The Wedding Shoot
The
living area of the South Delhi apartment was scattered with photographs, envelopes, and a tab opened with a note-taking app. The couch, the centre table, the carpet,
everywhere, there were pictures. Of happy couples. And perfect weddings. She
sighed, dismissing yet another one. Sitting on the carpet, beside the table,
leaning against the couch in a casual Kaftan kurta and jeans, she looked confused
and tired. Shaking her head for the umpteenth time, she gathered her hair up and
made it into a bun. Her eyes looked stressed, like she hadn’t slept soundly, and
her face wore a frown that refused to go from her doe eyes.
He
came out of the kitchen with the tray, in his baggy denim and a casual T-shirt. He placed down the tray, with two cups of brewed coffee, hers black and
sugarless, his milk and two cubes, along with the diet biscuits she had been
having lately. She was sitting with her head resting on the couch lightly, eyes
closed. He frowned at her disturbed face.
“Ajab?”
his soft call made her jump and look around “What’s wrong?” She could make out
that he looked anxious at the mess around them. She looked traumatised, to say
the least. It was scaring him. She forced a smile.
“Here.”
She patted the carpet beside her. “Take a seat.” That made him smile as he sat
down beside her. She shifted her head from the couch to his shoulder with a
childish pout.
“Help
me here, will you?”
He
smiled like he was waiting for her to say that. In fact, it’s been a year since this marriage was planned, and she took it upon herself to make all the
choices. She hadn’t asked his help in anything ever since, not even the choices
for his own clothes. He had taken up his friend's “expert” advice to let things
be her way, as she had scornfully said more than once, “The marriage is ours,
the wedding, mine!”
“Of
course, baby, tell me how I can help.” He put a gentle peck on her forehead.
With his words, she jumped up like she was saved from a drowning boat.
“Thank
You, Thank You, thank You!” She hugged him.
“Here," She put a bunch of pictures on his lap. “These are pre-wedding samples. Choose the photographer.” She took her coffee and went to sit on the couch, relaxing,
eyes closed.
He
sat down with the cushions she had left behind on the floor and opened an
envelope tagged “the Dreamz Poser photography”
Three pictures later, he frowned
and let out a small laugh, forcing her to open her eyes with worry and
ask, “Kya Hua?”
“This!”
He waved a picture still between laughs, “Looks like Jesus’ cross!” She snatched
the picture and smiled faintly, “It’s the Titanic pose.” Her tone seemed
defensive; after all, she had short-listed the best companies, within their limited
budgets.
“Like
that, really?” He went through a few more “Here, this! It looks straight out of
DDLJ!” She now sat down with her coffee beside him, staring at the picture. He
went through a few more, saying “Nope. No. No. Fake candid. Stupid pose. Nope!”
She stared at him for a minute, the picture still in her hand and asked, “You
don’t like this one?”
“Do
you, Ajab?” He asked back as she stared at it. The couple seemed in love,
hugging each other, in a gown and suit, in the field of mustard, much like in
the movie. She tried to figure out what was wrong.
“See.”
He explained, “Would you like it if you were put in an expensive gown in this
summer heat and forced to stand in the mustard field with dragonflies all
around? And act all blushing there? When all you can think of is getting back
into the AC room.”
“Umm….”
She didn’t want to say no.
“Even
that hug looks fake!” He shrugged.
“And these," he shook another envelope, “I can
click better than this!”
“You
are not making it easier for me, just so you know!” She snapped.
That made him
put up a straight face immediately from his amused one. The room grew silent
for two minutes.
“This
is it, Pratap!” She shook her head, “My dream. My only chance at a picture-perfect wedding! And everything is remotely close to perfect.” He was mum, he
knew this was one of those moments she spoke the truth, it was time she should.
He had seen her stress over the wedding for quite some time now, but knowing
how stubborn she was, he had waited for this moment.
“The
decorations, the dresses, jewellery, rituals, guest list, and this! Photo shoots,
pre, post, and whatnot are getting on my nerves now!” She sulked, “This is not what
I wanted! They can’t even give me my favourite flowers and…”
“Okay, calm down!” He urged.
“And
my dress! I wanted crimson red, and the lehenga is cherry red, Pratap!” She
looked like she would cry. It alarmed him.
“Well, it’s red!” He reasoned.
“Hell!
You don’t even know the difference between them!” She looked teary-eyed. “I am
so stressed over this, even the jewellery is…”
“Hush,
Hush!” His hug made her go silent from her bantering. “Tell me, Ajab, what were
the dreams?”
“Huh?”
She looked rather annoyed.
“What
were the wedding dreams?”
“Well.”
She took a deep breath “Since I was a kid, all I dreamt of was a perfect
wedding, every minute detail, from decorations to clothes, jewellery and
everything! Even the songs for Sangeet are ready forever! And a sapno
ka…” She stopped frowning at his smile and added, “Rajkumar?”
“Well, you have that.” His shrug made her smile at his antics.
“Okay, and the details
are not exactly like you planned?”
“I
wanted lilies and orchids. But they only have June roses available this time
of the year. The photographers who send samples are… well… you can see!” She
looked around. “This is a mess!”
He
chuckled, staring at another picture lying around. The groom had lifted the
bride in his arms.
“Look
at them; he looks like he is thinking she is too heavy.”
“And
she," Ajabde smiled, "Looks like she is wishing he doesn’t make her fall”
“You
think that is perfect?”He laughed.
“No…
But… It’s the dream stuff, you know. Photo shoots and…”
“Ajabdeh,
you know what the dream actually is?” He stared at her eyes, his twinkling.
“Kya?”
She asked cluelessly.
“The
life that starts that day, not perfect, full of struggles, yet the dream we
live.” His smile made her blush a little. At that moment, Ajabdeh did feel she
was the luckiest girl in the world, her cousins said all the time.
“The
wedding is not about the crimson lehenga or the photos. It’s about us and our
vows, right?” she agreed with a shake of her head. Truth be told, she had
wanted to hear this for quite some time now. She couldn’t remember the last
stress-free night; she didn’t check the schedules for the next morning, nor did she have any food tasting or dress trials somewhere. Life had become stuck between food
tasting, wedding plans and dresses.
“You
know what!” He looked thoughtful. He was not sure if saying this could make her
kill him.
“Let’s
do a court marriage.” He stared at her for her reaction. She was looking at
him like he was a ghost, which made him continue.
“Simple,
close family, us. We can throw a reception party”
“But…”
She frowned, “The traditional rituals….”
“Okay,
a small wedding then? See, these picture-perfect photos are to show the world
that it’s a perfect wedding, but the truth is, it never is, and neither is life.
Nothing is picture perfect!” She looked around thoughtfully at the mess.
“But…”
“Would
you really look at a picture in a mustard field and gush that we look so
perfect or that it was muddy and messy out there in the heat and sweat, but we
still managed a fake pose and smile?” He looked at her doubtful stare.
“I
mean, seriously, look at these.” He waved a picture of a couple kissing “Do
they hang these in the living room? I doubt! Do these actually make good
memories, or are the disasters of a hectic shoot remembered?”
He
held her hand firmly “Look at you, Ajab, are you happy?”
She
stared at him like a zombie, “Is this the way you can enjoy your own wedding?”
She shook her head, taking her hand off his. He was scared for a moment.
Impulsive as she was, what if she called off the wedding?
“You
are right.” She sighed. He smiled. “I am tired, so damn tired!” She let her
frustration come out. “Am tired of the strict diets, fitting into the attire,
instructing everyone, designing my own invites, I'm just tired!” He patted her
head gently. In the mess, without makeup, hair bunned up and tired eyes, she still
looked pretty enough to make his heart skip a beat; that was exactly how he
should feel about a wife-to-be.
“See,
the memories which are the best, don’t need a picture, they will always be
captured in our hearts.” He smiled, “Trust me on that.”
“And
we can save up quite a few bucks from this shoot and take a trip with it.” She
sounded excited.
“World
tour?” he smiled sarcastically. “These shoots cost quite a fortune.”
“Mewar
tour.” She shrugged, slapping his hand playfully.
“Where
we belong.” He smiled back.
He
kissed her as she finally smiled, content and at peace.
