Palindrome

Seven

Chapter 7

I'm being spied on.

No one can try to convince me otherwise. My phone keeps sending me ads about depression. So far I've gotten a self-depressed test, an anxiety test, and videos about people talking about depression.

Rebelling against the algorithm, I refuse to look at any of that. But anyway, I have other matters to tend to at present.

"Aarohi how much longer beta?" Ma calls from the staircase.

"Five minutes," I shout back.

Today I'm being abducted to Deepti Aunty's house for a puja, an Indian act of worship to one of the several gods we have. Or in certain cases, it could be towards multiple gods.

I think it's important to establish that Deepti Aunty isn't actually my aunt. She's another Indian lady, and as a sign of respect, we call her Aunty. Same goes for the men, they're our uncles.

I suppose if you had to look at it through some cumbersome way we're all one big connected family as an essence. That's definitely true considering they're always up in my business.

How's school?

Did you get into that internship?

Ah yes, Geetika was telling me about your singing, very good!

Suffice to say I did not want to go to this. Normally I can weasel my way out of attending by saying I need to prep for an upcoming SAT. My parents are fairly convinced that this was the last one I needed to take.

Wait till they see my score.

Today I'm decked in a blue lehenga, an ankle-length skirt secured at my waist and paired with a matching embroidered blouse. Draped over one shoulder is my blinding swath of fabric or dupatta. My eyes are rimmed with blue eyeliner and light pink gloss.

I swear to god I look like I'm going to get married.

At least Ma hadn't insisted on adorning me with her heavy jewelry and I was allowed to settle for diamond studs instead. My hair falls down beneath my shoulders, as usual, I run a brush through it once and I'm done. Today I won't be wearing my bracelets. They've been traded for glass bangles that clank obnoxiously with the slightest movement. The material scraps my skin uncomfortably, grazing the small puncture like marks on my wrist.

Same old, same old I guess.

Grabbing my phone and jacket, I pick up my skirts with my other hand and stroll down the staircase.

"Rohi you're driving us today," Papa tells me, tossing the car keys my way. I nearly fumble but manage to catch them.

"Me?" I ask incredulously.

He blinks dubiously, rolling the sleeves of his kurta. "Yes."

"In this?" I deadpan pointing at my long, trailing skirt.

"Or you could hold onto the Gulab jamuns," he suggests.

Okay, so my options were between driving our expensive car and holding onto the tray of sweets destined to create a sticky mess if I don't hold on tight enough resulting in syrup oozing out everywhere.

I took the latter.

Seconds later I'm waiting outside our house in the cold with no jacket and the box of sweets in my arms. The heels I'm wearing dig into the back of my ankles which simply adds to how utterly horrible this entire experience is. I strictly hope no one sees me in this. There's no way I can go without someone asking me if I was meant to be princess Jasmine today.