Learning to Love

Chapter 7

          Priya sat still as her family members finished adorning her in bridal wear.  She opted for a deep maroon lehenga influenced by the Mughal style.  It had long, transparent sleeves, and the blouse was long and asymmetric.  Priya preferred the more conservative design over the traditional midriff bearing blouse.  The skirt was so long it touched the floor.  Every part of her outfit was heavily embroidered in intricate and elaborate designs.  Her lehenga was slightly more glamorous than she intended, but Priya knew that anything less would be unacceptable at her high profile wedding. 

            Priya watched as her sister and her cousins giggled while gossiping about some of the guests that were expected.  She glanced at herself in the mirror.  Heavily made up, wearing expensive and extravagant jewelry, dressed in an elaborate outfit, Priya did not feel like herself.  She preferred simplicity, but simplicity just didn’t seem like a part of Aman’s world.  His life seemed exotic in a way.  He lived in hustling and bustling New York City in America.  Priya was sure he’s seen his fair share of excitement in his life and enjoyed an extravagant lifestyle complete with all the bells and whistles.  Such a life was foreign to her. 

            There was a light knock on the door.  The amiable giggling suddenly ceased as all the girls’ heads turned towards the door.  Payal stood up and answered it.  Priya’s mother emerged draped in a dark blue sari.  A wide smile was spread across her face, but her eyes were sad. 

            “Priya! My daughter! You are so beautiful.” She said as she made her way across the room to Priya.  She grabbed both her henna covered hands and squeezed them affectionately. 

            “Ma…I,” Priya hesitated.  She eyed the girls standing behind her mother.  They were secretly listening in. 

            “Girls I need to speak with Priya before she gets married.  Alone.” Priya’s mother announced.  Payal ushered the girls out of the room before closing the doors, giving Priya and their mother some much needed privacy. 

            “Ma,” Priya started again. 

            “Priya, I know you are worried.” Her mother interrupted.  “It’s a natural feeling, to be happy and sad at the same time.  Happy you are starting a new life, but sad that you must leave your old life behind.  Every bride feels this way.” Her mother comforted her. 

            “I don’t know how I feel.” Admitted Priya quietly.

            “Do not worry, Priya.” Her mother soothed her. 

            “Ma, what is it like to be married? Is it that much different from life before marriage?” asked Priya. 

            “Being married is a different type of feeling.  You have a new sense of duty towards your husband.  You have so many more responsibilities.  The real change occurs once you fall in love.” Her mother replied.  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. 

            “Love? Ma, we don’t love each other. We don’t even know each other.” Priya said.  She looked down, saddened at the thought of a loveless marriage. 

            “Priya, you may not love each other now, but you will one day.  You will learn to love each other…one day.” Her mother replied.  With this, she stood up and walked towards the door.  She quietly exited, leaving Priya to dwell in her thoughts. 

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            Aman adjusted his turban, his fingers fumbling as he struggled to pull himself together.  He was completely out of it.  Participating in last night’s festivities had inhibited his ability to obtain a full night’s rest.  He felt tired and slight hung over.  He looked in the mirror, looking over himself one last time before heading off to his wedding venue.  He wore a cream colored sherwani with intricate designs splashed down the chest and slightly simpler designs found throughout.  He wore a maroon ascot that matched the hue of the designs even though the rest of his outfit was closer to blood red.  He smirked at his appearance.  He didn’t look half bad.  He smiled once more at his reflection before sauntering out of his room.