The wedding was off.
“I’ll get home as soon as I can, okay?” I said. “We’ll think of something, Vinnie, I promise.”
“What’s wrong?” the hairdresser asked.
I told her.
“My grandparents got married in a hurricane, you know,” she said. “There was no one there but ten people and a preacher—it can be done.”
“Even if we find another venue,” I said, “how are we going to let everyone know and change all the arrangements?”
“You can’t do it without help,” she said. “So anyone who’s ever said let us know if we can do anything—call them. Tell them what you need. They will feel better if they can help.”
“Okay,” I said. “I will.”
“Attagirl,” she said. “Now let’s make your hair look gorgeous.”
An hour later I emerged rested, determined, and ready to do battle with that storm. When I turned on the radio in the car, the WBUR news team was reporting live from MEMA headquarters, confirming that the governor had declared a state of emergency ahead of Indra. They were expecting it to hit by Saturday night. I shook my newly styled hair in disbelief. It didn’t seem real that a Category 2 storm with hundred-mile-an-hour winds could potentially arrive in Westbury the weekend of Vinnie’s wedding. But that’s exactly what it looked like right now.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“They don’t have a choice,” Vinnie said. “The State of Massachusetts has ordered them shut.”
“So we’ll find an alternative venue,” I said. I didn’t even believe it. We both knew how far in advance places got booked.
“We tried,” Vinnie said. “Dad’s been on the phone ever since we left River Bend. Everything outdoor is canceled and everything indoor is booked.”
We had to think outside the box. “How about here?” A wild idea was taking hold of me. “At our house! Tomorrow—before the storm hits hard!”
“Are you crazy?” Vinnie said. “We can’t fit over a hundred people in here. Even with the people canceling, we’ll have at least that many people.”
“Maybe not inside,” I said, and grabbed my car keys. “But we have the yard—at least until it starts raining. I’ll be back, Vinnie!”
“But where are you going?” Vinnie wailed.
“Just get ready for the janvasam,” I said, and gave her a kiss. “And try not to worry.”
I hopped into the car and pushed a button on my cell phone—it’s a good thing I had Talbot Rental on speed dial. The ringtone buzzed at the other end. Pick up, pick up, pick up—dang it! Someone rapped on my car window as I backed slowly out into the street.
Vir!
I had nearly run him over—if you can run anyone over at two miles an hour.
You can’t do it without help. The hairdresser’s stern voice sounded in my head. Tell them what you need.
I stopped the car and jumped out.
“Vir, drive the car!” I said. “I have to make a phone call.”
“You trust me with your car?” he said, looking warily at me.
“Are you kidding me?” I said. “My dad let you drive his Lotus!”
“Fine, fine, I’ll drive,” he said.
There was a charged silence as he eased the Mini up the hill. The bitter words we had exchanged crackled between us, demanding resolution, but this was not the time.
“Er… where exactly are we going?” Vir asked.
“The Westbury Town Hall,” I said. “If they’re still open!”
He was an excellent driver—even I sometimes stall at the top of the hill, but not Vir. Meanwhile someone at Talbot Rental answered the phone. “Hi,” I said. “I’d like to book a tent for tomorrow, please.”
“What kind of tent?” the girl asked.
“A twenty-foot-by-forty-foot tent,” I said after consulting my notepad. Yeah, that was the largest size I could fit on the front lawn. The backyard had trees, and the side lawn was sharply slanted—so they were both out.
“Okay,” she said. “Do you want side walls for the tent?”
“Yes,” I said. “The ones with clear windows.”
“What date is this for?” she asked. “Wait, you said tomorrow, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Saturday the twenty-seventh of August.”
“What town?” she asked.
“Westbury,” I said. We had made it to the town center and Vir was parking by the library. I jumped out of the car and sprinted for the town hall. They usually closed at four-thirty. I still had five or ten minutes—if they hadn’t changed their schedule for the summer. If they had shorter summer hours we were toast.
“And do you have a dig-safe permit?” the girl at Talbot Rental asked. That was the question I’d been dreading.
“No,” I said. “But I am trying to get to the town hall. With any luck, they’ll still be open and…”
There were no lights on in the town hall. The door was bolted. Shoot! Of all the days for the town hall to close early!
My crazy idea to save the day had just crashed and burned.
“I’m here, but they’re closed,” I said. Then I added hopefully, “Can we still get a tent?”
“We can’t put up a tent without a dig-safe permit, ma’am,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s my sister’s wedding,” I explained dejectedly. “It was supposed to be at River Bend on Sunday but they’ve canceled because of the hurricane. So we’re trying to move it to our house. But we can’t do it without a t-tent.” My voice broke. I so didn’t want to cry—not with Vir watching. But what on earth were we going to do now?
“Your sister’s wedding got canceled? That’s terrible!” the girl said. “Look, hold on a minute, let me talk to someone.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll hold.” Vir had caught up with me. He took one look at my face and pulled me into a hug. I was too surprised to even resist—and I had to admit, it felt good.
“You there?” the girl said. “Okay, I checked with my boss and he did say that we can’t put up a tent without a permit.…”
I rested my head on Vir’s shoulder for a minute before regaining my sanity and pushing away. Vir let go.
“Thanks for trying,” I said. “It’s really nice of you.”
“No, wait,” she said. “We can’t put up a tent, but YOU can.”
“What?” I asked. Maybe my brain had stopped functioning due to all the impossible things it had had to process lately. Did she just say we could put up a tent?
“We can give you a tent. We just can’t put it up,” she said. “Do you still want it?”
My heart was racing. “YES!” I said. “Yes, and there are other things… I need to get more tables and chairs than we had booked before… ten tables, a hundred chairs, floor-length tablecloths, napkins, china, silverware, stemware.…”
“One at a time,” she said. “I have to take this down. How many table covers and what kind?”
“Ten round, white, floor-length for the eight-foot round tables,” I said. “I’ll need a buffet table too.…”
Vir was looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. But he waited to question me until after I got off the phone with her.
“What was that about?” he said.
“Getting a big tent,” I said. “So we can have the reception at home.”
“But who’s going to put up a forty-foot tent?” he asked.
“That’s not a problem, trust me,” I said. “But food, I need food.”
“What about Curry Cuisine?” he asked.
“That Sunny Sondhi cashed the ten-thousand-dollar check my dad gave him,” I said. “And he’s not answering phone calls.”
“WHAT? He gave him a check?” Vir asked. “For the full amount?”
“It’s my fault,” I said. “I insisted that he pay the guy in advance because Shoma Aunty told us that he threatened to take away food at this other wedding because he wasn’t paid in advance. We never imagined this!”
“I don’t blame you,” Vir said. “NO one exp
ected this!”
A brilliant idea seized me.
“I should call Sher-e-Punjab,” I said. “Right now!”
I scrolled through the contacts on my phone and found the number. “Sher-e-Punjab? Rajinder Singh Ji?” I said. “Thank God! Badi problem aa gai hai—aapki help chahiye. Can you double our order?” I counted on my hands to get a grasp of the numbers. “Triple our order? Forty nahin, one hundred twenty logon ka khana chahiye. Haan ji, hurricane ki vajah se cancel karna pada. Kal shadi hamare ghar se hogi. Haan ji. Thank you, ji.”
“What did he say?” Vir asked after I hung up.
“He said it’s an honor to help in a daughter’s wedding,” I said. “He’s going to start cooking right now.”
“That’s great!” Vir said. But I was already dialing another number.
“Bauji!” I said when Bauji picked up at the other end. “You heard, no?”
“Yes,” Bauji said. “What can be done now, I don’t know.…”
“I do,” I said. “But Bauji—We. Need. Help. Do you have the old utilities map of our house that shows where the gas lines are and everything? You do? Great! And can you get ahold of your old construction crew?”
Vir and I drove back in silence. I knew what to do as far as the wedding went—but I was lost when it came to Vir. The way he hugged me, the way he sounded so concerned… I had to believe he cared. But there was all that other stuff. I couldn’t even think about it now.
“Can I do anything else?” he asked quietly when we got home.
“I’ll let you know,” I said. “And thanks, Vir.”
“I mean it,” he said.
“I know,” I said, and then paused. “Actually, I just thought of something.…”
“Anything,” he said.
“Can you pick up some chrysanthemums in the morning?” I asked. “From the garden center on Route Twenty-Seven? They call them hardy mums.”
“Okay,” Vir said. “What time do they open?”
“Eight AM,” I said. “I need at least a dozen large pots. Two dozen if they have them. Any and all colors you can find.”
“I’ll be there!” he said.
At home, Masi and Katrina had worked their magic to make Vinnie look outstanding. Everything might be falling apart, but our bride was going to look perfect in every way.
“Mini!” Masi said. “Go get changed, beta. We’re late! We’ll have to go ahead, and your dad and you can catch up later.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m going! But I have to tell you…”
“Not now!” Masi said. “We’ll talk at the temple.”
So even though everything about the wedding and the mehendi—the date and time and venue—was up in the air, we still had to get to the one event that was going off without a hitch—the janvasam. They all piled into cars and headed for the temple.
Dad and I would have to catch up, like Masi said.
I wore the gorgeous sari that Ragini Aunty had given me. It was a luscious double weave—pink from one angle, purple from the other—and shot all over with sprays of gold. I had a basic pink blouse that went well with it, as did Nani’s anklet necklace.
The Sri Balaji temple in Sherwood is the hub of the Indian community in New England. I hadn’t been to it since my mother’s death. None of us had. Because that’s when my dad decided that the idea of a concerned and compassionate deity was laughable in the light of recent family history. And in case we’d ever doubted it, there was (drumroll) the uninvited hurricane at Vinnie’s wedding.
Still we went. And as we turned off Route 128 and the whitewashed spires of the temple came into view, I felt stirrings of childhood nostalgia. This was where I had my first dance performance at the age of five. It must have been even more powerful for Dad—I could almost hear him freeze as we stopped at the temple.
I cast around for an icebreaker.
“Look, Dad!” I said. “The car blessing spot!”
That was where the priest would come out and perform a prayer for an automobile, sprinkle holy water on its hood, and break a coconut in front of it for good luck. I remember coming there after we bought the minivan. Mom had insisted.
Needless to say, my Mini Cooper had not had the treatment, and neither had Dad’s Lotus Esprit.
There was a sign in the car blessing spot that said THE TEMPLE IS CLOSED TOMORROW AUGUST 27 DUE TO THE HURRICANE.
“Want to update the minivan’s blessing?” I joked.
“It’s cheaper than insurance!” Dad said—a Mom quote—and he even cracked a smile. It had been a good day when the minivan was blessed. We had lunch at the Dosa Temple afterward and felt safe driving home in our newly blessed car.
“Come on,” Masi said. They had been waiting in the parking lot for us to arrive so we could make our entry together.
A whole contingent of Iyers was waiting for us at the front of the temple. I laughed at Vinnie’s face because Manish had decided to go topless after all.
“Hey, Manish has some decent abs under the scrubs and lab coat! Who knew?”
“Will you stop it?” Vinnie said, red in the face.
I guess on the right guy the outfit does look nice. Vir, for example, with his swimmer’s physique. He’d look like a model wrapped in a bedsheet. Why could I not get him out of my head?
“Vanakkam, vanakkam,” Venkat Uncle said. Which is a Tamil greeting that we were now getting familiar with.
They walked us to the long room that ran along the length of the temple. It had been set up with rows of chairs.
“Mini,” Bauji said. “I called Alan Brown and Richie. They’ll be at your house at six-thirty in the morning. What time did you say Talbot Rental opens?”
“Seven,” I said. “Do they have something big enough to carry everything back with them?”
“Yes,” Bauji said. “They have a pickup truck, and I’ll bring mine.”
“When can they have the tent up?” I asked. “I’ve asked Sher-e-Punjab to bring lunch at noon.”
“They’ll be done by noon,” Bauji said.
I relaxed enough to finally look around. Bade Bauji was sitting in the front row, the red turban on his head adding a few inches to his tall frame. Beeji, Dad, and Masi were sitting next to him.
Ragini Aunty was holding Vinnie’s arm and chatting with a priest. It was Krishna Ji, the head temple priest, the one she said was an Iyengar. He had really gone gray in the last seven years, but otherwise his face was the same—kind, wrinkled, smiling, with a white V on his forehead like the Hare Krishnas. I guess they stole it from the Iyengars. Except Krishna Ji’s V also had a single yellow line down the center.
“I didn’t know the girl Manish was marrying was Vinnie,” he said. “Ragini Amma, I’ve known this family for a long, long time.”
I was smiling without meaning to. He was always so sweet to both of us. “How is Rama Ji?” I asked. “Very good,” he said. “Okay, the mahoorat is now, kutti, let’s start the Nichayathartham.”
They had set up for the ceremony with a red carpet, gold chairs, a gold-and-white brocade backdrop, and stacked pots with mango leaves and coconuts atop—definitely Shoma Moorty’s handiwork! It was traditional, but it had a bright and happy wedding vibe.
Manish and his family sat to one side of the priest and Vinnie and Dad to the other. In the center was the small fire pit for the homum. “Amma, please,” Krishna Ji said to Masi. “You come and sit and complete the rituals for the girl’s mother.”
“Sure,” Masi said. “Vinnie is my daughter too.”
“Pssssst,” someone said in my ear.
“Yes?” I turned around to see an imposing woman in a dazzlingly bright yellow sari. “Come with me.”
Her tone was pretty authoritative, so I followed her out. She pulled me into the main temple hall. “I’m Radhika, Manish’s mom’s friend. You are Mini?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“We were thinking.…” An older man with ash stripes across his forehead materialized next to us.
“Natarajan and I think the wedding can be at the temple.”
“Isn’t the temple closed tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yes, yes.” Radhika shook her head, but it was unclear if she meant yes or no. “But it is open in the morning.”
I looked at the sign behind her, and this one said: DUE TO THE STORM, THE TEMPLE CLOSES TOMORROW AUGUST 27, AT NOON.
“If they start early, they can be done by noon,” Radhika Aunty said. Yes, Radhika Aunty—I was definitely adopting her after her genius idea. “We could have the reception another day.”
“We could go to our house for the reception!” I said. Yes, that would work. “But will they let us have the wedding here?”
“Not normally,” Radhika Aunty said. “But my husband, Natarajan, is on the board of the temple. He can talk to them.”
Manish’s family and their friends made up half the board, apparently. We were in luck!
Natarajan was smiling encouragingly over her shoulder. “You come with me and we fill out the forms.”
“But shouldn’t I ask Vinnie or Dad?” I asked. “Or Manish!”
“No time,” Natarajan said. “Ragini and Venkat are fine with it. If Manish and Vinnie don’t like it, we can cancel, but we should book it just so we have something.”
There was a small office window, behind which sat a plump lady with a bunch of jasmine flowers in her hair.
“Yes?” she asked sharply.
“Now ask for the wedding booking form,” Natarajan instructed from behind me. “In English, okay? Not Hindi or Punjabi.”
“Okay,” I said. “Er… could I please have the form to book weddings?”
Suddenly the woman was all smiles. “You are Ragini’s son Manish’s fiancée’s sister!” she said.
It took me a minute to figure out that this was correct. “Yes!” I confirmed. Natarajan Uncle was doing nothing but smiling and nodding in the background, but clearly his presence had changed the woman’s attitude and helped her identify who the hell I was.
Sister of the Bollywood Bride Page 19
