Swati Sharma - Fashionably Yours

“Maya, why are you still in your pyjamas?” Mom appeared from the kitchen and looked at me disapprovingly. Suddenly all the girls in the room who were dressed to the nine in their salwar-kameez’s stopped talking and looked at me inquisitively. I bet they were enjoying this moment. Those bitches never liked me.

“I forgot it’s brunch day!” I said, in a small voice, like a child who had been caught for breaking a cookie jar.

“ Hayo rabba! Kudiya ki kara mai tera ?” she waved her hands dramatically in air. “Now go and get ready in five minutes, and I mean five,” she hissed.

“I’ll be back in four,” I threw a look to the girls whose ears were well trained on our conversation, before heading back to my room and running a quick shower. Three minutes and fifty-five seconds later I was back downstairs, dressed in a delicate chiffon suit with a shawl around my shoulders. I despised wearing suits because they are clumsy and I didn’t feel like me, but today was an exception. I had already screwed up and I didn’t want any more blunders to spoil my mom’s mood, at least until the afternoon when I would finally tell her about my job offer. As I entered the room, mom gave me a brief smile before instructing me and my younger sister, Payal, to lay breakfast on the dining table which was taking a place of pride by the one and only fireplace of the Kapoor residence. While I laid the cutlery, Payal garnished the dishes and very artfully arranged them on the table. Payal was every inch the part of this cult. She had attended the sewing class and was currently attending the cooking class. As much as she was loved by all the members of the colony and by my mother for her dutiful nature, I was looked down upon for being rebellious and ultra-modern.

OK, now I wanted to spew.

Payal wasn’t always like this. In fact we used to be really close till recently and she told me about everything from her first fag to her first shag. But three months ago one of the girls in our neighborhood, fresh out of the high school, got married to one of the rich men in the town courtesy her parents. When Payal saw a girl who couldn’t even afford a taxi ride, proudly travelling in a BMW, she decided to get married to a richer guy and up her standard and status in town. And this new Payal made me cringe every single time we were in the same room.

“Breakfast is served,” I announced to all the ladies and their dying-to-get-married daughters. As everyone helped themselves to the deep-fried and oil-laden dishes, I piled my plate with egg bhurji and perched myself on one of the sofa seats. As I was hungrily scoffing down my breakfast, I heard the girls around me discussing TV serials from last night.

“I can’t believe Ram left her …” said a girl in a gaudily embroided patiala salwar-kameez.

“… and that fight in Big Boss last night was so amazing, yaar … ” said another, through a mouthful of pav bhaji.

“I am sure she will win it this time,” Payal remarked about a girl with an awfully long face who was one of the top finalists of Big Boss.

“Hey, who do you think will get evicted this week?” out of nowhere Sharma Aunty’s daughter directed a question to me. Or was that Verma Aunty’s daughter?

“Ummm … I have no idea. I don’t watch Big Boss ,” I retorted.

“You are kidding, right?” she asked and I felt something in the air suddenly shift.

“Err … no!” I nearly laughed at her idiotic expression.

“You don’t watch Big Boss ?” I could tell she was in deep shock.

“I prefer Game of Thrones ,” I said nonchalantly.

“What is that?” A girl clad in a red churidar asked me curiously.

Oh my goodness, was she even serious?

“Umm … a TV serial!” I said gingerly.

“My mom was right. You are crazy,” she said in horror.

Well to be honest I wasn’t surprised or baffled to hear her remark because it was common belief about me on Gulmohar Street. And on top of that my own mom had declared me insane, impractical, crazy and utterly irresponsible, time and again.

“Have you talked to Mr. Alhuwalia?” I heard a snippet of the conversation between Mom and Sheetal Aunty when I went back to the breakfast table to refill my plate.

“I did call him but same answer. He said that his son is very innocent and down to earth and he doesn’t think that a modern girl like Maya would be compatible with him or the family. Main tan badi pareshan haan. How will she get married like this?” Mom moaned.

“Take my suggestion, Sunanda, and from now on don’t tell anyone about Maya’s mass media degree and instead tell them that she has graduated in arts? Trust me nobody asks to see degrees and certificates while fixing marriages. Nobody would ever find out!” Sheetal Aunty added helpfully and I could see Mom’s mind working around this idea.

How could they?

I had spent three years studying my arse off to graduate with first class and worked doubly hard to get the campus placement. What’s wrong with all the women of Gulmohar Street? Why couldn’t they think about anything beyond rishtas and weddings?

Four hours later everyone bid goodbye to each other and left for their houses. While Payal and I cleared the table and dishes, mom rearranged the drawing room.

“Mom, I want to talk to you about something” I said and as if on a cue the main door swung open and Dad entered the house. I instantly felt relieved and much more confident now. Though Dad had never openly approved of me doing a media course, he never, not even once said or did anything to make me feel guilty about my choice. He understood me, but unfortunately he didn’t have much say when it came to me and my sister because Mom believed that she knew how to raise girls into proper ladies and Dad should steer clear of all womanly business.

“It’s colder than ever today.” He shrugged the snow from his overcoat before taking it off and hanging it on the coat rack by the door.

“Let me get you some tea,” Mom said, but before she could make a move to the kitchen I offered to get the tea.

“Mom, you relax. I’ll get the tea.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I could see their stunned expressions. It wasn’t their fault. I never made anything before except the occasional late-night Maggi.

“OK,” as seconds ticked away Mom finally found her voice.

Within a few minutes I came back to the room with the tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits and found everyone sitting around the sofa with curiosity as if for the first time in their lives they were going to see tea. As I poured a cup of tea for Dad and another cup for Mom, I could feel their eyes boring into my head. They were shocked beyond words.

“What’s the matter, Maya?” Mom asked suspiciously as I handed her a cup.

She was one intelligent woman. No befooling her.

“Nothing,” I smiled nervously.

The moment of revelation had arrived and I could feel my heart palpitating and my palms sweating.

“You said you wanted to talk about something,” Mom carried on her inspection as Dad looked at me over the brim of the cup. By his expression I could tell that he had smelt a rat.

“I have got a job. It’s with a magazine in Mumbai,” the words rushed out of my mouth.

“What?” she placed the tea back on the table and folded her hands in her lap.

“Wow! Have you gone mad?” Payal laughed. “What do you need a job for?” She asked haughtily.

“You better stay out of it. Nobody asked for your precious opinion,” I gnawed.

“Maya, your sister is right. What do you need a job for? Your dad earns well, you have a roof over your head and if I am not wrong then we have always fulfilled your demands, small or big. I don’t think you need a job. At this point all you should be thinking about is finding a decent husband,” she said sternly.