CHAPTER 1 Kavita
Kavita
I freeze at the sight of a beady-eyed pigeon perched on my dress rack inside my boutique.
How on earth did it get in here?
“Ramu!” I call out to the security guard, who should be at the gate outside the building. It’s clear he left the back door open again. Ramu needs a serious talking-to, I decide. First, he takes too many tea breaks, and now he’s letting stray birds fly in.
“Shoo!” I wave my hands vigorously, hoping to frighten the bird. But no such luck.
The bird has perched on a rack that only has fabric samples, thankfully. My latest bridal outfit, a work-in-progress, hangs safely at the back. For now.
The bird pecks noisily at the metal rack.
“Shoo! There’s nothing to eat in here.”
I edge my way sideways into the pantry to look for food, anyway. A packet of chips? Cookies? There’s got to be something I can use to bribe this bird to leave.
A sudden sound of fluttering wings alarms me, and I freeze beside the cabinet. My heart leaps out of my chest as the pigeon takes a shallow flight and lands on another rack. Still, not the precious one, but close! Oh God! I can’t afford to have bird droppings ruin weeks of hard work.
“Ramu!” I yell. I will fire this man, I promise!
My fingers reach into the cabinet, and something rustles under my finger. I pull it out: a packet of cookies. I guess this will do.
I crouch and edge my way toward the back door, careful not to startle the bird into another takeoff. As expected, the door is ajar. I crumble a few cookie crumbs at the exit, hoping the bird will take the bait and fly out.
But the bird stares at me, its neck twitching from side to side, making short grunting sounds like, “Guttar… Guttar…,” eyeing the crumbs but still not moving.
It seems we’re at a stand-off. It’s probably scared, just as I am.
The bird is holding the fort right between the front door, through which a customer could walk at any moment, and the back door, where I am.
I realize if I could get closer to the front door, I might have a better chance than with just cookie crumbs.
But not too close—I have a gorgeous lehenga ready for delivery by the front door.
I try to call out to Ramu again, but fear locks my throat, and my voice squeaks.
So, I fully open the back door and duck-squat my way over to the front.
Luckily, the bird hasn’t moved, and it’s eyeing the back door, which is a good sign.
I search for some piece of clothing I can use to…
I don’t know, maybe wave in front of it?
Think waving a red cloth in front of a bull, except I want the bird to fly away from me, not at me.
Whatever! My heart is pounding, and my vision darts between the outfit I want to save, hanging on the right side, and the bird on the left.
I’ve got to do something!
My eyes land on a dupatta hanging on a side rack.
It’s a beautiful mustard-yellow mulmul piece with mirror work and lace trims. I mean, everything in my boutique is beautiful.
I wouldn’t throw any of my pieces at a bird, but it’s the closest thing I can find.
And it’s kind of perfect for what I have in mind.
I pull it off the rack and wrap one end around my fist. The bird senses something and takes off from the rack, suddenly making a right turn—Oh no! We have a do-or-die situation. I shoo and wave the dupatta at it, screaming as loud as I can.
The racks are in a maze-like structure. The bird seems confused, its wings fluttering rapidly as it flies around the racks as if lost in a labyrinth. Meanwhile, I dash around, whipping the dupatta in the air, my voice hoarse from shouting.
I’m almost successful with my crazy act, or so I think, when suddenly, the newly installed brass bell at the front door peals.
My heart leaps out of my ribcage, and I trip on the dupatta, falling flat on the floor and sending a few racks careening across the room.
The pigeon takes a low flight straight toward the exit and disappears.
I look up to make sure it’s gone. It is. I sigh with relief.
“What the hell was that? A pigeon?” a voice yells.
My back hurts as I twist slowly to the side. “Why didn’t I think of the bell?” I manage, relieved to see Khushi standing with her hands on her hips while I stand up.
Khushi points to the bell. “Isn’t this hung too low?”
I’d bought it from a cute thrift store recently and just got it installed, but I agree that it’s too low, with a rope dangling even lower. I’d told Ramu to hang it higher, but he hasn’t gotten to it yet.
“It’s going to hit a tall person’s head,” she laughs.
Tall person? There’s one who comes to mind, one whose head would definitely hit that bell. But the likelihood of him walking into my establishment is very slim.
Khushi’s pink, flowy dress swishes around her hips, and her eyes scan the room, her cheeks turning red. “Any more pigeons?”
“No, just that one! This is the first time a pigeon has come in.” I flash her a triumphant smile despite the pain, standing with one hand still on my hurting hip.
“I was going to ask,” she laughs.
“It’s so good to see you!”
“You too!” She pulls me into a tight hug. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I wince and move to shut the back door first, heaving a sigh of relief once I’ve taken care of that. “And thank you for getting that bird to fly away. I was about to have a nervous breakdown.”
“I’m glad I made it on time,” she laughs. “Where’s Kiara?”
“I think she’s running late.”
Khushi, Kiara, and I were quite the trio back in the day. Best friends since childhood, we were inseparable. It’s been a year since the three of us have met, and I’ve missed having them around.
“Wow, look at how you’ve transformed this place!” Khushi exclaims, taking in what used to be a bunch of smaller establishments, including my mother’s tailoring shop. She admires the large motif on the wall that reads KaaVaa Bridal Boutique. “KaaVaa as in Kavita Varma? Sounds cool!”
This is the first time that Khushi has seen my new boutique, while Kiara has sometimes been accompanying her clients to my boutique for their wedding dress selections. “What do you think of it?” I ask Khushi.
She twirls around, gasping at the cream and gold painted interiors, the large mirrors placed along the walls, and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “It’s exquisite!” she says, her hands over her mouth. “I love everything!”
“Thank you!”
“Gorgeous!” Khushi says as she touches a few of my bridal pieces—lehengas, blouses, saris, and gowns.
They are a sight to behold, and I’m really proud of every single one of them.
I lead her to the ante-room, which is my studio where I have two sewing machines where my seamstresses work and a large table strewn with sketches and drawings of my designs.
Spools of colorful threads, pieces of clothing, and garments in various unfinished stages are lying all over the place.
The scent of new fabric and a hint of floral perfume fill the air.
I love this room the most. It’s where all my creative ideas come to life.
It’s empty right now because it’s a Sunday.
“Wow!” Khushi exclaims.
I show her the other tiny adjacent rooms—a changing room, a storage room, and a small pantry near the back door. It’s a small space, but it houses my soul and everything I love about my work.
“Wow, wow, wow! I have no words!”
“And I get to live upstairs,” I tell her, beaming. “Finally, I have my own place to live and work!”
She hugs me. “I’m so proud of you!”
I’m so proud of myself, too. This place is perfect!
I was so lucky to find it ready to be leased when my earlier landlord kicked me out of the boutique space I was renting previously.
The two-story building that now houses my boutique downstairs and the small apartment that I live in upstairs is complete with whitewashed walls, a tall, decorative facade, and a wrought-iron gate.
Simply perfect for me!
The front door swings open just then, and Kiara walks in with a big smile. “Hey!” She’s wearing a pencil skirt and pointy heels, dressed immaculately as always, and hugs both of us before shouting like an excited child. “I’m so happy we finally got to meet.”
“Isn’t that funny? We live in the same city and haven’t met since Khushi’s back,” I say.
“I’ve only been back a couple of weeks. But we need to meet more like we used to,” Khushi smiles, her round, dimpled cheeks glowing.
I love that she’s back. “We missed you!”
I put on a kettle of water for tea. I don’t have any appointments in the morning, so we have the whole place for ourselves.
Khushi laughs as she eyes the pretty cups I’ve laid out on the table and plates for snacks. “This feels like one of the tea party games we played when we were little. Except, now we’re grown-ups making tea in our proper homes.”
“There’s so much to catch up on!” Kiara says. “It feels like ages ago that you left, Khushi!”
The past year, Khushi was in Coonoor, taking care of her ill father.
Khushi makes a sad face. “So long I missed the inauguration of Kavita’s boutique and your wedding, Kiara. And with Dad at the hospital at the time of the wedding, it was impossible to leave him. But he’s better now.”
“What matters is that we’re here now,” Kiara says and adds with a laugh, “I hardly had any time to plan the wedding. It was all so chaotic.”
The tea is ready, and I bring it to the couch, pushing aside the tall window curtains to reveal the view of the green park with a small walkway encircling it. “Look at this gorgeous view. Doesn’t the park still look beautiful?”
It’s the same park where we spent many afternoons after school, and now I have the perfect view of it from across the quiet, tree-lined street right outside my gate. There’s a row of houses alongside mine and a café at the other corner.