The Wedding Tamasha

'Yes, Ma. Why did you call?'
'There is good news! Didn’t I tell you Kini told us that there would
be good news?’
‘What news?’
‘Simbu and Lekha have decided to get married.'
'What? When?' Her brother was getting married?
Keertana continued, 'This December. Simbu called us just a little
while ago. Your Papa and I haven’t been off the phone since. You’d
better plan your tickets in advance. Can you be here by early December
and let Raj join us closer to the wedding date. I can’t believe we’re going
to have another wedding this year—'
This was going to be a nightmare. ‘Ma, how can you have two
weddings in one year? That’s crazy.’
‘That’s what Simbu wants. And why delay it now? Lekha and he
have been together for two years. It’s fair to give them the wedding
they’ve been waiting for, right? Can’t believe I’ll see you again in
December.’
Shweta scowled. ‘You don’t get it, Ma. I just got here a few months
ago. It costs a lot to fly back and forth. Can’t you ask Simbu to make it
next year during the summer? That way, all the cousins and their kids too
can join, during their school holidays.’
Keertana humphed. ‘Don’t be silly. And as if that’s up to me.
Simbu says Lekha’s tired of waiting. And if your father says ok, it means
ok.’
Shweta walked back to the dumpster not hearing any of the rest.
Her head spun with many terrible thoughts. Most of them being:
December. December. December? The word struck a cacophonous gong
in her brain. And it was impossible to shut it off. It was September
already. And she wasn’t prepared to return to India so soon.
‘Can you come as early as you can?’ Her mother asked again.
***
The next morning, in India, Prabhakaran Menon, or Prabhu as he
was known, was sprawled on his easy chair, his legs propped on a foot
stool, his glasses perched over his nose, and a pipe stuck between his
lips, out of which a curl of smoke spiralled upwards.
He was peering into the Economic Times when Keertana brought
in his customary tea at seven A.M. Abruptly, he put the paper down with a
frown.