Chapter 7
Sampath couldn’t help but feel annoyed at Marcus for abandoning them like that.
He told himself that the groom wasn’t really necessary for this part of the process, which was true.
Normally, he did a lot of this stuff with the bride and either the bride’s mother or the maid of honour.
This was different. Kalpana and Marcus were here alone, so the groom had basically abandoned the bride to go and do his own thing …
in a country where she didn’t really know anyone … at short notice.
Kalpana was being very calm about it, as though she hadn’t really expected anything different. He looked over his shoulder at her, sitting in the back of the van, watching the streets go past. She was a smart and accomplished woman. Surely, she knew she deserved better.
He turned back to look at the road. He wanted the best for all his brides and grooms. His job wasn’t to give them the biggest or the fanciest wedding. It was to give them the wedding that gave them the most joy. Sometimes, it was also his job to work out what that looked like.
Marcus wanted something big and showy. He clearly wanted to show Kalpana off to the world as his prize.
He also seemed very taken with her ethnicity, which gave Sampath a sneaking sense of unease.
Why was that guy so keen on making sure everything looked authentic?
He threw money at things like it didn’t mean anything, but he was cranky about giving spare change to street sellers.
Sampath sighed. Colonialism, he supposed.
It ran deeper than people thought. In himself too.
Because right now, he was willing to overlook the fact that Marcus was fetishising Kalpana’s heritage because …
they were the client, and the wedding planner’s job was to do what the client wanted.
They arrived at the sari shop.
Lal, the driver, said, ‘I’ll have to park here, it’s a bit muddy. Sorry, miss.’
Sampath opened his door to find dry pavement, but where Kalpana had to get out was a large muddy puddle. She slid open the van door, looked down and pulled a face.
Sampath backed away, giving her space. ‘Can you jump to this bit?’
Kalpana nodded and jumped out. She slipped when she landed and teetered backwards towards the puddle. Instinctively, he grabbed around her waist and pulled her to safety.
He looked down at her, intending to ask if she was okay. The world stood still. She was tucked against him, warm in his arms. She was looking away, and he was struck by the perfect curve of her neck. Something shifted in his chest.
She turned her head, and he quickly let her go.
‘Thanks,’ Kalpana murmured. She straightened her shoulders and set off towards the shop.
Sampath followed, wondering if the awkwardness in the air was only coming from him.
The shop was a few yards away. Inside, the staff and air conditioning welcomed them.
‘We’re looking for a wedding sari for this lady,’ Sampath said.
‘Oh, of course. Of course. Come. Come.’ A middle-aged lady ushered them both to a counter, where there were two chairs. ‘Sit. Please.’
Kalpana sat. Sampath remained standing. The sense of awkwardness increased.
They clearly thought he was the groom. When the shopkeeper looked at him and gestured to the chair again, he cleared his throat.
‘This lady is getting married next year,’ he said.
‘She needs a wedding sari. I’m not the groom,’ he said, firmly.
‘I’m the wedding planner. I am helping her choose. ’
‘Ah,’ said the lady. ‘I see.’
He moved the chair away from Kalpana slightly and sat down.
Two glasses of fruit cordial appeared in front of them, cold enough that water condensed on the glass. Good. They were settling in.
The woman started talking. ‘What sort of sari did you want, miss? We have all different fabrics.’ She rattled off a list.
Kalpana gave Sampath a panicked look.
‘What, in your experience, would suit her best?’ he asked. He looked at his iPad. ‘We thought maybe, silk …’
‘That sounds great,’ said Kalpana. ‘But I’m happy to look at other options, too.’
‘Kandyan or Indian style?’
He had explained the difference to both Marcus and Kalpana before.
The Indian sari was the one they were used to seeing, with the decorative pallu end of the sari draped loose over one arm and shoulder.
Kandyan was a traditional Sri Lankan style worn in the hill country.
Unlike the more usual Indian style, the Kandyan had the pallu at the front, while the rest of the sari was draped over the shoulder and then folded into tight pleats that fell to the ground in a long strip.
Marcus wanted Kandyan, but Sampath felt that Kalpana, being short, would suit the Indian style better. He looked at her quizzically.
‘Do I have to decide now?’ she asked.
‘No, but they drape differently, so it would help if you could …’
Kalpana frowned. ‘Marcus wants—’
‘It’s your wedding day,’ Sampath said, gently. ‘Your wedding photos. I think you should choose whatever would make you feel most beautiful.’
A small frown appeared on her forehead, and he wondered why. ‘Kalpana,’ he said.
She looked up, the worried frown still in place.
‘It’s your wedding as well. Not just Marcus’s. What do you want? Did you ever have a dream outfit you wanted to get married in? Most people do …’
Kalpana slowly shook her head. ‘I … sort of gave up on the idea of having a say in my wedding years ago. My parents …’ She shook her head again and shrugged, looking bewildered.
Oh, that was sad. What did her family say to her to make her feel like that?
She would look gorgeous whichever style she chose, but how she felt on the day would make all the difference. A bride should feel like the most beautiful woman in the world on her wedding day. You couldn’t do that if you didn’t love what you were wearing.
Okay. Time to go back to the basics. ‘Do you want to wear a sari? If you’d rather a dress, we can—’
‘No, no, I want a sari,’ she said. This time she sounded firm. ‘I hadn’t thought about it, but when you suggested it, I knew that was right.’
That was a relief, since they were already in the sari shop.
‘Okay then. You could … try both styles and see what makes you feel the most joy,’ he suggested.
He lowered his voice. ‘And if it turns out that you’d rather get married in a dress or a trouser suit, you can do that instead. Do what sparks joy in you.’
This earned him a small smile. She nodded thoughtfully and said, ‘I’d like to try Indian style please. I love the idea of having it draped long over my shoulder and arm. Kandyan seems too formal.’
Sampath looked down to hide his smile. This was the first time Kalpana had expressed a preference for something that was in contradiction to what Marcus wanted. ‘Great. Let’s go with that.’
It took a long time. The lady and her helpers made Kalpana stand in front of a full-length mirror and draped sari after sari over her shoulder.
They talked about how the subtly different shades of white complemented her golden-brown skin, the merits of heavy decorations versus light, whether there was room for colour in the embroidery or gold or sequins.
Throughout the process, Sampath watched Kalpana’s reaction over the actual details of the sari.
If her face lit up, he would say something complimentary about it.
He watched her, turning to look at herself in the mirror, draped in gold-embroidered ivory silk, and thought, she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.
She was smiling. Every turn, every mannerism was perfect.
The shopkeeper looked up, caught him looking at her and said, ‘Isn’t she pretty?
’ in Sinhala. Sampath realised with a jolt that he had been looking at Kalpana not as a professional assessing a client, but as himself – a man, looking at a woman he was attracted to.
He nodded quickly and looked down at his tablet screen.
He couldn’t think like that. Of course, she was special – all brides were special.
But she was a client. He couldn’t be attracted to her. That was not on.
‘Can I try that one?’ Kalpana said.
In the end, they narrowed it down to three.
‘Which one do you think?’ Kalpana asked. She held out an arm where all three saris were draped in a line.
Sampath forced himself to look at her again and maintain his professional eye. Her fingers lingered on one with the smallest sequins sewn into it. It made her sparkle when she moved.
‘Do you have a favourite?’ he asked.
‘I … I mean, they’re all lovely. Marcus—’
‘Marcus isn’t here,’ he said. ‘You are. Which one do you like best?’
She looked down at where her hand was resting on the cloth. ‘This one,’ she said, quietly. ‘I love this one.’
‘That is very gorgeous on you, miss,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘We hire wedding jewellery, also. Do you want to see that?’
Kalpana looked at Sampath.
‘We have time,’ he said. Jewellery was also on his list, but only if Kalpana wanted it.
It took a few minutes for the traditional jewellery to be brought out.
Six necklaces of varying lengths, all held on a single thick clasp, forehead decorations and hand jewellery were laid out in velvet display cases.
This was most of the jewellery. The groom would give her one final necklace at the wedding. That one would be hers to keep.
‘I thought you had to wear Kandyan to wear these,’ Kalpana said.
The shopkeeper caught Sampath’s eye and gave an elaborate gesture. The wobble of the head and a flick of the hand somehow conveyed yes, but no one cares these days.
‘I don’t think we need to be that bound by tradition,’ said Sampath. ‘If you want to wear the traditional bridal jewellery, you should.’
Kalpana was staring at the gold. ‘Can I try it on?’ she said, her voice soft and breathless.
‘Of course, miss.’ The shopkeeper put a chair in front of the mirror. ‘Sit, please.’
The shopkeeper and two assistant ladies gathered around her. Sampath stepped away and checked his phone. There was a message from his boss.
He scrolled through. How’s it going, Sampath?
Attached is a list of other things you might want to look into.
I gather these are things that people might like to have at destination weddings.
There was an attachment. Sampath groaned.
Fine. He could probably go and take a look at them next week when Marcus and Kalpana were away having their relaxing beach holiday part of the trip.
‘Sampath.’ Kalpana’s voice pulled him back to the present.
He turned around. And forgot how to breathe.
They had tied her hair back and attached the forehead chains so that one went across the top of her forehead and another line of gold ran up the centre parting.
Two golden discs – one of the sun, the other of the moon – were pinned to her hair on either side.
They had draped her chosen sari over her shoulder.
The cascade of necklaces sat over her chest. The spotlights caught the gold detailing and made it sparkle.
Kalpana beamed, glowing brighter than all of it.
In that moment, he knew that he was the smallest breath away from falling in love.
‘What do you think? Will I do?’
It took him a few seconds to remember how speech worked. ‘You look amazing,’ he said, with complete sincerity.
Kalpana turned back to look at herself in the mirror. Then the light in her dimmed. ‘Do you think Marcus will like all this?’
And just like that, the spell broke. ‘He would be an idiot not to,’ Sampath said firmly.
She smiled at him in the mirror. ‘I think this is the right sari.’
‘Excellent.’ He gave himself a mental kick. This was his client. She was getting married. This was not the time to have foolish ideas. He forced himself to remain professional. ‘Shall we hire the jewellery from here too?’
She nodded. While the shop assistants took photos of Kalpana and then helped her remove the jewellery, Sampath talked to the shopkeeper to see if he could haggle down the price.
They left with the sari in a box. When they got to the van, Sampath held the box, while Lal opened the door to the van and helped Kalpana scramble in without stepping in the puddle.
When he leaned across to hand the box to her, she said, ‘Thanks, Sampath.’
He shrugged. ‘All part of the service.’
‘No, I meant for what you said before that. About it being my wedding. I know it sounds weird, but I’d sort of forgotten that it was meant to be about happiness. Does that sound stupid?’
He laughed. ‘No, it doesn’t. It’s very easy to get caught up in the details and lose sight of what’s important.’
She nodded. ‘But sincerely. Thank you. I think you might have saved me from getting lost in my own wedding.’
He waited until she had shut the sliding door and then got into the passenger seat. Of course he had saved her from that. He was very good at his job. Dammit.