Chapter 32
I was in a black shirt dress, cinched at the waist with a wide fashion belt. Broad cuffs and long slits, it skimmed my ankles.
My mirror was kind, but it held nothing back. The full picture. This soft fabric I was mantled in had little baby moons running all over it.
I was trying not to laugh, only because I didn’t have the time to indulge in gaiety. This was not a nuanced routine in the be-good-to-yourself therapy.
Polka dots is karma. Listen to me.
I had bought this outfit in Mumbai. I lurched for it at a boutique store that had myriad options. Vertical stripes, middle-class floral, blackbirds flying across white skies. Propriety. Prints. Plain.
I was thinking sweet mints as I twirled in it in the trial room.
This bespattered element of my clothing was not a factor until I wore it today. That might have something to do with the guest list. Pooja Patil was going to be there, and this piece of work I was posing in would capitulate before her like a gushing 13-year-old. Slits and cuffs.
I was standing before the mirror in my brightly lit bedroom, which no longer looked sparse. I hadn’t moved back yet to Bengaluru, but I had brought some of my stuff back with me this time.
Chhaya was going to be there, too! I was going to get the karma talk from her. I stamped my foot.
‘Who are you talking to, Myra?’ my father called. ‘We’ll be late.’
I was talking to no one. I was just stomping around my room barefoot.
Papa was set; he was pacing the sitting room. I know. My dad always took his time gearing up, but on the rare occasion he was ready on time, he drove my mother and me crazy with a running commentary on how we were going to be late.
I took a deep breath. I was preparing for the show.
I spritzed perfume into the air and walked into it, letting it settle on me. This was a haphazard buy; the fragrance was too strong.
That apparently summed up my retail choices lately.
Andrew had invited us to a dinner party he was arranging for Neha, who was in town for work.
I had been messaging her these last couple of days, and I looked forward to meeting her. Andrew had also called a couple of senior advocates who were known to Neha and him.
Mr Kumar and his wife, Nilima, who was a family lawyer, were on the guest list, too.
I wondered if by inviting the Kumars, Andrew was returning Morning Herald to me in a sense. Not that I was going back, but that I could just walk over to No. 7 any time I wanted. For saccharine-infused coffee maybe.
The other person I was looking forward to meeting today was Sudha. Andrew had wanted to ask Sudha over for a meal ever since he returned, but each time they came up with a date, one of them had to cancel.
We were going to be one nice, happy family this evening.
I couldn’t wear this dress! First of all, why was I wearing a dress? It was only to Andrew’s.
I turned to my cupboard. I should change into jeans and a tee. My comfort wear. I’m a denim junky. I’ve tried to break out of that from time to time, wearing dresses some evenings. Polka dots were the result of that.
This speckle fest was a little too much though. My bottom lip quivered, and my heart was racing. Why?
I laughed again. More like a nervous sound.
‘Myra, we have to go,’ my father called. He was at my door now.
‘Is this looking okay?’
I don’t know why I ask my father for an opinion on whether something works on me or not. He always says the same thing. Beautiful.
‘My daughter is looking beautiful,’ he said. It was the full sentence today, and I didn’t know what to make of it.
Chhaya is never on time, I thought as I climbed into my strappy heels. I could gag her and lock her in the bathroom for whatever was left of the evening. She was going to laugh at me.
My father looked radiant in a soft-pink kurta, but he was barefoot and looking helpless as always. I spent another 10 minutes diving around the house looking for his Kolhapuris.
I had landed in Bengaluru four days after Andrew and I’d had dinner at the Officers’ Club in Mumbai.
I wasn’t getting tickets at a decent price before that.
Just as well because I was able to work out some nitty-gritties with my editor, who had been on holiday.
I was going to be working from Bengaluru for the next month, and my editor was open to letting me work out of Bengaluru another six months, provided I travelled to Mumbai a couple of times every month.
I would sign those papers when I returned in another four weeks. I couldn’t wait.
Chhaya and I had made plans for this evening, but when Andrew came up with this dinner invitation, we decided to do breakfast at Perky Grace tomorrow.
Andrew was so apologetic about this late arrangement that he asked Chhaya to come along, too.
When I reached for the doorbell at Andrew’s some 20 minutes later, I told my father that we were the first to arrive.
All this fuss for nothing!
Even the main door was locked.
‘We’re the first,’ my father agreed. He was a much lighter man now, knowing that his daughter was returning home for good.
‘We should’ve brought something with us, Poppy, chocolates maybe.’ I was patting his shoulders.
With heeled footwear, I was taller than my father by an inch. The advantage afforded me the edge a parent held over her offspring.
‘I can hear people; I don’t think we are the first.’
I nodded.
I didn’t remember seeing a vase the last time I was here, so vase with flowers, I made a mental note for next time. It was too late for that now.
Andrew opened the door. He was in formals – black trousers and a crisp white shirt. It was illegal to look so good.
He was dressed like a lawyer. Playing to the guest list. Sweet!
Thank goodness I had worn a dress!
‘You clean up well, Brown,’ I said, reaching up and letting my lips brush his cheeks.
‘Baby,’ he whispered into my ear, ‘welcome.’ His eyes looked tired, and he was breathing heavily.
I spotted Neha at a distance. She was perched on the bar stool, munching on the several plates of antipasti that seemed to be all over the place.
Neha climbed down the stool carefully before claiming me in a tight hug.
‘I’m so happy to see you. Thank you again for everything, Neha.’
Her eyes were misty.
‘Stop! Andrew has done so much for me. He’ll never say it. I will when we sit down one of these days.’
I nodded.
Ashish joined her and Chhaya was beside him.
‘I didn’t know you were going to be here.’
‘I love your dress!’ Chhaya cooed. Had she missed the baby moons?
‘I wasn’t, but Neha warned me…’ Ashish said.
We were talking over each other.
I was laughing, and Chhaya was laughing louder as her heel dug into Ashish’s shoe. She must’ve broken his toe because he almost lifted her and put her aside.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked.
Ashish laughed. ‘The price you pay for chatting up a woman in spikes.’
‘I need to get a drink.’
‘Me, too,’ I told Chhaya as I caught Neha walking my father towards the bar.
I wanted to tell Neha he had stopped drinking when Andrew steered me in the direction of the Kumars.
I was aware that I was leaving Chhaya to her own fate, but you shouldn’t be walking all over people in those weapons of mass destruction.
Sudha was looking regal in a maroon Kanjeevaram. I was so happy I hadn’t turned up in denims that I squeezed Andrew’s arm.
He was looking at me in that way no one else has ever looked at me. My heart was in motion like a jungle drum.
Pooja was stunning in an emerald-green bodycon that finished just below her butt. She was taking photographs.
‘I love what you’re wearing,’ she called out from across the room.
That’s when I noticed that the entire room was decorated in Mangalore mallige. The rear wall was covered in a curtain of it; strings of the fragrant bud criss-crossed the ceiling.
My mother’s favourite.
On a corner stool was a tall blue china vase with red roses. He has a vase, I told myself.
‘Why’ve you done all this?’ I asked Andrew, touching the jasmines and smelling my hand.
I love this fragrance. Like Mother.
I walked a few steps and then turned back. Andrew was there. His hand cupped my elbow. My father was to his right, hopping from one foot to another, looking at Andrew and nodding.
Just then, Taylor Swift’s ‘Lover’ filled the room.
I turned to Andrew, who was down on a knee.
Had he slipped?
‘I told you to wear the polka-dotted shirt,’ Pooja squealed from across the room. ‘You guys would’ve been twinning. Duh!’
I looked at Andrew again. ‘You have a polka-dotted shirt?’ I asked.
Mr and Mrs Kumar had joined my father. They were all clapping.
It wasn’t ‘Huss’ standing next to Chhaya, it was Ashish! Why was Chhaya blushing? She should’ve been laughing.
Sudha was wagging a gold-decked finger at me.
What in god’s name was happening? My lips were aquiver, and my legs were shaking.
Neha was carrying a massive bottle and walking to the middle of the room.
‘Smile,’ Pooja shouted. Someone in Mysuru lit up.
Andrew pulled out a ring. A diamond-studded gold band.
‘I was on my way, yet hopelessly lost. Nothing made sense when we were apart. Everything had lost colour – the leaves, the flowers. The light was gone. I looked for you in every room I walked into, I searched crowded spaces and empty walkways. I gazed into dark, late-evening skies, knowing you were rising in another part of the world. That gave me hope, my forever love. Myraah Rai, you are the only family I ever need. Please, baby, say yes!’
I blinked. I inhaled.
I heard my father say, ‘Yes.’ His booming acknowledgement must’ve carried to Mummy in another world.
Tears were flowing down my cheeks, and a loud chorus of ‘say yes’ drowned the soprano voice singing in the background.
This was happening to me. This was my engagement party. I covered my face in my palm.
‘Baby, my knees are hurting. Say yes, na.’
‘Yes,’ I said, smiling through my tears.
‘Thank you’, Andrew said, getting back on his feet again and fixing the ring on my finger. It was perfect.
‘Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.’
Andrew cradled my face in his palms and kissed my cheeks and then brushed my lips with his.
‘You’re the air I breathe, Myraah.’
I leaned forward to return the compliment. ‘Babe,’ I whispered, tasting the endearment. I had deleted ‘babe’ from my memory almost a decade ago; it couldn’t have been restored at a better moment.
I had several names for my parents, especially my dad, but for Andrew, there was only one. Babe.
A tear rolled down Andrew’s cheek onto my hand, which was on his jaw. ‘Forever, babe.’