The Wedding: Part I
by Nivita Chaliki
The first time Arohi met her was on the other side of a chichubuddi firecracker that was just about to go off. She was drowning in a silver puffer jacket that contrasted horrendously with the glittering purple of her kid size ghagra, and her hair was a tangled frizzy mess that kept falling across her shoulder like a sheet of sparsely woven fabric.
“Do you think it’ll explode like a proper firework?” she asked, swiping back her hair.
Arohi shrugged. “Probably not.”
“If it doesn’t, it should.”
Arohi nodded, agreeing with her because that was the best way to make friends with other kids, was to agree with whatever they said and like whatever they liked and tell them their name was cool.
“What’s your name?” she asked the girl.
“Oh. Krishna. You’re Arohi, right?” Krishna elongated the ‘o’ in Arohi’s name in a way that both bothered her and endeared her at the same time.
Arohi tilted her head to the side. “Yeah. Do you like purple?”
The girl wrinkled her nose, and for a moment her face was obscured by an acrid, opaque cloud of smoke, lit up red and green from the colored sparklers the others were waving around.
“I hate purple,” Krishna said conclusively before waving a hand in front of her face and yelping when the chichubuddi shot a glorious fountain of sparks up into the air, taller than the both of them.
Arohi couldn’t help but laugh.
“Careful,” Krishna called out over the ruckus of the exploding cracker, “You’ll burn your face off!”
Arohi nodded indulgently. “Sure, I’ll be careful.”
“I’m serious!” Krishna marched around to her and grabbed her hand.
Arohi couldn’t explain why the gesture punched the air out of her chest but it did and she warred between twisting out of Krishna’s grip and falling into it further.
“I’m in third grade,” Arohi declared as she was tugged along to the foldable table stacked generously with boxes of sparklers.
Krishna paused and glanced at her through the corner of her eye. “I’m in fourth. But people always think I’m in third ‘cause apparently I look like I’m in third.”
Arohi frowned. “I don’t think there’s a difference.”
Clearly that was a terribly wrong thing to say because Krishna scoffed and rolled her eyes and yanked on her arm hard enough to make Arohi wince.
“There’s a huuuuuge difference. You change when you go to fourth grade.”
It was Arohi’s turn to roll her eyes.
There was a crowd of people in the backyard, all enjoying the Deepavali fireworks in varying degrees of shrieking laughter, but Arohi somehow couldn’t focus on anything but the girl next to her.
“You go to a different school than me though. I’ve never seen you before,” Krishna mused as she peered at all the boxes selectively.
Arohi shook her head. “I go to school an hour away.”
Krishna’s hand paused over a box of morning glories. “Woah.”
“Yeah, I don’t have many friends.” Arohi froze, cheeks and ears flushing with heat. “Wait, I mean—”
“No wonder.” Krishna picked up the box of morning glories with a decided nod and looked at Arohi with a grin. She was kind of pretty. “Well, I live five minutes away.”
Arohi nodded dazedly. “Okay.”
Krishna grinned wider, almost cheshire-like and dug her thumb into her sternum. “So now you have one here.”
***
Arohi catches sight of her almost immediately. There is no way she could’ve prepared for this. Not for the way the gaudy silver embroidery work of her blouse glints in the colorful lights of the venue even from afar, not for the way purple still doesn’t suit her despite the lavish beauty of her cheera draped and pleated to perfection, not for the way she still smiles and laughs like an alluring harbinger.
“You knew she’d be here,” her sister murmurs in a low voice next to her ear.
“I know,” Arohi sighs shakily, tearing her eyes away from the sight of Krishna mingling across the room. “I know, why do you think I let the makeup lady give me the diamond facial.”
“Because you’re a pushover who can’t say no.”
Arohi scoffs. “It’s impossible to say no to aunties.”
Amu shrugs and takes her by the shoulders. “Now. This is my bridal shower. My time. Forget your angst and focus on me, okay? It’s your job as my sister. Or I’m calling your husband and leaving a bad review.”
Arohi laughs and shakes her head. “He’s not my husband and he’s already heard all the bad reviews.”
“I’ll make sure he runs for the hills this time,” Amu mutters. She smacks a kiss on Arohi’s cheek and pats it with just a touch of condescension before walking away to greet the rest of the bridal party.
A part of Arohi wishes Taraka was here, if not to have someone she actually liked hanging out with at this godforsaken bridal shower - other than her sister - but to at least have someone to focus her energy on that wasn’t Krishna. If he were here, she could just lean into him and forget about purple cheeras and past memories.
It’s kind of involuntary to meet eyes, and she doesn’t even notice, lost in hypothetical thoughts, until they both blink at the same time and she realizes Krishna’s eyes are lined thickly with dark makeup that suits her as well as her silver puffer jacket did all those years ago. It doesn’t even occur to her to run away as soon as it happens, or as soon as Krishna starts walking towards her with a confidence that is too obvious to be real. It doesn’t occur to her until Krisha is right before her, standing close enough for Arohi to see a residue of mascara just under her lower lash line.
“You look terrible in purple,” Arohi blurts out.
Krishna smiles lopsidedly. “So you’ve told me. My mom insisted on this one though and it’s hard to argue with her.”
“I know, I have experience.”
Krishna hums in agreement. “You look nice,” she says, gesturing to Arohi’s dark green cheera that is just a tad too tall on her so the stiff decorative border settles awkwardly on the floor, box-like and not at all flattering.
“You don’t have to lie,” she runs a finger across the excessive, color coordinated set of bangles almost trailing up to mid fore-arm. “I look ill-fitting.”
“You look ill-fitting in a lot of places and situations,” Krishna says. “This one isn’t an exception, I guess.”
Arohi winces. It never crossed her mind that even with a year’s worth of distance between them, Krishna would still talk to her like she knew all the cracks and crevices hidden in her being.
“Was that—” Krishna looks unsure for a moment and for some reason that sparks a petty comfort in Arohi. “Was that a wrong thing to say?”
Arohi shrugs, tucking a nonexistent piece of hair behind her ear and glancing around the room. “It’s the truth.”
Krishna nods jerkily, like she doesn’t quite feel secure anymore, like she wants to escape this conversation as much as Arohi does. “You do look nice, though, that is the truth. You always look nice even when you don’t.”
Arohi wrinkles her nose. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Krishna huffs out a nervous laugh and shrugs, her arms coming up in a sort of aborted, helpless gesture. “Sorry?”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Arohi says, settling her gaze on the pair of necklaces tucked behind the pleats of Krishna’s cheera. She almost reaches out and uncovers them, a deep-rooted muscle memory she hadn’t activated in what feels like a lifetime.
Krishna regards her with a gaze that’s familiar and far away, and for a sharp, heartstopping moment, Arohi thinks that she can read her mind, see right through the hesitant twitch of her fingers.
“I think,” Krishna muses, brows furrowing just the slightest bit as her lips twist on her words, “I do.”
Arohi scoffs before she can think better of it. “You never apologize. Not first,” she mutters.
“Oh, is that why you left?”
Arohi nearly chokes, doubling over for a second before straightening up and darting her eyes around to see if anyone noticed.
Krishna watches her expectantly, and it makes Arohi suddenly want to slap her across the face.
“I thought you were the smart one between us,” Arohi says, running a finger across the papidi billa hanging over her forehead. “Sit down at a table and indulge in the games we play, we worked hard on them. Pretend to be on the groom’s side sometimes just to piss Amu off.” Arohi pauses, catching Krishna’s eyes and tilting her head to the side as she hardens her voice. “And don’t ask me stupid questions.”