tales of Suchita

Chiranjeev was vibrating with joy and excitement. Right from his parents, to his cousins, friends and colleagues, all had teased him about his bordering on obnoxious happiness. But he had let it all slide. He was happy. He was allowed to glow. He was allowed to swim in it if he so wished.

He was at the side of the makeshift stage that the wedding planners had erected for the sangeet which was indoors since the cold had turned biting. His kurta for the evening was green, in coordination with the pista green and bubblegum pink of the decor. He had a fine sheen of sweat on his face and back. He had already performed on two songs – one with his friends and one with his cousins. He was to go on the stage a third time, this time with Chanderi.

Just thinking of her brought a smile to his face. He was so in love with her, he found it difficult to contain it and oozed everywhere he went. That was how Rahul bhaiya and Seema didi had described it. But what did they know, they were all jealous, the lot of them.

His eyes roamed and snagged on Chanderi, standing on the other side of the stage with her friends and cousins. She looked gorgeous in her…dress? Lehenga? He wasn’t sure what the technical name was but he knew she was beautiful.

He side-eyed the emcee who was still praising the previous performance. He wanted to go on the stage and snatch the mike from him and club him over the head with it. He had barely gotten any time with Chanderi and he was looking forward to dancing and chatting with her but the emcee was wasting time.

When his song was finally announced, he practically jumped onto the stage, so eager he was. He stepped next to Chanderi and took the sunglasses she handed to him.

“You look so pretty,” he whispered to her.

She smiled but he saw the strain on her face. Immediately, his antennas were raised. “Is everything okay?”

She turned pale and he was ready to stop the performance but the first strains of the song came on the music system and he scrambled to remember his steps so as not to embarrass his future wife on the stage.

*

Throughout the performances, Chiranjeev kept thinking how he could get Chanderi alone and speak to her about what was troubling her. After what happened on the stage, he had been paying closer attention and he could see something was going on. Though he had met her only four months ago, he wanted to believe he knew her well enough. Not mingling with their guests was uncharacteristic of her. Her outgoing personality was one of his favourite things about her. To see it so subdued bothered him.

He got his opportunity when the photographers took the two of them outside for some couple shots. The way Chanderi went further into her shell as soon as the photographer asked them to pose with their foreheads touching, he knew he had to stop this.

He told them to take a break and took Chanderi’s hand to lead her away. The photographer winked at him but he only rolled his eyes.

He went into the first room on the ground floor that was unlocked. He switched on the lights, closed the door behind them and said without preamble, “What’s wrong?”

Chanderi looked at him, at his round, dear face and almost didn’t say the words that had been lodged in her throat since she had seen her mehendi turn darker and darker with his name splashed across her left palm.

With as much finesse as a trainwreck, she said, “I have to tell you something but I don’t know where to begin.”

He wondered if she would be receptive to the techniques he used with his children when they wanted to complain about home or a fellow classmate but didn’t know how to do that. He shook his head. He wasn’t in his classroom right now. So, he simply said, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

His sincerity broke the dam.

“I can’t marry you. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t think I can go ahead with it. It’s…I’m so sorry Chiranjeev. But I…I’m so sorry. This is…”

He knew she was speaking but his ears were ringing and he was in sudden need to sit somewhere. Seeing no chair around, he sat on the floor, his back to the door, head in his hands.

It may have been minutes or hours later when he felt hands on his arms and when he looked up, he knew she was as devastated as he was.

How was he supposed to hate her now?

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Chapter 4 of 26 of the ongoing series Chanderi. You can read all posts here. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z.