This was
weird!
By any
standard of archaic Indian culture and tradition, this was not only weird; it
was in direct violation of how things should be.
I had
carefully combed and again tousled my hair which made it about the fifth time I
had done so in the past 15 minutes. Around six shirts lay in a heap on my bed
and three pairs of trousers were strewn in a menagerie of disarray, creating a
cloth road from the bathroom door to the kitchen where I gone to check up on
the stuffed turkey in the oven and chocolate cheesecake in the fridge.
It had to
be perfect; every aspect of it.
They were
coming to see me, asses me, see if I was fit to be married into their family.
And for that, I would have to work hard, very hard. You see, inter-religious
marriage still isn’t a very big thing where I come from.
I had
invited them over to dinner and they had accepted. My parents would not make it
today, their flight delayed by incessant rains, but these people hadn’t
cancelled. They wanted to see me what for I was, without having to make small
talk with my parents.
I just
hoped my apartment, my cooking skills, my education and most importantly, that
I was up to their expectations. I wouldn’t want to disappoint my love.
I had
prepared a slightly burnt vegetable starter, tomato soup, a stuffed turkey and
a hopefully delicious cheesecake for dessert. Ping! The turkey was done. The
taste was delectable. They will love it, I assure myself.
As I start
folding the rest of my discarded clothes and arrange my truckload of novels
neatly on the living room shelf, the doorbell rings. I panic, hastening my
chores and shouting, “one minute” in the general direction of the doorway.
“Don’t
bother, it’s just me. Open up,” I hear the voice of the one who makes my heart
flutter and skip a beat. “Coming,” I yell and open the door.
“I knew you
wouldn’t be done, so I came to help out.”
“Thank you
darling, you’re the best.”
As we
joined forces to put the rest of my apartment into some semblance of a habitable
environment, “What’s that weird smell?”
“What?” I ask.
“You don’t
smell it? Really?”
And then it
hit me. The acrid sting of rain-soaked clothes mingling with a hint of turkey
and a waft of chocolate hit me just as I was about to retort with extreme
prejudice. The metaphorical glass of illusion had shattered. And suddenly, I was
panicking again.
“Damn, that’s
strong.”
“Exactly!”
came the even more stinging reply.
I ran to
the bedroom to get my can of deodorant and proceeded to soak the house from
balcony to verandah till I ran out of it. I sat down, a triumphant smile on my
face. Done… and done.
And then
there it was again, emerging from the thick barrier of deodorant, to assault me
once more. Damn! Why wouldn’t it go away?
“Looks like
your master plan’s a dud, huh?” sarcasm in the face of an emergency. Like that
was going to help.
My partner
ran down to the car and rushed back holding a can of Ambi Pur Air Effects
Spring Air Freshener. “Try this maybe?”
I didn’t
need to be told twice. And just as I finished gently dabbing the apartment with
it, the doorbell rang. It was time. And I was ready; the apartment, smelling
like the 1st of July, was too.
My love
went to the door just as I finished straightening my clothes. Opening it wide,
she said,
“Here is
the man I want to marry!”
I am
blogging for #SmellyToSmileyactivity at Blogadda.com in association with Ambi Pur.
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