Chapter 61 Samar donned the koti #2
“Before,” her mother lifted the garlands that Amaal had curated, designed and ordered from the Dal flower market with extra care.
Swollen white roses in full bloom and delicate Baby’s Breath woven together, bringing one of Samar’s favourite colours to life with her greenery. “Varmala is always before marriage.”
Her mother handed Samar his and passed her the matching pair.
“Ready?” Samar asked her playfully.
“I will run away now, so make it quick.” She quipped back and found his hands instantly around her neck, her body pulled to his with the momentum. She gasped, turning it quickly into a laugh for the benefit of their witnesses.
“The bride is supposed to put it first.” Her mother scolded.
“Go ahead.” His neck bent in front of her. She hesitated. His eyes rose.
“I’m not in the mood today…”
“Quiet.” He said it so low, only she could hear. Amaal grinned, putting the garland she had so painstakingly selected around his neck. And his smile rivalled the sky today — bright, beautiful, big. Those dark eyes behind the specs were shining.
“Come. Please, sit.” The Registrar offered.
Samar pulled the chair out for her and took a seat beside her.
The papers were pushed in front of them.
Amaal’s hand shook when she picked up the pen, but when she put it to paper, it miraculously steadied.
She signed. And went on signing without another hitch.
She then saw his hand. It did not as much as pause in picking up the pen and signing through the papers that were unravelled in front of him.
Soft claps reverberated around them, singing with the koels in the vicinity. Her father’s hand landed atop her head, then pulled her head back into his chest, his murmurs reading a dua over her.
“Ameen,” she smiled, holding that hand that had steadied enough to hold scalpels and her again.
“Samar.” Her mother opened a small sindoor tin.
“No way, Mom.”
“Shh, Dixit rituals.” She pushed it in front of Samar and his mouth widened into a smirk, glancing from the sindoor back to her. “Ready?”
She tried to hold back the shyness that hit her, but her insides were beating like trumpets. And maybe it showed on her face, because her cheeks felt too warm.
His palm held her chin and tipped her face. Their eyes met. Her cheeks heated like they never had before, and his answering smile told her it showed. His fingers touched her hair and she felt some of the red fall to her nose. Amaal squinted, but his thumb was already wiping it away.
“And Mangalsutra…” Her Mom had come prepared for a whole soap opera.
“Mom…”
“Evil eye bracelets are cool, this is not?” She asked as Samar reached inside his pocket and pulled out two boxes.
He opened one velvet box and a simple single-line Mangalsutra gleamed from its depths, the pendant nothing but two diamond studs close together with a few tiny black beads on both sides.
It was delicate, like a chain of the finest strand of gold. Now, Amaal was excited to wear it.
“Patience, patience,” Samar joked, not even looking up from disentangling it from the pins.
Laughter echoed around them. He opened it up and held it out to her.
This time, she shamelessly pushed forward, letting him hook the necklace at her nape and pull her hair out.
Next, he popped open the ring box, which wasn’t a big surprise but still thrilling because the ring carried two diamonds that matched the Mangalsutra. He took her hand and slid it on.
“This was supposed to be one of your three surprises.”
“Be grateful that you got to marry me without a proposal.” She tried to hold her smile back, gaping at the ring on her finger.
“I am grateful I got to marry you. Period.”
“Here.” A piece of qalakand was held between them and Amaal took it, holding it out to him.
He plucked it from her hand and fed it into her mouth, accepting the remaining piece into his.
They got to their feet and turned to her parents, bending down to touch their feet.
Dad pulled her into his chest and Amaal felt a very bad urge to cry even when she was so happy.
He pressed his mouth into her temple and tears began to stream down her eyes.
“Alhamdulillah you won what you loved,” he squeezed her. “Now keep it well and be happy.”
She nodded, sniffling, going straight into her mother’s shoulder without letting Dad see her tears. Mom wasn’t as emotionally fragile. She patted her back, laughing softly into her ear. “Now you can come home to London.”
Amaal burst into laughter, feeling her lips on her ear, then her cheek.
She glanced up, and Dad was embracing Samar.
They separated in a second, but were talking quietly, smiling, hands melded in a shake that neither seemed to want to break.
Both their eyes came to her, and smiles widened in unison.
“Let’s go,” Samar told her.
“Where? We aren’t going to lunch?” She pulled back.
“No.”
“Then where are we going?”
“Surprise.” He opened his hand.
She glanced at Mom, then Dad. They both seemed to know something but were mum. Amaal sighed, and put her hand into his.
————————————————————
The party Innova sped through the bright Srinagar roads, empty at this quiet hour of the afternoon. It veered towards the airport.
“Are we flying out somewhere?” She sat up. “But I don’t have anything packed…”
He just held a small smirk, not even opening his mouth.
The driver came to a halt outside the gate for private charters.
Her eyes bugged. Before she could protest about what was happening, he got out and came around to open her door.
Eyes were already turning towards them, Samar’s stature now bigger than it once was.
The Himachal elections and the party’s subsequent expansion, not to forget this morning’s news about the founding of the National Development Party, had suddenly put Samar Dixit at the forefront of mainstream politics.
“Samar…”
He took her hand and helped her climb down. He accepted a duffel bag from the driver and walked to the gate, her hand still in his.
“Where are we going?”
The waiting staff took the bag from him and he reached inside his pocket for their ID cards.
“How do you have my ID?”
He still did not answer, quietly showing them to the security at the gate and clearing them.
“Samar…” she pulled at his kurta sleeve, walking with him.
“Quiet.”
“We were supposed to go to the flat! I have not shut the windows. Only the mosquito net…”
“Quiet.”
She harrumphed.
They cleared boarding and he was leading her down the tarmac, the small charter plane in front of them, the sun over their heads. She tugged her hand out of his — “I am not getting on that plane until you tell me what’s going on.”
He stopped, eyes boring into hers — “What’s going on is, I am taking my wife with me.”
“But where?”
“You will know when we reach there.” He opened his hand for her again. Amaal looked at him, but couldn’t force her features to hold steady. Her smile broke through. She shook her head — “You have never behaved like this.”
“I have never been married before this.” He gently tightened his grip on her, climbing the steps up and into the cabin.
“Welcome, Dr. Dixit. Hello, Mrs. Dixit. Congratulations to you both.”
Amaal’s heart skipped a beat. Samar turned over his shoulder, his eyes running over her face. She instantly shut her mouth, biting the insides of her cheeks. He smirked, leading her to the pair of finest seats and helping her down. He took the seat in front of her and eyed her cheeks.
“Don’t keep looking,” she quirked her brow. “I am about to find out where you are kidnapping me.”
“How?”
“The Captain will make his announcement…”
“Hello, Dr. Dixit and Mrs. Dixit. This is your Captain speaking.”
She pointed up, grinning.
“We have a take-off window at 1400 hours. The skies look clear and we anticipate a touchdown on time. Please fasten your seatbelts and relax, lunch service will begin after take-off. And congratulations on your nuptials today.”
The radio went silent.
“That’s it?” Amaal waited, eyes wide. “He has to announce where we are going, our ETA…”
Samar fastened his seatbelt and sat back, dark eyes laughing at her.
“I will not get off this plane,” she threatened.
He eyed her up and down, as if calculating how to box her up.
“Are we going to Shimla?” She guessed. “But Iram and all are in Delhi… are we going to Delhi? But we haven’t told them we got married. Iram is going to kill me. Wait…” she glared at him. “Did you tell them?”
He shook his head.
“Don’t lie if you did… is there a surprise? Tell me if they know because I have to prepare myself accordingly.”
“Atharva might have an idea.”
The plane caught speed and flew up the tarmac. Her eyes bugged.
“Might.” He clarified.
“Samar,” she banged her head back on her headrest. “Iram will kill me.”
“You wanted this secret wedding.”
“I trusted you to keep it secret.”
“I haven’t told anybody.”
“Then how does Atharva have an idea?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
Amaal moved her eyes away to the window, seeing the ground falling away as the bright blue sky welcomed them. And her eyes whirled back to him. He was sitting there looking like the most handsome version of himself. In a fucking koti! And Atharva wasn’t stupid.
“You wore a koti!”
He smiled. “I know. For you.”
And whatever she was going to say to him next fell away just like the ground had.
Her breath left her just as easily as her words had.
Their eyes remained connected, not seeing anything more than each other.
Amaal was not getting herself to believe this had happened, that this was happening.
She breathed through her mouth lest she forget to breath altogether and his eyes fell there.
His smile darkened. She felt her chest collapse, and his eyes ventured lower.