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Chapter 35 - Khushi

🎶 Oot Patangi - Neha Bhasin

Monday rolled in like a marching band—with Khushi's alarm clock as the cymbal player, crashing into existence so loudly that the rickety old teak-wood bed frame rattled. Khushi shot upright at the first ring, eyes wide open.

Outside her room, the morning had already begun in full swing—Amma and Bua-ji's voices overlapped with the clatter of utensils, the hiss of the pressure cooker, and the thwack of a belan meeting dough.Excitement bubbled up inside her as she grabbed her toiletries and dashed out.

"Good morning, good morning!" she chirped cheerily, zigzagging through the hallway and narrowly missing Bua-ji.

"Slow down, Sanka Devi!" Bua-ji shrieked, dramatically clutching her ample bosom. But Khushi had already vanished into the bathroom, her energy levels clearly running on espresso before sunrise.

Today was the big day—the IIM conference at her university. Gauri and she had made a pact to be early, grab good seats, and soak in as much wisdom as the event was willing to offer. After a lightning-fast snan that left the bathroom fogged up like a warzone, she returned to her room to find Amma laying out her outfit on the mattress.

A muted slate blue straight-cut salwar kameez, made of chanderi silk-cotton blend, lay stretched across the bed—modest, elegant, and far more structured than her usual swishy georgettes.

"Thank you, Amma," she said sincerely, running a hand over the crisp fabric.

"Today is a big day, isn't it?" Amma said with a knowing smile. "I heard from Devyani-ji. She called while you were showering."

Khushi's eyebrows rose. "Really? What for?"

"She's invited us to Shantivan for Saraswati Puja. Said it's even more important now that you're studying again—you'll need all of Goddess Saraswati's blessings."

"Oh yes!" said Khushi, grateful. "I had marked my calendar."

She settled at the mirror and began combing her hair, quickly parting it and starting her usual three-strand braid. She was just about to secure her paranda [a dangly hair piece] when Bua-ji burst in with a bundle of clothes in her arms.

"Aree Khussii, tie your hair into a bun! More sophisticated, na?"

"What's wrong with a choti?" Khushi asked defensively, mid-braid.

"You're married now!" Bua-ji snapped, as if that automatically disqualified all braided hairstyles. "Besides, buns make you look professional. Reliable."

"And ten years older," Khushi muttered under her breath. "I'll end up looking like Manorama Mami."

Bua-ji audibly ground her teeth, while Amma giggled into her pallu. Khushi turned back to the mirror. "It's not a job interview, Bua-ji. Just a networking event."

"Whatever floats your boat," Bua-ji sighed dramatically, shutting the wardrobe with a bang. "But when people look at you and wonder if you even take yourself seriously, don't come crying to me."

Soon after her declaration, the household transformed into a launchpad. Amma handed over a neatly packed tiffin, while Bua-ji clapped her kartals with spiritual fervor, praying loudly for Khushi's success, her voice competing with the divine frequencies of a temple bell.

Khushi was halfway through a silent prayer when her phone rang. "Hello, Gauri?" she answered, pressing one hand to her free ear to block out the bhajan chorus in the background.

"I was just calling to remind you to pack your resume and portfolio!" Gauri's voice crackled.

"Oh yes, all set!" Khushi called back just as Bua-ji stuffed ghee-shakkar [ghee-sugar] into her mouth mid-sentence. Her: "I'll see you in twenty minutes!" came out somewhere between a grateful mumble and a sugar-induced blur.