I’ve been in such a funk in the days leading up to this that I forgot to tell them. Prescriptive traditions and elaborate ceremonies make me nervous.
Only Komal knows, and that is because we had a yoga session this morning.
Me:Landed in Jaipur with parents. Back day after.
Lavanya calls a minute later. ‘Remind me again why you’re in Jaipur,’ she asks. She sounds like she’s in the middle of a few things.
I mentioned the trip to Jaipur to her as soon as I slotted it in my calendar, but I hadn’t told her why.
‘Have you heard of Choti Holi?’
‘Hmmm…’
‘I didn’t think so.’
Appa, who is sitting across from me, turns away, pretending like he hasn’t heard.
Raju messages.
Raju:Baby of the group is getting married.
Me:No one is getting married. I’ll find a way to get out of this. Just youwait!
I am deeply offended that my grand announcement of the opening of the COFFEE Before Books & Bras café just outside the gates of Ranibagh hasn’t got the Rathores up in arms.
Vedveer raised an eyebrow ever so slightly during the interview that even damnTittleTattledidn’t notice.
I shouldn’t lose hope, though. Maybe the Rathores are saving it for when we are here.
Navya messaged me two days ago, asking me to bring an extra set of clothes. I’ve been invited to the T20 league game that her boyfriend is playing in. In the following text, she says Choti Holi is a big evening for Vedveer; he’ll be lighting the Holika for the first time.
Appa thinks Gaurav Rathore Singh is rolling out succession plans. Apparently, it is not common for a king to entrust royal duties to the next in line when he is still healthy.
I’m stretching out the fingers of my right hand and balling them up. I repeat.
There will be more cameras, a whole crowd of people, endless staff, talk of heritage, culture, practices… I tell myself this isn’t about me, not this moment. I have to show up for my family now. Later, there will be an out. There has to be one at some point.
I spot the Rathores – father, mother and son – flanked by a small army of uniformed staff, waiting at the palace foyer as we step out of the vehicles that ferried us from the airport.
The parents are caught up in polite greetings. Then, from behind them, Vedveer appears, cutting through the stillness with purposeful strides.
My heart stumbles in my chest.
‘Aaditha,’ he says, his voice low. His right hand brushes my forearm. His face is drawn, almost pale, like he hasn’t slept. The noise around us – conversations, murmurs, shuffling footsteps,clanking luggage – fades. For a second, it’s just him and me, caught in the quiet tension of something unsaid.
‘The staff will show you to your chambers,’ the senior Rathore says. Vedveer insists on escorting me to my room.
He is wearing a white shirt on blue jeans, with sleeves pushed back just enough, giving his gait a workman-like edge. He has thrown my tote over his shoulder without ceremony, having taken it from one of the staff.
We walk side by side, the silence between us taut, not awkward. Like a thread that connects two people.
‘Apologies for pulling you away from work and disrupting your routine,’ he says.
I nod, mostly because I can’t quite find my voice.
Does he actually believe COFFEE Before Books & Bras is my baby and not a venture Appa funded to shore up an offspring? Or is he just being gracious? If he means it, really means it, when did that shift happen?
Was it the award?
