A Perfect Mismatch (4 page)

Armaan held the door open before she could reach for it. Zara moved away jerkily to avoid his muscled frame as he followed her out into the night. She could not stop the thudding of her heart when his cologne hit her senses.

“Well, I should be going now. Keep me informed about things,” she said coolly.

“Come, I will drop you home.” He strode towards the car, expecting her to follow him.

She wasn’t going to sit with him inside the close confines of the car!

“Don’t bother! I will take a taxi,” she called out rather testily.

Armaan lowered his voice to keep it steady, “I said I will drop you home!”

“No thanks!”

“Why not?” He came closer and glowered down on her.

“I don’t need your help,” she said enunciating each word with a calm she hardly felt.

Armaan watched the mutinous tilt of her chin and the lips compressed into a thin line. He waited for five minutes with her trying to hail an elusive cab or an auto-rickshaw. None of them seemed to stop just when she needed one desperately, thought Zara.

Armaan stood leaning on his car and shook his head. “You can stand here flailing your arms for a taxi all night if you want, but I am not moving from here until you come with me!”

“Why are you so concerned? I am not your problem!”

“I wish you were not, but you are, from the moment you agreed to marry me!” he drawled.

“So, are you going to tell me what to do all the time?” Zara asked with a forced smile.

“I can see that you can’t seem to understand good
reasoning!” he pounced, without a trace of remorse, “You are a stubborn woman. I don’t think it is safe for you to travel alone at this time.”

“Stubborn? Well, if it is not the pot calling the kettle black! You think you are a paragon of virtues. Why do you insist on standing there lecturing me? I can take care of myself!” Zara was beginning to feel the usual stirring of antagonism at his highhanded comment.

His smile was a slash of pure derisive contempt, “Of course, you can take care of yourself! Dressed for the funeral, or is it a custom-made costume for Bat-woman? You are hardly likely to get any unwanted attention!”

She was stunned by the insolence in his tone but then struck back, “Why, Mr. Malhotra? Don’t I seem like the best candidate to be your bride? At least I am not underdressed like one of your arm candies or those scrawny models you paint so diligently at your studio? The way I dress is none of your business! Stop calling me names!”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem calling me a gaseous dirigible.”

“You are one!” Zara shrugged with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.

Armaan was getting tired of the argument. “Alright, fine, I am a dirigible and you are a brave Batwoman and we are both a pot and a kettle and any assortment of vessels that you want it to be! Now get in the car!”

Armaan was fascinated by the colour on her cheeks.

“I’ll walk home!” she huffed.

Then she turned around and stalked off. He was right behind her taking her arm in a tight grip.

“Get in the car, Zara!” he said grimly. “You are not going alone!”

“Yes I am!”

“Alright, I apologize! Just get in the car! Or I’ll walk with you!”

She paused when she noticed several people staring at them. Not wanting to make a scene, she swung around and hissed at him. “Let go of my arm and I will come.” He let go and she followed him back to the car. Fuming through her ears, she got in and shut the door with a splintering bang.

“Go easy on it, will you?” he said, with his temper tightly leashed this time as he got behind the wheel.

Zara gave him the address and for the next fifteen minutes neither of them spoke. She wondered what they would do after the marriage. Perhaps the best solution was to shift to two different planets where she would never have to see him again. The moment they reached her apartment building, she stormed out without a ‘Thank you’ and he drove off without a backward glance.

Things began to move very fast for Zara after that. She was pained to see Vini looking frail when she came to visit her. She congratulated Zara for accepting the proposal, welcoming her heartily into the family. Zara was dumbstruck when her mother-in-law lovingly touched her head. The conversation that followed shook her deeply.

“I know you are the perfect bride for him.” Vini said beaming, “You have strength of character that demands respect! You know how to stand up to him. He may say all kinds of silly things pretending to be uncaring but he has a
good heart. He has had a rough childhood. Some kids grow into healthy adults in spite of a broken past. But Armaan couldn’t get out of it unscathed. He loved and respected his father deeply and that trust was broken. For Armaan an inspiring figure was tarnished beyond repair. He learned to shut out everyone after that. He doesn’t trust anyone. You have to earn his trust. Help him heal. Only you can do that! All you need is a little empathy between the two of you to push this marriage forward and things will be fine.”

Zara could only nod silently as the conversation veered towards the wedding trousseau, both relieved and saddened that Vini was going to be heartbroken in the next few months. As for her own emotional health, Zara thought it wise to keep her heart safe by not getting too involved in Armaan’s life.

From then on things rushed headlong, beginning from the shopping required for the wedding and the umpteen visits to the clothes boutiques and jewelry stores all in the span of two hectic days.

Zara’s aunt went berserk with the arrangements for the engagement. With her usual flair for dramatics, she outdid even Bani, who sulked all day in her room claiming a headache.

Soon Zara found herself sandwiched between her aunt, her future mother-in-law and Aparna and her two children, who were to ‘help’ her find the right attire for the engagement and the perfect trousseau for the wedding two weeks later. In a whirlwind of shopping and taking measurements at Aparna’s own boutique, Zara found herself nodding her head in sheer exasperation, to all the
items that were flourished in front of her for approval. She just didn’t care about how she looked for this circus. All she wanted was to escape to somewhere quiet where there would be no arguments and discussions on rituals, price tags, designer labels, and all the paraphernalia of a fancy fast-forward wedding.

The only thing that gave Zara satisfaction was that she was able to pay for many of the items without a twinge of guilt about the expenses. She was independent and could bear the expenses. Zara had proudly insisted on paying, politely brushing aside her mother-in-law’s requests about wanting to pay for the whole trousseau. Not wanting to be left behind, Aunt Sudha bought her an exorbitant set of pearls. As the other wedding expenses were shared by both the families Zara stopped her from any more extravagance.

Zara was beginning to be torn with guilt about the sham she was enacting. She liked her mother-in-law and felt like a cheat buying a beautiful trousseau for a fake wedding. She might as well pay for it herself, she thought, trying to ease a bit of the guilt that was eating into her.

After breakfast, on the morning of the engagement, Zara sat in a frozen state in the balcony of her room in her aunt’s house where the small formal ceremony would be held, only for family and close relatives. Her aunt had come in twice to check with her about what was keeping her so long. She walked about the room restlessly, sipping hot lemon tea. The rich burgundy and gold
lehenga
with its gold embroidered organza
dupatta
lay untouched on the bed. The tiny gold sequins and glossy pearls seemed to
mock at her. Aparna had selected this one specifically for today. The rest of the dresses were still to be stitched and altered according to her size for the wedding.

The silk slithered sensuously between her fingers. It was beautiful and she wondered if it would suit her. All her life, she had lived frugally, her pride preventing her from asking for more than what her guardians had provided. The habit had stuck through her teenage years into womanhood and even though she was well-placed in her firm, she still did not pay too much attention to her dressing.

After a long mental debate she had decided to inform a few of her friends and colleagues about her wedding. She had always kept a low profile and didn’t feel that a pseudo wedding was the occasion to change that. She told her best pals Sumana and Pari, cutting out the truth about the contract. For them it was real and after loud shrieks of enthusiasm, teary hugs and much talking about female solidarity, they dragged Zara to a classy lingerie shop for ‘girls alone’ shopping.

Armaan’s contemptuous comment on her dressing sense had irked her. Now she wondered why she dressed in drab clothes at all. It was partly due to a lack of interest in fashion and partly to hide the deep-seated insecurities about her body, she acknowledged. She was quite rounded, she thought morosely, looking critically at herself in the mirror. She was relieved that the marriage was not real as she would never have been able to match up with someone as good-looking as her future husband.

“Admiring yourself in the mirror?”

Zara raised troubled eyes and met Bani’s dark ones
glittering with malice. Not wanting to start the day with another battle with her cousin, she turned towards the bathroom.

Bani moved swiftly to block her way. “What did you do to him, you slut? Just a few days back, he was all mine. We were lovers and suddenly he wants to marry a nobody like you?”

Her spiteful words managed to disturb Zara deeply though she maintained a calm exterior. Why had Armaan not told her this? She was angry that he had such little respect for the women in his life. Perhaps the only one he did care about was his mother.

“Look, Bani,” she said pasting a smile on her face, “whatever questions you have about this issue should be addressed to Armaan. He never mentioned it and I do not care! Maybe he was through with you and wanted a pleasant change!”

“You can laugh for all I care,” sneered Bani, “Don’t ever be under the misconception that it would change anything between Armaan and me. You don’t have it in you to keep any man, let alone a man like Armaan! He is probably regretting all this at this very moment. If it were not for his stupid mother, none of this would have happened! Enjoy it while it lasts!”

“I most certainly will!” said Zara with a flippancy she was far from feeling.

White with fury, Bani stormed out of the room. She would not allow her shallow cousin to ruin her day, thought Zara, calming herself. She went in for a bath and came
out feeling a little better … only to find that her day was completely ruined!

On the bed lay her lovely dress as she had left it. The only difference was the large wet, black patch in the centre of the
lehenga
and
choli
! With something almost akin to murderous rage, she touched the patch with her fingers. The ink dyed her hennaed hands and she almost cried out in pain at the sacrilege. Of course she knew who had done this!

Zara had half a mind to challenge Bani right then! However, she knew enough about her aunt’s tendency to be unfairly partial. It would be a waste of time and energy. She could hear the laughter and chatter of the guests downstairs, the song and dance among the women, as she stood without a clue about how to solve the problem without killing Bani.

No one would believe her! There was no solution, she had nothing appropriate enough to wear at such short notice. The other dresses were still at the boutique and the blouses for the brand new saris were yet to be stitched. Since she had shifted to her own apartment, there were hardly any dresses left here at her aunt’s residence. Not that it would have helped as her wardrobe consisted only of a few plain silk saris in grey and mauve and other sober shades, with comfortable blouses. She flung open her old cupboard to inspect the items she had left behind. The
salwar kameezes
though relatively new appeared suddenly unsuitable for anything but casual wear. She slumped down on the floor hovering on the brink of a deluge.

She jumped up gritting her teeth and looked through her wardrobe once more in despair. Her eyes alighted on a little gleam of screaming orange colour tucked away at the back. She pulled it out grimacing, wondering if she was demented enough to attempt it.

The orange blast-in-your-face attire was a gift from a friend’s father whom she deeply respected. Zara had helped him as a personal favour to her friend, with the tax auditing for his local garment factory. It had been gifted with a lot of affection and she had never been able to discard it. Zara had kept it as a souvenir and it had lain untouched at the back of her wardrobe.

She ironed out the creases with a deep sense of foreboding. Pacifying herself with a lecture that it was not a real engagement anyway and hoping fervently that people would not notice the cheap tinsels smattered liberally across the shiny fabric, she began to get dressed.

Aparna was the first one to snigger, her mouth agape at the sight. Zara walked in through the door and a hush fell on the small gathering. There was a giggle from Bani standing close to a furious Armaan.

“Oops! I think I need my glares!” Bani trilled.

“Why didn’t she wear the dress we bought for the engagement?” Aparna whispered, stifling a bubble of incredulous laughter.

“Bet, she wanted to stand out in the crowd on her special day!” chortled Bani maliciously.

Armaan stewed in silence, utterly disgusted by the sight. Why had she done this? She was probably trying
to humiliate him. Revenge! That seemed to be the only reason for such an act of complete defiance. The flaming orange, Chinese silk
salwar kameez
with its multitudes of folds smocked at the chest and the puffed sleeves made her look like a giant marigold. It was heavily embroidered with cheap mirror work and tinsels, the golden thread making it highly ostentatious and gaudy. The elegant
kundan
necklace looked mismatched with her loud dress.

He glowered at Bani when she giggled a third time as Zara touched the feet of the elderly guests for their blessings. The only thing that seemed right was her hair. It was pure silk, he noted, arrested by the sight, though only mildly appeased. It was left open, cascading down her back all the way down to her hips. Thank God, for small mercies he thought bitterly! Zara touched his mother’s feet with a grace he couldn’t deny and lifted her eyes to him, adjusting her gaudy gold
dupatta.
Their eyes met for several seconds and she hastily averted hers. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a need for approval. It was masked so quickly that he dismissed the silly thought. Zara would not need anyone’s approval. Her eyes shone with a steely glint as she moved ahead to meet another relative.