Sister of the Bollywood Bride

by Nandini Bajpai

  A little girl in a firoza-blue summer dress, a golden bindi, and blue glass bangles came over to look.

  She had tightly curling dark hair, olive skin, and bright, curious eyes. Eyes that looked red from crying.

  “Do you want to help?” I asked, and she cheered up immediately.

  “Yes,” she said, and started to arrange the laddoos even more carefully than us.

  We turned the topmost tier into a neat little pyramid and let the girl in blue place the last laddoo at the very top.

  It looked impressive.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” I asked the kid. “You look upset.”

  “She laughed at my Hindi,” she said, pointing at a Punjabi woman—one of Beeji’s satsang friends.

  “My Hindi sounds funny too sometimes,” I said. “It’s because we grew up here.” She probably got it worse because she was biracial. There was definitely discrimination within our own culture sometimes.

  “And I spilled curry on my favorite jacket,” she said. “Mom said it’s too hot to wear it today but I wanted to. And now it’s ruined.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Do you like blue?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “Then I have the perfect jacket for you,” I said. “It’s exactly that blue, and it has brass buttons, and I bought it for a trip to India, but I never wore it.”

  “I’m going to India this winter,” she said. “I’ve never been before.”

  “Then you have to wear it for me,” I said. “Deal?”

  “Deal!”

  “Mini!” It was Masi, newly alighted from Beeji’s car along with Dad, Beeji, and Bade Bauji. “Is everything under control?”

  “Yes,” I said. “The tables and the food are all set. People are having appetizers and drinks. Ernie Uncle’s guys are taking care of the cars and parking. We’re just waiting for Vinnie and Manish.”

  “So, why don’t you get changed?” Masi said.

  I had to admit it—a full morning of driving to the temple and back, of running around, serving samosas, and arranging laddoos had taken their toll. I was a hot mess—my sari was crumpled, my hair damp, and my makeup smudged.

  “It’s okay, Masi,” I said.

  “No,” she said. “It isn’t. Look, Vinnie got changed at the hotel room. You go upstairs and put on your blue lehenga and freshen up. I know the house is packed but I’ll make sure no one walks in on you.”

  She looked pretty determined, so I gave in.

  “Fine,” I said. “I won’t be long.”

  It only took me fifteen minutes to get changed and comb out my hair, which—thanks to the vast amount of product the nice hairdresser had put in it yesterday—still looked smooth and stylish once I managed to get it dry.

  I opened the blue velvet jewelry box with the gold peacock set in it—necklace, bangles, maang tikka, and earrings. They’d look great with what I was wearing.

  This is for your wedding, Mini.

  No, today was not the time to wear it—at least not all of it. I fastened the earrings on and put the rest away—they could wait for the day Mom meant them for.

  Then I found a little paper gift bag, folded the firoza pea coat into it, and covered it with tissue paper.

  Perfect!

  “That’s better,” Masi said when I reappeared downstairs. “I’ve been waiting to see you in that dress, Mini. And I’m not disappointed. Now, have you eaten anything?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll have lunch with everyone.”

  “Have a vada,” Masi said. “Then you can go help again.”

  “In a minute,” I said, looking around for the little girl.

  I felt a tug at my skirt and looked down to see her right next to me.

  “There you are!” I said. “Here’s the jacket I promised you.”

  She rummaged through the tissue and her face lit up when she saw the jacket.

  “It’s so beautiful!” she breathed.

  “You like that shade of blue?” I asked. “It’s called firoza!”

  “Thanks,” said a woman standing next to her—the girl’s mother, I guess. She had a dimpled smile and a Nigerian accent.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  “It’s time someone wore that thing,” Masi said with an impish grin. “You ready for your vada now, Mini?”

  “Yes, I am!”

  The samosas had finally finished, and a bunch of Beeji’s friends were heating the vadas from the janvasam and serving them up. Masi fixed me a plate with a crisp golden vada and a dollop of chutney next to it. I’d been too busy to eat, so I was super hungry, and it tasted amazing.

  Just then there was a commotion outside.

  “They’re here!” Rachel said, peeking out through a window.

  I gulped down the last bite of vada and hurried to the front door.

  The Lotus was parked in the driveway—they had arrived!

  Vinnie had changed into Mom’s old wedding lehenga. She looked so soft and radiant in the vintage pink and silver. Just as she was stepping out of the car, there was a dramatic crack of thunder and it started to rain—again.

  “Umbrellas!” I said, and hurried over to the designated umbrella area—I pulled a soft pastel one with Monet’s water lilies on it for Vinnie and hurried over to cover her before she got a drop of water on Mom’s dress.

  “Oh. My. God. Mini,” she said, her eyes shining. “Everything looks amazing!”

  Sol was in the car with them, still clicking away. I handed Manish another umbrella to hold over Sol. Those pictures had to turn out good!

  “Everyone in the tent, please. Vinnie and Manish have arrived!”

  A volunteer group of umbrella ushers had sprung up at the garage door, where most of the traffic was making its way to the tent.

  “These are the prettiest umbrellas I’ve ever seen,” said a sweet-faced lady in a hot-pink Kanjivaram.

  “You’re just like Megha—same to same,” said Chintu and Mintu Patel’s mom, pinching my cheeks rather painfully. “Carbon copy!”

  “Mini!” Ernie Uncle strode over in a bright yellow rain poncho—no flowery umbrella for him. “You want to see this!”

  “What…,” I started to ask, and then gasped at the sight of the rental car with Canadian plates—and my Nanaji and Masi’s twin boys, Ari and Avi, wearing matching Camp Halfblood T-shirts, descending from it.

  “Nanaji, you made it!”

  Masi came tearing out of the tent and wrapped the twins into her arms. She hadn’t said a word when we lost contact with Nanaji at Heathrow Airport, but she must have been crazy worried.

  “We took a flight to Montreal from London,” Nanaji explained. “And drove down from there. What did we miss?”

  “The ceremony is over, but everyone is here for the reception!” Masi said.

  You should have seen Vinnie’s face when Nanaji walked into the tent. You should have seen Nanaji’s face when he saw Vinnie all dressed up in Mom’s old wedding lehenga. Some things just cannot be expressed in words.

  There was a line at the buffet table and people were serving themselves and sitting down at tables and chatting and having a good time.

  But there was someone missing still.

  “Has anyone seen Vir?” I asked Dad.

  “No,” he said. “He was there at the temple, though, wasn’t he? He was driving my car!” I backed away quickly before Dad said any more on that subject.

  There were people to chat with and food to eat and pictures to pose in, but it didn’t feel complete without Vir. Where was he?

  “Vir?” Chintu said. “I think he said he had to pick up a friend from Logan Airport.”

  “Is he coming back?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Chintu said.

  I guessed I’d have to wait and see.

  “Mini,” said a familiar voice. It was Krishna Ji, the priest. “Congratulations!”

  “Thanks,” I said. “It was so good of you to perform the ceremony and come for the reception. It’s been
crazy.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “It is all very auspicious.”

  “How is that?” I asked.

  “Indradev himself is showering blessings from the heavens,” he said quietly. “What can be better than that?”

  Fair point. Indra, God of rain and thunder, was definitely present at this wedding.

  “I was very glad to do Vinnie’s wedding,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”

  I nodded. “It has.”

  “Last time I was in this house your Amma was sick,” he said. “I remember I sat right here and had tea, and you asked me—you remember what you asked me?”

  I knew exactly what I’d asked him.

  “I asked for a miracle,” I said. “I wanted her to live.”

  “And I told you that certainly there will be a miracle.” He shook his head sadly. “My faith, you know? I did not think anyone could refuse the wish of such a small child, not even God. So many years gone, and I still don’t understand it.”

  I smiled ruefully—for what was there to say?

  “But do you know what your mom asked for that same day?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “She had accepted it then—her fate. She was only worried about you all,” he said. “Especially you, kutti. Your mom said: ‘Krishna Ji, Vinnie is strong and tough, and she’s nearly grown-up—she’ll be sad, but she’ll be okay. But Mini, I just want my Mini to be fine. She’s so little, and so sensitive, and she doesn’t really understand yet—I don’t want her to be damaged by any of this. If only I could know that she will be fine.’”

  “What did you say?” I asked.

  “I promised her sincerely that you would be,” he said. “My faith, you know?”

  I stared at him, at a loss for words.

  “I can see now that your mom’s wish came true,” he said. “You are very fine. You are taking care of so many things for your dad, your sister. God may not have heard you, kutti, but he heard your mom. She would be so, so proud of you.”

  I had tears in my eyes, but I smiled at him through them.

  “Thanks for telling me,” I said. “It means a lot.”

  “Hey, Vir, my man!” I could hear Manish from way over in the garage. The garage had turned into the bar because Alan and Richie were pouring drinks for whoever asked. They had a cooler filled with ice for the drinks, because the electricity had gone with the rainstorm—and they were clearly imbibing as much of the stuff as they were dispensing.

  Vir was here!

  I headed over to the garage, working my way through the crowd.

  “I brought some gear,” I heard Vir say. “A generator and amps, an electric guitar, and a PA system. Thought it might come in handy.”

  “That’s awesome,” Manish said. “You saved the music, dude. Let’s set it up!”

  “Hi, Vir,” I said, having finally caught up to them.

  He had changed into jeans and a button-down shirt.

  “Mini, I want you to meet someone,” he said to me. “This is Koyal Khanna.”

  The petite girl with him, in jeans and a T-shirt and four-inch heels, smiled and waved her hand shyly as if unsure of her welcome. But it was her—it really and truly was the Koyal Khanna! I have to say, she looked very different in real life. Smaller, somehow, though still extremely pretty.

  “Hi,” I said.

  Vir had gone all the way to Logan in the pouring rain to pick her up?

  “You’re so pretty!” she said. “Vir said you were!”

  This from the person voted Most Beautiful Face in India.

  Yes, I had been reading more Bollywood gossip columns than were good for me.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Would you like to have a drink? Lunch is still warm, and we also have dessert.…”

  “Later,” she said. “I have to talk to you first.”

  “Ohh-kay,” I said.

  “I heard that you guys had a big misunderstanding because of me,” Koyal said, immediately getting to the meat of the matter. “I’ve been shooting in New York for my new movie. Love in New York, you know. When I got stuck in Boston trying to fly back home, I wanted to tell you in person. There was nothing between Vir and me! It was all fake dating. We’re just friends! Vir helped me and Bunty meet up in spite of our parents. That was all.”

  “Bunty?” I asked. That was a common nickname, but not an actual name.

  “Yeah,” she said, smiling shyly. “You know how Vir saw you one time only and he was a goner?”

  “He was?” I asked.

  “Of course he was,” she said. “He told me all about it. It was like that when I saw Bunty too. He’s from a different community and my parents are very orthodox, even though they let me act and all. They don’t like him because he isn’t like us.”

  “Oh,” I said. “He isn’t?” It wasn’t obvious why Bunty didn’t fit Koyal’s family’s idea of a suitable match, as it’s hard to place someone when all you have is that they’re called Bunty.

  “No, he’s not,” she said. “But he’s very handsome, I think! And he gets me. All of me, not just the Bollywood star part, but the girl I’ve always been. You know?”

  I nodded. You couldn’t not believe her. She sounded 100 percent sincere.

  Koyal was still speaking. “And he’s Vir’s classmate from Mayo College, so Vir helped us meet up while he was in Mumbai working with his dad and going to all these parties. Because my parents thought I was seeing Vir, they were okay, because, you know, Vir is like us, and very rich, so even if he wasn’t, they’d probably still approve. But really it was Bunty and me all the time. And then even the media got it wrong. But Vir just thought it was funny and didn’t care because he wasn’t serious about anyone else, and it kept all the girls off his back if they thought he was serious about me.”

  “Go on,” I said, drinking in this fascinating glimpse into Vir’s life.

  “But now that I see you, I can tell why he wasn’t interested in those stupid girls,” she said. “Because you were over here waiting, and he had to come find you.”

  Koyal Khanna clearly had very romantic notions of love and dating. But talking to her had taken a huge load off me. I might even float off the ground. I knew Vir enough to see that Koyal was not at all his type. She would drive him crazy in no time.

  “Koyal really likes homemade laddoos too,” Vir said. “And her mom’s not here to make sure she sticks to her diet. So, you want to go get some, Koyal? I am, for sure!” He headed to the dessert table.

  “Yes,” Koyal said, scanning the tent hungrily until she spotted the tiers of laddoos. “I’m so going to get some. Oh, hi, Mallika Aunty!”

  “Koyal!” Mallu Masi looked very confused. “What are you doing here?”

  “Shooting! Got stuck in Boston because of the storm, but Gulshan Aunty, Vir’s mom, said I could stay with them. The rest of the crew is staying at a hotel in Boston.”

  “That’s great! Go eat something. Those laddoos are fantastic. Everything else is too!”

  Vir had been talking with Ernie Uncle, who looked smug about the fact that we were friends. He gave me a told-ya look before walking off and leaving me with Vir.

  “You talked to Koyal,” Vir said. “About…” He waved a hand to encompass us.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Satisfied? his eyes asked.

  I smiled back at him happily—because, yes, I was.

  “That is Koyal Khanna, Mini?” someone whispered in my ear. One of Beeji’s friends with eagle eyes had recognized Koyal even in her jeans and T-shirt. “The one from Meri Bollywood Wedding? Wasn’t Vinnie wearing the lehenga from the movie for the wedding? The Mallika Motwani?”

  “Yes, she was,” I said.

  “But how?”

  “The designer is my Masi, Aunty,” I said. “Come, I’ll introduce you to both of them. But please don’t share photographs of Koyal, or ask for autographs.” Koyal was a guest in our house and I wasn’t going to let anyone ogle her.

  “Good luck with that,�
� Vir said.

  The house glowed with the fairy lights strung around our trees.

  The last group pictures had been taken, the last gift envelopes stashed safely away, the last autographs signed, and the last picture with Koyal Khanna taken (We won’t show anybody the photos, beta, no one!). Koyal herself had eaten her fill of Beeji’s laddoos, to Beeji’s eternal pride.

  Outside, Avi and Ari and Rahul floated paper boats in the rainwater overflowing from the gutter.

  In the garage Manish and his friends played amazing music. I sat beside Vir, Yogi curled up at my feet, and listened to them play. I’d had no idea that they could sound like that.

  And then Manish’s friend Samar took center stage. Samar was a Punjabi from Pakistan, and he sang so beautifully that Beeji wept.

  “How he sings, that Samar!” Beeji cried. “That’s what you call real singing, Mini, real singing!”

  “Can we go to sleep, Mummy?” Avi asked Masi. The boys had had enough of the rain and were latched on to Masi from either side, literally dropping where they sat.

  “I’ll be back,” Masi said. “What about you, Rahul? You want to rest too?”

  “I’ll rest inside with Avi and Ari from Mumbai,” Rahul said.

  “They can lie down in Vinnie’s old room,” I said.

  Upstairs the kids fell asleep, and outside it still rained. Then Manish sang one last song for Vinnie—the one he had written especially for her. And it was the perfect ending to the day.

  Masi and Beeji brought out the rice for Vinnie to fling back over her head as she left the house—a married woman—and Manish and Vinnie drove off. Almost everyone else left then too, Preet and Rahul, Rachel and Amy, Shayla and Sue, even Koyal—Chintu had gallantly offered to drop her at Vir’s mom’s house at Fellsway College before the storm got worse.

  Alan and Richie had taken down the tent and scraped off all the china and rinsed it off with the garden hose and stacked it back into the Talbot Rental containers. Ditto the silverware, the napkins, and the stemware. Everything was counted and stacked and piled, ready to be taken away on Monday. The outdoor lights had been turned off too, though they were still up. We’d take them down tomorrow but there would be no massive cleanup needed after all.