Vermilion Novel Excerpt

by Vimi Bajaj

Mrs. Dhawan watched with delight as her future son-in-law put his arm around her daughter and rubbed her back. The noise level was a bit much at the Gymkhana Club at this time of day, so she’d had to strain to hear them. But this last touching moment had been worth the trouble. She could move ahead with peace and confidence, whereas ‘til now she’d had some doubt, always having to push them along, she who despite her attachment to out-of-touch Hindi serials, had observed how the young people were changing. These two were at least showing some interest, some romantic gestures. 

She remembered her own days, their pilgrimage to Vaishnoo Devi in the mountains of Jammu, her arms covered wrist to elbow with bridal choordas, ivory bracelets (plastic nowadays), alternating red and white. Gen Saab had held her hand the whole time, as they made their way up the craggy mountainside, along the winding footpaths and wide steps to get to the worship cave, lucky enough to pay for a private puja instead of passing through like herds for a few seconds’ darshan. There’d been torrents of rain, and fast raging streams passing through tunnels and passageways, people stepping aside to make way for the rush of water. Pilgrims took cover and shopkeepers placed tarpaulin over perishables or the small-small things which could easily be carried away by a fast raging stream. 

Perhaps the joy of that day was how it had ended, in the darkening dusk, fluorescent lights inside shop stalls, the noise of temple bells, and a humble plate of shared of chana-bhatura, the best they’d ever had. It was a special time in a bride’s life, a rite of passage, and she hoped these two would do the same. This was what she wished for them.