Unlike Mrinal, Antara was not annoyed with the rituals of the wedding. They were tiring and she didn’t necessarily derive the pleasure she had seen many girls driving from the occasion. But she was used to doing things that society and her family demanded of her. She knew all the requirements of all the functions, poojas etc. one could encounter in a lifetime. But after the biscuit incident, even she grew detached and impatient. She did feel embarrassed about it, but there was no running away from the fact that she was getting desperate to spend time alone with Mrinal. If only the unending rituals and people would get out of the way! The bidaai happened. The one person who did make her cry genuinely was her cousin Parikshit, who everyone affectionately called Pikku. He was her sole confidant and he was the one who had brought her the mobile from Mrinal, when Mrinal did not want to meet publicly, and Antara did not want to sneak out.

“Why are you crying, Didi?” Parikshit had tried to calm her down during the bidaai, although he himself had grown overwhelmed. “Instead of Delhi-Kolkata, it will be Delhi-Mumbai now. Stop crying and be happy.”

Bidaai was not the end of it. Grihapravesh came with its own sets of rituals, which went on till the evening.

Then came a surprise for them. They were to spend the night in the honeymoon suite of a five star hotel in the city.

“Here! Your Chachiji has packed this overnight suitcase for you,” Mrinalini showed a small suitcase to Antara and winked at her. “A beautician will be there for you,” she whispered conspiratorially, “Make sure Bhaiya is unable to take his eyes off you.” Antara blushed, and gave a shy, nervous smile to her sister-in-law. “Can’t wait to hold my nephew. You have a year, not more!” Ah! The compulsory reference to kids. The marriages were meant for making babies in this world. She wondered what Mrinal thought about that.

Eager as she was to finally meet him, she started growing nervous as the beautician worked furiously on her hair, make-up and dress. All of this wasn’t meant for sitting together, talking and understanding each other. It was meant for…

“Men need what they need,” she remembered the embarrassing conversation that her Chachiji had considered a must to indulge in, as a part of her motherly duties, “Don’t deny them. Keep them happy and you would have the world at your feet. If they go astray, and with this guy who knows what has he been doing away from the family all these years, then you will have no one else to blame.”

It hadn’t been much of conversation. More like Chachiji speaking, and Antara not knowing where to look to make is less gross and more comfortable. Unlike the brides of her aunt’s days, she wasn’t ignorant of what sex involved – not with Internet at their fingertips, anyway. But that couldn’t have made up for the lack of experience, and the nervousness it induced. Men need what they need. What good will all the talking do, if this went wrong? And she was tired, more like exhausted.

She walked unsteadily when the beautician finished and led her to the bed. The beautician collected her stuff and left after cracking a practiced joke. She must be doing it day in and day out!

—

Mrinal did not notice the decorations in the room as he entered. His eyes immediately sought her out. She was on the bed, her knees folded up and her head buried in them. She looked up at the sound of his closing the door. He was taken aback for a moment. Her eyes were bloodshot with lack of sleep. She hadn’t had a wink of it in last two days. She stared at him as if unable to recognize him or make any sense of her surroundings. Then awareness returned and she averted her eyes. Mrinal noticed that she bit her lips, most likely in an attempt to contain her anxiety. He will have to tell her not to do that, unless she did really intend to drive him crazy and out of control. Given that her strength was all but giving up, and her weariness showed even through the make-up, that was definitely not what she should be doing then. He took off his shoes and sat before her on the bed.

“You really need to sleep,” he said gently.

This man won’t stop surprising her. “I… I am fine,” she managed to reply.

He took her hand in his. It had gone cold. He pressed it and said, “You are looking ravishing, Antara. But we aren’t living in medieval age. Nobody is going to check for the signs of consummation tomorrow morning. We have all the time in the world. You haven’t slept in two days. Probably more… You will fall ill at this rate. Please go and get changed.”

“What was the point of all this, then?” she blurted and then bit her lips again on realizing what she had said.

Mrinal hesitated for a moment. “Was this… your idea?” he asked.

“No. No. I didn’t know at all.”

“Mine neither. So, why bother. You have your stuff here, right?”

She took a few moments to comprehend what was going on. Was it possible not to fall in love with this man? Anybody would have fallen for him. Why did he choose her? She sent a silent prayer up that everything that his behavior promised came true; and that she could prove or grow worthy of him.

“Where is your suitcase?” he asked taking her silence to be her hesitation.

“On that stand,” she pointed and made to get down from the bed.  Mrinal jumped out before her. She almost tripped on her lehanga as she kept her feet down. He supported her just in time. He continued holding her hands as they walked towards the wooden stand, on which her suitcase was kept. He stood behind, as she opened it and rummaged through it. “Offo!” her annoyed grunt drew his attention.

“What happened?” he asked.

“There is just a saree for the morning. I think Chachiji forgot to keep a night dress.” She looked extremely sad. Not having a nightdress could induce frustration, but this sadness?

“The hotel has a store…” Mrinal looked at his watch; then added in disappointed, “It’s too late. They would be closed.”

“I will just take off the jewelry,” she said resignedly, “I will manage in this.”

“You can’t possibly sleep in that monster of a dress!”

“I will manage, Mrinal ji. Please don’t worry,” she started walking towards the dresser.

Mrinal wordlessly went to another suitcase lying nearby. This was his own.

“Ah!” he exclaimed as he found what he was looking for, “Mine has a spare set of kurta-paijama. Should do for the night.”

Antara stopped in her tracks. What did he say? He wanted her to wear his dress? Her eyes followed him blankly as he brought the two sets to her. “Here!”

“How… can… I… No, Mrinal ji. I told you I will manage. I can’t… possibly…”

“What’s the harm?”

She looked distressed and on the verge of tears. Mrinal was confused.

“Okay fine. Don’t… don’t worry. We will figure something out…”

She started towards the dresser again. Mrinal thought for a moment; then took one of the sets with him to the bathroom.

When he came back after changing out of his sherwani, he saw her sitting listlessly at the dresser and taking out her bangles one by one. There were too many of them. He found a chair and pulled it close to the dresser.

“I know it is my fault that we haven’t spoken much until now,” he said. Despite the mobile phone, they hadn’t had any heart-to-heart conversation since their last meeting. At best they would update each other on what they were doing and sometimes discuss a book one of them was reading. Closer to the wedding, the updates had been about wedding preparations. Antara’s updates were more detailed; Mrinal would manage to get just enough to keep the conversations going. “But I had promised to make up for it. And I intend to do it. And as a first step, I want to listen. Did I say something that hurt you, Antara?”

—

To be continued