‘On the Side’ Part 1: Arshia ka Nikah

Your typical Bollywood movies will have you believe that the only person who may be unhappy at the wedding of a girl would be her scorned former-lover. Otherwise, Suraj Barjatya or not, all directors will show you that every person around the bride, from her BFFs to the neighbouring aunty’s visiting NRI grandson’s friang girlfriend keep giggling like gassed lunatics. Hell they even have the pet dog wagging its tail. But most unbelievable in this already incredible situation is the house-help who will be merrily using the world’s largest karchi to cook halwa in the world’s largest karhai for the gassed lunatics described above and will also be smiling amidst this most tyrannous situation. This, I have to say is stretching even fiction far too much.

I mean have you ever tried asking your house-help to sweep one square inch of floor outside your gate? Or to wash three extra plates that may have been used by some damned guests who came over for dinner? Or to sweep off a stray cobweb that has made itself at home somewhere right over where you head rests at night? Somehow I do not picture my house-help smiling so benevolently if she were asked to cook halwa for a hundred gassed lunatics with the world’s largest karchi in the world’s largest karhai.

But I digress. The purpose of referring to Bollywood movies was to make a point. In actual-life my friends, it is not just the scorned former-lover who will be sad to hear that the female lead’s getting hitched to another. Let me tell you the story of Arshia and her nikah.

While yet unmarried and unshipped-off, Arshia used to live in the obscure lanes of a small colony from where she ran a very successful tailoring business. Women from all over the town and beyond- even overseas (Disclaimer: I am not sure of this fact but it does add to the credibility of my shameless exaggerations; however, I would mention here that I did take a friend of mine from Dubai to Arshia for a salwar-kameez stitched from here so if we ignore the fact that she is a Garhwali who belongs from Dehradun, we can qualify the overseas bit) - would seek Arshia’s brilliance to get salwaar-kameez stitched in a way that, they believed would flatter their misunderstood curves- but that in reality only made them look gigantically-breasted.

In embroidery, Arshia’s skill rivaled nobody's (Disclaimer: ‘nobody’ from among the people I bothered to compare her skill against, who were... well, OK let’s just call this one a figure of speech).
Legend has it, that property rates and rentals around Arshia’s house were higher than the average of property rates in this part of town because women wanted to be as close to her house as they could so that they could visit her to give her new tailoring orders, check on their already-given orders or just to see what other women were getting stitched.

Arshia’s magic was powerful in its pull and among the women who had flown smack into the tailoring magnet and now lay dangling helplessly but securely against its all-consuming power were- regrettably- the women in my family.

Buaji and Simrin mami top this list of Arshia-maniacs and I have to say the way they sought the poor little tailor to stitch new pairs of salwar-kameez bordered obsession worthy of restraining orders. Between themselves, their otherwise amicable relationship would enter terse, cold, misty weathers during the following times:

- When the subject of wardrobes was discussed.
- When it was festival time- say diwali, holi (yes, I know; it is anybody’s guess) etc.
- When it was not festival time- say your usual days.
- When it was anti-festival time- say shraad.
- When (and here the levels of crazy flew right through the thermometer for buaji) somebody from any part of the country would be flying to Australia, where her daughter and daughter-in-law are based.

Although buaji and Simrin mami were top in the heap of frenzied women seeking Arshia, the other women in my house were also contributors to the mania. Whether it was Rads’ and SP’s mom, my own mom or Monu-Sonu’s mom- nobody was spared from the madness. Often when my mother, who lives out of town would come visiting, conversation over the evening tea would consist of negotiations that were based on each party trying to prove whose need for a new pair or salwar-kameez was greater.

It was then natural that the news of Arshia’s wedding was received by the Kakkar-and-allied-women in the same way as a crack-addict would receive the news that his drug-dealer was getting married and moving away. The news of the wedding that would temporarily dislodge my family's matriarchs, I am told, was first given to Simrin mami (whose dwelling was in immediate vicinity of the tailor) by a blushing Arshia. Mami then returned home in a daze, clutching the last piece of art that the magician had created and immediately set about making the necessary calls.

Now on the matter of our phone-calls habits, please await the required post that shall be uploaded soon and link updated here but we digress again (not my fault, we Punjabis are very complex in our stereotypes).

The reaction to the news was the same for everybody who received it:

Shock-Denial-Realization of Inappropriate Reaction (it may be reminded the stray reader that this was news of a girl’s wedding- Feeble Attempt at Making Amends by Feigning Gladness- Giving Up Said Feeble Attempt- Inquiring When the Wedding Date had Been Set to Estimate How Many Stitches Were Left in the Master's Sewing Machine, if you know what I mean- Disconnecting Phone to Collect Self.

Arshia has long since wed and is happy at her home that is located at a safe distance from the maniac aunties of my house and neighbourhood. At her wedding, she had been monetarily surprised to observe how many women greeted her with quivering lips and handed the shagun to her with trembling hands but the blessed girl thankfully misunderstood the gestures to be of happiness rather than of despair.