He went there
with his five aunts
and three
brothers-in-law.
The banarasi-clad aunts spoke a lot,
the
co-brothers a little
and the groom
not at all.
He sat almost
broodingly,
the branch
manager of a sarkari bank,
with your
average Indian moustaches.
Kachoris with tangy tamarind chutney
from back-street Natthu halwai served,
whose laurels
along with bhua’s
cross-stitched table cloth
shamelessly
ascribed to the bride.
The aunts
nodded approval when she
brought forth
the tea tray,
with bowed
head and bashful eyes,
tutored by
her omniscient mausi.
Gulping down
the elaichi tea
and eyeing
her surreptitiously,
the groom
quickly noticed her
besan-cured complexion;
her long
snaky braid, pliant
yet
promisingly passionate.
No questions
were ever asked
about bride’s
aspirations.
Topic of
dowry hushed up but
Traditions were
to be respected.
Leave taking
now, the groom afforded
a lingering
glance on his bride-to-be,
definitely not
lost on chuckling aunts
and the beaming parents of the bride.
