For my mother to move out of her family and community and follow a white Aussie policeman to a dusty rural blip like Walpeup… And for my father – then only a senior constable staffing a tiny cop shop that served all the surrounding countryside – to woo and marry a young nurse from a culture and community so different to the one he was raised in… It really must have taken something powerful, something heroic, for both of them.
I squeeze the pillow in my arms as I study the fairy lights. ‘My mum and dad had something special, didn’t they?’
Nani reaches up to touch my hair. ‘When you fall in love, you will know. You will feel it, like it is a part of you that has always been searching, and now it has found a home.’
I think of Harris’s green eyes, push the thought away. ‘My mother had to find her home in a new place, though. Away from everything she knew.’
‘Your mother was very brave.’ Nani traces my cheek gently. ‘She knew what she wanted, and when she found it, there was no turning back.’
My mind tumbles with a dozen different things as I look at her: Barb and my job, Nick’s expression before he left, Harris’s husky voice over the phone, my father’s weathered face, Nani’s own health, the deadline for the residency paperwork I’ve brought with me in the purple folder all this way… The deadline is the end of next week and I still don’t know which way to jump.
‘I get scared sometimes, Nani,’ I whisper. ‘What if I have to be brave, take risks like Mum? I’m no good at taking risks. What if I don’t have the courage to do it?’
‘Amita, stop worrying,’ Nani chides. ‘Or worry now about catching cold out here in this draughty room.’
Nani takes the pillow back, walks over to the newly-made bed and starts struggling the pillow into its case. I hold the corners to make it easier for her. Watching her, my eyes get all leaky. ‘Nani, I’m sorry it’s been such a long time since I last visited –’
‘Shh, no, let us not say sorries. Let us only be happy you’ve come.’
I blink at her use of the collective ‘us’, keep my gaze on the pillow-battle. ‘Nanaa-ji is happy too?’
‘Of course,’ Nani says. ‘Didn’t you see him smiling all through dinner?’
*
The next few days blur into one another in a riot of silken dubatta, golden jewellery, the smells of dahl and fresh roti, as we prepare for the onslaught of the wedding.
Mehndi Night starts on Monday afternoon. Beena and I both get our mehndi done early; we need to have hands free to help with serving food. I need my hands for the camera, as well – I’ve brought it with me especially to do the photography for the wedding, on Hansa’s request.
By six it seems like the entire female Punjabi population of Mildura is occupying the living room. Women sit on the furniture or on the floor cushions, drinking, eating, crooning suhaag and making teasing jokes.Mehndi Laga Ke Rakhnais jangling from the dock, mixed with the sound of dozens of voices talking at once. The mehndi artist works her way slowly around the room, used to the demands of pre-wedding crowds and jittery brides-to-be.
Jas is patient at first, but she gets cranky once she realises she’ll have to sit still for the next four or more hours, while we dab lemon-sugar solution on her hands and feet.
‘I can’t even feed myself!’ She slumps back in her comfortable spot on the sofa. ‘I feel like a giant baby.’
I smile at her, teasing as I take another photo. ‘Lap it up, Jas. You’ll be looking after your own house and taking care of a husband after this, with no one to fuss over you.’
‘Exactly!’ Hansa sits on her low stool, feeding her daughter bite-sized chunks of samosa with a grin. ‘Enjoy it while you can!’
There are no men here tonight so the conversation in the living room quickly turns naughty. Jasminder has to sit on the sofa, pretending to look demure, while listening to all the suggestions and advice dished out by the older women. I don’t understand everything they’re saying in Punjabi, but what I do understand makes my face go red.
‘What about this girl?’ one of the elderly aunties says, lifting her chin at me. ‘Is she engaged yet?’
‘Not yet,’ Hansa says, giving me a smile. ‘Amita is only the same age as Beena.’
‘My son is a nice Sikh man looking for a wife!’ another auntie cackles.
Bee nudges me with the tray of mithai sweets she’s carrying. ‘So are you seeing anyone, really?’
My cheeks are already like a furnace. ‘Ah, um –’
I’m saved by the chime from my phone. I look down at the screen and am shocked to find a text from Harris:New appointmt Tue 25 @3pm ok?
Bee gives me a grin. ‘Is that your boyfriend?’
‘What?’
‘You’re blushing.’
