The thing about a honeymoon was that it was way overrated, Sananda mused. Consider the prelude itself. First there was the packing, tiresome and endless, because she kept feeling like she was leaving something behind. Then there were the relatives making attempts to tease the couple. Just a while ago Alo di had cornered her, stuffed a package into her hands and said with a wink, “A little something special for the honeymoon.” Lingerie is what it was, black and trimmed with lace. She had gulped down the well-meant gesture with a smile. And to add to it, Tushar seemed to be in especially high spirits lately.
It had been almost two weeks since the wedding. It was neither an over-the-top affair nor a bland one, but to tell the truth her reception had been much grander. She was not one to ponder over the details, and she didn’t expect her jethu to spend a fortune on her wedding. Since losing her parents and younger sister in an unfortunate accident three years ago, there had only been guilt and regret for a long time, but eventually she had grown to be practical. Focus on all the good things, and try to block out the rest.
It was in the same way that she dealt with her marriage. Sananda had graduated four months back and marriage had been the last thing on her agenda. Like any other twenty-one year old she’d wielded a romantic approach to life. She really believed she was different, maybe just a pseudo-intellectual, as some would say. But for her, pretended wit was better than none. Stupid girl, she even dreamt of falling in love.
There was that quiet brooding guy in her class, Noel. He talked about Vivekananda, about Slim Shady, about the Marquis de Sade. Often he’d seek her out, ruffle her hair and say, “How are you?” She would shrug, smile and turn away. She wanted to play hard to get. Once when a couple of friends had been talking about boys, he’d jumped in all of a sudden and asked, “And what kind of boy do you like, Sananda?” Anyway, sometime later he got committed to a better-looking mutual friend, and she thought she must have been dreaming all that time. Maybe he never saw beyond her spectacled chubby face. Maybe he was looking for something more conventional. Maybe she’d judged wrong. Whatever it was, she was too egoistic to cry over him.
Ironically, the first time she had seen Tushar was at a wedding. It was not much of an encounter on her part, but quite the contrary for him. Her jethima’s niece was getting married and she had to tag along with the rest, for the occasion. The pulsating swarm of all the people nauseated her and she wanted to be alone more than anything else. Seeing all her relatives only made the absence of her own family seem more profound.
“You’re going to stay awake for the bashor tonight, right?” her cousin Rai had asked her while the wedding was going on.
“No! What will I do there?” She wasn’t going to be a part of the awkward mob pestering the married couple all night.
“Please Nini di, Ma won’t let me stay by myself. She says I’m too young. If you’re there then she’ll allow me.”
After the ceremonies had ended and the bride and groom had dined, they were ushered to a room accompanied by their friends, siblings and cousins. Having been harried unceasingly by Rai, Sananda had agreed to attend the bashor. As was customary, the bride’s sisters made a few jokes about their new jamaibabu, and the groom’s friends pulled their legs in return. Then someone suggested a game of truth and dare. An empty soda bottle was fetched and spun. She hadn’t been keeping track of the game until Rai clapped out all of a sudden, “Come on Nini di! It’s your turn now.” She turned to see who the cap of the bottle was pointing at. It was one of the groom’s friends, a thirty-something man who was grinning like an undaunted child.
Sananda was anything but a spoilt-sport. “Truth or dare?” she asked.
He weighed his options before answering, “Dare.”
She never knew what to give for dares. “Okay. Would you dare to…” she stretched it before the ending, “tell the truth?”
The whole lot burst out it laughter; Sananda smiled too. So she still had a sense of humour.
He simply said, “Truth about?”
Now, Sananda didn’t even remember what she’d asked or what he’d answered that day. They’d met again at the boubhat briefly where he was handing out roses to the bride’s relatives. “Nini, right?” he’d asked her with a smile. She’d been courteous and smiled back. That was it.
