.

  A quick trip home to drop off his sisters, then he’d take the four-hour trek to find his Daly.

  Daly's group arrived at the palatial marble tomb an hour before sunset. That gave the tourists an hour to explore the monument in daylight, and ensured they'd see the spectacular nighttime light show as well.

  Daly did her best to muster some enthusiasm. After all, who had ever visited India without seeing the Taj Mahal?

  She walked in line with Belle and the others in her group, exploring the inner chamber of the tomb.

  The guide stood on tiptoe, using his hands to tell the story of Shah Jahan and his beloved wife Mumtaz. Their powerful love had led to the creation of the breathtaking marvel.

  Would anyone ever love Daly as Shahn Jahan had loved Mumtaz? Unlikely, since she never wanted to reopen her heart again. It just hurt too much when things went wrong.

  "It took twenty thousand builders twenty-two years to complete construction on the Taj Mahal," the guide droned on.

  The architecture held little interest for Daly. In fact, she'd had enough of this lecture—too much information spoiled the monument's otherworldly beauty. Thanks to the power of the World Wide Web, she could learn the facts anytime. She should use these precious moments before sunset to explore while she was actually in the physical space.

  She ducked out as the speaker rushed on to the next topic of his impassioned monologue. "And Shah Jahan even amputated the hands of the builders so they'd never be able to create anything to rival...." His voice faded as Daly strode to the front of the reflecting pond.

  Foreigners and Indian nationals alike waited to have their pictures taken on a stage that rose above the water—the perfect spot for photographs because the entire monument could be captured in a single frame.

  Happy families and excited tour groups entered the grounds from the exterior gate, and caught their first glimpses of the larger-than-life white building. Famous as it was, she found the monument enormously underwhelming. Give her the streets of Connaught Place or the ruins of the Qutub Minar over this any day.

  A novelty in this heavily urban environment, the springy emerald grass surrounding the tomb invited visitors to relax. Daly smiled and withdrew her sketch diary. Photos were quick, but superficial. If she took the time to draw the object, she would capture the image and its impact on her emotions.

  She sketched a rough arc to represent the central dome, and then set to the minarets—the most outstanding part of the building. They soared stark against the sky, reminding her of the Qutub Minar. The long crystal waves of the reflecting pond rippled, revealing the form of two lovers reaching toward each other.

  Did the afterlife actually exist, or did people just dream it up to lessen their fear of dying? If the afterlife existed, then the Shah and his wife undoubtedly haunted the monument erected to honor their love.

  Time sped by as the sun inched toward the horizon. Daly had nearly finished her picture, but the waning light forced her to set her diary aside. She leaned back on outstretched palms, admiring the setting while doing her best to commit the un-replicated details to memory.

  "Now this is familiar," a man said behind her.

  Could it be? She turned and saw Kashi standing behind her with a relieved smile plastered across his face.

  So many emotions worked their way through her ragged heart. Surprise, relief, anger—but most of all, love. He’d hurt her so badly; still, she couldn’t suppress a smile as a flood of tears streamed down her cheeks.

  He’s come all this way. He’s found me. He wants me... wants us.

  He cleared his throat, gently taking her hand. "Daly, I'm so sorry. I never meant for things to happen like that. I thought telling them in stages would be better, less dramatic. Obviously, I was wrong." He blew air out from his bottom lip, his large brown eyes peering at her from beneath long lashes.

  "Please forgive me." A tear rolled down his cheek. "I love you so much. When I realized you'd left, I was just... destroyed. We all were. Papa and I searched for you for hours—days—until finally we realized you had come here. Mummy-Papa feel so bad about what happened."

  Daly’s heart floated into her throat, keeping the words trapped in her belly. That was fine, since she didn’t know what to say, anyway.

  After a pause, Kashi continued. "They were just shocked, finding out that way. They really like you. They said so themselves. Papa's told me to bring home his daughter-in-law. They are ready for our marriage. They approve! We can live happily ever after. All the pieces are in place."

  Daly swallowed, but the lump remained wedged in her airway. Was it true? Had her life taken yet another dramatic turn, only this time for the better?

  "It's funny. Fate is working in our favor again. Had everything not unfolded in this way—you running here, me following after you...." He trailed off, rubbed his hands over his thighs, and reached deep into his pocket to extract a small velvet box. "Well, I never would have gotten this amazing, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of asking you to marry me at the Taj Mahal. So, what do you say, Daly? Please, please, say yes." He flipped open the lid of the box to reveal a golden engagement ring. A tight cluster of rubies surrounded a large diamond.

  Daly's mind raced. She focused on her breathing and mulled over his words. The worst, that's what she'd expected. Never once had she considered he might try to find her, let alone ask her to marry him. She wiped at her tears with lead-stained fists, having forgotten to clean her hands after packing up her sketch journal.

  Kashi laughed and smoothed away the pencil smudges with his thumb. He let his hand linger, and brought his face close to hers. "We could be so happy, Daly. Imagine."

  The Taj Mahal glowed red behind him as the fire of the Indian sun reflected off the shining marble. From the fierce, determined expression in his eyes, she knew he was deeply sorry. She thought once again back to the hermetic life she had imagined for herself. Well, that wouldn't be good enough anymore. Any life without Kashi would be far too lonely.

  "Ye-e-e-es." She sobbed, drawing the single syllable into four.

  He slid the ring onto her finger and jumped into the air. A loud whoop resonated across the monument, and several tourists turned to gawk at them.

  Daly leaped up to join him, and lost her balance. Before she could fall, Kashi wrapped her in his arms, then swung her about in circles.

  If only she could stay this way forever—the warm glow of the sunset bathing their skin while their hearts burst with love, twirling before the most romantic monument in the world. Hot tears rushed down her cheeks. This was perfect.

  ***

  Kashi brought Daly home to the apologies of his parents. They seemed intent on making it up to her by planning the most lavish wedding ceremony possible. Even Jaya took additional time off work to help prepa
re.

  Daly felt a genuine change in attitude, and was grateful to finally belong. Meenu Auntie coddled her in a way Laine never had.

  So this is what a mother's love feels like.

  After several phone calls from Daly, Laine had finally agreed to join the celebratory bunch in Delhi. "Oh, it's exactly how Vikram Seth described," she said. "Kashi, it seems you are Daly's Suitable Boy. I really must reread that."

  Jaya and Laine took to each other quickly, and Daly was thrilled to see her mother fitting in well with the Malhotra family. Meghann's absence caused her a little sadness, but the pregnant girl couldn't risk a transatlantic flight. Rather than dwell on the disappointment, Daly made plans to have the ceremony streamed live so Meghann could watch from her home in Oxford. One way or another, her best friend would attend.

  The days leading up to the ceremony were the busiest of Daly's life. The usual amount of preparation needed to plan a full Hindu wedding was challenging enough without the added complications of a limited timeframe. Florists, musicians, caterers, photographers, DJs, videographers, mehndi artists, and tailors all shuffled through the family's apartment to interview for the big job.

  The photographers in particular were keen on working with a Western bride—her presence hinted at large paychecks. Plus, acquiring souvenir photos to hang in their shops would be sure to impress Indian brides-to-be. "Yes, you too can look this fair!" they would exclaim, or at least, that was what Daly thought they might say.

  "What am I going to wear? Is there enough time to get a gown?" she asked Mishti as they sat side by side in the salon, while a chubby hijra threaded their eyebrows.

  "Oh, you don’t know? You already have the perfect dress." Mishti waved the hairdresser away and turned to face Daly, a giant smile stretching from cheek to cheek.

  "I do?"

  "Dolly, your saree. It is a bridal saree. That is why it was so expensive."

  "Really?" It seemed she had somehow understood the garment’s promise. After all, it had played no small part in bringing her and Kashi together.

  Mishti squealed as the hijra recommenced work on her eyebrows

  They returned to the salon the day before the marriage ceremony, this time with Meenu Auntie, Priya, and Jaya in tow.

  "You must pick a jewelry set to wear tomorrow," Meenu Auntie said.

  The stylist opened a series of large flat boxes; each held an even more gargantuan pair of earrings and necklace than the last.

  "No, that’s okay. I think the saree is plenty glamorous enough."

  Priya and Mishti both clicked their tongues while Meenu Auntie held the largest necklace of all to Daly’s chest.

  Jaya shrugged. "It’s an Indian wedding. Nothing less than over-the-top will do."

  Daly grimaced when she saw the mammoth jewelry set they'd picked for her: bejeweled earrings so massive she needed to pin them into her hair for added support; a ruby necklace that reached from her throat down to her cleavage, and seemed to stretch from one end of her collarbone to the other; red and white bangles stacked up as high as her elbows; and a tikka that hung down from the center part of her hair and sparkled from its resting spot on her forehead. She was a bedazzled Mughal warrior.

  Judging from the expressions of pure delight on the women's faces, she looked the part of a proper Indian bride.

  The mehndiwala came later that night and had Daly choose a design from his big book of photographs. She then had to remain perfectly still while the artist painted her body, applying the cold paste in waves in order to replicate the design. When he was finished, Daly was covered from toe to knee and from the tips of her fingers to her elbows.

  Next came two hours of absolute boredom as she sat waiting for the body art to dry. She'd been warned that even the slightest movement could smear the intricate artwork. Despite the discomfort of waiting, waiting, waiting, Daly loved this part. Art was art, after all.

  Finally, Kashi's sisters showed her how to use mustard oil and the edge of a spoon to scrape the hardened paste from her skin. The beautiful print made her gasp. Peacocks, flowers, trumpets, and spirals climbed majestically up her limbs.

  Mishti pointed to the spot on Daly's hand where the artist had written, Akash. "It's very dark," she said. "That means your husband will love you very much. But we already knew that!"

  Priya, the most recently married Malhotra, never ran short of advice. "Don't be too confident. Look shyly at your feet. Walk slowly. Don't fall into the fire."

  Don't fall into the fire?

  She imagined stumbling over her own feet, as she was so apt to do, and falling straight into licking flames that wanted nothing more than to consume her. But not even that could dampen her cheery mood.

  ***

  Then suddenly, the big day arrived. Bolts of silk and chains of marigolds hung around the banquet hall. Daly only noticed the gorgeous scene in passing; her attention remained fixed upon her groom.

  A wall of flowers hung over Kashi's face, adding an exciting element of intrigue. He looked princely in his sherwani—a traditional outfit that included a long jacket woven with rich cream, red, and golden threads—pointy genie-in-the bottle shoes, and a dramatic turban.

  They sat cross-legged underneath a small fabric altar, and the holy man stoked a fire in the center, instructing them to add ghee and other edible fuel at the appropriate moments. Daly, Kashi, and their parents repeated unfamiliar ancient words to make the sacred wedding pact with God.

  The priest gently set a lotus blossom and silver coin into Daly's cupped palm and placed her hand into Laine's. They repeated vows in Sanskrit, and then Laine transferred Daly's hand to Kashi's, literally giving him her hand in marriage.

  Daly beamed and leaned over to kiss her mother's cheek. When the time came to walk seven circles around the fire, Daly shivered, remembering Priya's warning. She focused intently on her feet, edging forward one step at a time, managing to reach the end of the ceremony without any tragic incidents.

  The full celebration lasted three days, all of which blended together in Daly's mind—grand and exciting. She remembered most clearly a red, satin tent strung with flowers and tea lights, a wooden bench swing covered in strands of marigolds, and two intricately hand-carved, velvet-cushioned thrones on a raised stage. Magnificent color enveloped them. Some five hundred guests—friends of family, family of friends, and even shopkeepers—came to wish the couple well and to take their photos with the newlyweds. Enough pictures to fill three photo albums.

  Although it was fun, Daly struggled through the dance portion of the affair. She just hadn't been blessed with the coordination needed to look elegant while waltzing. A spike-haired DJ mixed the trendiest songs from Bollywood with the hip-hop-like beats of bhangra folk music. He threw in the odd Beyoncé song to add a bit of an American flavor in her honor.

  Mishti became Daly's constant shadow, demonstrating how to point her fingers, bounce her shoulders, and kick her feet in true Desi fashion. Laine surprised Daly by quickly picking up the rhythm, and adding a swanky hip sashay to the traditional Indian moves. Unable to mimic Mishti, Daly delighted in flailing about like a drunken penguin.

  When the celebrations finally reached an end, the family arranged for the newlyweds to stay at the Taj Resort. Daly was all too happy to replace a bad memory with a perfect one.

  Kashi carried her over the threshold into the rented suite, where a canopy of fragrant roses greeted them, stretched over the king-sized bed. A sea of red petals covered the red silk sheets.

  "It's so beautiful," she whispered, reaching out to touch the string of flowers suspended in mid-air. "I couldn't imagine anything more romantic if I tried."

  "Yes, very pretty," Kashi said dismissively. "Now, do you remember what I told you that night? How I couldn't wait to unwrap your saree? Now I finally have my chance, so—" He growled and fell upon her, removing her jewelry piece by piece, relieving her of her bridal dress and, at last, ravishing what lay hidden beneath.

  Daly tittered as he kissed her al
l over, a warm glow of happiness surging through her. Finally, she belonged to someone. More than someone—an entire big, boisterous, loving family. She had sisters, a nephew, a father-in-law, and a husband who wanted nothing more than to make all her dreams come true.

  Chapter 17

  I trusted in fate, and it delivered. I've never been so happy in my entire life.

  "Do you have to go?" Daly stared at Kashi from inside her nest of silk sheets, which she'd insisted on bringing back with them from India. Twin collages, each in the shape of a peacock, hung side by side over the headboard. They flanked a single beaded tapestry of the vibrant bird displaying his feathers.

  "I've already had so much time off work. I have no choice." Kashi frowned and bent to kiss her forehead.

  She giggled and attempted to pull him back into bed. "Aww, c'mon. What's the worst that could happen?"

  "Uh, I could lose my job. We'd be poor and miserable." He flashed an impish grin as he buttoned up his pastel shirt.

  "Okay then." She sighed. "If you must go...."

  "I must, but I'll be back soon." Kashi gave her one final kiss and rushed out the door before she could change his mind.

  When she was sure Kashi was not going to return, Daly inched her way out of bed. Unpacking more boxes might distract her from his absence. She imagined how happy her new husband would be when he discovered how productive she'd been. If he had to work, so would she. To make that possible, she chose to spend the first part of her day setting up the art studio.

  Their one bedroom condo had no place for a formal studio, but the chronically underused dining room might serve a purpose yet. Kashi wouldn't care. He wanted her to be happy, and they always ate their meals on TV trays over the couch, anyway.

  By lunchtime, she had unpacked all the boxes and finished setting up the studio.

  At first, she'd been glad to have this semester off while waiting for the results of her art school applications and prepared to—hopefully—return to the student life full time in the fall. She'd done all she could. With her husband's help, she'd even managed to score a B+ in Algebra.