𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬

CHAPTER 11

29 March 2015

Finally, it was Sunday, the day of my parents' anniversary. I went inside their room and hopped on the bed, while Mom was smoothing out the blazer that Dad was wearing. He looked very handsome in the five-piece dark blue suit.

"Happy anniversary!" I chirped and hugged Mom from behind. She thanked me with a bright smile.

"Thank you!" Dad said, in a ladylike voice and we all shared a laugh. He did that when he was in a good mood and today was the perfect occasion to be happy.

As planned earlier, I switched the YouTube on and sat Mom on a chair. She had complained a million times, that she didn't have time for this but I wasn't going to back down. In my mission to make her look extra special on her big day, I began combing her hair. With a heavy sigh that seemed to portray, she was burdened with too many responsibilities, she slumped back in the chair.

The process shown in the video was pretty easy. Yet twisting the strands of hair on her head was getting more, and more difficult. It was because she kept moving her head multiple times while talking on the phone. Another stray hair fell on her forehead and I wanted to scream at the relative on the call, to stop asking her, if the others had arrived or not.

Couldn't they let me work in peace for some time?

She glanced at me as if to say, it wasn't in my capability to do it. Instead of dousing in shame, determination fueled me to try at least one more time. I undid her hair and started again, rewinding the video. Of course, Mom was quick enough to tie it into a ponytail but I held her hands back. That resulted in earning another hard glare from her, and if looks could kill, then I would be a hundred times dead.

After what felt like hours, I turned her towards the mirror. Fair skin pampered with light makeup, and bright black eyes coloured with mascara, stared back at her. Her hair was elegantly styled into a bun, held securely with pins. The satisfied smile she shot at me, was well worth the effort.

"Here it is." Dad re-entered the room by bringing the roses.

I took it from his hands and tied it around her bun. She looked beautiful. Smoothening out the pleats of her red, silk, saree, she asked me to get ready fast.

Back in my room, I picked out the cream-coloured lehenga. Several mirror works, hanging along its entire length, made it a bit heavy to carry but I fell in love with this dress, the first time I saw it online. Picking out the blouse, I slid it down my head. When I tried to pull it further down it didn't budge. Because of my heavier breasts, it took much more effort to tug them into the blouse and zip it completely. It felt like all the oxygen was sucked out of me, and I fell back into my bed, wearing only my blouse and underwear.

After struggling to regain control over my breathing, I pulled the skirt over my waist. It was pretty easy because of my lean legs. I looked in the mirror, my breasts didn't look bulky in this outfit, it looked perfect. Plugging in the straightening iron, I flattened my hair, which didn't cost me much time because it was naturally straight, and it only needed me to smoothen out the tips.

Next, I went through my lipstick collection and twirled the two sticks with my finger: one pink and the other red. When there was a party at my house, it was a no-brainer that I would obviously, go for the red colour, it complemented my fair skin. If Dean had come, I would have opted for a lip balm instead.

The less attractive he found me the better.

After putting on black, winged eyeliner, I wore the steel bangles and the matching large earrings. Still, something was missing when I examined myself in the mirror. After a lot of thought, I decided to put a stone bindi between my eyebrows and then finally, put the dupatta over my neck. The finishing look made me twirl in happiness. I loved wearing traditional Indian attire.