13 Wedding Hells
Wedding Hells
I ’ d been on location duty since Monday, which meant I’d had the supreme pleasure of spending my days (and a quarter of my nights) in the shaadi ka ghar – or should I say, shaadi ka five-star hotel?
For the first two days, I somewhat enjoyed being away from the monotony of my office desk.
But forty-eight hours, five shoe bites and countless averted crises later, I would’ve sacrificed my promotion to go back to the safety of my cubicle.
The first event of the four-day celebration, the sangeet, was to take place tomorrow evening.
While most of the guests were supposed to check in sometime in the morning, a few overeager ones were arriving tonight.
Among them were Deepti’s elder sister and her husband, whose editorial interview, I’d found out a few minutes ago, was scheduled for midnight.
The woman had refused to do it at a more civilised time during the day, saying haughtily, ‘It’s my real sister’s sangeet.
I’m not going to have any time once the celebrations begin. ’
Today was the only day I could’ve gone back home for a good night’s sleep before the madness officially began. But I knew the editorial team would want me around for the interview – they needed someone to manage the tantrums. I pulled out my phone from the pocket of my jeans and texted my mom.
She’d be worried. I hadn’t spent more than a few hours every night at home for the last two weeks.
At first, I’d been busy decorating the boutique, and then, with the preparations for Best Man.
My dad and she had tried to lecture me a few times, warning me about how I was pushing myself too far.
I’d told them the same thing I’d been telling myself over the last few days: I’m absolutely fine. I know what I’m doing.
I didn’t. Working on a wedding, I’d realised, was the same as running around like a fashionable headless chicken. You had no idea where you were going or what was going to hit you midway, but you had to have your shimmer on.
‘Is it your wedding or theirs?’ my mom had asked me when she’d found me raiding her wardrobe for saris.
Now, dressed in a short, printed kurta I’d borrowed from her, I was making my way to the third-floor studio room that we’d converted into our meeting space.
The twin beds had been pushed aside to make room for the centre table, and the blankets had been tucked away in the wardrobe. This was a place of business.
The newest intern, Bhargav, opened the door when I rang the bell. All four members of the social media team were present, to my pleasant surprise. I’d been chasing them for the past week, and I was glad my passive-aggressive emails had yielded something now, if not sooner.
‘Good to see you guys,’ I greeted them, pulling the office chair from the desk near the flat-screen television.
‘How’s it going? All set?’ asked Jinal, the social media manager.
I let out a low whistle. ‘Far from it, really.’
‘How can we help?’ she asked, her voice sympathetic.
The others in the room – Bhargav, the intern, and the two other young men I’d seen around the office but had never interacted with before – were all new additions to the team.
Up until a few months ago, Jinal used to handle TMJ’s entire social media presence on her own, with the help of an ever-changing intern.
But with our continuous growth in the digital space, it had become impossible for her one-woman army to win any battles, let alone wars.
‘It’d be great if you could get started on the pre-event deliverables. ASAP,’ I said, then added after a moment, ‘like, yesterday.’
Jinal laughed and said, ‘Your timelines are always crazy.’
I ran the team through the list of deliverables for the different sponsors, the most important one being the hotel.
Lotus Royale was not only providing us with the venue for the various functions for the wedding, but they were also offering the family a hefty discount on all the rooms booked for the guests.
Apart from that, they’d given us five free rooms for TMJ’s team from tomorrow until Sunday.
We couldn’t have asked for a sweeter deal.
‘Are we sticking to the template – food, building exteriors and decoration shots – or should we have some fun with it?’ Jinal asked.
‘You can get creative with the content, but only after you have enough safe material. You know how these sponsors are … they don’t want to take risks,’ I explained.
I gave the four of them some time to go through the list and articulate their doubts. They claimed to not have any, which of course meant I’d get frantic phone calls at the last minute.
‘Let’s reconvene before the wedding day to discuss the remaining deliverables,’ I said, standing up.
I glanced at my phone as I walked out into the long, brightly lit corridor.
It was almost 4:30 p.m., and I finally had some time to grab lunch.
In the elevator, I pressed the button for the lower ground floor, where the hotel’s coffee shop was.
It stopped on the first floor, and in walked Preet, our in-house stylist.
‘Oh my God, babe. Thank goodness I ran into you,’ he said, gripping me by the shoulders.
He was dressed in an embroidered black-and-silver blazer, tight black trousers and silver pointed-toe derby shoes.
‘Uh … what’s up?’
‘My intern … that idiot … he completely forgot to pick up some of the pieces for Deepti’s cover shoot,’ he said. I wasn’t sure if he was angry or alarmingly anxious.
‘But … isn’t the shoot the day after tomorrow?’ I asked as the elevator doors opened on my floor and we stepped out.
‘Yes, love. But the bride needs to try them on today so we can send the clothes back for alterations.’ The words continued to tumble out of him.
‘Well, shit. Send someone?’ I offered, fully aware of where this conversation was heading.
‘I totally would, love, but no one’s here. And it’s all really expensive stuff, so I can’t just send a rando,’ he said, and I waited for him to file his request. ‘Could you … run out and grab it for me?’
‘Why can’t you go?’ I was ready with my response. Unfortunately, so was he. ‘I wish I could. But Deepti’s bridesmaids are waiting for me in their room. I have to style them for their appearances tomorrow.’
I opened my mouth and then shut it.
‘Please, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency. The store will shut in an hour,’ he said, hopping on his heels to channel his nervous energy.
I looked longingly at the coffee shop in front of me, my stomach silently rumbling.
‘Besides, if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have had to do this cover shoot at all.’ His tone was still friendly, but he was done pleading.
Damn. I hadn’t thought he’d go there. I hadn’t been able to go back on my promise of a digital cover shoot for Deepti and Harsh, even though my boss had all but threatened to fire me if I didn’t somehow manage to scrap it.
In the end, she’d given in, seeing as the couple were in no mood to back down.
‘All right,’ I resigned and said, ‘but you’re booking me a cab. I’m sick of explaining my cab fares to the accounts team.’
Preet clapped his hands together, his mouth wide open in gratitude. ‘Thank you so much. I truly owe you one,’ he said.
He walked me to the elevator, as if trying to send me on my way before I could change my mind. Once I was inside, he tossed me a set of car keys.
‘Forget the cab, just take my car,’ he said.
The keys hit my chest and fell to the ground. I bent down to pick them up, saying, ‘I’m not—’
…the best driver, I wanted to say. But the elevator doors had already closed.
Actually, that’s not the truth. I’m a textbook good driver.
I always drive in the right lane, my speedometer never reads anything over 50 kmph and I don’t overtake from the wrong side – in fact I never overtake at all.
I’m cautious, I follow all the rules and I don’t even hurl abuses at other drivers on the road.
The problem arises at the end of the drive when I need to park my vehicle.
When I got my driver’s license a few years ago, my dad tried to teach me how to park in new spaces.
He’d take me to crowded markets, unknown office buildings and malls for practise.
And for the most part, I did just fine. But that was mostly because he’d tell me exactly what to do: start steering to your right, now go forward and straighten up the car, okay now reverse.
It turns out that when someone isn’t doing all the physics and calculations for me, my brain just can’t figure out what to do.
And after finding myself in one too many stressful parking situations, I decided to call off the whole thing.
Ever since, I’d been taking lifts from my dad and V whenever I could manage it, and travelling in cabs when I wasn’t completely broke.
So was driving a random colleague’s Honda City halfway across the city a good idea? No, it certainly wasn’t. Why did I do it, then? Maybe he deserved to have his car bumped, for coercing unnecessary favours from gullible, overworked colleagues.
When I entered Khan market, it was buzzing with commotion.
I drove around the exterior, hoping to find an easy parking spot.
But as luck would have it, the lot was completely full.
The only empty spot I found was between two angled SUVs.
I knew parking here required a certain amount of expertise, and even then, it’d be a tight squeeze.
And yet, I decided to go for it. What option did I have?
The store was going to close in fifteen minutes.
I’d come all the way; it’d be silly to go back empty-handed.