Four hours before his wedding, Sagar grasps a few things about weddings he'd dislike for the rest of his life. He decides to share the list, although he's so damn tired.

So the list goes:

1. Mothers completely and deliberately ignore any other person's ideas during the wedding. The bridegroom is almost invisible (except to the omnipresent cameraman).

2. Teenage girls either bring colour or complaints. His cousins brought smartphones and selfies too, which only annoyed the mothers further.

3. Best friends who are single don't sneak in alcohol since they are busy finding their own brides/bridegrooms.

4. The only fun people groom left with are priests.

5. Kids will be everywhere. They'd be even inside your empty trolley, which you saved to pack your new clothes, playing hide and seek.

The one thing he finds optimistic is:


6. A call from your manager can get one out of any situation. Even mothers are okay with it.


Sagar slides between two jumping kids, yelling greetings into his phone. He hops down the stairs, going away from the musical instruments. Somehow his father is not letting them rest—maybe to cancel out his mother's nagging voice.

His manager has already called two times, and Sagar can't ignore him anymore.

The blue and white lights combination on the building steals the colour of his shadow.

"Hello sir, can you hear me?"

"Ha, Sagar, how's your wedding preparations going on?" asks his manager

"They're going alright, sir. The reception begins in an hour."

"I remember that, man. I'm sorry I can't be there. My wife isn't well. You know I won't miss it otherwise, right?"

Sagar keeps walking to the back of the wedding hall. "Of course, I understand. Madam's health is important. I'll invite you guys to dinner once we get settled."

"We'd not miss it. I noticed you applied for another two days of leave."

How could he be a manager if he doesn't ask about extra leaves?

Sagar chuckles and says, "Sir, I've planned a little surprise for her on the honeymoon."

He hears his manager laugh on the other side and closes his eyes, blushing.

Who knew the guy once complained about a girl for copying his paper couldn't stop blushing now? Fate has a fickle irony.

"Fine, but that's it. You should be there next Wednesday."

"Thank you, sir," Sagar says, his feet ready to dance.

He wants to jump but isn't dressed for such a situation. He doesn't want someone to find him in the dark, dancing and half-naked in case his dhoti slips off.

"Bye, man. Enjoy your time."

"Thanks again, sir."

After his manager cuts the call, Sagar remains to stare at his wallpaper. It's the picture of him and Bhumika taken on the engagement day. She wore a golden coloured saree and stood real close to him, laughing at the joke he had cracked. The memory tickles him, and he blushes again. In that darkness, the screen's light glows up his ecstasy.

He looks around and notices he came too far back from the wedding hall. But he likes the silence; it lets him think.

He wanders around, searching for the nearest door. He can't believe he is getting married today. From the minute he had laid his eyes on Bhumika, he knew she's the one for him.

As he nears the kitchen, he smells the freshly cooked meal. Pride fills him as he remembers how much care he's taken on the wedding menu. He'll only get married once, and so did everything to make it perfect.

He's about to enter the kitchen when he hears a sharp screech. Fearing if any bulbs have blown, he jogs, gripping his dhoti tighter. The sound feels different and familiar at the same time.

And there, moving a ladder against the wall is Bhumika. She seems to be in a hurry, swamped in jewellery and wearing the violent saree his mother has bought for her. A bag rests at her feet, waiting.

Sagar stands in silence, watching her do whatever she's doing. She adjusts the ladder with her bangle-filled hands, grabs the bag and begins climbing.

His bride is crossing a wall, running away, and he's frozen. He has seen movies and read stories, but this is too real in his reality to react.

Midway, Bhumika turns around to adjust her hair and sees Sagar, standing and staring like a kid who's seen a demon.

She pauses, her eyes widen, her jaw half drops.

Apart from the violet colour of her saree and white of his dhoti, the pale red of the paarani (Alta) on their hands and feet is the only other colour aglow. As if telling the world that this moment is forbidden to other colours and people.

The only word Bhumika comes to mumble: Fuck.

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