Samar was striding towards her, seeing nowhere else, just her, crossing her porch and garden and verandah, her parents and the Marriage Registrar Officer, the photographer and the videographer, crossing a decade and more.
He stopped in front of her, and took her hand from where it was gripping the doorframe. Amaal let that breath out.
“Thank you for waiting.”
She blinked, looking down at the flooring between their shoes. “Thank you for coming.”
Her hand was gripped into his and he ushered her out and ahead just as her parents got to their feet.
“You are late.” Dad pointed out the obvious.
Samar smiled, taking his gruffness without rebut. “I am very late, but reached the right place at the right time.”
“Let’s do this, now,” Mom clapped her hands together. “Sir has to leave.”
Samar stepped up to shake hands with the Registrar, and Amaal’s blood began to throb in her veins. It began. Their marriage papers were opened up on the glass-topped dining table from their old flat, forms reviewed, photographs and details rechecked. She was a registered Muslim, he was a registered Hindu. They would have to marry under the Special Marriage Act.
“Do you want to exchange garlands before or after marrying?” The Registrar asked.
“Before,” her mother lifted the garlands that Amaal had curated, designed and ordered from the Dal flower market with extra care. Swollen white roses in full bloom and delicate Baby’s Breath woven together, bringing one of Samar’s favourite colours to life with her greenery. “Varmala is always before marriage.”
Her mother handed Samar his and passed her the matching pair.
“Ready?” Samar asked her playfully.
“I will run away now, so make it quick.” She quipped back and found his hands instantly around her neck, her body pulled to his with the momentum. She gasped, turning it quickly into a laugh for the benefit of their witnesses.
“The bride is supposed to put it first.” Her mother scolded.
“Go ahead.” His neck bent in front of her. She hesitated. His eyes rose.
“I’m not in the mood today…”
“Quiet.” He said it so low, only she could hear. Amaal grinned, putting the garland she had so painstakingly selected around his neck. And his smile rivalled the sky today — bright, beautiful, big. Those dark eyes behind the specs were shining.
“Come. Please, sit.” The Registrar offered. Samar pulled the chair out for her and took a seat beside her. The papers were pushed in front of them. Amaal’s hand shook when she picked up the pen, but when she put it to paper, it miraculously steadied. She signed. And went on signing without another hitch. She then saw his hand. It did not as much as pause in picking up the pen and signing through the papers that were unravelled in front of him.
Soft claps reverberated around them, singing with the koels in the vicinity. Her father’s hand landed atop her head, then pulled her head back into his chest, his murmurs reading a dua over her.
“Ameen,” she smiled, holding that hand that had steadied enough to hold scalpelsandher again.
“Samar.” Her mother opened a small sindoor tin.
“No way, Mom.”
“Shh, Dixit rituals.” She pushed it in front of Samar and his mouth widened into a smirk, glancing from the sindoor back to her. “Ready?”
She tried to hold back the shyness that hit her, but her insides were beating like trumpets. And maybe it showed on her face, because her cheeks felt too warm.
His palm held her chin and tipped her face. Their eyes met. Her cheeks heated like they never had before, and his answering smile told her it showed. His fingers touched her hair and she felt some of the red fall to her nose. Amaal squinted, but his thumb was already wiping it away.
“And Mangalsutra…” Her Mom had come prepared for a whole soap opera.
“Mom…”
“Evil eye bracelets are cool, this is not?” She asked as Samar reached inside his pocket and pulled out two boxes. He opened one velvet box and a simple single-line Mangalsutra gleamed from its depths, the pendant nothing but two diamond studs close together with a few tiny black beads on both sides. It was delicate, like a chain of the finest strand of gold. Now, Amaal was excited to wear it.
“Patience, patience,” Samar joked, not even looking up from disentangling it from the pins. Laughter echoed around them. He opened it up and held it out to her. This time, she shamelessly pushed forward, letting him hook the necklace at her nape and pull her hair out. Next, he popped open the ring box, which wasn’t a big surprise but still thrilling because the ring carried two diamonds that matched the Mangalsutra. He took her hand and slid it on.
