RoShti Book Of One Shots

Mishap Madness

A/N : I am not a Bengali so whatever I've described her are told to me by Google Baba. Am sorry if it doesn't add up..

Mishti Acharya signed as she looked at her reflection in the full-size mirror that stood in her room. She was decked up as a bride in the traditional Banarasi saree with a small crown perched upon her head, her neck and hands adorned with traditional jewellery, a nose ring in place, a big red bindi on her forehead and mini dots adorned her upper brows. Her hands and legs stood proud to intricate henna designs that stood against her fair skin. She held her veil in one hand and turned to the side to straighten the invisible creases in her saree. She sighed again. Marriage !! she thought with a frown.. She felt as if were only yesterday that she was this happy go-lucky woman traversing her way through her day, living her dream as a journalist for one of the most famous news companies - Kolkata Samay. Like how the stories of princesses usually got a twist in their tale, even Mishti's did.. It all started with "One Fine Day".

One Fine Day, the institution named "Marriage" landed on a silver platter at her parents house and then there was no looking back for Mishti. She meant it when she mentioned Silver Platter. Because that was how the proposal was exactly brought to her parents. She scoffed angrily.. Parents and their emotional drama.. Why, she had been part of Drama Club at her school and college to see perfectly through the well-tainted plans of her parents. She walked towards the french windows of her room and opened them to let the cool breeze in. She had dismissed the giggly makeup girls who had come in to get her ready for the occasion. They wouldn't stop talking about her to-be husband nor would they stop about how they had been to his house before they rushed in here. A vein was threatening to pop on her forehead and Mishti fervently prayed to Maa Durga for the layers of makeup to get over soon so that the fools would leave. She looked down from her window to see the area shining from all the decorations and fairy lights put up. Cars made their way to the entrance of the building and people decked up all in their best wedding attires stepped out as the cars were taken away to the parking lot. Mishti looked around her room. Soon, it would all be gone. She would have to leave the place. She looked down again and her eyes glistened reflecting the fairy lights shining down.

Her staring session was interrupted by a call "Mishti !!" She looked around to find her older sister and mother walk into her room. Her mother had tears of joy a she looked at her, decked up as a bride. Mishti turned to her sister with pleading eyes. Her sister threw an apologetic look back at her. Indian mothers could be so over-dramatic and her mother topped the list.

"My baby !!" cried the woman throwing her arms around her daughter.

Mishti held her wailing mother and patted her back softly. Indian Mothers had this weird habit of scolding their daughter until they got married, wanting them to get away to their in-las as soon as possible but when the time came they would b e the first ones to cry.

"Maa. Stop crying.. I am fine" spoke Mishti.

"Ofcourse, I know you are fine. I'm just thinking that my daughter has grown up so much that she's getting married today. She's going away."

"Then don't let me go na, Maa. You were eager to get me married."'

"Hush now Mishti.. Keep your voice down. Don't say things like that. Its your wedding. What will people think !!"

Mishti frowned at her mother.. A daughter asking her mother not to send her away so she could stay with her was questionable but a mother wailing and happy at the same time about the said marriage was okay ?? What does marriage even mean to these people !!

"Two years before, it was your sister in your place. And now its you.. My babies have grown up and ready to venture into the big bad world."

Mishti rolled her eyes. Big Bad World ?? She already was part of the bug bad world ever since she decided to set foot into Kolkata Samay, as a journalist. She columns.. Ofcourse she knew stuff. Her mother could be naive at times. She looked at her sister who had raised her hands in surrender and apology. Mishti sighed.