Chapter 14 Vedveer - Happy Holi, Your Highness!
Vedveer
Happy Holi, Your Highness!
I’m the first one from the family down at the Rang Mahal courtyard. We’re playing true to form.
I stand in the centre, admiring the jharokhas, dressed in heavy strings of marigolds, in shades of happy and happier. Silken buntings in fuchsia and saffron flutter in the morning breeze.
Tall stalks of roses and desert jasmine, strung together thickly, decorate the archways in the corridor. Brass urns brimming with gulal line the marble steps at the entrance.
Ranibagh is ready.
The water fountain is already spouting colour, and Raj Kiran, the valet, can’t take his eyes off it.
Holi in Ranibagh is chaotic – loud, bright and unapologetic. It never fails to lift the spirits. These are the only quiet moments when we can breathe easy.
In half an hour or less, the place will be a blur of colour and sound.
The rhythmic beat of the dhol thrums my chest as I move through the crowd, smearing colour on the feet of elders.
Even Father, stubbornly resistant to stepping out of his comfort zone, makes allowance for Holi.
He wakes up early, pulls on a white kurta and joins in the celebrations.
I look at my watch. Father should be down any moment.
Aaditha and her parents are here. Holi will be different this time. Even if it is just for this time.
She has reservations about marriage in general and this match in particular.
My breath is rough; I feel it.
Raj Kiran turns to face me, a curious expression on his face.
My ringtone saves me. I wonder if it is Aaditha. I asked the nervous Ms Barmer to step back and give Aaditha space. I hope she hasn’t forgotten her altogether.
It isn’t Aaditha; it is Father calling.
When I return to the Rang Mahal courtyard some half hour later, after sorting out invites to foreign dignitaries who hadn’t made our initial list, the place is a riot of colour.
In the last couple of years, we have started opening up our Holi celebrations outside the circle of family and friends. This is a joyous event, and I thought we should allow other communities in this country and beyond to get a feel of this vibrant festival.
I barely make it past the marble steps before my youngest cousin, all of thirteen, throws herself at me. She has a fistful of green, which I manage to avoid. I make my way into the crowd.
‘I’ll catch you, bhaiyaji!’ Manvi shouts.
Somewhere on the grounds, Mother is laughing behind a veil of colour, and beside her is Mrs Gowda, dusting colour from her face.
This is obviously Mrs Gowda’s first Holi.
She is standing with her hands knotted. Father is wielding a water syringe like a warrior.
He is actually getting around on his feet, and Karnataka’s genial finance minister has fallen in step.
Beside them are a pair of tall silver mugs.
I’m willing to bet that they don’t contain bhang.
Then I spot her, decked in simple white separates with a red border. Her hair is tied in a bun, and an oxidized silver necklace sits on her dainty collarbone.
I sneak up behind her. ‘Saving yourself for me?’ I ask, keeping my tone casual.
She spins around, mock offended.
‘Absolutely not,’ she says. The double meaning registers, and sure enough, she pounces.
‘Wow!’ she says, deadpan, taking a step backwards. ‘Did you rehearse that, or was it a spur-of-the-moment disaster?’
‘Improv,’ I shrug, moving with her, taking a step forward, ‘but clearly underappreciated.’
‘Oh, it’s appreciated,’ she says, ‘just… quietly judged.’
‘That feels fair.’
She grins, shaking her head.
‘You do realize you’re outnumbered today, right?’ she asks, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder.
‘Wouldn’t have it any other way.’
We’re standing face to face, a broad, cobbled pathway between us, and I realize this is the first time I’m seeing her with her hair pulled back and knotted. It suits her; everything suits her.
I move towards her, eyes locked. The legs are quick, but the heart is heavy. Strains from last evening are playing in my head.
I want to set it all aside for today, just for today, but the mind doesn’t always do as it is told.
She’s not considering marriage; she laid it out for me loud and clear.
‘Where have you been?’ she asks, moving further away, her hand in the silver bowl she carries.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
This hairstyle highlights her features, particularly the lushness of her lips, which haunt me every night.
‘Just fashionably late?’ she teases, changing track and stepping closer to me.
‘I was called away on work.’
She laughs.
‘Brother!’ Navya shouts. ‘They’ve all arrived and are being taken care of. Ratanji is looking for you.’
Aaditha is smiling and walking up to me.
‘She calls my clothes boring.’ Aaditha is pointing at Navya.
‘Nothing wrong with boring,’ Navya says, winking at Aaditha. ‘Brother adores boring.’
I’m trying hard not to laugh, and Miss Aaditha moves deftly and colours my cheek crimson.
‘Happy Holi, Your Highness,’ she says, backing up quickly. I go after her, just a few steps, but I check my stride. She notices and turns around.
‘Maybe I should try my hand at polo,’ she says, admiring her right hand. ‘I have good aim.’
All it takes is a couple of seconds. She bends to admire her hand, and she has indigo on her forehead and hair.
‘Happy Holi,’ I return.
We stand there for a moment too long, surrounded by colour, chaos and family, trying not to stare.
It is closing on 8 p.m., but if the Coffee Queen needs her fix, who am I to tell her that her timing is off?
I message Ratan, who is also at the Jaipur Cricket Stadium, asking him to organize beverages. I settle for a cup of tea, though I’d have loved a glass of wine.
Navya is sitting in the same row as we are, a few seats away. She is with the wives and girlfriends and has Kairi for company.
Aaditha and I are here to support Navya’s beau, Nalin Shah, who is captaining the Rajputana Royals in the Premier League. He is batting on 44. Not the best time for us to leave our seats as far as appearances go.
Aaditha leads the way as we head to the rear end of the VIP Pavilion.
Just as we step into the hospitality area, I spot Kairi, and Aaditha, who is beside me now, grips my wrist.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask as Kairi wraps an arm around me in a hug.
‘Getting a coffee for Her Highness,’ she says, referring to my sister.
It must be said that Aaditha and Navya drink coffee at the weirdest hours, for reasons ranging from nerves to coping with boredom.
I introduce Aaditha to Kairi, who I make it a point to mention is engaged to a Kolkata industrialist. Aaditha nods; she is familiar with the Basu surname. Kairi apologizes for missing Ranibagh’s Holika celebrations. She was in Delhi to see her grandparents.
I nod. Kairi would’ve been there if she could.
‘I saw all the pictures, though, and you are looking every bit as lovely as you are,’ Kairi says to Aaditha.
‘Thank you,’ Aaditha says. Kairi’s words are heartfelt. I can tell by the tone.
Kairi’s coffee arrives, and she excuses herself to join her friend, but not before warning. ‘50 is coming up,’ she says, ‘if only the man would give Nalin a chance to face the bowling!’
‘Do you follow cricket?’ I ask Aaditha, thinking that it is a bit late to be asking her that question.
‘Now and then,’ she says. ‘If you mean, do I know the rules, yes, I do, but do I know the composition of all these outfits, the answer is no.’
Aaditha turns to our server, who has arrived with our order. She takes one look at the tray and turns to me. ‘We both drink coffee,’ she says, looking suitably offended.
‘No,’ I say slowly, unable to resist the smirk, ‘you drink coffee, Aaditha. I drink tea.’
‘What? No! Since when?’ Her dark brown eyes have opened wide in an I-dare-you expression.
‘For more than a decade easily.’
‘Come on! You are only saying this because there’s just one cappuccino on the tray. You had a cappuccino in Bengaluru, in my house, and then again, the next day with me!’
‘I had a cappuccino with you, yes, but that was only because you didn’t give me an option.’
‘What? Noooo!’ She is laughing hysterically and almost drops her head on my shoulder.
It is a while before she looks up and asks, ‘Seriously?’
I nod. Never been more serious.
Aaditha can’t stop laughing. ‘Ved… veer, even I can’t be this ridiculous!’
‘So…’ she says slowly, ‘at my house, you were drinking tea; that’s why a teacup.’
I nod.
All this is playing out, just as Nalin gets to his 50.
The stands erupt, and the cameras are on Navya, who is on her feet and thumping her palms. In the next instant, it shifts to the hospitality area, where Aaditha and I are standing in the centre of the tiled floor laughing.
Aaditha’s head dips against my shoulder but straightens immediately.
The caption on the screen reads, ‘Ranibagh royals beside themselves with joy.’
After the camera pans away from us, she picks up her coffee and I pick up my tea. We sip our respective beverages quietly. When we return to our seats, Aaditha asks me why I hadn’t corrected her about my choice of beverage. I shrug.
‘That’s mean,’ she says.
‘I was sure we’d have an opportunity to make a joke of it as we got to know each other.’
Aaditha rolls her eyes.
After the Rajputana Royals’ innings folds, Kairi moves down the row of seats to chat with us.
‘Is this your first time in Jaipur?’ she asks Aaditha.
Kairi is friendly and sociable. Aaditha is more of an introvert; she prefers to keep to herself. I am unsure where this association is headed, if indeed it is headed anywhere at all.
‘No,’ Aaditha says. She’s smiling, and her shoulders are relaxed. ‘I have been here a couple of times before.’
‘You have to like it,’ Kairi says. ‘You don’t have a choice, you know.’
Aaditha nods.
The three of us are on our feet and chatting when the camera finds us again.
Aaditha is in blue denims and a black dress top; her earlobes are bare because they are sore.
She hadn’t told me that, but the soft curve of her ear is a pinched red.
If Aaditha had kohled her eyes, it is barely visible.
She wears no make-up, if you discount the lip gloss.
She looks fresh, though, even if she doesn’t feel fresh.
Kairi is wearing a maroon dress and glitters in the evening light.
We are on the big screen, and there’s a roar from the gallery; fans are waving in our direction. Aaditha flinches. I turn to her and suggest that maybe we should all go inside.
As we follow Kairi back into the enclosure, our eyes meet. Aaditha is so uncomfortable with this attention; she seems to be shrinking into herself.
‘Let’s watch the rest of the match from inside,’ I say.
Aaditha nods. ‘Let’s find a place where the camera cannot reach us.’